MAP
62
This
week’s theme: Cartwheel-Challenged Poets: "Why I Wasn't A
Dallas Cheerleader or It's Hard to Write When Spinning". The
theme is universal. The contributors are global.
My
gratitude to all who support the MAP by submitting your poetry.
Upcoming
themes:
#63
- Games People Play (Can include sports poems)
#64
- The Working Stiff
#65
- Poets Travel Advisory: When planning your Chinese holiday...
(Political Commentary)
1.
From Chuck Rice of Coral Gables, Florida:
Beauty
dependent
solely
upon itself
is
made prey.
There
are those,
soulless
hunters,
who
would shoot
arrows
of lies
through
the heart
of
her dreams
of
love,
spill
the clear
fertile
blood
of
her trust
in
the barren valleys
of
comfortless comforters,
discarding
her tender carcass
to
the dogs of memory.
Severing
heads from minds,
skinning
souls of bodies,
they
seek to mount her breasts
on
the stone walls of their egos
like
charging horns
fierce
with passion
short
lived,
hunting
in vain for love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.
From Moshe Benarroch of Jerusalem, Israel:
IN
MEMORIAM OF TOWNES VAN ZANDT
your
winter came early
now
the world is more orphan
especially
for those who never heard of you.
first
web-published in Perihelion (issue no.2)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3.
From Jean Russell of Virginia (her shortest poem)
KODACOLOR
Pieces
of a man's face
lay
buried among my daisies.
I
am tempted
to
reclaim
and
rearrange them
back
to the photograph
of
a man who said
he
loved me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4.
From Agnes Meadows of London
WHEN
I DIE
When
I die
I
want you to ring bells
And
cover the pavements in rose petals, frozen frangipani leaves
White,
white lilac, and dandelion spears,
So
that wherever you walk it will be a celebration.
When
I die
I
want you to play loud music.
Anything
with drums,
Or
the artist formerly known as Prince,
Or
guitars deep on base-line
Goes
along with heavy dancing,
Thighs
velcroe'd together, skin itching with effort,
So
that every time you feel the hungry chill across your shoulders that
comes with good sound,
You'll
think of me and smile.
When
I die
I
want you to shoul up my friends,
Net
them all up,
Get
them drunk with memories and 50 year old Malt,
And
each one has to tell a story with me as the punch line, just like my
life was
Laughter
always easy on our lips
When
we lay on those Greek beaches, gilding our lucid fantasies,
Or
sat in darkened theatres afraid to cry in case we'd never stop,
Or
held each o ther as sisters, knowing that at least would never go
away.
Then
maybe my passion will still echo in your head.
When
I die
I
want you to catch the rain from Spring mornings
In
blue glass bottles,
Line
them up on a shelf somewhere very still
Where
there'll gather no dust,
And
watch their shadows juggle on the waiting wall amidst the spiders.
Then,
whenever there's a storm,
Or
the daytime quiet's riven by the sound of water running,
Or
you see a waving webb,
You'll
remember the colour of my eyes.
When
I die
I
want you to go shopping
Big
time, big time,
Buy
3 of everything in different colours, none of them matching,
Blister
the plastic 'til you're all stored out,
Significant
attention driving salesgirls crazy, and pay for it all in pennies
So
they'll have to count each one at a time,
Then
when anyone lays into chic speak,
Or
you're lost amongst the mirrors and the silks,
You'll
still have my pleasure to trade in.
When
I die
I
want you to watch every Star Trek movie ever made
Twice,
So
that when you look up into that unused sky
Especially
at night when it's all stitched up with stars
And
the moon makes you shiver with cold, dead as old love,
And
all your time's your old,
You'll
know I'm buzzing round there, Worf-factor nine,
Still
- making it so.
5.
From David Barnes, Down Under (Australia)
down
the streets
The
road life
I
have seen
it
is not paved gold
it
curves winding
stones
shifting
incessantly
shade
light vault
shadows
as
what was
fades
disappears
down
the streets
we
walked.
©
1999 deBarnes