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Date: Fri, 30 Sep 2005 12:00AM PDT)
From: Send an Instant Message "John French" <mosshead7@yahoo.com>  

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It rushed beneath me like

Mud - water sliding from

Mountaintops and valleys,

From volcanoes and star fire

And gypsy moths to the flame

From oil and lavender buds

From ghosts and old guitars


The drums beat all night.

She was beside me

Holy and awakened -

The church of music on "high"

It's never below you -

Then and with a smile -

You're appointed to walk

In streets of beautiful people


July 22, 2005

John A. Conte` JR


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Poetry  By John Alan Conte`, Jr.
Copyright 2005
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or  otherwise, without prior written permission of John Alan Conte Jr.