Poetry
• SANTANA - Panos
Douvos
• Girlcryingoverspilledmilk
– By Sherry Chovan
• Feminist
Lasagna – Peggy Lee Kennedy
• A
Star’s Dream - Manal
• No Words -
Vessy Mink
• Bursting Thoughts - Susana
C De Leon
• A TOAST (TO THE MOST --
1980 TO 1990) - Tina
SANTANA
By
Panos Douvos
The santana force gathers
in Venice
The dry-air advance party
signals
It’s presence this 91 degree
winter day
A nightfall of dusky-purple
sky-glow
Prints the damp-sand incensed
beach
This
paradise
Entered now by law
minions
Interested in my
address
My reason for
being
As the
moon
Slides for
cover.
************
Girlcryingoverspilledmilk
– By Sherry Chovan
I
wasn’t always this way there was a time when I went
barefoot
And never combed my hair I used to
jump off of rooftops in the drop of a hat.
I
skateboarded down steep hills and didn’t blink an eye if I tumbled three
quarters of the way down. I was bold enough to wear Dead Kennedy t-shirts and
have blue hair.
I had one friend and she made
her own clothes or bought them from a second hand
shop.
Fuck yeah we wore combat boots because
we were bold. All my boyfriends had long hair and everything we wanted we
stole. Black fingernail polish and matching lipstick. Yeah I got used to being
called a witch. So what I had a silver ring going through the center of my
tongue. Wore platform shoes to help me look tall. Wore size 42 pants to stand
out in the crowd. Showed off my scars. Hung out with guys that just used nick
names. And some of them died in vain at an early age. But we didn’t cry
too long because we were fucking bold. Walked around downtown with a protest
sign and a backpack. And when the cops came with teargas I cried a little but
they didn’t get a chance to kick my ass. Because I’m a small girl
but I’m bad. I was an anarchist before I knew what it was. I was stoned
before I ever tried any drug. I never was a gangster but I was a thug. Wrote
poetry about Revolution and read it out loud to help inspire a solution. But
it’s not enough when you’re grown up and you’ve begun to cry
over spilled milk yet again. Or maybe it is. Maybe it is. Fuck yeah
I’ll probably have some bad ass grandkids. I know my grandma did. And
I’ll die quietly under a fig tree. Never regretting a thing. Enjoying
the life I lived. And just before I say good night I’ll take a gallon of
milk and pour it down a hill. And I might cry then because you know maybe that
cow had a kid. I’ll love all my lovers and maybe forever be a wonder.
Because I was a bold woman. Just like the ones before me. Fighting this life
time and never spending a day on my knees. I might cry over spilled milk. But
it’s just because maybe that cow had a kid. Maybe she did. Maybe she
did.
************
Feminist
Lasagna – By Peggy Lee
Kennedy
Don’t get me wrong,
honey
I like
lasagna
And I am a mean cook,
too.
But why is it my job
and
Why can’t you see
Me?
I am a feminist, a
woman.
Do you know what it even
means?
You know about social justice
and
You believe in racial
equality
(Oh I saw your Malcolm X
there)
But what about
gender?
Too hard for you to
understand?
Why can’t you see
Me?
I am not a tootsie or a bootie
call.
I am Courageous,
A woman standing for
something,
A woman alone and
aging.
Do you know how hard it is to be
Me?
The pressure to conform and
to
Try to be something I will never
ever Be.
And what do you stand for anyway,
Man?
Is it peace, love, God, freedom, or just
for you – what?
Fine, maybe I will
compromise a little.
Gender equality has
different definitions, you know.
And you are
Sweet. Oh yah.
Except where are my lines
drawn and
How are my feminist layers
stacked?
What do I believe and when do I
believe it?
Do I really need to cook lasagna
for you?
And then -
what?
You said, “Men are
dominant”
Am I passive, subordinate,
or second-class?
Oh My
God
Will I be plucking my eyebrows
next?
The layers of the bondage of my sex
Are
so complicated, so
accepted
so social, so
cultural
so religious, so full of
judgment
so hurtful to Me
and
There are So many levels of possible
compromise.
What are the layers of My
feminist lasagna?
Well, if I were not
boycotting Nestle I’d say
You should go
buy You some Stouffers, Man
And I will be
here
Checking the paper for
coupons.
************
A
Star’s Dream
I am a star in a
night time sky
I’m helping to light the
sky
And make wishes for the
children.
I hear from all the
people,
Their voices sound like
music...
I hear one wish from a girl in the
hospital saying: I hope I can be better.
I
wish for her wish to come true.
The girl will
fly to me and we will ride together across the
sky.
I will watch the girl and keep her
safe.
And we will be friends
together,
For all her
life.
By
Manal
15 years
old
************
No
Words
By Vessy
Mink
I long for no
words
Just universal
understanding
For what it’s
worth
No long drawn out
suicides
The world at
war
Pictures in a
book
How much is your love the
key?
The people that I
meet
Tell me stories not so
sweet
Tell me stories not so
sweet
Life... the great
defeat?
Labels upon labels
like price tags on
meat
A simple
life
Is a good ol
life
With memories and
familiars
Family
ours
We are the
stars
Upon stars, upon
stars...
t it’s
worth
No long drawn out
suicides
The world at
war
Pictures in a
book
How much is your love the
key?
The people that I
meet
Tell me stories not so
sweet
Tell me stories not so
sweet
Life... the great
defeat?
Labels upon labels like price tags on
meat
A simple
life
Is a good ol
life
With memories and
familiars
Family
ours
We are the
stars
Upon stars, upon
stars...
************
Bursting
Thoughts
The tubes of my brain
twisted,
At the end arrows trying to break
through my skull
Maybe just memories of the
past trying to burst out
My ancestors
reminding me
Even though I’m a
mutt,
My indigenous roots still go deep
and
Stand
strong
Walking on string ain’t easy at
all
But still I stand
and
Walk through the
world
This is not a battle of the flesh
sister
This is a battle of the
colors
In your
soul.
By Susana C De
Leon
*************
A
TOAST
(TO THE MOST -- 1980 TO
1990)
To The One-Legged
Ladies -- Of Venice!
To The Rock
Star, on crutches, who jogs!
To
“The mayor” -- Hippie John -- (My LAST
husband!)
And, To ALL OTHER “Venice
Beach Dogs”!
To The WE
MOON, of Venice -- Here’s to YOU!
To The Children -- Who never -- Grow old!
To The Fathers and Mothers! And, ALL of us others
--
Whose poetry -- Never -- Gets
sold!
Respectfully,
Tina,
JAN 1991
Posted: Sun - September 1, 2002 at 07:10 PM