MAP
#87
II.
Featured Poetry Theme: Villanelles
1.
Villanelle on the year of our introspection by Tony Masalonis
We
slumber while external wars are raging.
The
strife within's what sounds the battle call;
The
war within's the only one we're waging.
You're
cordially invited to my caging!
Bring
your own sponge, the Lord provides the gall.
We
slumber while external wars are raging.
Recall
that spring when all sights were engaging?
When
blossoms dove like leaves do in the fall?
The
war within's the only one we're waging.
Then,
stranded in the area of staging,
That
summer all that fell was my resolve -
We
slumber while external wars are raging.
Dark
angel thru' the book of life is paging...
The
footnote, hid, says you're absolved of fault!
The
war within's the only one we're waging.
That
dying light which wise men were arranging?
'Twas
just a long sweet winter, that was all:
We
slumber while external wars are raging -
The
war within's the only one we're waging -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.
THE KINK FELL OUT OF MY HAIR by Patricia Johnson
They
killed G.P. and the kink fell out of my hair
He
was my cousin, blood brother, bond of felicity.
They
said, “Another nigger dead; white folks don’t care.”
Here
a Negro that doesn’t know his place is rare,
Been
trained since slavery to smile, nod and agree.
They
killed G.P. and the kink fell out of my hair
Four
white people and broken, black G.P., unaware
That
party was his garden of Gethsemane.
They
said, “Another nigger dead; white folks don’t care.”
Trussed
like a pig, doused in gasoline, set afire,
White
cross or clothesline T, it was a gallows tree.
They
killed G.P. and the kink fell out of my hair
Reeling
in the blaze, only his body for pyre,
A
maul extinguished his plea, “Why don’t you shoot me!”
They
said, “Another nigger dead’ white folks don’t care.”
Like
rain in the desert, dissipates, so did his air.
They
hewed him, hacked his head off, then watched TV.
They
killed G.P. and the kink fell out of my hair
They
said, “Another nigger dead; white folks don’t care.”
©
Patricia Johnson
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3.
Calorescence by Claibie Walsh
She
repeats herself often in her old age
Saying
the same things over and over again
As
if she were an actress and life was her stage
If
misunderstood, she frequently screams out in rage
At
professionals, assistants; often family, old friends
She
repeats herself often in her old age
It
becomes harder to tell, harder to gauge
Where
her memories end and they begin
As
if she were an actress and life was her stage
I
listen closely each time as if she were sage
Starting
and stopping, her life's thoughts now blend
She
repeats herself often in her old age
She
struggles valiantly to get all her thoughts to engage
Though
some of her synapses misfire and bend
As
if she were an actress and life was her stage
I
can see her fabric begin rip up and rend
This
final curtain never to mend
She
repeats herself often in her old age
As
if she were an actress and life was her stage
©
Claiborne Schley Walsh