• Poem for the Poets – Shanna Baldwin
• Possession – krista schwimmer
• Blessed – Rex Butters
• A Soldier’s Prayer – Mark Lipman
• Del Taco #57 – RF Wagner, Jr.
• The Ravings of People – Jim Smith
• Secrets to the Moon – Hillary Kaye
• Venice Eco-Fest – Panos Douvos
• IOU, All – Tina Catalina Corcoran
———–
Poem for the Poets,
Stuart, Jimmy, John, Bill and Tony
July 1961
Out of the abyss
a cry of another
in the shape of a kiss That poet my brother
the seagull sounds of Venice
like rusty swings
In an long forgotten empty playground
the swift shadows
silently grow
and fade into shade
And the Lady wears black
So the blood wont show
I wore red.. so no one
would notice
My Eyes.
– Shanna Baldwin
———–
Possession
About spirits
most mediums really
know nothing. One woman
i met claims to contact
every dead person she agrees
to contact. 100% of the time,
she says grinning, her long, blonde hair
static against her royal blue dress.
So easy, it seems.
i know the lies.
i know that the spirits
who come around
who will not leave
are still hungry for it all –
smell of burnt toast
taste of lover’s tongue
cool dip
in a twilight lake –
hungry, hungry for it all.
i know these spirits
stop at nothing
to possess a moment in life,
or rarely stand so
far away & speak mere platitudes.
Don’t open
the floodgates.
Spirits moan there
waiting for redemption. Moan there
to reclaim their lives.
That medium is too calm
too certain. She has
no idea. She has never
crossed into the Abyss.
Or, perhaps, she resides there
herself.
– krista schwimmer
———–
Blessed
for Erin
just back
from the Burma/Thai
border
shaking her head
her pen pal children
victims of cyclone and repressive regimes
fill refugee camps
no food
no clean water
no dry place to sleep
but here
in 21st century SoCal
Malibu
Topanga
Santa Monica
we bicker about
fat mattresses
and golden toilet seats
stuck on more
and never enough
majoring in minors
fighting for footnotes
shallow
hollow
ungrateful
shaking her head
her pen pal children
starve
families lost
homeless
like so many
in New Orleans
LA
the tornado torn and flooded
midwest
Galveston
while sun shaded comfortable
bored and despairing
vultures grow fat
tearing up their dead
blessings
-Rex Butters
———-
A Soldier’s Prayer
By Mark Lipman
Dear Lord, God above us all, bless me on this day,
For I go into battle, to slay Your enemies,
Hallowed be thy name.
May You bless my rifle and the bullets that it carries,
May they all strike their targets, be it man, woman or child,
For this I solemnly do pray.
May our cruise missiles blow to smithereens,
All their hospitals, homes and temples.
Thy hated ones shall be left with no refuge.
Glory unto You, oh Lord.
Through Your supreme wisdom, I pray that You give council to our President,
The bearer of Your will here on earth,
And guide him to letting us Napalm villages again.
May our cluster bombs maim and kill the last of their children
And may the milk flow red from their mothers’ breasts,
In Your infinite mercy.
And for our loved ones back home,
I pray that they may remain blind,
At least until after the next election cycle.
Oh Lord, as You are a loving and caring God,
I humbly ask this of You, upon my knees,
Not to let our enemies burn the oil fields.
In Your name, I do ask that this may be a most successful and holy crusade.
Amen.
———–
Del Taco #57, Lincoln Blvd., Venice…Reminded of the Alamo, am I./ Surrounded by the thousands, doomed to die,/ impaled on bayonets, by bullets, torn./ Run through with sabers; worse, to fee the scorn/ of affluence in judgment of my soul/ and others just like me. They’ve dug a hole/ in which we might be buried. Seems to me/ resistance is but gross futility/ for those of us who watch the mighty pull/ of economic juggernauts who call/ the shots this time. It seems that I was born/ to go down fighting. Watch the pages turn/ on history. The dollar bills imply/ that money hast the last word. Time to fly…………20:15 Saturday, September 13, 2008, Del Taco #57, Lincoln Blvd., Venice…Don’t call me homeless, rambler though I am,/ I’m just an honest gypsy, always game/ to leave when I’m not wanted, just one step/ ahead of litigation. I am hip/ to efforts to eradicate my kind./ Those blatant bastards surely think we’re blind./ Well, dig this, brother, go ahead and hate,/ with knights, bishops and rooks, form your checkmate./ Drive me into oblivion; don’t mind./ This drama’s getting boring. Let me find/ the mirrored words reflecting how your trip/ reveals the pig inside you. I am hep/ to moments, timely exits, and I claim/ no power-of-attorney: just my name.
-RF Wagner, Jr.
———–
The Ravings of People
By Jim Smith
All day, all night
week in, week out
The Ravings of people
about the games people play,
and about the people who play games
sad to say, amount to so little
but they keep the sound going
The sound that keeps us safe
from the void.
———-
Secrets to the Moon
by Hillary Kaye
Does the world understand its sadness?
Does the force of time care about such things?
Is the sun longing to explode?
the moon waiting to melt?
the tides do they hunger
for stillness?
Is the river weeping?
the earth tossing and turning?
are the clouds telling a story?
are the stars dreaming?
is music the first word ?
is loss a metaphor ?
and what for?
is pain beyond pleasure?
Will the rocks show us how to endure?
———-
VENICE ECO-FEST
By Panos Douvos ‘08
Three-ring Venice green-circus
Blossoms Windward by-the-sea as majic
pot-luck variety show fronts
the grassy-knoll lolling Venetians
Eco-fest eco-sexy say scribes
Lanky crane-like models stride
crane-like in rapid prance
with frown-brows of concentration
shown hemp and bamboo skin
Flamencas in gradations of form and function
swirl in unified possible exactitude
castanet-clacks unclacked
star Flamenca takes solo
Anxious band grabs 50 minute gig
poets 10 alternating inanity
nature poet right-now bombarded
by rabid-fire drum attack
he stops midsyllable yell-rages
give the kid a break dammit
maybe next year
maybe not
———–
IOU, ALL
By Tina Catalina Corcoran
I am One, Lucky Lady.
And, I owe it ALL to YOU!
You gave me INSPIRATION
When – I didn’t know what to do.
So – From One Lucky Lady
Please accept my I O U
You picked me up when I was down
Dear,
Just – By being you!
You are my INSPIRATION
You are my FANTASY
You are my KNIGHT-in-SHINING ARMOR
You’re my SYMPHONY
So – From one Lucky Lady
Please accept my IO U
And, if your “Lady Luck” runs out
Dear,
Here, I am, for YOU!
Categories: Poetry
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