Welcome to our Poetry Platform. We are sharing some of our writers’ new poems every Monday. Thank you for reading and thank you for supporting them in their creative endeavor and Center for New Americans in our welcoming endeavor!
WWSTD: WHAT WOULD SOJOURNER TRUTH DO? / Carol Rinehart
Walk away, don’t run
Stand tall
Be irritated not vengeful
Trust the Spirit’s voice inside
Interrupt and speak, disarm
Bring them down to earth with truth
Know your own strength
Fight for yourself as if for others
Use the existing system’s resources
Like laws, Quakers, white people you can trust
Use current technology
Sell the shadow to support the sustenance.
Ask for help and repay
Speak the truth
Move about freely and purposefully
Walk your talk and keep your feet on the ground.
Speak in the Now for fairness, justice, equity, humility
Believe and speak Truth
*******************************************************
CHANGE / Suzann Heron
I know change, change lives in me
Makes itself known when the time is right
Sometimes it creeps up,
without much notice
Other times, the change looks me straight in the eye
and I can’t step around it
Change lingers in the back of my mind and the crevices of my body
When I wake in the morning,
there’s a little notion,
or, a vague scene tugging at my mind.
Change lives in my heart as a sensation, something to come
I wait,
knowing the steps of change will
unfold
Preparation is needed for this time
A time of readying
Fortifying and nurturing myself
Doing all the regular self-care things
enough rest, proper food and water, exercise and outdoors
Spending time in the forest,
helps a lot, for preparation
and support
Making prayers of letting go
and leaning in
for what is to come
******************************************************
WHILE THEY WERE GONE, / Tzivia Gover
rain smudged dawn
came to wake me
your side of the bed
a shambles
why wake
when droplets, cold,
heartless, wash away
what meaning there was
morning now
folded up
and still they are gone
both of them
reluctantly, I release a small breath
pull air in, strength from blue
until something shines
at the window, as if
it mattered, rain seeping through
or not—my soul, bent glass
where did you fly off to
winter is here
don’t make me rise
**********************************************************
1969 / Richard H. Fox
—for Thaddeus Clay Jones & Joseph Francis Chuichiolo
King Ravine, its trail our struggle—a lush view from the summit.
Trees appear to sweep up-mountain in waves, a climber’s mirage.
TJ, Joey, & me release our legs. Be one with Mount Adams.
Snared in crevices between the summit’s rocks—wrappers,
shredded maps, balled paper, butts, empty matchbooks,
a used condom. What the fuck? says TJ, Someone’s balls turned blue!
Joey laughs, Let’s get to work. That shit’s not picking itself up.
I pull a garbage bag from my knapsack. Snap it open.
Our maxim: “Pack out more than you pack in.”
We collect trash north to south, west to east. Hands grow
layers of grit: rock powder mixed with trash wash,
blood drops on skin sliced by sharp edges.
A sudden walking stick appears, spikes a bread plastic,
hovers over the garbage bag. I slide off stabbed trash, follow
blackthorn shaft to canvas glove to arm of towering woman.
Creased forehead, ruddy cheeks, Vaseline lips. Tufts of white hair peek
under a faded Tilley hat. She wears a worn Army jacket,
straight-leg jeans. Peter Limmer hand-molded boots.
Good afternoon, boys. Believe I can fly, seeing you police them assholes’ crap.
She works with us, spike faster than cold fingers.
Task complete, I tie the bag to my knapsack frame.
Joey opens vanilla wafers, passes them around. We sip canteens.
How old are you boys? Sixteen? We nod. I’m eighty-six. Still hungry.
When I was young, I bested Kilimanjaro, Fuji, Denali, Everest-South Camp.
These ancient peeks suit me now. Both of us closer to sea level. Y’know—
this range formed when dinosaurs ruled the Earth. Who’ll have the last laugh?
She pulls a pint of Old Crow from her rucksack. We toast the victor.
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FAMILY SYSTEMS IN TIMES OF ECONOMIC DISPARITY / Julie Youmans
Affordable housing was nowhere to be had
Yet getting around this was neither backward nor bad.
Her solution unusual, of that there’s no doubt,
Just don’t mention a shoe or she’ll throw you right out.
Her downfall? Not being scrupulous in bed.
Flattering words would go straight to her head.
At first she felt blessed by the consequent baby;
But one after another, she sighed – well – maybe –
These dervishing children dampened her style;
Their whining and wheedling, she thought was just vile;
Their play was incessant, raucous and loud.
Yet with food running out–she still was not cowed.
They came by command to sit and sip soup,
Since eating made them an obedient troop.
Then in a flash ’round the table she sped
Whacking each one as to safety they fled.
You’d think her behavior would make them quite nervous;
But they had no phone to call social service.
For more of this story, you may search and may poke.
If you think it’s not real, you haven’t been woke.