Poetry

Poetry

I know a woman – By Mary Getlein
Silent Bells – By Lynette
BLACK BUDDHA IN A DARK ALLEY – By Philomene Long
I’ve Known Freedom – By Ashkii Newton
Greetings from Slab City – By Dusty P. Greenhaus
A NEW BEGINNING – By Hal Bogotch
Mind Your Mind – By Ronald McKinley
“Abstractions on a Reoccurring Theme” – By Miles Krumpak
Poleece in Veneece – By Moishe Shmendrick
Roger Houston
————————————————–
I know a woman

She did her time with
each new love of her life –
two years with this one
one year with that
each one taking up valuable time
she could have used for herself
only when she was older
did she realize!
The one she needed to love the most
was herself
all along she’d been
de-luded, de-nuded, de-constructed
in the ways of the world
who had to be on top
who was the boss
it was never her
finally when she had nothing left to give
she decided to give at home –
to herself
all the love she had been giving out
she kept inside for herself
a miracle happened: she was happy
her will be done: at last.

– Mary Getlein
——————————————
SILENT BELLS

A thousand years and one summer.

Today…
The small wooden village church of my grandfather’s childhood,
Engraved and embellished with a vibrant history of a people,
Hidden behind rusting locks and angry steel beams,
Closed by government decree,
Condemned to the sound of silent bells.

Summer Sunday morning…
Pedestrians break the sanctioned stillness of Kiev,
Filing past the empty, cold market square
to the old woman’s house,
The criminals hide in her basement,
Men,
Women,
Children,
To pray before the makeshift altar,
Their tears calling on the spirit of Volodymyr the Great
to baptize a captive nation with passionate faith.

Celebrating the secret millennium.

They pray…
In basements,
In catacombs,
As churches stand garish museums of the spoiler’s culture,
The silent bells peal resonantly in their hearts.

– Lynette
—————————————–
BLACK BUDDHA IN A DARK ALLEY
“The jewel of no price which cannot be used up…
Its brilliance illuminates the Universe”
– Song of Enlightenment, The Zen Master Yoka Genkaku

I had dropped a can of Pepsi
in a Venice alley
They spray of soda shot up
Like the universe exploding
Boiling up into the cold sky
It was then I saw him
Black Buddha in a dark alley
He walked with stone solitude
Nothing held him
Homeless
His young face eroded
An ebony rock
The black night on his tongue
He picked up the Pepsi
And began to drink
“Would you like one that is NOT broken?”
I asked this broken man
(This unbroken man).
My voice was an empty echo
As the night rolled over my eyes
His voice: “Thank you, Ma’am,
Thank you, thank you,”
His stone face smiling
Into the alley resembling a dream
Turned the night sky, gold
And cut the raging rock of the world

– Philomene Long
——————————————-
I’ve known freedom ….yes I’ve known freedom…
I remember when the buffalos were plentiful….
Yes I’ve known freedom….
I TrueLy remember when the horses ran free….
Yes I’ve known freedom…
I remember when the two spirits were grounded to Mother Earth and loved…
Yes I’ve dreamed and envisioned the two spirits were reborn to lead the people…
Yes I’ve known freedom….

With all my prayers….Ashkii Newton
Full blood American Indian….
———————————————–
Greetings from Slab City

To me this is a strange time.
I am not looking to create a rhyme.
Would like to talk about my life,
turning 69 and not having a wife,
not living in Venice anymore,
now in places with no need to lock the door.
But reading the stories in the Beach Head,
with Pioneer no longer baking bread,
all alone and slowly getting old:
Hurry back to the Boardwalk before it’s SOLD.

– Dusty P. Greenhaus
————————————————–
A NEW BEGINNING
 
Jaws clenched.
One fist up in the air.
China doll on the fence.
Heart beat:  lub dub, lub dub.
 
Sound of rib bones
cracking, shattering.
Defiance to fill a galaxy.
Ripped underwear.
 
Desert tortoise
out on dry shoulder
of highway,
making time.  Can it all
 
come together?
I strip away
paint from the mask,
mask from the flesh,
 
flesh from the skull,
soul from the sticky lining
of God’s inner ear.
What has hardened,
 
calcified,
can only melt.
Light shines through
to night sky
 
as if through holes
in Orion’s belt.
Drink, at long last,
clear water.

— H A L B O G O T C H
———————————-
Mind Your Mind
By Ron McKinley

Why are we here now
Are we here to watch
Flowing with the befouling
Do you feel it
The sense of wrongness
When you think about it
Does something manifest
The taste that will not go away
Talk and talk and whisper and whisper
Your clothes don’t seem to fit
The integument has cracks
Light leaks thru sometimes
That feeling that tingle in your belly
That ripples across your fell
The connection that binds all things
We have been here before
Surveying the suffering and death
Mind your mind
Work for more than just money
Put fire back into your soul
More than just sex
That just doesn’t last
Waiting for the big sleep
Don’t forget to feel
Entangle with the Cosmos
Mind your mind
————————————-
“Abstractions on a Reoccurring Theme”
By Miles Krumpak

Everyone works but Me.
The concept simply unattractive
what is it that all these people see?
Why even leave the womb?
Heat, shelter, food, a place to sleep…
Men below rake leaves
the wind blows constantly from the trees
and Sisyphus smiles at great depths
knowing that one man is all man
and riddles are told just for fun.
The wind is extra strong today
much more than yesterday
and I suppose this is good for it beckons work
and work beckons man and his motorcycle
and his rake.
Oh there are so many things I can not understand!
And the thinking makes one go crazy
and perhaps envy the man, and the leaves
that fall. Gently…
—————————————–
Poleece in Veneece

Police police police in Venice!
Police pick on the homeless
kick the ass of the desperate & helpless.
They beat, hogtie mace & kill
the poor, minorities & mentally ill.
Our city leaders cry
we want to clean up the beach so let em die!
Police searches & sweeps
think they’re good guys but are creeps!
Prisoners & homeless have no say or vote
politicians want to ship em to Antarctica on a boat.
It’s so sad & tough
life is already cruel, cold & rough
being homeless & poor
without pigs lockin ya behind a jail door.
Jesus said to care for the sick & poor
businessmen & politicians won’t help the poor
they only want money, more & more.
Our police need to carry food & flowers
not guns arresting homeless at all hours.
We need love armies & police
the jailing, shootings & searches must cease.
A love police & love armies
giving out food & clothes to the poor & crazies.
We don’t need no more police brutality
give us food, shelter, jobs & hospitality!
Kindness & compassion is the way
to give us a brighter day.
Police police police in Venice!

– Moishe Shmendrick
——————————————
22:22 Sunday, February 22nd, 2015, Adullam, to George Washington and Edna St
Vincent-Millay ….. As good a time as any. Don’t you think? The rainy night
looks down. Gives me a wink. A rainy night in Hollywood. I guess. It’s Oscar
night. Academy. Regress. I tried. In vain. To find it. Televised. Oh well. It
got away. Was compromised. Of no concern. At this point. Let it go. The winners.
And the nominees. Don’t know. Why I felt curiosity. Down-sized. Obscurity. To
me. I have surmised. Fits snuggly on my shoulders. I digress. Those old familiar
spirits coalesce. Condensed into a raindrop. Down the sink. I’ll write them down
as fast as I can think (22:33) ….. Roger Houston, post-beat romantic

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