November 29, 2013 |
in Poetry |
Grandmother, You sit, Wrapped in your Persian melon-colored blanket, Rock back and forth, On that old rusty country porch, Whom the neighbors across the street Once called, Rusty Oak. Spit...
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Let Me Straddle Your Mind
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me and
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live oaks
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leav
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over.
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhinging,
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtain
Behind the War On Women
Pilar Fraile Amador
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