December 8-14, 1997: Jenny Sadre and Linda Etheridge

Week of December 8-14, 1997

Jenny Sadre and Linda Etheridge

Jenny Sadre


Jenny sadre has been writing poetry currently for almost eleven years she has appeared as a regular contributor to local mag-a-papers, received numerous awards and been published in many electronic literary zines (BARKING SPIDER, CIRCUS BEAVIS, TAVERNER’S KOANS, ANARCHIST BARBIE DOLL, etc ) She has collaborated with other local poets to put together pamphlets of poetry and she has appeared on the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga’s WUTC jazz radio station as the featured poet of the month in 1995.

This young poet continues to send her poetry to publishers daily and hopes in the near future to have a poetry book published.

The following work is Copyright © 1997 and owned by Jenny Sadre and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatsover without written permission from the author.


so now you can say
you robbed a hispanic crossed girl

and now all the while she hopes you have the bastard blues
as she in class
in wool sweatered heat
is with shampoo hair
that you robbed a hispanic-crossed girl
that you took her airplane away
that you took the stein pearl from her chest say
you took her rainbow away
you robbed me
you learned what a woman could say.


studio 54
taught latin boys the dance
of all brown worlds while we learned how gypsys wear their hair in winter
tonight war came on the news
and t.v could have been dead
to us
as long as we had
the blue smoke maracas to live to
as long as
our brothers and fathers and lovers and such came to kiss our lips for all the coulours that played in our hair and the studio boys with brown skin and shoes had sand girls kiss their hips for all the steps that stayed in our heads.


down on riverside
red hair joe johnson loved starr best and as we explained
our soul maps
acid jazz pushed himself into our
chests disregarding some one’s best friend’s
breasts as her home–
he moved in
and up on chambliss
shadows became our roads
and our roads
went on for miles and miles
and rivers became where joe and starr
found soul
and stole our map for all of that summer beside their river
we moved in
drinking from billie’s breast.


with seventy kisses stained on my back
a stawberried freckle might be a nice change

below the breathes of you
and above the concrete organed heart
you are too easy
with rings in your mouth
<- .south
of buddha
is where we laugh best ->

with confessed cigarette jewelry rained on my back a ring from your easy mouth might be a nice change


i have not slept in two days
and if you want
if you dive
for the gun
i promise to shoot the sun
to the chocolate ground and like a gypsy i will bring the glitter back to fall
straight to our feet
chasing away the blood of the sun as my apron skirt is breathing in and
as my eyes are checking
if you want
if you arrive
for the smells of our sex
i promise to shoot love
to the liquored mound.


keeping the v in between
even though you’re down the road
kerouac back
staring at the muddied
he wrote on
and i tell you
i never read him
never bed him
even if he did like
morenoed eyes
even with word lips
he never spoke
enough for me
to hear

even though you’re down the road
the in between v legs.

Linda Etheridge


I am an ex-sales person who has been writing for many years, Not so long ago, I won second prize for a poem in a local contest, and I have been published numerous times in Local newspapers, Various poetry publications and won creative writing prize in high school

The following work is Copyright © 1997 and owned by Linda Etheridge and may not be distributed or reprinted in any manner whatsover without written permission from the author.


The sky was a pinata party
filled with gold and silver
clouds on wing All the afternoon
a crescent moon shimmered
as well Majestic trees on brown island earth
wove a path into the sun Flocks of gulls became lost
in glints of summer’s ocean canopy


It is the beginning of netted night
drawing us into catacombs
of black fire
after limpid, daytime fatique This chance awakens us again There are windows which
enlighten deep perception,
glowing There are windows
which shield us from exreme
pain in nature Tonight, I hear
your chants of love
through my window You are saying please stay.

A Sea Story

Locked up, glistening bars
a jaunty sea captain
one of nature’s travelers
is without his ship
The tide rolls in
no longer music for him
it becomes instead
a churning, spinning motion
of faded memory
In his dreams
he journeys to the south of France
and comes face to face
with a woman there She’s ruddy, meticulous,
they experience great passion He can feel summer in his
bones again, a rebirth of spirit
He awakens and is still
behind bars, somber, alone Trees bend outside on Terra Firma,
float, cannot escape winds of winter He in an inner turmoil, pounds his
fist into the emptiness
and weeps.


We played a game
subtle, uneven
in the wild, arousing dusk Your eyes sighted mine
and we perceived blazing images
of past in this present The era of European Renaissance-
more creative than other periods,
Shakespeare, Michelangelo,
an awakening of spirit Then the hour glass
held between us, time spent,
children lost, seemed to shift There were splinters of danger,
a sense of fatique But we continued on
roads paved with granite iciness
to pursue our life-source I walk in the night with you
eyes blurred with tears
to rekindle the flame of passion
we once knew In the lonliness of the twentieth century,
we drift apart
divided by an unknown force,
a grey shadow passes over us.

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