Poetry

Poetry

For Juan Carlos – Della Franco
u deserve 2 fight 4 U – bETO
I Rejoice – When I Hear Your Voice – Tina Catalina Corcoran
me & d – Rex Butters
The Price of Doing Business – Mark Lipman
Love Chat – Eric Ahlberg
Roger Houston
Shopping Card Lady – Steve Goldman
———————————————-
For Juan Carlos

“Transient found dead”.
That is what the papers say.
Well known transient
found on the side of the road.
He was found in Malibu, on the beach,
they found him alone.

They dont know how he died.
They dont know where he died.
The tide had carried him and left him on the rocks.
The sand and water had become his grave.

But what the papers should have said was
“Venice Beach local found dead”.
What the papers should have said was
“Well known Artist was found dead”.
He was not just a transient with no name.

He was born in Costa Rica but for more than 20 years
the streets of Venice had become his home.
He earned his living selling art on the boardwalk.
Using disgarded coke and pepsie cans
he created recycled tin aeroplanes all made by hand.
They were spectacular.
They were original.
They were one of a kind.

I wonder how many people across the globe
have one of his aeroplanes somewhere in their home?
How many have been given as a gift of love?
or as a distraction for a kid as a toy for fun?
How many are just a symbol, a souvenir
An airoplane memory for something special that occurred..
A tin can treasure they will be kept forever
made by a man in the sand from the streets of Venice.

He was not just a transient
found dead with no name.
He was an artist
and a free spirit.
His name was Juan Carlos
and he was our friend.

– Della Franco
———————————————————
u deserve 2                  
*2 fight 4 U                                                      

All lives matter                
*All lives matter  
Setting our clocks                        
back 60 years
The grave with Martin
is filling with tears.         

Behind locked doors    
we’re huddling in fear.                        
*accidentally discharged 
8 bullets in the chest
Even lady liberty’s gasping        
“can’t find my breath!”

Greedy politicians are
just lying clowns  
calling out the police
to keep us down.
This Is How We Shoot Back: 

I hear our brother crying
“I can’t breathe”
our sister crying
“I can’t breathe”
our fathers our sons crying
“I can’t breathe”
our mothers our daughter    
“I can’t breathe”               
we’re all being choked 
by political gun-smoke
“and we can’t breathe”
till all people breathe-free.      
*from my voice to god’s ear 

Television people are
just lying clowns  
Calling out the police
to keep us down.
***Me Mata, me Mata.
Me Mata, me Mata.

they say
*We have d’right to be killed                
please don’t shoot
Us – murdered by policeman
please don’t shoot
When the laws break in, 
please don’t shoot
will we be lying on d’streets
crying “please don’t shoot”
 
hearing my brother crying “I can’t breathe”
I’m in the struggle now, I can’t leave
calling out the violence of racist Police
aint gonna stop (clap, clap) till people are free
We aint gonna stop (clap, clap) till all people are free  

**Enough/Enough/Enough!
My hands are up don’t shoot!
U washed your hands of us don’t shoot!
We are fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers
Please don’t shot! 

*is Rapping
**is Everyone
***Spanish for it hurts/kills me.

– bETO tREE sUN
——————————————–
I Rejoice – When I Hear Your Voice

I don’t need no G.P.S. to
lead me straight to YOU!
And, I don’t need No TWEET or TEXT to
tell me what to do!

Don’t send me No INSTAGRAMS or
SELFIES – from your phone –
Just, Call me… Call me… Call me…
When you’re all alone!

Don’t LIKE me on your FACEBOOK,
or Follow me on TWITTER!
I like your “face-to-face look” –
(Come) Follow me to the River.

Or, Meet me at THE BREWERY,
The Cafe, or THE BAR –
Just, Call me… Call me… Call me …
From ANYWHERE you are!

Your voice is my connection –
to your sweet perfection.
I close my eyes and realize
how close I am to YOU!

Your Voice, and your Vibrations –
are my inspirations.
Don’t ever think, some other link,
can move me like you do…

I don’t need no G.P.S.!
I got my ESP!
You got yours and I got mine –
That’s all we really need!

Tho, I like your PSYCHIC HUGS,
and PSYCHIC KISSES too…
I Rejoice – When I Hear Your Voice –
Just because it’s YOU!

