• Meditation on a Photograph of a Girl and a Dog – Hal Bogotch
• Dennis – Krista Schwimmer
• Black Buddha In A Dark Alley – Philomene Long
• Sing – S.A. Griffin
• living song – hillary kaye
• Dark Ages – Jim Smith
• hieros 19 – Marie Lecrivain
• My ode to Venice – Lola Shalom
————
Meditation on a Photograph
of a Girl and a Dog
By Hal Bogotch
Lucy wears a blue denim hat, the brim curled up
to reveal a sleepy brow, a tired paw, a weary nose.
The dog, fifteen years old,
is rarely seen in anything
besides a simple red collar.
Her graying snout on the hardwood floor
seems tolerant of the multiple affronts to her dignity:
the hat, the posing, the camera flash.
One sees in her dark canine eyes
how she has borne the arthritic pain,
the tugs on her ears and tail from a toddler girl,
the loss of her dexterous ability
to cavort and gambol on the leafedges of dreamtime grass.
The smiling girl, not quite three, radiates cognizance,
unbridled mischief,
effervescent love.
The red devil fire in her eyes
has pointedly NOT been converted
to the verisimilitudinous s k y b l u e
obtainable via Photoshop,
of the Adobe family of eminently licensable software products.
Her name is Annalisa. The off-white beret
listing perilously yet fashionably toward her left shoulder
belongs to her mother, Laura [not pictured].
Annalisa’s forearms and haunches help her achieve
a masterful approximation of a foxy Cheshire hound,
her youthful alertness in sharp contrast to the lassitude
of the salt-and-pepper spaniel/terrier
stage left of Annalisa.
The girl just wants to have fun.
The dog is a prop.
The hats are window dressing.
The girl’s smile is real,
as are her enviably blonde highlights.
The photographer is a wordy wordsmith,
more ironic than laconic.
He’s Annalisa’s dad.
———–
Dennis
By Krista Schwimmer
He likes to stand
on the corner
of Westbourne & Melrose
& play
the shakuhachi flute
at night,
an instrument he made
himself.
He is a gaunt man
with deep eyes,
a knapsack,
& sinewy legs
from biking on
the streets of L.A.
Some nights
i hear his music
through my door’s grate –
ghostly notes
that stretch out
the night air.
Once, he touched
my wrist
& i felt a fire
blast from his fingertips.
It is easy
to see
he is a man
who has seen
too much
who has felt
too much
who cannot
make peace
with the horrors.
Oddly, i envy him
tonight.
He is a warrior
who greets
his enemy
on a daily basis
with only
his shakuhachi flute
to guard
his questioning heart.
————-
Black Buddha In A Dark Alley
By Philomene Long
“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
The 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 stony 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
————
Sing
By S.A. Griffin
harvest the wind in your hair
catch the sun in your hands
collect stars in curious
nets of wonder
call eternity collect
leave a message after
the sound of
children’s laughter that goes
beep in the night
invest future calendars in your
wildest dreams and then tame the
universities of hate with a
toothless chain saw
put red shoes on the blues and dance
talk to trees
plant forgiveness
give somebody your
heart’s address
————–
living song
By hillary kaye
I am so glad
I didn’t buy
the boat
the place
the chair
all things
I would grow in time
to hate
all things
that would
suffocate the air
the turning
the turning
the turning
of the
universe
is with me
and its work
an effort for
my soul
the springs of time
sing out a
tune
a dancing
beating
living
song.
————
Dark Ages
By Jim Smith
Have the Dark Ages come again?
Are we slipping, slipping
back down the slope?
Will we never lose the mud on our feet
and rise above the clouds?
We no longer go to the moon.
The architects have lost their way.
Children envy their parents wealth.
Lost ones wander the land
not knowing who they are
or where they belong.
Hunger is loose on the world
and peace, a forgotten memory.
Mother Earth is poised to take her revenge.
Will death, destruction and despair
overwhelm this thin veneer
and send billions tumbling into the past
Are we never to stand
on a high plateau?
And look down across the ages
of war, of suffering, of confusion,
before walking forward to civilization.
————-
hieros 19
By Marie Lecrivain
a constellation of scarlet drops
scattered
across the concrete
leads to a trail
of faded crimson footprints
that disappear into
an almost virgin wilderness
of sage, cacti,
and a lone water tower
all that remain
are signs
of the latest
attempt to
massacre and revive
a demi-god
who willingly delivered
himself
into the hands
of an internal
demagogue
who perpetually
chants the same
bittersweet
incantation:
come…
there is no god where you are
arise…
because
and awake…
where you are these will never be
viewed through
blood encrusted eyes
the blazing disk of
the Moon
might be perceived
as the Sun
but the sharpened edge
of a lunar dagger
penetrating
the shadows of
an endarkened,
isolated mind
will reveal the truth
of never-endings
that bind him
to the dust.
————
My ode to Venice
By Lola Shalom
I am a sinner.
I b I broke the 10 commandants.
I d I do not love my neighbor
H His name is Privilege.
T Three generations of Golf Course Signs
Screaming in indelible ink.
No Jews Allowed,
No blacks allowed
No, Mexicans allowed
Unless you can clean my toilet bowl.
A Platinum spoon baby Tarnishing from the inside.
No polish will shine his greedy soul.
Thank God, I do not live in his spoon.
Bully Buddy Boys in Tandem Tow.
Following orders Gestapo style, Hammering foreclosure
Voting to abolish rent control.
Bullies do not play solitaire.
Justification of the modification of the renovation.
Mutilation Crusification
Destroying Antiquity for Gentrification.
Pinkberry is here. Starbucks is coming.
All In the name of “In God We Trust”
I want my Venice back.!
Immigrants pushing baby carriages.
Wet nurses back in style.
Privilege does not know please and thank you.
Privilege knows take and take.
Privilege does not wait in welfare lines
Swindling the system just to survive.
Throwing Bottles in the trash way down low.
Poverty digs deep just to survive.
Will you please put the bottles aside?!
I am a pissed off Pussy today meow meow.
My bowl is empty and my milk is dry.
Privilege is blind, Privilege is blind.
Categories: Poetry
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