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

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