1. A Lost Poet
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I stood on my hills
To watch the flow of others.
I see for the blind
But lost vision
To my inner sight.
.
Like soap,
In order to make clean
The dirt of others,
I dwindle in the act.
.
I have lost my voice
In the sacrificial
Struggle
To make theirs sound louder.
.
My identity has been compromised.
My being… theirs.
My fears
Strength, hope
And dreams
Became entangled in theirs.
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Who’ll sing for me?
Who’ll cry mine tears
While I’m busy crying for others?
Who’ll travel my journeys
And befriend my lone hours?
.
Who’ll cater for my sorrow,
Keep my sadness
And fears company?
Who’ll fight for me
And stand for me
While standing with me?
.
-Siraj A Sabuke
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Monthly Archives: September 2015
Poetry from Michael Robinson
Dark Days
(Inspired by Nikki Giovanni)
I sit in my prison cell,
My first date with a prostitute was my last day of freedom,
Dreaming when my world was alive,
Now I’m in a 6×8 room with a toilet and sink,
I have been here the last 20 years wishing to see my mother,
One more time before she goes to heaven,
While I sit in this cell with a toilet and sink.
Choices
(Inspired Nikki Giovanni)
For Vincenza Antonetta
I had no choice to not be put away in that mental hospital,
With its padded rooms and five-point restraints.
I had no choice to not go insane with those memories of rape and incest and killings.
No, I had no choice to escape from my past.
No choice from receiving those anti-depressants and shock treatments
Cameras watch me 24/7
Nurses wearing those white dresses and white hats and stockings,
There was no choice for me not to go insane—
As I count the pads in the ceiling.
Poetry from Bea Garth
The Wind Storms Outside
Your curtains billow gleaming slightly of gold as we talk of forests and seas, two adventurers laughing at our twists and turns marveling at these gifts we’ve won wrestled from our respective Gorgons both of us rushing to speak of the edge of land and water almost making love to it wild like this wind and then just as quickly, soft and sensuous bejeweled by the stars and moon.Meanwhile the beach lies before us, pregnant, frothed by the ocean’s hiss while the sky begins to shift, letting through the sun’s last strands. Soon the wind subsides as we get up
shake hands and go our separate ways.
Low Tide
If life were simpler
I wouldn’t keep dreaming of you
and how the ocean wind
whipped our ears and blew our coats
as we searched for shells,
I wouldn’t remember huddling with you
feeling our passions rise
despite the wind, despite the ocean’s hiss.
If life were simpler
I wouldn’t need to imagine you
finding limpets and bleached olive shells
at low tide.
Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope
Poetry from Neila Mezynski
Schools out
She asked them if school is out tomorrow, he said no today in his dressed up pants, she did a little hop jump like that.
Neila Mezynski
Bio: Neila Mezynski is author of 6 books: 2 from Scrambler Books and Deadly Chap Press and 1 from Folded Word Press and Nap; 2 echapbooks and 3 pamphlets.
Poetry from Tony Longshanks LeTigre
Essay from Joan Beebe