This page is dedicated to the words of the "new writers." It
represents the dreams, visions, and the powerful voices of young new
writers.

      Our premier writer is Alan Karpinsky. Look to this section for
new writers, and their works. 

      New pages and new authors are listed following Alan's work.
Each week, this page will be up-dated, with a new "cover page" and 
new writers, included with the current. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flood

© 2/2/99 Alan Karpinksky 

As I look out the window
into the infinite rain,
my soul is filled
 with boredom and pain.

The sun hasn't shimmered in several
of years.
It's been buried beneath
an ocean of tears.

untitled

I don't believe in suffering,
I don't believe in sorrow.
I don't believe in yesterday,
I don't believe in tommorrow.

Take it easy, children,
take it as it comes.
Don't worry about the moon
just enjoy the sun.

Winter

mother earth is frozen
a thin blanket of frost covers her body

the trees are naked
with no leaves to protect them

the sun fights
to shine through the wintry clouds

the sky seems infinite

the earth is at peace

nature is so pure

i just want to be pure


                                  Alan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Windows ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                      © Alan Karpinsky -- 3/1/99

                             Windows

        It was a silent, wintry day. The only noise was the howling, nippy
wind that whirled light, fluffy snowflakes around the sky. As he 
looked out the hospital window, the wintery vista reminded Thomas 
Wendell of his wife. He reminisced a few years back, when he and his 
beautiful wife decided to go sledding. They laughed and played
together, acting like kids again. He remembered when his wife fell off the sled and
landed on her arm the wrong way. She wasn't badly injured, and he 
kissed her on the hand and made it
better.

        The uniform beeping of the heart monitor was the only noise 
that filled the otherwise silent hospital room which Thomas Wendell 
occupied. That incessant beep was the sound that Thomas fell asleep to 
every night, and the sound that he woke up to every morning. Sitting 
in a chair next to his wife's hospital bed, Thomas embraced her soft, 
weak hand, and he knew kissing her on the hand wouldn't make it better 
this time. With tears swelling up in his eyes, he gently and lovingly 
squeezed her frail hand, praying that she would squeeze back.

        Thomas had occupied the same chair for over a week now. He had 
been by his wife's side every minute of every hour, since the day she 
was committed to the hospital. Night and day, from sunrise to sunset 
he was there holding and caressing her delicate hand, refusing to let 
go. He couldn't let go. His wife was his best friend. He cared about
her more than anything in the world. Since the day Thomas had met her, she
filled his life with comfort and joy. Without her, there would be an 
empty void in his heart. He couldn't let her go. Doctors and nurses, 
friends and in-laws, had all told him to go home and get some rest, 
that it'd be alright. It wouldn't be alright though. The woman
he loved was lost somewhere on the border of life and death, that's 
not alright. Thomas Wendell had always been a big, strong, athletic 
type. Some people were intimidated by his size.
He had never been scared in his life, but for the first time, he was. 
He was scared of losing his wife, he was scared of being alone. He was 
scared that if he let go his wife's precious hand, that death would 
take her.

        As Thomas was sitting in the room by his wife's side, he 
continued to gaze out the window. The earth was frozen. A thin blanket 
of snow covered her body. The trees were naked. The sky was silent. 
Everything seemed dead. Everything appeared that way lately. Thomas 
was tired of everything being so dreary. He just wanted his wife back, 
he wanted things to be good again.


        "Beautiful isn't it?" Remarked a nurse who had just entered 
the room while Thomas was looking outside.
 
       He cocked his head to the side and gave her a disgusted look. 
"Beautiful?" He questioned in a pessimistic tone. "Everything looks 
morose and lifeless."
 
       "You've go to be kidding me," the nurse answered with a smile. 
"What window are you looking out of? It's absolutely divine out there. 
The entire landscape is immaculate. In winter, everything looks so 
serene and tranquil. The snow kind of preserves the peacefulness, you 
know. Look how snow and ice reflect the suns' light everywhere. It's 
just beautiful. Shame on you for saying it looks 'morose and 
lifeless'. It's not dead out there, it's just at peace." 

        After sharing her thoughts with Thomas she wished him a 
good afternoon and left the room. Her statement lingered in Thomas's 
head though. 'What window are you looking out of?' Holding his wife's 
hand and looking out the window, he drifted into a world of thought. 
He thought about windows, and came to a profound realization. Life is 
all about perspective. What window you look out of. You can see the 
glass half empty or half full, as the old saying goes. You can view 
winter as a cold, gloomy season. Or you can view it as beautiful and 
peaceful.

         Days went by, and one immaculate winter night, the perpetual 
beeping of Mrs. Thomas Wendell's heart monitor flatlined. 
 
       At the funeral, tears rolled down Thomas's cheeks. The tears 
weren't tears of pain or sorrow, but tears of pacification. He was 
looking out of a different window now. He realized he can either 
mourn over his wife's death and grieve about how much he misses her. 
Or he can cherish the memories he shared with her and celebrate her 
life. He knew that his wife wasn't dead, she was just living somewhere 
else now. Somewhere better. Somewhere, where the snow preserves the 
peace, forever.


Alan Karpinksy 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                               Untitled
      
                      ©  Alan Karpinsky -- 3/8/99  

Where are my dreamers tonight?
Where are my rebels?
Where are the mad men
who think on different levels?

They have all been caged,             
starved, beaten, and tamed.                                          
Our world is safer,
when everyone thinks the same.

You can incarcerate their bodies
until the end of time,
but you will never
imprison their minds.

They are free spirits
with pregnant words.
The world has a disease,
and they have the cure.

So open your ears,
your eyes and your mind.
let them better the world
for all of mankind.                         


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

X-tremes Welcome