Laurel Crown Awards


The Soul Food Cafe proudly presents Laurel Crown awards to Pythian Games participants who have gained inspiration working in-house

Jenny Aarts

Edwina Peterson Cross

Lois Daley

Elizabeth Hayes

Vi Jones

Pauline Susan Nolan

Francis Arnett Sbrocchi

Teresa Seed




Elizabeth Hayes

Dead Poems Reborn


love is an itchy feeling
in the heart
you can't scratch my grandmother said

infection blisters
every heart
love's soothing balm
heals the sores
but the unscratchable itch


The witching hours are long
in purgatory

false intoxication
dulls the senses
thinking and waiting
thinking and waiting
maybe there’s something more
more thinking
more waiting
until I don't know what
I’m thinking or waiting for

Maybe there’s nothing
to wait for
only a door
there'll be others open
but not that door
not again


Two children sit
on a wooden plank
bodies relaxed
hands clasping
the handle of a seesaw
up and down
up and down
up and down
in a park
where adults sit on the bench

Legs dangle
weightless in the air
no sky to climb
no ground to claim
child balances effortlessly
then rides
up and down
up and down
up and down
smiles and balances
then rides
up and down
up and down
up and down
while adults gaze from the bench
into the distance


standing at the intersection
gazing forward
cars parade by
buildings echo
shadows lean toward
the gutter
littered with forgetting

over the shoulder
a baby cries
a cry
larger than the buildings
louder than the traffic
darker than the night
lighter than the moon

at the edge of the intersection
in any city
in any country
a baby's cry


why won't you meet me for the unnamed dance?

you try to trace me
reach me
following yesterday’s line
linking this with that
Ah... this happened to her then
Ah... this explains that about her

you view my album
you visit my house
you eat a meal with my parents
who fill you with stories
of their little girl
you peer into my room
take copious notes
record the facts
joining the dots
on your imaginary line
with indelible ink

the thick black line
you traced and mapped and shaded is
something of me
and nothing of me

the line of my biography
is like the horizon
by day is focuses the eye
dividing the oceans I fish
from the skies I fly
by night
it vanishes into the dark
where water mingles with sky
to breath the longing sighs
of the unnamed dance

last night
I lit a candle by my bedroom window sill
parted the curtains
and waited for the hungry horse
galloping toward the flame

his black marble eyes
swam with pearly tears
as he feasted on the flesh
of tender young birds
laying wingless in my hand

birds I'd rescued
from beneath the weeds
along the roadside
who had forgotten how to fly

Copyright © 2001 Elizabeth Hayes All rights reserved



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