MAP
#79
Theme:
Open Field
From
K B Tyner, in Fort Worth, Texas
Through
the Looking Glass
Many
of times I have heard these words,
"You
can’t understand.
You
aren’t in my shoes".
Look
in the mirror, that’s me.
Each
hand you raise up to wipe a tear,
an
opposite rises and those droplets
are
just as salty on my lips.
Those
circles under my eyes are
the
shadows under yours.
My
doubts are the same sad
butterflies
fluttering in your mind.
Those
words that echo in your ears
are
sounds from your reflection,
formed
by my mouth.
See
me, in the mirror.
That
tired smile with wrinkles
around
the edge is shared
by
the same kind of heart which beats
just
as strongly with hope as it does with despair.
I
look into my reflection and it is
the
soul of another I see.
That
soul is you and that face is me.
See
me through the mirror.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
2.
From Arte Maren in So. Cal.
My
brother.....
who,
with
me walked,
crook'd
staff and pebbled feet
dressed
in a search
ages
upon ages
again
today we meet
and
my heart,
remembering
all time
laughs
at the sadness.
©
1975 Arte Maren
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
3.
Jean Russell of Burke, Virginia:
THE
CALL
Someone
calls
through
a veil of sunlight.
The
clouds are faceless.
It
is Sunday.
Inside,
a clock ticks
in
each room.
A
voice calls me by name.
I
search the sky,
longing
for his face.
©
Jean Russell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4.
From Jimmy Smith, who live in Austin for a while:
Two
Flowers
In
the hills northwest of Austin
above
Fredricsberg
above
the cities and trailer camps
away
from ten wheel indignity
and
lone-star beer
there
are two small flowers
one
called a blue bonnet
rich
hues of violet and deep indigo
that
shift in the sunlight
and
grow in close families
on
long branches
and
it's close friend
known
by Texans as
Indian
paintbrush
smaller
than the other
more
humble and alone
yet
bursting with the brightest reds
and
shades of color leaning toward
fusing
sunlight
what
a pair these two
always
together
always
in harmony and compliment
I
truly believe if people picked all of one
the
other would surely die
of
grief
Two
Trees
Two
old trees stand by the river
they
look out on the world
from
dignified perspective
and
decades of caring for
birds
and other children
one
an oak
it's
neighbor a willow
so
long has their friendship been
so
many years of protecting one another from
blazing
heat and merciless wind
that
although they are not blood
they
are not wed
they
are not even related
their
roots wind in the same soil
and
their branches wind and tangle
and
the love they share
is
immutable
©
jimmy smith
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5.
From Sanjay C. Kuttan of Singapore
Red
Bricks of Tiananmen
1998,
June 9th after 9 years of festering in my soul.
I
am not Chinese,
my
skin is not “yellow”
neither
were the many
who
listened, watched and cried.
Our
skin is not "black" or "white"
or
any other color of prejudice
which
undermines the
hue
of our hearts.
Our
heart is red, red as those who are now dead.
The
red blood soaks,
seeping
into the bricks of Tiananmen Square.
Politicians
and detractors of Truth
paint
a bloodless castration,
annotated
with tears and pain;
accusing
America’s greatest propaganda machine,
Hollywood,
creating gruesome scenes of oppression.
The
bricks were always red!
Our
brothers, our sisters,
our
sons and daughters,
our
friends and comrades,
they
were there, now disappeared
into
a world where light appears only in a dream.
Tears
in a reddened stream.
The
light of youthful freedom
cried
itself into the night,
never
to speak, to love,
to
stand and fight,
to
sleep, to awaken and
chase
a dream.
Cries
for freedom, justice and hope
are
muted, falling on deaf ears.
Those
who listen,
the
cries are loud and clear.
Those
who are not blinded
their
eyes are red with tears.
The
bricks were gray.
The
bricks may have been red in Tiananmen
but
the dust from the flesh and bones of thousands
crushed
by an aging iron fist and caterpillar tracks of steel
will
forever fill the air
in
Tiananmen Square.
It
will remain embedded.
Stains
stubborn against political white wash,
economic
flood and bleaching greed.
From
the red bricks of Tiananmen,
dust
of a thousand souls will emanate and assail
the
memories of generations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
6.
From Marklon Mann of Austin
LITTLE
BOY
I
looked at you and your beautiful body
Many
a time that I parted sanctified
Natural
love for anything moving now
Lovely
run through the time uncuffed
There
isn't anything I wouldn't do
To
find that you are true
Many
a lover ran by my house
Looking
for me and the love
Little
boy trying to find himself
Little
boy showing up everywhere
Couldn't
help but find him in the air
Why
can't I love tonight
Poisoned
for the durance of a lifetime
Caught
deep in a political utopia
I
hope that you can reach every rest
But
not now and not right now
Fiery
white moon
And
a big blue soon
Making
so much so soon
Little
boy, such a coon
©
1999 Marklon Mann