March On

 

 

Millions march on Washington

taking buses buses and airplanes

Those who didn’t have the means

organized marches in their own backyard

From San Francisco to Oakland to Boston

In every state of the union

 

What are you marching for?

 

First time marchers

Veteran marchers

Women Men

boys girls

Pregnant mothers

Lesbian Gay

Bi Transgender

toddlers infants

Dogs and I wouldn’t be surprised, if a parrot or

two made an appearance perched on the shoulder

of a weathered activist

 

What are you marching for?

 

Some felt the scourge

of an ill-fitted president

Twitter

fly away hair & orange face

build a wall

take away our rights to healthcare

 

What are you marching for?

 

Indigenous people

long scarred

lost land

lost gravesites

lost identity

Segregated to be removed from site

But enough is enough

Now they want our water too?!

Follow the trail of tears

 

What are you marching for?

 

Planned Parenthood

My body is mine

You have no right

I determine my future

Another woman believes it is wrong

Sacrificing one life for the other

I may not believe in abortion

But I believe in your right to choose

 

What are you marching for?

 

You say I can’t marry

the love of my life

Committed to stand the test of time

Ministers of love

Commemorate our union

We want a legal bond

We want to be a family

 

What are you marching for?

 

No justice on the streets

leaves much to be desired

decades old strife

Guns face men women boys

taking their life

Who pays the price?

Black Lives Matter

All lives matter for you and me

 

What are we marching for?

 

Inclusion participation

reconciliation justification

decision resolution

gestation sanctification

Striving for a unity of heart across a country

 

March On

 

 

~ March 3, 2017

 

 

Leticia Garcia Bradford

© March 2017

 

  

Love Letter For Leonard Peltier

In the Spirit of Crazy Horse

 

Feel the trembling of my heart

A continued voice heard in the wilderness

You have not been abandoned

You instill in the minds and hearts of the

People a hope of a better day

The earth shall rise again

Upon the footsteps of our heirs of birth

The mountains sing in our minds and ears

A joy of never ending new beginnings

Within a hand’s grasp

Muttering the words of worship

Sputtering the flame of the anointed

Calling to flesh and bone

Delivering in an unknown force

Only found in the sailing breeze

Moving towards the center that cannot hold

All the blessings rained down from heaven

Falling within reach

Bones rattling again

Clean of woes

Clean of death

 

~Doksha

  

 

Leticia Garcia Bradford

© January, 2018

 

 

ODE To Standing Rock, December 4, 2016

 

Rights to Water

The emphasis of life

What’s ours is yours

But not if you poison us

 

A nation of natives

Joined by a tribe of

Socially Conscientious Citizens

Guarding an indigenous people

 

Veterans gather from as

faraway as Hawaii

Water Rights Matter

Not just for the Sioux

 

A time of enough is enough

We want peace

We want a resolution

To protect our children’s children’s children

 

We sleep in peace tonight

Our collective voices have been Heard

 

 

Leticia Garcia Bradford

© December 2016

 

Leticia Garcia Bradford is a poet, playwright and publisher. In 2014 she founded B Street Writers Collective (BSWC), Hayward, CA- a community of writers both amateur and professional. Her poems and stories have been published in local and national journals. She edited BSWC’s anthology FLY WITH ME which she is, also, the publisher for MoonShine Star Co. BSWC’s new anthology WHAT IS LOVE debuted this spring. In 2017, Leticia toured around the entire SF Bay Area with her poetry and stories at open mics and readings featuring in San Francisco numerous times. Check out her blogs: MY NEW ADVENTURE, living without a place to call home at leticiagarciabradford.blogspot.com, and LETICIA’S BLOG at lgbradford.blogspot.com has her poems and other stories. Leticia’s website: bradford-productions.com

COVERED WITH LIGHT

Covered with light,

the fish swim to the moon.

They bathe in light,

They slip inside head to tail.

The skies at night

are like the sea and there

is a ship shaped cloud

like a six-stringed guitar.

The mermaids swim

on an invisible

stairway to the sky.

The waves in the sky

are choppier than at sea

level and darkness falls.

 

FLOATING

Floating in the sky
after several margaritas

I imagine I am flying
with angels.
The moon laughs at me.
I waved my hands
and put the moon
in its place
with my rosy cheeks
and my halo gifted by angels.

Floating in the sky
after several margaritas

I imagine overlooking
vast fields
where men and women toil
to put food on the table.
I come down to earth
and prepare for work.

No more floating
and no more margaritas tomorrow.

