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.
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& 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