MAP
#68
Theme:
Soul Food
chuck
rice coral springs, florida
Epitaph
In Storm
Lightening
cracked the black sky
broke
open the winds
reaching
up through the clouds
the
souls
of
those born into the dust
climbed
sharp raindrops
into
the gentle blue
hereafter
I
shall, on concepts
far
above language
of
time and space
leave
but of myself
a
faint
indistinct
shadow
upon the ground
and
returning use sparingly
the
crystal clearness of raindrops
fearing
their paradoxical dark gathering
for
too much clearness
becomes
a frightening
thundering
blackness
against
the naked light of day.
From
Dan Byrnes, N.S.W., Australia
Liebfraumilch
Her
poems
are
like
a hand feeling fabric
her
words are precise covers
for
uncertain shapes
coloured
with ambiguous pastels.
About
the shape of the hills
she
is silent.
She
looks from the hilltops, though,
more
and more discreetly,
to
the horizons of discreet anquish.
Things
as are, not quite sayable -
are
on the silent horizon
in
recurring presence, recurring.
This
is waiting for the sun.
This
is waiting for the day of straightness
woven
like a gown she once saw
and
desired
like
a draught of clear spring water.
What
do you call this kind of blues?
The
rhythm is right
smooth
and tight
hips
are swayin
but
the blues are misbehavin
takin
on hues in Aruba skies
and
starry-eyed infatuations
all
flecked with gold
like
Maxfield Parrish paintings
no
traces of stormy weather
What
do you call this kind of blues?
The
rhythm is groovy
moves
right through me
but
the blues keep missin their cues
steppin
high on sunny sidewalks
showin
up kickin their toes up
in
happy high-heeled shoes
at
Radio City Music Hall
and
sad can't afford
that
ticket at all
What
do you call this kind of blues?
©
1998 anastasia
Zandria
(aka Jan Houston) of Dallas
a
new kind of blues
could
it be
a
kind of big band swing ?
kin
to the high exuberance
of
jump and jive freed
from
old yo heave ho
the
day the ball and chain
that
birthed your blues
sank
deep in muddy water
outta
sight
leavin
you prancin and dancin
to
the rhythm you write
a
woman in love with livin
hearin
the truer tune
of
the high harmonics
you
dug to discover
hidden
just above the bass line
sparklin
like diamonds
sweat
from the forehead
of
every bluesman before you
blues
essence, mama
you
got it !
©
1998 Jan Houston
by
Larry Jaffe, of Los Angeles.
hello
hello
my name is larry
and
i am a white man
now
mind you
i
have never
felt
particularly white
throughout
my life
i
have been known
to
consort with
people
of ummm color
but
i am white
and
there is
no
getting around it
i
don't particularly
like
white bread
but
i do like bagels
i
am not all that fond
of
grits
and
i hate finger sandwiches
i
like fried chicken
and
watermelon
but
leave me out
of
the line waiting for
greens
and ham hocks
i
can do without
i
have been known
interestingly
enough
to
eat citlins
don't
ask me why
and
those fried port
rinds
in the cellophane
bag
much to the disgust
of
everyone around me
i
like them too
oh
and i like pastrami
jewish
soul food
with
a bowl of matzo ball soup
yummm
but
i hate gefilte fish
i
cannot even look at it
or
refried beans
i
don't like beef stroganoff
under
any conditions
but
this whole treatise
has
led me to wonder
is
racism more about
taste
buds than color?
©
1997 lgjaffe