Thursday, July 12, 2018

Being Friends by Joanna M Weston

BEING FRIENDS


the words we never say
bind us like a ribbon
that stretches across miles

those words unsaid
laughter that lights our days
or brims into tears

the love unspoken
that trips us both
bumps and moves on
into discoveries
at a table and walked
into memory




JOANNA M. WESTON. Married; has one cat, multiple spiders, raccoons,
a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Frame
and The McGuire', published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry,
 ‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, 2016.
Other books listed at her blog:http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/

Monday, July 9, 2018

DEPRESSION BEGAN THE HOUR OF OUR LEAVING by Michael H. Brownstein



DEPRESSION BEGAN THE HOUR OF OUR LEAVING

Depression began the hour of our leaving,
Hanging onto us both claw and fury, nail and mist
And still we worried each other still believing
Depression began the hour of our leaving
Holding us captive to a vast simple grieving
As if everything we held onto an empty list.
Depression began the hour of our leaving,
Hanging onto us both claw and fury, nail and mist.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

I Am by Angelica Grace Lee



Bio: 
My name is Angelica Grace Lee and I am a first-year Legal Studies major at UC Berkeley. I am a San Francisco native and have enjoyed the vibrant culture of the Bay Area my entire life. Currently, I volunteer in the Bay Area as a San Francisco Police Activities League Cadet Lieutenant and intern for SFPD's Field Operations Unit. I also run a Facebook group called "Kindness in the Darkness" where I share heartwarming acts of kindness in hopes of brightening the days of those who may be suffering from dark times. In my spare time, I like to write poetry, read dystopian fiction, thrift shop, and go to cafes to study with friends.


I Am

I am a fish in the San Francisco Bay

Swimming in and out of the door of opportunity

Moving towards a faint light in the darkness


Am I as sharp as the edge of a broken glass

Burning as bright as the yellow disc in the sky

The questions I used to ask myself?


I used to be as certain as the ending of a mystery book

Aimlessly walking through the well-known fog

Wondering if the world would ever become clear


But now I am a voice cutting through the noise

A soft blanket of hope to warm the despaired

The needle in the haystack of the misunderstood


I’m glad I am a red rose being watered with knowledge

A crystal door that opens with a friendly knock

A butterfly that flies into the hearts of the lonely


I’m glad I’m not the bull’s eye of the shadowed ones

The ones who wear cloaks sewn with the threads of fear

A target of theirs I shall be no longer


You are a dandelion where the wind whistles fiercely

The half used eraser that has been lost and replaced

A person of my past but stuck in my future


I am certain I can be the one who helps you touch the stars

The one who shows you the blue in between the clouds.

I am the one for you, for you were the one for me.

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Free Speech Canto LV by Michael Ceraolo


Free Speech Canto LV

Bisbee, Arizona
June 26, 1917
About 3,000 miners go out on strike
against Phelps-Dodge mining company
The authorities will suppress such speech,
but how?

It took a little over two weeks
for that question to be answered
Near dawn on July 12, 1917,
having shut down the telegraph
and silenced all outgoing phone calls
in order to keep their doings secret
for as long as possible,
2,200 deputies
"having no authority whatever in law"
rounded up some 2,000 men
in a manner "wholly illegal"
Several hundred of those rounded up
renounced the strike at gunpoint,
but many more maintained solidarity
                                                        And so
either 1,186,
                   or 1,286,
                                 or
some other number of those
were crammed into 23 rail cars
and deported from Bisbee
to a desert camp 200 miles away
It was just dumb luc
that none of the deportees died,
                                               though
one man, striker James Brew,
did meet the ultimate suppression,
being killed by a gang of deputies
breaking into his house to take him off;
he did manage to get one of them 
in the struggle

Word of course eventually did get out,
                                                         and
the Feds indicted Sheriff Harry Wheeler
and a number of others
for violating the constitutional rights
of the strikers
The lower court threw out the case
The Feds appealed to the Supreme Court

Of the nine Supremes, eight,
including some allegedly great,
ignored the Fourteenth Amendment
(the alleged great had not yet made
the long-overdue decision that the Bill of Rights
was 'incorporated' into the Fourteenth Amendment),
                                                                            and
said it was solely the state's responsibility
to police itself even when it was the one
committing the violation of the law
                                                      And so,
back in the safety of state court,
the miscreants acquitted themselves
of all criminal charges,
                                  and only paid
a negligible amount in civil damages
to a few of those damaged by their actions
Most of those harmed never returned

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Haiku by Lynn Long


A river at heart
Everchanging, yet the same
Flowing to the sea

Morning thunder sounds
Awakening the still dawn
From a silent night

Illuminating 
Above the ebony sea
White diamonds glisten