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New Verse News, TheNew Verse News, TheTHE NEW VERSE NEWS covers the news and public affairs with poems on issues, large and small, international and local. It relies on the submission of poems (especially those of a politically liberal bent) by writers from all over the world. Articles
IN A CHEAP HOTEL
2007-12-04 07:40:00 by Bill CostleyIn a cheap hotel on lower Powell St.,I boldly told my gerontologist-son:Army-brat Tom Brokaw honored hisdad's generation as 'The Greatest', butnumerically, The Baby Boomers are;as human life extends they’ll live longer& everything will change systemicallythruout the linked systems of human life.Reincarnation will be accepted as normal,as checkers ceded to Chinese checkers,chess from 2-D to 3-D, 4-D, 5-D, 6-D, etc.Brokaw's semi-Greatest are currently dyingat the rate of 10K/day & in WW2 did w/outchoice. We will choose Living over Dying.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco chapter of the National Writers Union. More About: Hotel , Cheap
OUR GOOD NIGHT
2007-12-03 08:38:00 by Dale Good songood becauseI’m next to hergood because she’s next to megood becausethis side of the earth is in darknessgood becauseour heads are downfeet touchingfingers claspedthe thin curtainsrise and fallas if someone giant sizedwas breathing on the other side(but it’s not someoneit’s some thing, something immense out there)wouldn’t guessthat in other buildingsin other citiessleep other menand other women with dynamite in their thoughtswith matches on their night standsand come morningthey’ll light the stuffand another good night will be blown into graveyard dustour night(this strong hugging)won’t stand up to the blast(won’t stand up to nature’s whip either)but in lying closein breathing inin our soft grabs and graspswe find some defensebed to bed to bedwithothers like us in ferocious slumbereasily knocked to piecesbut full of good powerI rub my thumb against her palmshe rubs backthe dark bright trees wait for something elseDale Goodson is a writer from Seattle... More About: Night , Good Night
STOMPING ON GARLIC
2007-12-02 09:07:00 by Rochelle Ratneras he stomped on grapes in his father's vineyard, as a child, back in Italy, with everyone else in his father's family. His bare toes already dizzy from the wine. Not in these heavy boots. Not in slum America, where the best job he can get is in a Chinese restaurant. Buffet, no less. No tips. Off some stinking alley. He lifts his foot. He stomps on his mother's grave, then his father's huge hand, then his brother's ass. The same brother who refused to come here with him. He grins for what seems the first time in months. The garlic smell wafts up. It burns his eyes and nostrils.Rochelle Ratner's latest poetry books include Leads (Otoliths Press, 2007), Balancing Acts (Marsh Hawk Press, 2006), Beggars at the Wall (Ikon, 2006) and House and Home (Marsh Hawk Press, 2003). She is the author of fifteen previous poetry collections and two novels (Bobby’s Girl and The Lion’s Share) both published by Coffee House Press). More information and links to her writi... More About: Garlic
AFTERSHOCKS
2007-12-02 09:05:00 by Laurie KuntzIt starts slowly, a rumblea faint tremble, the light bulb shakes,the windows wrench -- crushing glass sounds-- And the reign of distant chimes.In the end all things notsecured tumble:My friend writes from Jerusalem , sherarely goes out, and it is not withouta scrutinizing eye:The safest corner…A table away from windows…She avoids buses, walks everywhere,but not in that carefree swagger,barely afforded to the children who walk beside her. My Cambodian neighbor wakes most nights,the same dream jolts her--mistaking the wind for thunder,thunder for bombs,the picture of her eldestfalls off the night table. A woman drives over the Brooklyn Bridge,she thinks she smells the charred papersthat fell from the sky for days.Excavations have begun.foundations are set; blueprints blowagainst an approaching wind--Not a bone was returned to her. In the end, all things not secured,Tumble in... More About: Aftershock
BEHEADINGS
2007-12-02 09:00:00 by Janée BaugherThe machete's long metal flat extending from a fist,an exclamation mark against each clean throat.The forty-something middle-America truck driver,his quiet face on screens and on pages of newspapers.A blindfold of gauze and duct tape.Hands bound behind back.The proud row of masked men.The final hour before the moon, a giant eye, opens to night,before the copies of the video hit newsrooms.Later, the body found stuffed with dynamite.A corpse with no right to a head.. . .The twenty-something Korean translator,liaison between working tongues and incapable ears.Before he was pinioned, before the video of a hungry machete,a clip of him pacing in a red T-shirt and jeans.Hands pleading, and the mouth:I do not want to dieIn perfect, clear English. &nb sp; I & nbsp; do &nb sp; not ; &nb... More About: Heading
EVEL, ARCH KNIEVEL-IST
2007-12-01 05:34:00 a beer-kegger's b@ll@dby Bill Costley &nbs p; &nb sp; “He taught by example.” ; --Kelly Knievel, Evel’s oldest sonDubya ponders the death of 1who mostly influenced him: Evel,the Knievelest man in America,a modern super-stunt legend:“Dang , ah-cain’t ac-cept his Dayth,.”maunders Dubya, “Ah-jus’ cain’t.”Dubya clutches his heart in pain,then his crotch, then his hard-ass& falls to the floor, rolling acrossto the TV, clicking the zapper& Evel’s image appears on it,in his prime, sitting on a H@rley.“A magniflicent Man on his bahk!”shouts Dubya from the cold floor,“Whooda evur a-thot he’d dah? Ahsawr him cheat Dayth many tahms.”Dubya thinks of himself on his bikeon the dusty roads of TX, beer-canin hand, a-laffin’ his hard-ass off,a-burnin-up the Tayks-ass road.“Ah shur hope ah kin go l...
