Poetry
• Distant Sun - Hillary
Kaye
• Winter Waves - Shanna
Baldwin-Moore
• Road Poets - Bill
Fleeman
• To My Wife Natasha - Terence
Pearce
• dog park priorities - Rex
Butters
• Year 2004 Resolution - Ali
Hebshi
• The Flame -
Miranda
• Venice is free - Kurt
Max
Distant
Sun
by Hillary
Kaye
They try to stop
me
but they
can't
my legs are made of
feathers
and my heart is big like the
moon
The stars are my
home.
and the clouds are the way I
travel.
The distant sun keeps me warm as I
follow it.
I enter a paradise that can not be
paid for and
these things they want to take
from me but can't.
Winter
Waves
Sunshine
Blue
skies
Winter waves
crashing
washing the lava
leaving
a vision of white
water
like snow of long
ago
Salty air taste of wind
whispering
songs from across the
ocean
across the
planet
sand kicked up from the rover
“Spirit”
from a crater on
Mars
footprints of
joy
across the sands of
time
this Universe of
Verse
I am
humbled......
Shanna
Baldwin-Moore.
January
2004
************
Road
Poets
first road poet,
first
drunk poet too,
maybe,
also first rant poet,
was
li
po.
then came old walt,
19th
century poet
pacifist
kicking up dust
down
dirt road
america.
scraggly beard
baggy
pants holes in his
shoes—
what a
sight!
then came
kerouac,
lurching on &
off
the road. wrote
a
million words, he
said,
before his first
bleeker
bar legal
drink.
micheline, another
jack,
brooklyn bred like
walt,
hitchhiked all the way
to
isreal, partying
the
waters of the red
sea.
jumped into the arms
of
the Muse from a
west
coast commuter
train,
neal cassady along
lonely
railroad
tracks.
ginsberg quietly in
bed.
–Bill
Fleeman
***********
To
My Wife Natasha
By Terence
Pearce
A certain line of the
cheek, the pillar of the neck
All
delicacy; and above, the crucible of thought,
the invisible, the inexplicable
running like
quicksilver,
turning with massive implacability in the fallow
darkness;
The hind before she
springs, with the forest in her
gaze,
The willow curtsying , gentle in
her river-strength
Caressing the
black earth with her hair,
The
gold in the gleam of the wheat.
The
geometry of the soul is lucent and ineffable
but words are the smaller part of language;
She is mute, standing quite still, studying something in her
hand
and out of this clay she is shaping
the
divine......
**********
dog
park priorities
13 bright
spotless
sun gleam aluminum
cans
at 30ft
intervals
each with new
yellow
painted
handled
shit
shovels
patio
chairs
folding chairs
tree shaded
benches
large cool
clean
water
bowls
for pampered
pooches
bulletin board
adverts
expensive
grooming
walkers
and
massage services
across the parking
lot
human beings with
nothing
lean into
dwindling
hot afternoon
shade
unemployed/unemployable
old
mildewed bedrolls
soiled packs of nutty
junk
dirty/hairy
panhandle
a cool moment’s
rest from
life
before they’re chased into the
sun
or arrested for their crime
of
poverty
maybe
if
they wore collars
ate out of
bowls
on the
ground
the plush puppy
parents
might
throw
them a bone
–Rex Butters,
Westminster
Ave.
************
Year
2004
Resolution
Here
we are, A new Year
What about the vanished
year
How many
tears
Were shed for the
victims
Of
oppression
Of
occupation
Of
WAR
“infinite war” they call
it
How many times we stood by
them
A
war,
For
whom?
Against
whom?
For the capitalists and
Capitalism
Maybe
The
final phase of barbarism!
?
Against
Iraqis,
Afghanis
The
Palestinians
O' yes,
Columbians,
Nicaraguans,
Cubans,
Indians,
Africans
The
toiling poor
Children, women and
men
Against nature
The oceans and
seas
The
streams
The rivers,
lakes
Aquifers
too
The
trees
The
skies
The
earth
Life
itself
It’s an infinite war, no
less
Has to
encounter
The drive for
peace
For
justice
For
democracy
For
life
Is an awesome
force
Cannot be
conquered
It’s the
engine
Driving life
forward
Against
destruction
Against
death
Death
Dictated
by market forces
Lest there
be
Life
Spread
further
Claiming
Sharing
The
wealth.
This is the force of
The
people
Organized
United
Visionary
Everywhere
Loudly
saying
Roaring
Another
world IS possible!!!
For us and for
nature.
–Ali Hebshi, jan.
2004
*************
The
Flame
by
Miranda
Where did the flame that once
glowed so deeply in my soul go?
The one that
made my eyes shine like sparkling, vintage
wine
reflecting the hope each tomorrow would
bring.
The tide of curiosity directing
me as I walked the path of life’s
journey.
The excitement within myself as I
turned every corner life had to offer.
Never
looking back as I crossed each bridge in front of
me.
Never faltering in my steps, driven by
the sensation of faith for what lies in
the
past I could not undo.
But learned from each
new step that I took.
My life has not
been in vain for I have so many self-dimensions still to
explore.
Feeling
the sensation of the flicker in my heart that keeps me connected to
my body and
spirit.
Where did the flame go so embedded in
my soul?
That makes my eyes bright that
reflect my inner-core.
From an ember it grew
filling my soul with passion as my life
unfolds.
***********
Venice
is free
Venice is
me
Since 1964 I have called you
home
My, how you have
grown
I
can't say I'm happy with all the
changes
Strange days and
rearranges
Trams
and canal festivals and concerts in the
pavilion
It doesn't seem like 40 years have
gone by
It seems more like like a
million
I waved as Bobby Kennedy rode down
Venice Blvd.
He was gone a week later, the
world was
scarred.
Peace
and Freedom
Freedom and
Peace
I heard Anna Haag
died
That I knew her, gave me
pride
Hail
Hail Rock & Roll
From the Doors to ST to
Jane's
I blew mind so many
times
I'm surprised anything
remains
Before
disco and before the
roller-skates
Before crack cocaine and
Ballona Creak debates
There was a little
haven at the edge of LA
Where free spirits
come out to
play
Venice,
yes, you've changed...alot
There's not
denying that
But the sun still shines, the
winds still blow
there's some who remember,
some who
know
I
can't forget the beautiful new blood that fills your
streets
From Washington all the way north to
Marine
There's a light in peoples
eyes
A smile so
serene
We
can't give up and moan for the good old
days
It's up to us to carry in our
hearts
Peace and freedom and
love
Not become bitter, cynical old
farts
Wink,
wink
Shaka
Nana
–Kurt
Max, January 20, 2004
Posted: Sun - February 1, 2004 at 06:14 PM