Poetry
• LIBERTY and LABOR - Linda J.
Albertano
• My Hands - Francisco
Letelier
• when i believe in what i
doubt - Vessy Mink
• Elegy for
Tony Scibella - Bill Fleeman
• Iraqi
Mourning - Hillary Kaye
LIBERTY and
LABOR
By Linda J.
Albertano
The Statue of Liberty
is
weeping.
Long
has she lifted her
welcoming
torch for the tired,
the
poor, and all
who
yearn for
one
honeyed breath of
freedom.
Now she’s seen
the
golden door slam
hard
on your weary fingers.
What
will she say? Look
up!
Look
up!
Don’t let them crush you, my
lovely
ones, whose
ancestors
spoke in tongues
of
all the world! In language
as
brilliant as
chips
of ice melting in the air!
Don’t
let them
crush
your children, my
Rainbow
Warriors! You’re
welcome
here! And your noble sons
and
daughters.
You’ve
come with dreams shining
as the seas
that
brought you. Dreams
of
living in
friendship
together. Friendship eternal as
the
sun is bright.
Friendship
as long
as
rivers shall run. From the
green
and sacred forests of
the
Seneca Tribes to
the
luminous, wind-ruffled waters
of
Chief
Seattle’s
land, we native-born
and
foreign-born have
bent
our backs
as
though into the long oars
of
a magnificent ship.
Ours
are the labors that
have
created one
nation
for all! Not one
nation
for some. But one
nation
for
all.
And those who labor longest
and
hardest among
us
bring comforts, large
and
small
into
our lives. Without
which, the entire
spinning globe
would be thrown
into
chaos.
Your
hard work brings
the
greatest good to the
greatest
number of
beings!
Imagine...
A
world without grocery workers...
bitter and
barren.
A world without bus
drivers...
bitter and
barren.
A world without
truckers...
bitter and
barren.
Food servers, sanitation workers,
janitors...
We need you! Desperately.
You’ve
added more value to
our
lives than all
the
golf-playing
heads
of corporations ever
could!
We cherish you!
And
your families!! We pray for
your
good health and
for
the righteous and
equitable
fruits you deserve
to
harvest when you’re
retired
from service.
We’re
here to
stand
with you! To
see
that you receive more
than
a pocket watch
and
a
Christmas
ham at the end
of
your
labors.
If we let them rob
you
today, they’ll rob
us
tomorrow.
Look
up!
The Statue of Liberty is
standing
even taller. Her lamp
burns
more brightly for
you!
Look
up!
We’re standing
shoulder-to-shoulder. And
look how brightly
the
lamp of
justice
is shining upon
you!
Look
up!
We’re standing
shoulder-to-shoulder. The
Statue of Liberty
is smiling!
Look up! Look
up!
We’re standing
shoulder-to-shoulder!
***********
My
Hands
By Francisco
Letelier
You will not remember my
name,
you will not think of
me.
I will pass among you without a face
but my
hands
Mis
manos,
they have touched
you.
The day I came into the
world
other things took up the
news,
tongues were busy, eyes were
filled
but not with what I
was.
My hands touched you
worked my bones for
years
invisible to the unaided
eye.
You will not remember my
face,
But I remember
you.
My name is Juan, is John, is
Mary
mi nombre es Maria, Carlos, Bill,
Guillermo
I
walk,
I ride the bus,
I pick up
cans.
My name is
Mark,
my name is carved into the hard places
so many would rather
avoid.
I travel far and work long
hours.
You will not read about my children or
my
dreams.
Still,
I
am the future here
I am the road
home.
But you will not remember my
name.
My hands will touch you
all the things which shine for
you
were made by hands like
mine,
My face is
blurred
faceless in the crowd of
those
they tell us are not the real
ones.
We do not
matter.
We are
invisible.
Others hold the keys to what will
be.
My hands will touch
you
and you will feel me
if I am
gone
In my silence loud noises will
rise
and the days will claim my
name.
Mi nombre es
futuro
my name is
future.
Y no se puede
escapar
cannot escape
the
labor of my
arms.
What we have
built
Tambien se
caera
can
fall
easily.
I
remember you, my hands touch you
work my
bones for years.
All the things which shine
for you
were made by hands like
mine.
************
when
i believe in what i doubt
a whole new
meaning comes about
the sky is bluer than
when it's not
when i realize just what ive
got
so when i m tired and full of
grays
when right is lost and left is
craze
the cars are ugly and spitting
out
the quiet death of a fragment
heart
resolving what is clear and
sound
we are all part of
underground
to each illusion summers
spot
of gross intentions habits
not
the frosty snow on hills
dearmound
forgotton not the soul of
sound
–Vessy
Mink
************
Elegy for Tony
Scibella
i got yr message tony
when
i tried to e-mail
philomene coupla days
ago
& the power went
out.
damn! i shoulda
known
right away,
man.
u were on my
mind.
i wuz tellin'
philomene
about some lines
i
wrote.
had to do with
the
passing of poets
& how
they don't die
but just
step out of
their
paint-spattered
jeans
leaving their
spirits to
prowl the
promenade
market st
to dudley ave
for us to
see strollin'
there if we
looked close.
damn t. i
wuz going to
see u when i
came to
venice in
february.
but the Lady wuz
waitin'
i know
& She always
meant more to u than
anything.
u learned to
love Her
like stuart
did.
i envy u
that.
of yr passing
s.a.
griffin said u
"embraced
the
Lady."
beat zen
understatement.
u leaped
into Her arms.
rest u
well there t.
upon Her
ample breasts.
rest.
–
Bill Fleeman
(Venice Beat Poet Tony
Scibella died of a heart attack on Oct.
28.)
*************
Iraqi
Mourning
By Hillary
Kaye
America
armed and ready for war
exploding with the
possibility of ruin
reigning
on.
Too strong, it is possible you know to be
too strong.
Hands and arms and legs a body of
force and forces of brutality
waging its
way.
Is it onward and is it upward and is it
straight
Seeming more every minute to be
narrow.
Filling the world, eating the same
death on the same white bread
and if it is so
nutritious why are the people starving for something they can not
find
or haven't even heard
of.
If the voice could reach the
people
if somehow out of the bloody sky like
rain pouring down,
if out of this hard dark
cold winter night
someone appeared and wanted
to say something to you,
would you hear it,
would you be able to recognize the
voice.
There was a man, was it Christ or
Martin Luther King, was his name Malcom X or Che
Guevara
and in the back, in the last row
someone walked in and knew so well the fate of what is
good.
But still this one lone voice speaks
out and is remembered as a relic.
A fight to
the death has already happened and will again.
Posted: Sat
- November 1, 2003 at 04:48 PM