Abbot Kinney’s Confession – by Jim Smith

Pink Cloud Poem – by Philomene Long

A Night in the Ruins – by John Thomas

Packaged by Me – by Ronald McKinley

Of Philomene Long – Kristine Mary Gloviak Ferry

Tuesday, March 26 – by Roger Houston

Water Fasting – by Majid Naficy

What I See – by Emily Wood

The Light – by Lynette


Abbot Kinney’s Confession

By Jim Smith

I never wanted to build a city

My partners cheated and left me a swamp

I would have given up

except for my little dove

She was walking on the beach

with a parasol in hand

I couldn’t pass her by

If I had I would begin to die

She greeted me and smiled

The sea gulls watched

from dunes piled high

as we sat upon the sand

She took my hand

and told me how she loved

the canals of old Venezia

and cried to be there now

As with Helen of Troy

A thousand dreams

Were launched that day

by Paloma of Venice

Sweeter than my Caporals,

more delicate than a dove

my Paloma gave her spirit and heart

to me and my new Venice.



I walk out on the beach —-

only one pink cloud

and it above my head –

low in the sky.

Such silence!

I raise my writing book

as if it is a chalice

and pen

for the cloud to give me

a poem

A soft rain fell.

The poem fell

onto the page –

Such silence!

— Philomene Long August 31, 2000



By John Thomas

Pen frozen in a fist

cold and slick as a stone.

Dark purple shapes

that boil and bloom

beneath closed eyelids.

Silver dreams, too sad

even for poetry.

Wretched, hungry poems.

Poems written for nothing

in small dark rooms.


Packaged By Me

By Ronald K. Mc Kinley

Do I exist because I say so

One moment flowing into another

Aware that I am aware

I can give my power to another

Give up my right to be me

To be lost is to let others define you

The image in others’ eyes is just an image

To be called a thing does not make you that thing

Unless you convert

Existence is more than what you think you perceive

Most connected to your senses

You can be fooled

Beware of people who think they know you

They will construct a model that is for their use

Stealing your power and ancestry

Live with others but think your thoughts

Feel what you feel

It is your music

You will discover You



By Kristine Mary Gloviak Ferry

Full moon over the


caught my Soul

Oh! My Soul!

A famous Venice Poet

Died this week

Steps below my feet

We both suffered

in heartache

She up there now

Me below

I caught her ageless

Youthful Glow

This I know. This I know!


22:50 Tuesday, March 26th, 2013, Adullam ….. Observatory Griffith; there, today. I gazed in the direction of the bay. My bold imagination had to stretch. A glimpse of the Pacific, tried to catch. I followed the contour of roads, gone west, Imagining a Venice in the mist. I stood beneath the Windward lettering. The breeze, come off the waves, made reckoning. The crowds upon the boardwalk, shadows cast, As countless, long-necked palms conveyed their trust. Then, realizing suddenly, that such were merely my mind’s tent stakes that I pitch. Content, was I, to know that, while away, The Venice that I love is here to stay ….. Roger Houston, homesick


Water Fasting

By Majid Naficy

“I am a mute dreamer and the world is deaf” Rumi

We are approaching midnight

Without a conversation or a shining eye

The dusty day has settled

The noise of the city has died down

And you are left alone in your bed

Your son is dreaming in the next room

And uttering words like a mute

Tomorrow he is going to a summer camp

And during his absence

You want to pick Rumi from the shelf

Hang down the pot and potlet

Blow out the flame on the stove

And waterfast for five days

Perhaps what you haven’t found in feeding

You will discover in emptiness

He has packed his knapsack

And placed it near the front door

His sneakers are shining in the dark

And you are asking yourself:

“What he is dreaming now?”


What I See

By Emily Wood

I once met a man in a white coat

and asked him

“Why do you believe what you believe?”

He paused for a moment

Looked around and replied

“If you must call it belief, I believe what I see.”

I once met a man in red robes

and asked him

“Why do you believe what you believe?”

He paused for a moment

Closed his eyes and replied

“If you must call it belief, I believe what I see.”

Now I stand here with you

and you ask me

“Why do you believe what you believe?”

I pause for a moment

Look in your eyes and reply

“If you must call it belief, I believe what I see.”


The Light

Fateful grey evening sky,

Trees, black silhouettes

rising from the parched soil like motionless messengers of doom,

A cloud of ominous silence sailing over the valley,

We wait.

It arrives,


Illuminating the vast darkness,

A thundering ball of billowing smoke and yellow flame

Consuming Time,

A spectacle of Science.

It spreads,

A bright veil singing the dry earth in its wake,

A violet wind of dust and wood splinters,


Rolling hungrily toward us.

Devoured by the strange golden blast,

Our faces charred black by the ashes,


we whisper loving words,

Intense heat melts our bodies together,


our spirits feed the conflagration.


Barren and poisoned countryside,

A city of rubber and choking ashes

decaying like a corpse in the Aftermath,

Our voices silenced forever by this day.

– Lynette

Categories: Poetry