Street roots., November 16, 2018, Page 13, Image 13

Street Roots • Nov. 16-22, 2018____________
To live for
Street Poetry
Page13
Passing Night
by Aileen McPherson
by Brandon M.
The stillness at 5 a.m.
a quiet moon, coffee brews,
waking purrs whiskers tickling,
Water warm cleansing body ‘n’ soul.
Chill mists blanket my day,
catching glimpses of bandits at play.
My world awakes foggy, clear, crisp
Blue skies painted purple, rose, and gold.
Springing forward lush and green, blooming
crocus, nightly jasmine vines wind,
under the cherry blossoms we dine.
A sultry sun scorches everyone, basking,
Breathless, drowning, chase
Race the salmon to the sea.
Falling down, reaching back, rustling
Showering the earth, gathering
golden, terra cotta, and maroon bones,
crunching, hushing signaling.
Death cold grey skies wintering
Storms come ‘n’ go, blustering snow,
cocoa warm heals fingers and noses.
What is there to live for? Me
my love, for my life is as precious
and priceless as yours.
On the shore of the bluest ocean,
I see the silhouette of a man
Casting abalone shellsinto the waters
as Sand dollars mark the occasion, .
And the boy feeds the sea rainbow tears
for the girl he loved who broke up with him
And the pirates with the navy clash
while the priestess invokes the gods with hymns.
Stage life sits the wife, alone on the porch
quiet and dreamy in the salty breeze
While her husband turns ovér in his sleep
and the cat eats her dry munchies.
And out amongst the reeds there lies a man
by a fire whose embers are burning red
May this finite world no longer haunt him
for the night took him, and now he’s dead.
Trail in the sand
by Daniel Cox
Sad stones moved gallantly across
The desert floor.
Yes quite a mystery.
Does this happen when no one looks?
Is this real?
It appears there are no answers
to come up with in this conundrum
of rocks moving.
Only the tale of rocks moving leaving
A trail in the sand.
Vacation
by Jay Juno
I need a rest:
To break away
From this rut
I’ve tangled myself in.
These chains of neglect
Hold my spirit hostage-
Their grip chokes me,
Holds me,
Keeps me,
And I remain their prisoner.
Fear keeps me from reaching
Through the bars
Andthe light stays out of reach.
If I could have one wish
I’d wish for freedom
From doubting myself,
From the fear
That suffocates me
And stills my breath.
j you serve in the
rmed Forces
d are experiencing
or at risk of
becoming
homeless?
Transition
Projects
Please call 855.425.5544
or visit 650 NW Irving Street