- Discovering the Presence of Beauty – John Macker
- IOU, All – –Tina Catalina Corcoran
- Things I Wished I Had Said At The Talking Stick – Mary Getlein
- making love – –Harry E. Northup
- Spirit of Venice – Jim Smith
- The Fall of Troy ( for Troy Davis) – Mark Lipman
- Hip Replacement – Tim Weil
IOU, All
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 I O U And, if your “Lady Luck” runs out Dear, Here, I am, for YOU! Love, –Tina Catalina Corcoran —————————Things I Wished I Had Said At The Talking Stick
By Mary Getlein
For all the women that came before us and became artists – which was not allowed – Nothing was allowed – Actresses, prostitutes, mail-order brides, singers – all the women who dressed like men – and became PIRATES, SOLDIERS, SAILORS – all the women who became myths – who had snakes in their hair who were goddesses of death, of birth, (snakes snakes snakes – snakes contain wisdom) all the women who could talk to animals and understand … all the women who wrote poetry that no one ever saw (like Emily Dickenson! 1775 poems!) until they died all the artists who never sold a single painting until they were discovered years and years after they died all that creativity – LOCKED UP in a mental hospital LOCKED UP behind the meds Oh-my-god-she thinks she’s an artist?, an actress?, a poet?, a painter? Who does she think she is? Well, she’s herself, you idiot! And who the hell are you – get a grip on your Oprah-watching self! Everyone gets a chance to re-tell her story you can go back and start over and say: Oh, yeah, poverty? Is that all? I’ve been poor my whole life – is that all? Fuck, as long as I can get my hands on some paint, what the hell do I care? I’ve invited myself to my own table. I’m going to sit at the “Welcome Table” and I’m going to drink with all my ancestors! —————————-making love
i sat on a bench faced the sun setting shielded my eyes 3 couples sat nearby 2 surfers walked from the water’s edge never looked back 1 surfer emerged stood his board up next to him watched the sun go down 8:05 p.m. you could feel the heat go before the sun was entirely gone i walked past the showers the bongo player was gone –Harry E. Northup——————————–
Spirit of Venice
By Jim Smith
The Spirit of Venice is NOT an army of occupation brutalizing the poor and homeless. The Spirit of Venice is NOT hate spewing out of the internet like waste water. The Spirit of Venice is NOT the slick, the sly, and the corrupt just thinking of making a buck. The Spirit of Venice cannot be bought, cannot be awarded, cannot be owned. The Spirit of Venice is NOT for sale. The Spirit of Venice is breaking the chains and flying free like the gulls, the crows, and yes, the little pigeons, too. The Spirit of Venice is a Black man and a white man, Irving and Abbot, walking through a swamp and dreaming it into a city. The Spirit of Venice is all of us becoming smarter, kinder, and more loving, day by day. The Spirit of Venice is learning the language of the sea and the slow rhythm of our world of sand and surf. The Spirit of Venice is alive in our musicians, our poets, our artists and rebels, and all who live by l’esprit.————————–
The Fall of Troy
for Troy Davis
By Mark Lipman
They followed a man who would later sacrifice his entire crew, so that he alone could return home safely. Still, they volunteered willingly, blinded by their own bloodlust for victory. In, they crammed their battle worn bodies, full of musk and blade, into those hollow crevices, those muscular niches of fallen timber that would fool every eye, but Cassandra’s.
Heaving, their unexpected victims pulled on the ropes of their doom, joyously dragging that dead horse through the gates, to the very doorstep of their homes, where their wives and children slept. This would be the last time their brows would feel the tender kiss goodnight.
A sacrifice must be made of innocent blood to temper a king’s rage. For all kings and politicians assert the right of divinity as their own, the power over life and death. With fixed concentration, the executioner glides his sharpening stone over the cutting edge, readying the assault of their governing authority.
At the stroke of midnight, while all are fast asleep, they pull the levers, unhitching the trap doors of insanity, making a nightmare of our dreams, hacking away at the black flesh of night, silencing our screams with the noble fist of their self-righteousness.
Sound the alarm! Alas too late. Troy is burning. Bound in chains, crushed and defeated, hung in the public square, the echo of injustice is deafening.
——————–
Hip Replacement
Swami X has left the Beachhead Has he left the public dais from the park bench heights where he was discoursed, admonished and exhorted to his fool’s court crowd, the Venizens of the Beach? Swami X needs a hip replacement?Lord Buckley, Lenny Bruce, Mort Sahl, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor (The Town Crier) Milton Berle (thief of bad gags) Jonathan Winters (Maude Fricket), Henny Youngman, Jackie Mason, Borscht Belt Barkers George Carlin and The Florida Marlins All need a hip replacement!
On walkers, on soap box, on sidewalks, on streets, help Swami X get back on his feet!
We Venizens of the Beach don’t want a hip replacement You Dig?
-Tim Weil
Categories: Poetry
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