EVEL KNIEVEL
2007-12-01 01:14:00 after e e cummings by Earl J. Wilcoxwreckedwho used toride a hardracing bikefasterthanaspeeding ; &nbs p; bul letand jump over carsand buses justlikethat!what I want to know ishow do we expect tofindanotheronejustlikehim?Cripes!He was one of a kind!Earl J. Wilcox founded The Robert Frost Review, which he edited for more than a decade. His poetry was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
VAJAYJAY
2007-11-30 08:43:00 by Donna HilbertEveryone calls it vajayjaynow, you know, down there.I read this in the New York Times.Oprah says it.Steinem has weighed inhoping it contains the nervy bitsthe real V-word ignores.Me, I love the childhood nametaught by Mom and Mimi:Whatsa-doodle-dandy!Big happy wordthat rhymes with candy.Donna Hilbert’s latest poetry collection is Traveler in Paradise: New and Selected Poems, Pearl Editions 2004. Ms. Hilbert appears in and her poetry is the text of the short film, “Grief Becomes Me,” the first in a trilogy of her poems to be included in a documentary on her work and life by award-winning filmmaker Christine Fugate. She lives in Long Beach , California, where she is working on a play and conducting a master class in poetry.
GRIM FAIRY TALES FOR MODERN TIMES
2007-11-30 08:31:00 by Nancy CaroniaIf, at the beginning of the 21st century, Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger on the spinning wheel—a cursed act that anesthetized an entire kingdom—there would be no prince to climb the thorny walls and plant a kiss. Contemporary male royalty gets too horny planning the next invasion, entering (or exiting) rehab or trolling bars (or executive offices) searching for the perfect mouth to kiss their cocks goodnight. No one, it seems, wants a relationship anymore. A fetishistic furor might be whipped up if the kingdom’s itinerant administration—set up at the time of the prick in faraway New York City’s Gramercy Park—put the Beauty’s slumbering figure on the Internet, but her body would need to be stripped—creamy flesh exposed to the masses of insensitive gawkers who only hoped to catch a glimpse of the numbed out princess awakening to an autoerotic act. There would be no conversation of her award-winning spinning skill. Her kindness to orphaned children i... More About: Tales , Times , Modern , Fairy Tales , Grim
SEATS OF POWER
2007-11-29 05:00:00 Visual by Jeff Crouch Text by Christopher WoodsChristopher Woods is the author of a prose collection, Under a Riverbed Sky, and a collection of stage monologues for actors, Heart Speak. His play, Moonbirds, about doomed census-takers at work in an uninhabited desert country, received its New York City premiere at Personal Space Theatrics. He lives in Houston and in Chappell Hill , Texas .Jeff Crouch is an internet artist; he lives in Grand Prairie, Texas . Google “Jeff Crouch” to see what he currently has on the internet or go to: http://www.blueprintreview.de/6jeff_crouc h.htm. More About: Power
TO DIE IN JERUSALEM
2007-11-28 08:11:00 A Documentaryby Sondra ZeidensteinMake the smallest distinction…And heaven and earth are set infinitely apart. --The Faith Mind Sutra Two mothers in Jerusalem : one Jewish, Israeli, one Muslim, Palestinian.The daughter of one, a suicide bomber.The daughter of the other, victim of her bomb.Rachel and Ayat. Both seventeen. Same dark long hair, large dark eyes,same color skin, same height.They didn’t know whose body parts belonged to whose body.For four years since the bombing, Rachel’s mother seeks to meet themother of Ayat,to convince her to condemn the act of her daughter, to urge “her people”to turn against violence.She needs her daughter to have died for something.For four years the mothers are kept apart: impassable checkpoints, fearof the camp’s dark streets.Finally they meet, each in front of a camera crew.They speak to each other’s faces on a tv screen, the covered mother andthe uncovered, each one with a speechput together over a lifetime:Say it, that your daugh...
