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About Street roots. (Portland, OR) 1998-current | View Entire Issue (Aug. 1, 2014)
Street roots Aug. 1, 2014 T h e flo w e r an d th e a n t R a in b o w s byAvendor by Kenneth Nickell I am the nightflower the world sleeps as I muse... incandescent I bloom in the alabaster moonlight tousled head, slightly troubled. Really? Me? Searching down streets amidst my thoughts, which are like shooting stars and stars being born Frogs in ribbet heard but not seen , sprinklers startle me run, world, fun Green grass refreshed summertime, 2 a.m. teenagers out looking for fun I’m crazy I need a beer don’t you get it people I’m dedicated to you My mother works too hard her marriage seems strained nevertheless, were going to shop for new clothes * My cat has her own perspective yet she chimes in sometimes 0 ’ prophetess bequeath so divine Suburbia fixed place in the universe I am the nightflower smoking on the curb 7 miles from the city our town sits peacefully yet people here still struggle 1 Everyone must fight or just languidly suffer. I am the nightflower just trying to get it right Rainbows are illusions; Refracted light against tiny droplets as prisms That cause our rounded eyes to see an array of colors. Even in knowing this we see the colors; It is inevitable. Attraction and beauty are much the same things. At first glance we may covet a woman due to her particularly pleasing qualities, Even knowing that hours of hair and makeup have gone into preparation of this grand, glamorous appearance. It is when we move beneath this facade To see the frayed, flawed, sometimes broken vaseof a person That truth and real beauty are found. Not often is this practiced in our day. It’s commonplace to keep up the illusion as a safe hiding place, Keeping all tiie unsettling truths of oneself buried deep beneath the surface. When one sheds those layers of color and light for all the world to seg, The sadness,pain, desperation, and all that suffering, They reveal thè most beauty, I know of. The vulnerable truth of themselves. „ Unapologetic for the fact that there’s no pot of gold. Flowers of Oregon we axe So blessed enjoy our state yes but we must give back Not just here but all over the world this fertile ground can gift the world So I the nightflower will practice self cafe and wake up tomorrow a worker ant Tw o S o n s By Sonia I. French I once had two sons First one then another “Excuse me ma’am but are you that boy’s mother?” Mud, broken toys, stolen bikes, pig skin scars and baseball bats Cracked foreheads, broken teeth and more than a few pet rats. One -day they grew “ Away from the nest (with a kick and a push) they flew Into the arms of their now wives Such beauties, all brown hair anti brown eyes Now that my job is complete I’m sure they are feeling the heat They are fathers to not one but two each Ain’t a picnic at the beach They make it look easy Like a tip of the hat My two sons are fathers of two The clock will never turn back "MAN LINDSTROM'S M IEN BOY PUCKS A HORRIFYING PUNCH: INTIMATE, TERRIBLE, & TR U E ." -SHAW N LE V Y , THE 0RE60NIAN alberta a ro ' “ALIEN BOY IS A TRIUMPH - AND AN EMOTIONAL BULLDOZER.” -JO H N CHANDLER, PORTUND MONTHLY http://www.alienboy.org/ Kristina Wright | Real Estate Agent Bellmoore Realty / 503/4715764 - -Kristina^PorttendHomeGalxom lik e " on Facebook @ Portland Horae Gal ;ood.iocal.fooa 9am- lOom tiailv www.alienfooy.org Available 3/25 on iTunes, SI Amazon Instant,’ D¥DS . ■: and National VOD
