Category: Uncategorized

Performed by Val Cole

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Is It Because I’m black, by Jermal Perkins

Is it Because I am black
Is it Because I am different from
You seen me And I seen you
We looked at each other
I seen the anger in your eyes
I continue walking down the street
It was pretty dark outside
I heard the Sirens going off
You write something down on your notepad
You get a call on your Walkie talkie
You stopped me , my heart beating fast
My heart thumping oh so fast
Wondering what I did wrong
Was it something I did
Was there something I should have done
Why did you stop me ?
Why ? Is it because I don’t look like you
That I don’t have the same skin color as you
That I don’t have the same hair color as you
Is it because I don’t talk like you ?
Why ? Can you answer me ?
Can you tell me ?
You give me no reply
You ask me to put my head on the car
I was too scared to response
What could I say ?
I sit there
I don’t answer
I set there in the dark silent
My heart dropped
Dropped right there on the floor
I was afraid to pick it up
You search me without my permission
You throw me on the car
I fall on the ground
I decided to stay down
Afraid to pick myself back up again
Afraid because you would just throw me back down again
It has happened so much that I’ve got use to it
I’ve got used to the pain, the struggle
I’ve got use to this feeling
All I could think is here we go again
Again with feeling of being so useless
I felt oh so useless
There was nothing I could do
What could I do ?
Who put you up to this ?
Did someone tell you to do this ?
Was it him over there in the window ?
Was he afraid of me ?
Was he Afraid of me because of who I am ?
Why do you keep putting me down ?
I just don’t understand
Is it because I’m black , can you tell me why ?

Njord son of Skard the Black Wolf was taught in the ways of war,
his sword skills in fighting in excellence did soar.
Njord thirsted for battle at the age of eighteen.
But for his age, he was tall, muscular, and lean.
He was raised to hate the Christian, raised to hate the church.
He heard how they’d curse Odin, his name they would besmirch.
From his father, he heard tales of their cruelty, barbarism, and rape.
How they would murder children and leave none alive to escape.
His father told him that they murdered his mother.
That they murdered his sisters and every brother.
A life of loneliness and suffering he feared was his fate,
but like a fawn growing on their mother’s milk, he grew on hate.
Njord, Skard, and his men sailed on long-ships ready for war.
With swords and shields ready when they reached the Irish shore.
Once on the beach, they raided the nearest city.
And what the Vikings did was gruesome, it wasn’t pretty.
They slaughtered children and they raped the women.
Njord believed that these horrible sins would never be forgiven.
But to his surprise, the Christians did forgive while awaiting death.
Njord seeing this, pledged to help them, even if it meant at his last dying breath.
He gazed into the sad eyes of the hiding women and children.
They were kind to him, they didn’t see him as a villain.
Njord knew now that his father was wrong,
That Skard had lied to him all along.
Njord quickly swung his sword at a rampaging Viking raider.
Killing him before he could yell at him, TRAITOR!!
Njord helped women and children to escape.
He desired a better fate.
He told them to make for the Irish shore.
To make room on the ship for the old, the sick and the poor.
But Skard and his men found out what Njord did.
A secret like this couldn’t be hid.
Skard attacked first his only living son.
Embittered by what he had done.
Skard slashed and thrust at his son with his blade.
Breaking any fatherly feelings that may have been made.
Njord parried and tried to attack back.
But Skard parried then gave him a smack.
WHY DID YOU BETRAY ME!? Skard yelled at his son.
I DID WHAT WAS RIGHT! WHAT HAD TO BE DONE!
You blame the Christians, for what you’ve done to them.
NO MORE LIES, NO MORE PRETEND!
OKAY! HERE’S THE TRUTH!, I KILLED YOUR MOTHER, YOUR SISTERS, YOUR BROTHERS!
IN YOUR CRIB, I WENT TO SMOTHER YOU UNDER YOUR COVERS!
But your Uncle Bjorn fought off my attack.
And because of this, the other Vikings turned their back.
But now because of your actions, I get to kill you at last!
DON’T WORRY! YOUR DEATH WILL BE FAST!
Intense Rage filled Njord’s heart, he lunged at his father to rip him apart.
He punched Skard hard in the face, from his hard hit’s he couldn’t brace.
He went crashing to the ground, but then he picked up his sword and swung it around.
Steel clashed upon steel, only anger and hatred for his father Njord could feel.
Slashing and thrusting their swords at a deadly pace,
Skard, with his boss shield whacked his son in the face.
Njord spit out blood, then hit his father hard back with a crack.
Now it was his turn to start his attack!
Steel once again clashed upon steel, anger, and hatred was all they could feel.
Skard slashed and thrust his sword at his son.
Hoping the battle would quickly be won,
The sound of their weapons clashing, rang through the air.
Skard attacked his son without feeling or care.
But Njord parried and lashing out slashed back.
Then with the butt of his sword, gave Skard a hard wack.
Njord quickly made his move now that Skard was dazed.
Blood filled the air in a blood-soaked haze.
Njord lopped off his father’s head.
Skard, The Black Wolf was finally dead.
The other Vikings now knew that Njord was the better man.
As fights to the death determined the leader of their clan.
With the Christians, Njord and his armies made a sacred pact.
To defend the poor, weak, to prevent their cities from being sacked.
Njord son of Skard the Black Wolf was taught in the ways of war.
But his love for helping the downtrodden in excellence did soar.