UNTIL THE PHOTO WAS DEVELOPED
2007-11-28 08:10:00 by B.E. KahnIn the Judean wilderness, Israeli farmers—growers of grapes, dates—invite Arab shepherdsthere to graze their sheep. --Item, unreported by any pressIn the Judean Desertthere are leopards.One, in fact, attendeda wedding. He sat in a treeduring the whole affair.No one knew he was there.B.E. Kahn, native Philadelphian, now lives in Wynnewood, Pa. Her poems have appeared in Harrisburg Review, CQ, California Quarterly, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Mad Poets Review, Earth’s Daughters, Bridges, A Jewish Feminist Journal and in the June/July 2007 online Tupelo Press Poetry Project as well as other publications. Her awards include First Prize for Poetry at the Philadelphia Writers Conference, a Pennsylvania Council of the Arts Grant and a Pew Grant for Studies in the Humanities. More About: Photo
IN DARFUR
2007-11-27 10:21:00 by Yolanda Coulazlittle girls don't wear laceor play with dolls.They are taken,taken by the janjaweed,taken with the womenwith the camelswith the cows.Some return;some are never seen again.In Darfur in a lawless landthe mango tree fallscrops burncarcasses float in the wellswadis are bare, broken by bombs.In Darfuracross a scorched earthSatan rides a stallion, and thewhite bird does not come in peace.Yolanda Coulaz is a poet, photographer, editor and founder of Purple Sage Press. Her poetry has won a number of awards and has been widely published. Her signature poem "Cool, Cotton Comfort" won first place in the Mattia Family 8th International Poetry Competition. Coulaz has published an anthology of animal poems For Loving Precious Beast to help benefit Loving Touch Animal Rescue. Her first book of poetry Spirits and Oxygen was released in 2003 and is currently being use in an advanced course in poetry at SUNY Stony Brook.
THE NEWS AT 11
2007-11-26 10:15:00 by Howie GoodThe world is a rifle buttsmashed in your face,a panting hand reachingfor your only child.And now the weather.What if our hearts weren’tsuch paper-thin bagsof blood and vomit,what if they were shiny,like the water-bright coatsof prancing red horses.Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of three poetry chapbooks, Death of the Frog Prince (2004) and Heartland (2007), both from FootHills Publishing, and Strangers & Angels, forthcoming from Scintillating Publications. He was recently nominated for the second time for a Pushcart Prize. More About: News , The News
ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA
2007-11-26 10:14:00 for Upton Sinclairby David LaBountythere were anarchistsand socialists just asthere was bloodin the hearts andin the streets andthe poor got richer even thoughthe rich stayed rich.later.now.the rich are getting richerand I'm getting poorerand the network news has keptall the anarchists and socialistsfar,far away.David LaBounty's recent poetry has appeared in Dogmatika, Word Riot, Pemmican, Unlikely 2.0, Outsider Writers and other journals. More About: America , Time , Once Upon a Time in America
POSTMODERNISM'S RITUALS
2007-11-25 07:30:00 by Marcus Bales(after W.S. Gilbert)Postmodernist:I am the very model of postmodernism’s ritualsMy world is made of language reinforced by strong habituals --There’s nothing really out there, and there’s no one who exists for me –And any people hearing this are other solipsists for me.The world is in my head, I don’t believe in physicality;I brilliantly create it all with magical reality,Rejecting all experience with mystical depravity –Ignoring Alan Sokal’s twenty-storey test of gravity.Chic Chorus:Ignoring Alan Sokal’s twenty-storey test of gravity.Ignoring Alan Sokal’s twenty-storey test of gravity.Ignoring Alan Sokal’s twenty-storey test of gravity.Postmodernist:It used to be that science was the tool for every liberalTo use to show that kings and priests were selling mystic gibberal,But now we want our new-age crystal-gazing fuddy-duddyingNot lectures, labs, experiments, or -- goddess save us! -- studying.Chic Chorus:But now we want our new-age crystal-gazing... More About: Rituals
IN DEFENSE OF SENATOR CLINTON