Love,
Tina Catalina Corcoran
—————————————
me & d
By Rex Butters

Boulder bored
and claustrophobic
broken hearted crazy
dropped remorselessly hard
deafened by my heart’s gong 
rung hard
breathless and defeated
I answer the phone

she needs people in LA
no doubt poorly lit
doomed occult bookstore basement
poetry reading
Minuteman
d.boon
already booked on the bill
would I like to yell at people
in a small room?

1984 arrived
as predicted very few
noticed
the Minutemen
like Cerberus as Paul Revere
three headed herald hell hound
wake the sleeping villagers
wiry revolution rock

my music savvy roommate’s
Minutemen collection warmed
the house
I needed to flee

yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes  

warm 80’s LA
a free place to stay
a chance to hang with an old friend
and read with d.boon

Phoenix Bookstore
brick walled basement
flimsy folding chairs
some demon
trapped with signs
chains
and a big iron door
behind us

d.boon ain’t coming
called from the valley
his van broke down
the producer 
when she finds out
quick whisper chats
to a big guy
having a great time
in the front row

many people wearing black
many poems about
loss and despair
but the big guy
sorta sheepish
sorta sheep dog bangs
plain clothes baggy dressed
some weird glee
burning in his eyes
I recognized him
from a pre-Promenade
Santa Monica Mall bookstore
I haunted

he giddy grinning excited
a bear bounds out of his chair
unprepared 
spins around
bounces words off the walls
like tennis balls
no one too cool 
for a minute
go-pro on a bottle rocket ride
doesn’t have to steal the show
it’s his

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet d,”
she said
afterwards

“Forget it,”
I said
“Tell me again the name of that guy
you pulled out
of the audience”

“Scott Wannberg,”
she said,
“wasn’t he amazing?
He really saved my life tonight.
He just came for the show.
He had no idea
he was going on.”
————————————
The Price of Doing Business
By Mark Lipman
 
ATTENTION, Walmart Shoppers:
 
Somewhere …
… in  the swollen bowels
of some dank and dimly lit
offshore sweatshop …
 
maybe in China, or Vietnam, or Bangladesh …
the lights are being turned out
in a young girl’s eyes …
 
as she frantically stitches
her childhood away
one 12-hour shift at a time …
 
without sunlight
or bathroom breaks
or a proper education …
 
for pennies a day.
 
It’s just Good Business.
 
It helps the bottom line,
when there are no labor laws,
or health requirements,
or pesky regulations
to get in the way
of the profits.
 
Make sure you take advantage
of our 3 for 1 special today.
 
We’ve got Congressmen for sale on aisle six
and we do accept food stamps
but unions are strictly forbidden.
 
We can’t let little things,
like human rights
and national sovereignty
stand in the way of progress,
stand in the way of the corporation
being able to freely trade
your life away
for dirt.
 
There are cargo ships on the horizon
and dividends to be paid.
 
So don’t you worry about that fire,
or the factory that just collapsed
or that little girl turned to ash …
 
that’s just the price of doing business …
and we always guarantee the lowest prices …
because, we love … our customers.
———————————————-
Love Chat
By Eric Ahlberg

That’s what I want too, and you are quite lovely and delicious.   
Can we break all the rules?  
Oh you can’t break them all,
just the ones that chain the heart, 
just the ones that would keep the fool from the unknown.  
Could we put passion on the front burner, 
just to cook it up so fast,
before we can repeat a single story to each other?  
Then, can we find a patient way 
to where the waterfall of kindness will flow through us?
—————————————————————
00:00 Monday, March 23rd, 2015, Adullam, to the Crescent Moon & Venus & to
William & Catherine Blake ….. The night’s deep dark reserve seems limitless. I
feel a little silly. To confess. Part of the endless struggle to announce. The
obvious. Perhaps I should renounce. But night time is the season that will
yield. My further exploration. In the field. Prospecting for some glittering.
Laid bare. Promote investigation. I prepare. To brace myself for impact.
Reconciled. With mysteries. A mini-series. Filed. Oblivious. Yet conscious. I
pronounce. The ancient syllables. Perhaps denounce. But I go with the flow.
Perhaps digress. Attempt to measure the dark limitless ….. Roger Houston,
post-beat romantic
—————————————————————–
Shopping Cart Lady
By Steve Goldman

At eventide
The houselights of the world are dim in purple silver
The dried old woman of the street
Rolling ahead
Her home of woven steel
Croons to me in her madness

I sing back

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Categories: Poetry

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