Poetry

Poetry

Limerick regarding the current American Debt Crisis and Impending Global Crisis, by TravelinMaam

The Empty Place of Eddie, by Majid Naficy

Here we stand, by Aryn Youngless

Where Silence Becomes Light, by Humberto Gómez Sequeira-HuGóS

Xavier, by Mary Getlein

Saturday, November 17, by Roger Houston

———————————————-

Limerick regarding the current American Debt Crisis and Impending Global Crisis: 

Once there was a dog named Maxwell

Who lived in a country that didn’t tax well

So Max wondered if

There was a fiscal cliff

And how he missed his president who played sax well

—-

Je vous prie de croire,

TravelinMaam

We are the words

—————————————————–

The Empty Place of Eddie

by Majid Naficy

Today the rain washes your blood

And wipes it from the pavement

There remains only your sunny smile,

Your tall baseball bat

Leaning against the wall,

And your backpack full of books

Waiting for your shoulders.

Curse the hand that made the gun

Curse the hand that put it in the shop

And curse the hand that pulled the trigger!

I am cold and empty

Like the shell of a bullet

Because I know that your mother

Will not pass another school again

And will not sit on bleachers

In another baseball game

And will not open her empty oven

To heat fragrant tortillas

For your dinner.

March 3, 2006

Eddie Lopez a Santa Monica High School student was gunned down on Tuesday February

28, 2006 at the 26th St. and Pico Blvd.

—————————————————————–

Here we stand

By Aryn Youngless

& she said

She didn’t like

The words

The sounds

& the

Textures

They seem a waste

She said

They seem contrived

She said

Yet here we stand

I probably agreed

Out loud, that is

To avoid

The words

I didn’t want

To hear

I don’t get it

I nodded

I don’t like it

I nodded

Yet here we stand

They shroud me

Like a

Fog, the words, I mean

They warm me

They’re just scribbles

They are my soul

I say

My blood

I say

My cliché

My rhythm

My me

Yet here we stand

——————————————————-

Where Silence Becomes Light

For Carmen Gómez, my niece.

Carmen, you are a woman according to nature. It gave you the power of the tree of life. Your equality is not an extrinsic condition controlled by the self-designated men of god—preachers, politicians, pimps, bankers, and soldiers—that you must suffer to attain. It is the intrinsic property of your being that makes you an agency of the vibratory fertility of the universal mind.

I am here,

where silence

becomes light.

Seeing

how the images that populate perception

fade away

after the conductors of their meaning

burn out

in the open air.

Forcefully

breathing the dream

that keeps my mind impressed

to the life stimulated

by fantastic sensations

profoundly.

—Humberto Gómez Sequeira-HuGóS

————————————————–

Xavier

that little boy looked up at me

and crawled into my heart

he said: i like your brown hair

it’s so brown

it was awfully good of him not to mention

all the wrinkles on my face

this was after he announced

in a matter of fact way

that his mother was dead

i knew this but hearing him say it was so hard

he’s only five

and technically he’s not supposed to understand

but i think he’s figured it out:

she’s not coming back

but he’s alive in that jumping way

young boys have:

bouncing around the room and on other objects

including his sister.

he’s a cuddler and pushes me over on the couch

so there is room for him

to squeeze in together.

“we have the best family,” he announced

i couldn’t help but agree

“yes, you have the best family,” i said.

– Mary Getlein

———————————————————–

01:36 Saturday, November 17th, 2012, Adullam ….. Templar of regions subterranean. Stick to the script. Likewise, stick to the plan. The sky is legend. Haven’t really seen. I’ve heard it’s up there. We are in between.

Imagine, I, what wonders may exist, To grasp within my fist. Likewise insist:There must be something just beyond the dome, The round enclosure that we all call home. I quietly await what may persist, In subtle hesitation. I resist The urge to open up the threshold’s keen, Impenetrable door. Yet to be seen. The subterranean claims me, its man. One day, I’ll not be subterranean …..Roger Houston

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