2007-11-23 12:19:00 by Anne G. DaviesWhen candidates look for a victim to pilloryDonkey or elephant—they all point at HillaryGiuliani says she’s slippery and pushyEdwards says she’s a closet BushieRomney says she’s keen on abortionObama says her ego’s out of proportionThey all say her positions are inconsistentAnd complain that she seems attack-resistantThey resent the white-haired guy who’s coaching herAnd find endless reasons for reproaching her.They all hotly deny it’s a matter of genderSo no gentleman need rise to defend herThough she may not deserve to be the winnerIn the mix she’s hardly the greatest sinner.Like all the others she has flagrant faultsBut she alone is subject to such assaults.What drives them berserk is the thought of a femaleWith POTUS.gov the address on her email.Anne G. Davies is a fund-raising writer by profession and a writer and versifier by avocation. Her work has been published in local and regional papers. She lives in Lexington, Massachusetts. More About: Defense , Clinton , Senator , Senat , Linton
22 AND 44
2007-11-22 17:01:00 by George HeldOur age is numerical—lists of numbers,Numbers crunchers, statistics, numericalCompilations and projections—And this is the 44th anniversary of JFK’sAssassination on November 22, 1963 .Thanksgiving would be late that yearAnd gloomy, like your mother’sFirst birthday a week after she died.This year Thanksgiving is the earliestA fourth Thursday in November can fall.In a classroom in Kapalama Heights ,Where an unexploded Japanese bombFell on December 7, 1941 , I was teachingMy first period English class to cadetsAt The Kamehameha School for Boys.On the ancient intercom the voiceOf Principal Allen A. Bailey crackledAs he calmly reported the shooting.He asked us to stay in our classroomsUntil further notice while he piped inWalter Cronkite’s radio coverageOf the unfolding events. I turnedTo look at the glamorous color pictureOf the President and the First LadyThat I’d tacked on the bulletin board.My students’ eyes, some tearing,Gazed at me as intently as if I we...
DELOVERLY
2007-11-22 12:58:00 PoeArtry by Charles FredericksonDEbate dangling from rusty hook Squirming worms champing sound bytes Big fish eat small fry &n bsp; DEvouri ng lines & sinkers swallowed wholeDEcoy shysters lame duck quacks Almost Live Larry King DEvotees &nb sp; “I may not always be &nb sp; Right but I’m never wrong”DEbrief Obamama bananana split bikini Topless baby oil massage message &nbs p; DEbunked mud wrestling off-key slingalong & nbsp; Who’s taking dirty dancing leadDEcay to tell the tooth False dentures stale breath Hillarytosis ; Flip-fl...
PUPPET SHOW
2007-11-19 13:00:00 by Marcelle KasprowiczIt's almost timeLast touches to the maskA rose between the teethto neutralizethe dubious fragrance of wordsAngelsinvisibleare already clutchingthe puppet's hairblowing a suffused aura of truththrough their trumpetsOn the right shoulderor the left--to perch in the middleis nearly impossibleThe head is claimedby angels--On a shoulder thena parrotat its postready to repeatinto the puppet's earthe latest trigger wordthe punch in a sound biteAh, not to forgetSmiles smiles smilesThey must be perfect-- A little bit of sugar...You know!The audience is a spoiled catIt likes to be scratchedbehind the earsto have its belly rubbedbut her whiskers still quiverat the sight of a chaseat the irresistible lure of goreStill it won't lift a pawto de-bone its own preyIt prefers it served in a cupas a mousseIf you can make it purrit is hypnotizedready for the real showThe one where the old charlatanwith the unctuous voiceoffers his latest love potionMarcelle Kasprowicz was born... More About: Show , Puppet
THE CIRCLE
2007-11-18 08:29:00 by Katherine WestWho were the Minoans? &nb sp; Dolphin queens ; Worshippers of the bee &n bsp; Sharing the honeyWho were the Old Europeans? & nbsp; Builders of Stonehenge & nbsp; Calendar of sun &n bsp; Circling the perfectWho were the cave painters? &n bsp; Shaman artists &nbs p; Leading the village &nbs p; In prayerWho were the Romans? &nbs p; Metal smiths of the perfect sword Metal smiths of the perfect slave Minters of the perfect coin & nbsp; Golden profilesW... More About: Circle , The Circle
CHANGE