Performed by Val Cole

Written POEM:

Dante had two objectives, Pleasure and Survival, with motivation derived to sustain the first often pushing the boundaries of how to maintain the last. His fatalities reciting, “what a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” But the wolf’s hunt isn’t causation for pain brought about by a desire to inflict it. The wolf is ignorant to such results, when it’s time to eat, it’s time to kill. While ungulates graze on helpless grass, advertising peace through dietary restrictions, wolves surround their prey and attack like dancers running from still shadows, stripping the feathers from a Swan Song with grace and dignity.

Performed by Steve Rizzo

Big Lonely Doug by Ekaterina Karassev

I walked down the path and touched Big Lonely Doug.
He poked me in my chest and whispered in my ear,
“Do you know why I am left here?
Do you know why people keep approaching,
Taking off their shoes, hugging me and crying?
Do they know what is coming?
Or maybe they know how hard to wake up
And to see a clearcut?

Or maybe they are aware that when we are killed
We release tons of carbon dioxide?
Or how much it hurts
Witnessing your friends fall
Or to see the broken limbs of your kids?
Maybe they know how it feels when you are used to haul your family out.
Or how much I wanted to be with my siblings on that truck?”

I had no answers for him, I just kept my hand on his trunk.

“Maybe they hear the birds’ cries of despair
About missing nests and squished eggs?
Maybe, after a day of an awful noise and cracking sound,
They know the smell of horror:
Who is coming down tomorrow?!
Maybe they know how eagles scream during damage surveying?
Maybe they are aware what bears feel when they come out of still standing forest?
Maybe they hear a complete silence on a battlefield,
Where there are no movements of leaves, no sobs and no birds’ chirps?
And, to cover the wound, nature makes a heavy fog to roll in.”

I finally opened my mouth,
“Doug, you are a survivor, strong and the oldest!
Douglas Fir, you are the second largest!
You are a storyteller and an oxygen generator,
A guardian of a new growth and remaining forest!”

I heard Doug’s heavy moan.
“It appears to me you don’t know.
Behind your back is Eden Grove,
Which is getting ready to be logged.
I don’t have a beating heart,
But, I can feel the heavy step
Of those who is marking the road for blasting,
Knowing exactly what is happening after.
In each of them I see a tiny light,
That is ready to burst open and shine really bright.
Same light I have seen in Dennis Cronin,
Who tied up on me a green ribbon.
I have a hope for them and for humanity as a whole.
I know one day you all will embrace a life of pure love,
Where nature and you will live in perfect harmony!”

I shed a tear, stepped away and headed to Eden Grove.

Reading by Val Cole

The Face of a Woman
By Chris Mills
2020

The face of a woman is where emotions stream live
Revealing the beauty that within her resides.
She rises to a challenge to make life better for just one
And works ceaselessly until the deed is done.
Her expression, as she sees the fruit of her labor,
Is a tear and a smile which aggrandize together.

But the countenance of an angel glows less brightly
Than the face of the fairest wooed uprightly.

She loves from her heart where she knows and feels.
If her lover is in tune and presents his appeal
As one who has risen above prurient ways
And cherishes her heart, her emotional forays
Which splash color across the noir screen of life
And a sparkle in place of darkened eyes—

Then she will give her frame to the one she trusts.
In response to his bravura to win her, she must
Expose her innermost and allow this one’s gaze
To alight upon her magnificent face
At the moment of release when emotions are spun
Into a binding of souls and never undone.

He bows to his queen, as he realizes the truth
That she conquered the fortress he defended from youth.
Her unveiled face is the dagger which pierces his heart
And he falls bleeding at her feet considering his part
In an amorous conflict of souls, minds, and lives
Through which only the slain have a chance to survive.

