Poetry

Poetry

Poetry

  • Transition – Jim Smith
  • For Jim – Hillary Kaye
  • Guevara – Nadja Tesiich (translated from Serbian)
  • Mitt: Don’t Run (With Scissors) – Hal Bogotch
  • Stream of Consciousness – Heather Freed
  • Oh Beautiful For Spacious Skies, From Sea to Shining Sea – Tina Catalina Corcoran
  • What – Ronald McKinley
  • Venice Desderada – Cameron Prior
  • The Sound of Cabrillo – Paul Tank
  • Memorial. The Decades Roll Away. I See You – Roger Houston
———————————-

Transition

By Jim Smith
 
So now,
the curtain falls
on the bright sand beach
and the wind rises to a fury
 
Was it real
was it real or just a dream
in the mind of a sea gull
flying toward the sun
 
We rubbed skin on skin
lips on lips
as the waves
caressed the earth
 
 
We performed our dance
of a billion years
birth, love, death
as galaxies collided
 
Weep not my friends
there are more like us
waiting in the wings
to sing their songs
 
As we become the legends
of this day, of this hour
our stories have their glory
in the living, not the telling

                                                                 

For Jim

Inside my head birds talked.
Days carried on by themselves.
Everyone I know eating bread crumbs.
Spring died, right before my eyes.
Nothing could be born here.
Birds flew away, never saying good bye.
Who could blame birds who didn’t have to talk.
 
In the summer, hot like a fire, things melted away.
Children turned into puddles, as their mothers swept
them into buckets, and used them for pillows,
against something they wouldn’t talk of.
I walked off, went on dreaming to myself.
No one was calling my name, except here and there
to say that something had gone amiss.
 
So I flew away myself.
Charted a bird flight,
right out of the big city.
Kissed good bye no one anymore.
What care I about coming or going?
After traveling a while,
I settled down with my soul.
Kissing hope good bye
I felt too good to care to hope.
 
–Hillary Kaye

                                                       

GUEVARA
(translated from Serbian)

If the death comes
may it be welcome
others will replace me
he said once.
His beautiful face
killed by US mercenaries and CIA
Bolivia, La hugaera.
Yet his face
is all over America Latina
next to Christ
in every peasant hut.
Che never died
in death he grew
and grew and grew
Latin America
moves
is moving
will move
with his face
in front.
 
–Nadja Tesiich

                                                                

Mitt: Don’t Run
(With Scissors)

It may be an unkind cut.
Don’t be forgetful
of the one
 
you tormented.
Take a stab
at real forgiveness.
 
Forgive yourself.
Forgive, but never forget.
When the hair grows long
 
is dyed blonde
& appears effeminate
it must be clipped
 
down to the roots.  Your
brutal roots are showing
Mitt.  Pick
 
up the clippers
& scalp yourself.
Let the Crow war cry
 
echo in your ears.
This cruel streak
of homophobia
 
is not becoming to you
Mitt.  Your walk
on the razor wire
 
of brutality
can’t be good
governance.
 
Shave your head, Will.
Repent.  Weep.
Quit running.
 
–Hal Bogotch

                                                                        

Stream of consciousness

By Heather Freed

Red or blue

The consequence of sounds, meaningless verbs and nouns
Words that crumble, lacking truthful grounds
Like trying to walk without discs in your spine
Like a blind-cripple stepping on to the tight-wire
Like swimming to the surface for a breath of air
But instead you inhale smoke, and lungs beyond repair
And do I dare fleet across the seas
Of relentless tar, the etymology
Cruel intentions biting deep
Even the pandemonium seeks company
For what is a wolf without his pack?
And so they flaunt you like a talisman
You speak promises of stone with feet of clay
Meaning shatters, just a needle in the hay
Mend and mold words to suit your pursuit
Give us Red or Blue to choose
But it’s the same hue, the string from which you hang
That allows you to advance across the board of their game
Words of plastic, lifetimes to decompose
Tell me what I want to hear but you won’t get my vote
The consequence of sounds, meaningless verbs and nouns
A nation that crumbles into cry of dissonant sounds

                                                                                

Oh Beautiful For Spacious Skies
From Sea… To Shining Sea!