 

LONELY CLOUD

The lonely cloud at twilight
does not change form. It
disappears. With my eyes
I cannot see it and it is okay.

The lamp of a moon shines
its light at the lonely cloud
late in the evening and still

the solitary cloud does not

change in form. I go to sleep
and in the morning the cloud
is gone. My eyes search for
it. The cloud disappeared.

It was taken by the wind.

The sky could not harbor it.
My eyes wept in the shining sun.
I was not mourning for the cloud.

The Whale in the Sky

To live in a world where

the pale pearl of a cloud might

be filled with the shadow presence

of a whale,

 

swimming through the sky,

rising and falling in massive

flight, spouting cumulus from a cavern

mounted on its considerable frame,

 

and meanwhile, on the earth below,

only beautiful animals, no more slithering

creatures tapered at one end and filed

like knives on the other tip,

 

ready to cut us down, undulating

threats moving with soiled gleam.

Continue reading →

Paradise

Before you, I was nothing but a sinner who wanted to be a bird’s feather to rest my journey by the gate of heaven

With you, I am a different man who will be a dove to fly out of the universe all the way inside the world of paradise

What Will Remain

What will remain of me today or the next coming year, will it be worth a bird’s feather

The only grief in my bloodroot is the sad song of nightingales like a wedding with a mother in a picture frame

In this life I could live foolishly and lost in problems with a place in darkness to weep till I die

The tattooist of previous wars asked me about my homeland I told him that I was sold to the land of happiness

With a friend who broke my trust, a woman who died before loving me, And parents who denied my existence

What will remain of me, not an expensive pen, but an unreadable diary of the depths of my soul

The Silent Lake

Sitting in the front of the silent lake, with a wind blowing the tree branches, to hear the voiceless conversation ‘tween the leaves and the flying birds

the lake is shining like my tears in the night reflecting the light of the hanging stars with the moon watching my grieves covering my woman from the heat of my nerves

The wine I drink on my own will never wipe my yearnings from the scent of yours, the smile of yours, and the silky body of yours sliding above my flesh in the times where I was reaching over your lips

Life is wonderful because of you, standing in a white dress, with unbuttoned buttons unzipped zipper in the back, waiting on the sunset to unwrap you for a beautiful memory with no end, but a little sleep next to your long hair

Tears of The Sad Stars

The other day; I wore my Victorian suit and I poured myself a cup of English tea. As I take my first sip, I saw a giant Viking ship, sinking quickly. In seconds everything was calm as if nothing happened but a flying

dragon was eating the cold moon. Meanwhile the cookie monster was eating the cookies of the kids who died in the Viking ship my cup was not filled with tea instead it was filled with tears of the sad stars

–

Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad on May 8th. From Iraq, he came to Canada at the age of 10, the same age when he wrote his very first poem back in the year 2000. He also has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world. And he currently studies Political Science at Concordia University in Montreal. He recently has published two chapbooks “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline” through Alien Buddha Press. They are available for sale on Amazon. Many of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook. 

The Dreams and The Keepsakes

 

“Unrequited love is a poignant state of heartbreak, with no remedy. But it is a heartbreak mirrored in the very intimate and necessary art of being able to see, to appreciate and to come to love our selves. A blessing then, for unrequited love.” -David Whyte

 

I dreamt I was a cosmic canopy
for your night terrors
soak up the sweat
with warm towels
lay the boards down just right
so that nothing unwanted gets in
haul the tarpaulin over the wood
in winter, keep the home fires burning
and a small square of light
outside your bedroom door

I wouldn’t need to know what you’re thinking
every minute of every hour
the wind through the poplars
would be enough
and you down the hall
writing your memoir
tearing paper and starting from scratch

 

dreamt I was deep-water coral
you were light cast into dark
unwavering, beautiful,
inside and out

I’d live at the bottom of any mountain you’re on
you’d never even have to come down for me
I’d send my prayers up to you
one by one
tied to the foot of a crow

be still, oh, be still here
when I wake

I pray.

Continue reading →

The Immortal Pumpkin

Pumpkins large and small, orange and green

Lie in the fields under brown and gray leaves.

The eyes of the pumpkin watch.

Halloween, Halloween.  

Their green stems eye the pleasure of those dressed. 

Witches, ghosts, young and old celebrate the Eve.

They look for signs of spirits and some feel their presence. 

The Immortal Pumpkin knows.

He has grown in the fields.

Watched the celebrators in search of eternal life.

Some feel the signs of the ghosts, evil devils and loving angels.

The pumpkin knows.

The pumpkins watch.