Diana’s March poem: you left me behind

from The Myths of the Mirror

Myths of the Mirror

pixabay image from Natan Vance

you left me behind

by D. Wallace Peach

you left me behind

because I was born in the barrio

in a shack by flooded rivers

in the dusty winds of drought

didn’t speak your tongue

or worship your god

the one who bade you

love the children

I am the meek

you left behind

because I toiled in cane fields

watched the dawn ripple through fish nets

over dying turquoise waters

tended my father’s reindeer

on the tundra’s barren crust

I bear no papers to witness my learning

my worth in coins or accounts

my worth in belonging

as a human being

I am too young, too crooked, too old

too homeless, too hungry

the wrong color emblazoned across my face

the wrong size, gender, ethnicity

the wrong way to love

to be

you needed a stranger to blame

and I am left behind

one…

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Poetry: That Muggy August Night

That muggy August
night we waited for
a stranger:

a new boyfriend who
didn’t show.

Momma swore an
threw a stone:

it bounced and
sparked before it
cracked on the
concrete porch–

An momma cried
An momma slapped
An momma bit
An momma snapped–

all because
of that boyfriend
who didn’t show.

(c) Rob Goldstein 1983-2019

 

 

 

Finality

A flash of brilliance from Ivor

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

Finality may appear in many forms

We’ve all travelled our life’s journeys

Sooner or later, we have to retire, and work no more

Old tools are laid to rest, gathering dust

There’s a stage when we have to say goodbye

To that special one, we loved forever

Then time propels us beyond our friends lives

The people we knew, dwindle to a few

And in front of our eyes, earth slowly dies

We the custodians, failed to see an overcast sky

Our belief’s shrivelled, inside religious sleeves

With the jealous and greedy, yet to eat their last supper

I hope tomorrow’s future, is better than today’s veiled ways

And yesterday’s trials, are to become, the healing castle’s final say

Ivor Steven (c)  2019

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Poetry: Honeysuckle and Easter

A shimmering butterfly
circles the honeysuckle
in the backyard where
sunflowers grow a
foot tall, by daddy’s
garage where doo-wop
streams from the radio
this hot Passover Day

slurping Kool-Aid and
munching matzah
in my Superman
clubhouse

wishing my Sister
would go away.

(c) Rob Goldstein 1984-2019
“It’s Superman” Rob Goldstein 2019