By Francisco Letelier

It begins and we don’t feel it.
like the shaping of stone by water
Immersed in its touch
we do not feel its heat
until it is part of skin, part of breath
Touched
we dance around the block
touched, someone raises a voice
words never heard before
knock down heroes
and revolutions
We look down at limbs
that walk in places never walked before
the kingdom of books and words lost behind a trail
scrambled and cleared through brush, though emptiness
invisible and sweet
touched we see the world again

Rarely in the city
Does night fall
Into ebony darknesses

Unperturbed by any falseness

or Simulation of light

But when allowed, authentic night
Weaves radiances summoned from the sacred

Into wondrous manifestations
To those willing to venture into it.

This night then
Stirs ions within distant storm-clouds
To flashes of lightning, not as
Bolt brilliances that
Crackle the heavens into partings
But as mists of subtle glow….
Veils of pearl radiances
In a cadence of beat danced by the universe’s breathing.

This night,
The supreme mistress of illumination is at work

To clarify hopes and dreams
As well as their obstacles
To those souls in search of destinations

To illuminate earth bound possibilities

Beyond the lava rock reef,
The ocean folds and unfurls
As fluffed seams of neon

Extended linear phosphorescences
The creation of ecstatic horizon harbors

Or as another path….

Starshine
Not puny pinpricks
But insistences of gleaming Large orbs of beam
To guide wandering souls Into flight toward infinities

Whatever the choice,
One’s soul will be awoken with thrill

Sleep is not possible this night.

© Laura Shepard Townsend

And The Poor & Unknown

(This really happened, without the rhymes)

The Venice Boardwalk was horrible

A nut drove a car over people

It was terrible –
A rich European bride of royalty

Was killed

Blood was spilled – Reporters the world over

Filled the boardwalk
& asked me to talk –
Did I see the blood & gore?

Tell us more, tell us more?

I replied,

I’m sorry the rich royal bride died
But you’re only reporting the Venice
Dark side
There’s also a bright, sunny side –
Over there is Millie the angel of Venice
She feeds the homeless and poor.
The reporters whined,
No, no we don’t want to hear about the poor.

What about the royal lady
And the blood and gore?
Tell us more, tell us more?
I said, everyday Millie feeds the sick & hungry.

Maybe to you it’s no big deal –
But to many it’s their only meal.
She may not be rich royalty
But saving lives makes her soul rich and saintly…

The reporters frowned, thinking I’m a bore
& asked someone else,
Did you see the blood & gore?
Tell us more, tell us more?

– Marty Liboff
Written soon after the tragedy.

—————————————————

The Fulfiller of Expectations