Say, God is meaningless,
unless They know our pain.
Say, this is the selling point of Christ,
a god who is also a bleeder,
a laborer, a partaker of bread,
a refugee.

Say, this is my exhaustion:
searching for the godlike
in the faces of corruption,
in the places of razor wire.
Say, mothers, your milk
dries as tears. Say, children,
we are all out of lullabies.
Say, Samaritans, keep your gifts.

Say, this desert air
is the breath of God.
If you want baptism,
here is the indifferent river,
the toilet basin.

Say, this want
is an emanation of God.
Say, the Dollar Almighty
has its chosen people.
Even the haven of light
will be denied,
the all-knowing motion sensors,
the bulbs that rob the weary
of sleep, dreams, time,
those most fundamental of healers.

Say that despair is the soul-killer,
the looking away. Say, we must
be bigger than God. Say,
we must do what God cannot.
We must be here, in the flesh.
Our persistence must be so great,
even They will be humbled.

The castle of beauty stood high with gleaming walls
And within its interior the demons call
Enter and fall
A contradiction so tall
It could fool them all

The liquid container within the vial
The vial that seems to beguile
Structures the liquid’s true style
The smile is filed

Inside the noise box i’ve lost the key
Redecorating is the only way free
This cozy little corner could help me see
The beauty in me

The dungeon felt vast with a hopeless presence
With no one but myself sitting in its essence
I thought I was alone but now I realize
This dungeon is filled with many cries
Beings like ghosts within its depths hiding
And I could perhaps see the others with hope guiding
Hope in a friend to realize soon
These dark spirits and I share the same perplexing gloom

The neon turquoise man showed me his love
His color that occupied radiating from above
His turquoise luminous and the only thing aglow
In the midnight room where only he shows

So, we only have forty-five days left to go,
To get out of this awful “Trump” rabbit-hole!
Still – a long, treacherous “month-and-a-half”,
As the country gets scorched in his “dragon-blazing-path”!

He lays back plotting, avenging and scheming,
As he spins democracy out-of-control and careening;
Scheduling heinous executions for lifers on “the Row”,
While attacking his own party when they tell him to “let go”!

Collecting precious donations from an unwitting base,
Pocketing it in his own coiffeurs – the man’s a disgrace!
Planning preemptive pardons for his family and friends,
When will his fake reality show and narcissistic acts ever end?

Stone, Flynn and Giuliani keep fueling the fire,
While Mike Pence continues “singing with the choir”!
Sean Hannity steadily coaxes him behind the scenes,
As LeBron James, and other netizens, mock him with memes!

Well, families and bank accounts are far beyond stressed,
Businesses and government are completely perplexed,
Doctors and nurses are exhausted and tired,
We just can’t wait until this guy gets FIRED!!

While Congress is stalled on a weak COVID Relief,
That makes you wanna ask, “Where exactly is the ‘BEEF’?”
It’s like passing through the dirtiest and grittiest sawmill,
Then up a steep, rocky climb to the “Grim Reaper” McConnell.

But, soon, all the dirty deeds and insane directives,
Will be thoroughly discredited like college electives.
The nightmarish “okey doke” will finally be uncovered,
And democracy will no longer be strangled or smothered.

But a bump in the road will be the Georgia run-off:
In the Democrats’ corner we have Warnock and Ossoff;
Facing fact-challenged Trumpsters – Loeffler and Perdue.
Makes you wonder, “Just what else will Trump do?”

Yes, just forty-five grueling days left,
For this self-absorbed, so-called “president”.
Some of you may be disappointed and bereft,
But the MAJORITY of us want to quickly FORGET!

Even once he’s finally removed from office,
We still have to remain vigilant and super-cautious,
Because he knows things won’t quite be the same –
Can you say: “New York Attorney General – Leticia James!”

45 Days to Go!!

I will not become just another shoebox
A haphazard collection of love letters
Tucked away on the top shelf
of the closet
in your childhood bedroom
To collect dust next to the others:
Shoes that didn’t fit
Painful ones
They may have broken
Often lost
Ones that you outgrew

I refuse to let memories of us erode—
Hand-me-down stories
Distant dreams
Butterflies, petrified and preserved
A prologue with no story

Misfits
That didn’t follow your path

Think of me fondly
In smiles, once unfamiliar, now routine
Once loaned, now yours to keep
And an extra dimple to keep in your pocket
On days of ephemeral smiles

Think of me fondly
While I build a bookcase

Think of me fondly
Until you have your library