2007-11-17 08:01:00 by David ChorltonIn a quiet moment among the vehiclesparked outside the Safeway storea man approaches with his whispered pleafor change. Just released from Marana he says and they dropped me at Thirty-fifth and Van Buren. It’s a hundred degree day.Got family in Colorado. He’s been in prisonfor years, and it hardly matters to himwhat time the bus to Denver leaves. He can wait,but not walk in this heat. They left me without money or water, can you spare . . . ?We stand between those SUVswith too much power for the city, the onesthat shine and brag about their ownerswhile waiting for them to finishshopping. Buying a new car means choicesbetween making an impression with sizeor investing in modesty, paying more to saveon gas later or paying more not to care.I could call my brother to wire me somethingsays the man, whose incarceration began beforeanyone spoke much about fuel efficiency.He swallows just to feel the moisture in his throat.For a dollar and a quarter you can take the... More About: Change
THOUGHTS OF AN OLD MAN, IN A DRY SEASON
2007-11-17 08:00:00 by Earl J. WilcoxHere in the forever and ever sunny South,we still elect Republicans and afew Democrats. We still cook grits,chitlings, pigs’ feet, liver mush, anda few other things the rest of the worldnever ate. We also send our sons anddaughters to a war, which we have not forgot.But what’s on our minds today is notwar or exotic food, or even the writers’strikes in NYC and Cal-E-fornia. Weare dry. We need rain. We pray for water.Our lawns have dried up because wecan’t water them. Our trees are dyingbecause we have had no rain in months.(Forget our beautiful flowers and shrubs.)My neighbors’ wells are drying up, and theyhave little money to dig deeper, even if waterwere somewhere down there close to China.When you say your prayers tonight, it’s OKto mention Iraq, especially all those moms andpops who have lost children there. It’s OK todream of a long and happy life with someoneyou love. Our best dreams are just dreams.But before you say amen, ask for some rain.If we... More About: Thoughts , Season
MEATBALLS
2007-11-16 13:24:00 by Rochelle RatnerIt was what she thought of first when she met her husband. Here's a man with balls. Here's a man fighting to protect their city. Look at those biceps. But he was more than brute strength. And they began a family. Then his firefighter brother was killed at the World Trade Center. Two of his former partners died. He became a detective. He was often late getting home nights. Taxis drove by trailing Cop Shot reward offers. He was more committed to his work than his children, and there would be grandchildren soon. She didn't want to play with them alone. She heard talk about random drug tests. Two or three times a week she cooked him meatballs. And she was a good cook.Rochelle Ratner's latest poetry books include Leads (Otoliths Press, 2007), Balancing Acts (Marsh Hawk Press, 2006), Beggars at the Wall (Ikon, 2006) and House and Home (Marsh Hawk Press, 2003). She is the author of fifteen previous poetry collections and two novels (Bobby’s Girl and The Lion’s ... More About: Meatballs
TIRESIAS LIED: A MINI PLAY
2007-11-15 12:00:00 by Christine PanasOn television, Tire sias said & nbsp; Domino Effect!The generals checked their calendars flipped a coinThe chorus of frogs croaked &nbs p; &nb sp; Beware, the helicopters!The chorus of old men grunted &nbs p; &nb sp; That one is too fond of sacrificeTiresias repeated &nb sp; &n bsp; The Domino Effect, you fools!His pet alligator clapped its jaws gnawed at its polished nailsFats Domino sued for slanderThe case was dismissedIt was a rumpling momentTiresias declared &nb sp; &n bsp; No worry! We have the Jolly Green Giant! &nbs... More About: Play , Mini , Lied
DRAWING
2007-11-14 09:30:00 by Barbara DanielsI’m drawing the sun I drew as a child—thick yellow rays.A house that can’t stand up, wind beginning, smokeblown back in dark and fog. When I first movedto married students’ housing, each Tuesday noona couple parked in front of our building, first in two cars,then in one. In the late afternoon they came back togetherand left alone. They had to be lovers. So I believed,standing in the folds of gold curtains, watchingshadows begin and lengthen, the woman’s car, blue,empty, all afternoon. I draw till my arm numbs.I could have died for love. But I didn’t.I draw coffee sour on the table. There’s a waron television. It cancels the sky. There’s a train,a quiet station, a grain elevator. Names of the deadon a plaque in the park. The woods fill with lightsfrom my neighbors’ houses. I write your nameand then erase it. I draw the march into gunfire. Menwalking. The breasts of hills. Fingers red with blood.Barbara Daniels' book, Rose Fever, will be published... More About: Drawing
