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About Street roots. (Portland, OR) 1998-current | View Entire Issue (May 6, 2016)
Poetry Page 14 Street Roots • May 6-12, 2016 Untitled by Billy Meyer Boxes If things are lost, do we have the ability and the patience to find them again? I believe that the only people who can are the people who lived at the time when there was no pollution and didn’t have the luxury of cell phones and computers and who could take a walk into the countryside and smell the flowers. I believe that we could learn to do it if we got our parents and grandparents and said let’s take a walk and teach me to love and know the world. We really need to rediscover our true innocence, and we can if we turn off the electronic crap and get back to nature and get to know our Mother Earth once again. by Norma Jean Marshall Boxes are containers Boxes are for carrying things in: Boxes are for shoes Or for carrying kittens And puppiess to and from, wherever. Boxes are not For containing human lives: So why am I feeling boxed in. As I grow older My world shrinks: As the world itself, appears to shrink In the age of computers With its Internet Supersonic jet travel. None of which Is currently available to me. Some boxes I have seen Are beautiful All decorated Or tied with lovely colored ribbons and bows Colored ribbons and bows. Mine is not As lovely As I am used to. Although I deck it out With as many doo-dads and gee-gaws As I can afford It is still, just a tiny Cramped box. Compared to (if unaware I have indeed always been living in a box) Compared to the huge box Of my youth That could barely contain My bubbling, overflowing life Straining at the seams. Ah, youth Indeed, it was, almost Wasted on me. neànle’s FARMERS’MARKET WEDNESDAYS 2-7PM UP TO $5 MATCH WITH EBT CARD We're passionate about helping our community access healthy food that they can trust. By shopping at our market, you'll get extra food dollars while communi & Divi The Open Wound by Leo Rhodes I have a wound I’m trying to fix I try to hide it By not showing the pain People close to me Tell me “You need to fix the wound” Which I try to do But then the people come back And Want me to open the wound Exposing the wound I show no pain Now I’m Pointlessly existing Knowing the wound will never be healed
