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VOICES I used to live in a house that stood by itself, On the comer of a large lot. The small road on the side, going up a hill, And the road in front both carried some traffic, But by and large The noises that I heard Were made by me, The cats and the dog, And family members, All of whom eventually left One way or another. Now I live in a two-family house, On the bottom floor. My cats still tell me what they want (I guess that's what they're doing) But I hear a lot more too: People next door, Large trucks and dog-walkers out on the street, People upstairs, And indeterminite sounds, Unplaceable, unintelligible. Usually the noise is barely audible, And sounds strangely like voices talking to me. The shower door opening and closing Has vowels and consonants. Often I seem to hear my name- Pa-tri-cia, Quietly, Or some message I can't quite make out. I think of olden days When certain people claimed their God (Or Gods) Talked to them, Told them what to do. I thought they made it up, Pretended to have heard God speak; But maybe, like me, They heard what they reported, Interpreting the soft sounds as God telling them What he had to say. Patricia Fillingham _____________________________ |
TODAY The universe begins on West 4th Street winds its way around Omaha, dips into the sun, makes a little bang and drops back to skip along Barrow Street like a stone: Life as we know it began dying on Bleecker Street one paper coffee cup at a time. 7th Avenue screamed in the red of traffic light, Andromeda cringed. The guardian angels of storefronts plucked their feathers from their wings until there were no more angels -everything's changing, everyone is suddenly a stranger-where are the stores, the shops? Today the universe has shrunk It can fit in the dot of a small "i". Frank Murphy _____________________________ |
BUGS ON THE BRAIN Bewilderness when I wrote "leather" for "rubber" Forgot where I was made a turn i disremembered Doctor says I could take a pill to ward off this Forgettingness Keep till later the only sometimes I'll wake up Until I don't wake up and am a Zombie with no bowel training People already look At me with such amaze I wonder if I have on Enough clothes or did I Lose loose change or gust about, a tornado out of gear? When Vincent did his painting of crows that was when He lost all. What was that likened? Did Lazarus smell? And I am slipping glimpse a crevasse before or Belowcut cut acute cut Where can I find you? How? How much How Green was my Valley? Shirley Powell ______________________ |
Created on ... September 27, 2007