Markowitz Poetry

I started writing poetry back when I was in high school, and I've been writing ever since. I even took a course on poetry writing in college. All told, I've written about 50 poems. The four poems below are ones which were published by The National Library of Poetry (not a big deal - they have contests about three times a year, and basically if you submit a poem, you're pretty much guaranteed to be published - but it still feels kinda good). Needless to say, these poems are mine and may not be distributed, duplicated, or used in any way without my prior permission.
So anyone know a real publisher that would like to publish a book of all my poems? :)
Anyway, enjoy.

Sickness

Behind the wall
Pop the bubble
Fall eternity
Cross the fields
Cross the desert
Lose the stars
Labyrinth lost
Mirage an access
Crack the door...

Wander through thickness
Empty of shadows
Dark as nothing
Nothing but shivers

Open the windows...

No

I want them closed

Published, 1995, in "At Water's Edge"

You've Seen It Before

A man sits in a smoke-filled room
staring out at the neon-lit city.
Robbie Robertson's
"Somewhere Down the Crazy River"
floats through the wall
from the room next door.

The white sliver of Diana's bow
hangs behind an erie mist
hovering in the night sky.
Halos surround the street lamps,
and a siren wails
from a few miles distant.

Glenn Frey's
"You Belong to the City"
starts crying through the thick air,
and the man thinks to himself
"I gotta get out of this place."
He walks out onto the streets.

As the cool humid night, heavy with sin,
swallows him whole,
the camera pulls back to capture the city,
and the American public goes for a snack.

Published, 1995, in "Mists of Enchantment"

Oceans

Calm,
with a hint of unrest.
Little waves lapping, growing stronger.
Excitement, mystery swims
with the slowly intensifying tides.
Crescendo levels off
and fades away.

Desolate,
slowly moving in its course.
Nothing left,
"no point in direction."
Sad and dead,
after the flood has come and gone.

Placid and motionless.
Water shimmers under the sun,
a glowing aura.
Wind picks up
and blows strength into the jewels of light.
My mind's eye, captured and enraptured,
reflects the precious paragons in its depths.

Published, 1996, in "Spirit of the Age"
note: line in quotes is from "Here Comes the Flood" by Peter Gabriel

Hidden Beach

The secret well-worn path
leads down, winding and weaving its way
through bushes, dunes and rocks.
No space for wider than one.
Cross the plank, round the hill,
and behold!
The secret of few,
hidden no more.

Sand squirming through toes.
Ocean echoes darting from their mother
to the waving walls and back.
But not a sound.
Air, charged with the power and passivity of the sea,
frisks about, chilling both hair and bone.
Sun sheds its final warmth and light
upon the silent stretch of sand
as it melts into the sea.

Come often but now gone,
ghostly faces of friends flash all about,
around a crackling fire, and below a desolate, glowing moon.

Published, 1996, in "Best Poems of 1996"