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.....


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:


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


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