By Tina Catalina Corcoran

Oh, There’s oil on the beaches,
     Kids are sleeping in the sand…
We only know what they teach us,
     We don’t always understand
Till there’s oil on the beaches
      And kids sleeping in the sand…
Oh beautiful for spacious skies
      What happened to our land?
 
Our Public Schools are FAILING,
      And, the kids don’t seem to know
Why they’re ending up in jail, and
      No other place to go…
For our Public Schools have FAILED
      To teach what they must know…
Oh beautiful for spacious skies
       I used to love you so!
 
Our Soldiers BLEED for FREEDOM!
      They BLEED for YOU and ME!
We “ship em” where we “need em”
      Even when they DISAGREE!
They BLEED and FIGHT and DIE for
       The RIGHTS of YOU and ME…
Oh beautiful for spacious skies
      God shed his grace on thee…
Oh beautiful for spacious skies
       Cries our for YOU and ME!

                                                          

What

By Ronald K. Mc Kinley

What a bright gleaming thing is now
What other purpose is, than to be
Cast aside the material and thought.
What cold thing can embrace you.
What calculated mind set can lift you.
Fly without flight close to mother earth.
What reasoned risk can heat your soul.
Lust lost to love.
Hold the flavor in.
Inhale life and spread it on your skin.
Close your eyes and see what is.
What was there all along,
waiting for now, this point in space/time.
What a song, a poem, a voice.
Held together by billions of cells,
encased in a soul.
What a miracle you are.

                                                         

 Venice Desderada
For the drinking eyes
The Wise
The world of lies
 
Matching up to ventilate
The Fools
The world of hate
Somewhere else to console
Your fate
 
Regardless of the World
With your freak-flag unfurled
I pledge allegiance to Venice
Without being a public menace
 
What’s the meaning of life here
What I see, What I hear
Or the music in my head
The sunset skies are turning red
 
–Cameron Prior

                                             

 the sound of cabrillo
I wanna put up bleachers
In our backyard
I wanna invite all our friends over
Locals only? Nah – let everyone come
 
They can all take a seat
Facing our setting sunset grandeur
Palm trees Eucalyptus virtual
Urban jungle
Prevalent architecture almost
Intrusive – intruding not quite, not loud
 
the sound of cabrillo
 
Get yer ice cream here!
Hot pop corn!
I’ll maybe have to charge admission
It’ll depend on how big the crowd is
 
Do you really wanna come over?
It’ll be a whole lotta fun
All our friends are already coming
Hope there’s room for everyone
 
the sound of cabrillo
 
I guess like Dylan’s Route 61 – out in the sun
Or those packed outside turn 3 at the 500
Bleachers crammed with cheering crowds
Rapturous, glorious, enchanted, loud
 
the sound of cabrillo
 
Then suddenly the multi-colored blur of 33 cars go roaring past
Each doing close to 200 mph – so says the commentator
Careening around the curve miraculously close to death
Without the aid
Of those old wooden banked turns
Like they used back in 1915 here
At the Grand Prix in Venice
 
the sound of cabrillo
 
Come sit when it’s finally quiet
And look at the sky with me
Come watch the sky fly by
I’ve got the tunes to entice
A background that grooves and moves with the atmosphere
 
–paul tanck

                                                           

Memorial. The decades roll away. I see you with

08:13 Monday, May 28, 2012 ….. Memorial. The decades roll away. I see you with closed eyes, and if I may, You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still the same As when we were together. There’s a flame That never will go out. You seem to rise. You walk my troubled dreams. I have grown wise Since our paths had diverged. I hear your voice. Your words form an adagio. What price Am I prepared to forfeit? Realize The gift that you bestowed, and this implies That, etched upon the wall, I’ve found your name. You haven’t changed a bit. That’s why I claim This day for resting laurels, and I pray That your soul rests in peace on this, your day…..

Roger Houston

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