THE EVERYDAY NEWS OF OUR LIVES
2007-11-13 11:45:00 by Pat MaslowskiToday is November seven, twothousand and eleven, the skyis a topaz blue, chill, thoughthe sun warms us into a drowse.Public radio, KUNC, is playingjazz, no news until threewhile the dog's dreamingmemories behind my desk.I found a mouse, drownedin the sink this morning,Judge Mukasey has beenconfirmed by the JudiciaryCommittee. We're assured hewill be confirmed by a docileSenate, even though he refusedto say water boarding was torture.Oil today at nearly one hundreddollars a barrel. Pakistan beatsprotesters in the streets. Coalfired plants in China are rainingsulfur dioxide on Japan and here.Our own are also distributingthe same on Utah, Arizona,Colorado, and New Mexico.A neighbor died of cancertwo weeks ago. A former student,expelled from school twenty years agowas arrested for methamphetamine.Last month one hundred and sixty-sixnew jobs were created. The incomedisparity between poor and richis greatest here except for Hungary.And I wonder if love is really possible... More About: News , Lives
TERRORISM: CALL & RESPONSE
2007-11-12 08:46:00 by Cortney DavisIn the ICD-9 book used for coding medical diagnoses, terrorism is code E979: Injuries resulting from the unlawful use of force or violence against persons or property to intimidate or coerce a government, the civilian population or any segment thereof.Aircraft used as a weaponaircraft burnedexplodedshot downcrushed by falling aircraftmunitions not otherwise specifiedburning building or structure:collapse offall fromhit by falling objectin jump fromconflagrationfire causing:asphyxiaburnsmelting of fittings and furnituresmoldering building or structurefragments from:That’s what I did for months after— blessed the body parts. The beautiful body parts.Artillery shellbomb grenadeguided missileland-minerocket shellshrapnelmachine guncarbineblast effectfireball effectgases, fumes, chemicalsunspecified vapors:There were so many of them, so many hands. I imagined them moving.Analgesics, barbituratesdirect and secondary effectshypnoticssedatives, tranquilizersother med... More About: Terrorism , Call , Response
VETERANS DAY
2007-11-11 12:31:00 by Robert M. ChuteThe man by the pond who seemed to besaluting the opposite shore was merelyshading his eyes against the glarebut it seemed the bare November treesstood at attention with him, inspectingthe afternoon sun as it passedin review. Seven ducks in precisionformation flew over to honorthe nameless dead. There are alwaysthe nameless dead where ever you are.Where ever you choose to stand can beyour reviewing stand. On the far shore,wave tops detached, ducks beating lowsplash in, a sudden patch of whitecaps.Robert M. Chute (USAir Force, WW II) has a book from JustWrite Books, Reading Nature, of poetry based on scientific articles, that is available from Amazon or Barnes and Noble. More About: Veterans , Veterans Day , S Day
11.
More articles from this author:2007-11-11 12:30:00 by Michelle MorganSelf Identification. Ego in Balance.November:Da De Los Meurtos, Marraskuu,in Finland and Japan, in Mexico and the Philippines,a common bulk of earth grabs attentionas it struts down the wide white corridortoward the light at the end and halts,unsure whether it should go on.In Pueblo people crowd the streets,dance in cemeteries, surrounded byorange-yellow light from red candlesthat caress images of the Virgin Marystacked and piled on top of one another,sky blue robes and gold leaf,prayers in soft murmurs ghostingaround stones and marigolds.Here is Maria Galeana and her three smallsons whose father has been dead 2 years,suffocated in the back of the box truckthat was to buy their independence,snorting on his own vomit as his lungsexploded fireworks and barbed wirethrough his brain.Here is the 22 year old soldier’s funeral,a coffin draped with the flagand the gun salute of 11 rifles,who died protecting our glorious countryagainst the eternal they with theireternal ... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
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