- HAITICAPERS -

[Note: The power of the spoken Poem: “Are you (listening)/hearing me down there?” - Vampyres of Leisure].

————————————————————————————————————-

Randall knows about

The Island, sure & quickly

as Jack Robinson

from here to St. Kitts, It’s not

juste any mystery, none

for them who know, n’est-ce

pas? fault? what fault? abide the

subterranean

line, b’tween blue water-black holes

another JC-Betraynd

the truths held & sel-

dom told, ‘bout the Prince-au-Port

demons’ Haitiwork

& TheBook Of Agenda

as right-eous as Robertson

hard rain, unswell ground-

swell came to a’ready swollen

bellies & near to

eliminated int’rest

‘cept…right-as-wrong as the song

not awant to play

that way…a temp folks’

song,  je ne sais quoi…

& so, another atoll

demolished, abolition

abolished, gone with

the tolling place, a soundless

idea Haiticare

soilbeans & septicola

in rank pandemonium!

7.0’s not

neutral, base acidicism

rightspin prediction

not ambi-valent nor a                      

re-tort, schemoviscery, a

boulder new kindless

cataclysm for the Zoe

herethere, everwhere

can/do you hear us, you are listening?

chacun a son gout, oui, well,

not anthropophage,

yet…but the lore made lawless

“How many roads must…?”

asked Taino Kiskeya

came the reply, Ayiti

One who hates his own

when Arawak mountainous land

once…  now percussive

repercussed deep & dark, name-

less, blame to a faultly fault?

H.e.m./H’H.

                            1.18.MMx.

                            (Chai?)

Drawing by Terrianne U. Swift

Visit the following sites to help the people of Haiti:

Unicef

World Vision

Indigo

I saw a Blue Jay
floating in a bubble
at the end of a long string.
A kite, no a balloon.
Tom the lizard-man wore an
Armani suit
sharply dressed
and crisp he strolled
like a big snake down the sidewalk.
All the houses were rainbow coloured
with LED numbers and
the mailboxes were all red
like big candy canes with open mouths
for receiving all the junk.
Tom picked up the paper
off the purple grass that seemed to chatter.
The ” Indigo Daily Spew”.

— Kevin Harling

Yoda

Like an oracle sage nomad
you pilfered my presence
with your small stoic stature
my thoughts, the force, your
frail disposition so deceiving
mighty warrior messiah of green
wisdom, to you I bow.

— Kevin Harling

Black

Noir feels opaque
in a nocturnal sort of way,
shadow takes a step
the lamppost talks to nobody
alone with the night.

— Kevin Harling

The Fall

Gracefully leaf swan
twilight and unfolding
you wither age,
green becomes
yellow and
settles
upon this ground,
a white page of mirrors
reflecting the dew
it all steeps in letters.

The erosion decays the sun’s face
and the hours pass ghosts.

The Raven returns to nest fences
the smell of a rustic cedar mist
lingers like the whispering grass.

— Kevin Harling

Hillbilly Rhetoric

Came home running,

Harboring cruel ideas
And states of mind,
Miscegenation
In his back pocket,
Ill informed
The bottom line,
He came home stumping,
Nurturing idleness
and unemployed,
Pushing guilt
And playing the victim.

Came home humming.

Humming tunes of hatred,
Singing songs he didn’t know,
The meaning of words,
Nouns,
Verbs,
Adjectives and adverbs
That destroy,
Destroy populations,
Misconstrue and stunt Relations,
Conflict
Remaining generations.
But he didn’t know better,
His mamma raised him up
This way,
He came home running

Caught a jigger by it’s toe.

- Jenn Kelly

BREATH

If the tree between buildings breathed
Animosity among its leaves.
If skin color were different kinds of air.
If photosynthesis contracted itself
Through song. Why does the mudslide cover
That river and not the one nearby?
How does a fish breathe on land
And a human underwater?
In the exchange of gases, what is a tree?

— Michael H. Brownstein

BEFORE TOO MANY BREATHS

When I walk outside my tenement on Lamon Avenue,
The first breath of air heavy with the cleanliness of camping,
The wet of the living, the rabbit smell spinning across the lawn,
The song heavy robins, a breeze through my hair like flights—everything
Content and perfect in this part of the world.

- Michael H. Brownstein

AFTER THE MOON FILLS ITSELF WITH MILK

the lightning bug tree
in the middle of the grove

the sand break
in the middle of the river

the blackened angel cloud
in the middle of the noon sky

the stone and red leaf,
the driftwood and oyster puddle

the cold rain of winter,
a brown bear waking to the snow

a track along the ice
in the middle of the storm

December, the drought ending,
rain washed trees bleeding their color

and one quarried house
at the edge of the great swamp of snow

- Michael H. Brownstein

Nonreciprocal Altruism

Think uncommon.

Reflect on the eternal.

Find the favor returned?

Tit for tat?

Timeless stares the unwary down,
reveals none of its hoary secrets;
irrelevance disguised as epiphany,
irreverence cloaked as compassion-

crocodile tears for the human condition.

Forever lies in wait, finds fools suffered gladly
with its wiles employed solely for the purpose
of seducing the previously sane into prophesy
as a self serving and largely propagational

maneuver.

Truth is clutched to an ancient bosom reluctant
to part with anything of genuine merit,
often confused with wisdom when properly ignored
by children of common knowledge while

ass-biting prophets into lunacy.

A particle of revelation occasionally tossed out
becomes a juicy quote destined to make or break
a species more enamored of pretty words
than of sanity desperately needed for true

survival.

Tit for tat?

Find the favor returned?

Reflect on the eternal.

Think uncommon.





— Bibelot

- "CHIRPEE" -

on the Pathway this
morn, tres-empuddled beseech,
ousted? yet, out!

shuddering feather-
ball barely in my palm, paled
yellow squinty eyes

peeking-up speaking
up to me the Imprint, this
saved eyas StarlinG.

HH

4.27.MMv.

AM/PM

…to our balcony
alights three, blue Sialia
Family clearly sailed  

 Melaleuca
to sable through to perch the palm
feeder, she of he

& he, to Me squawks
that Song like to a Piper
soft alee, tips the

seedtreat scup, revels
aperch the orphaned Fichus
and glee Songs her Mate!

H.e.m./H’H.
c.6.MMv.

Giddy as Gilligan

with your every step

you walk on

everyone I have

loved like they

were nothing

but rose petals

on the floor

of a hotel suite

with each thing

you say

you speak

over the

hurtful words

repeating

inside me

like a movie

showing in

an empty

theatre

and with

each peck

on my lips

you give

the big

kiss off

to the

cast of

castaways

who have

been stranded

on my Island

goodbye

you Gingers

and Mary Anns

I have been

rescued

by a face

pretty enough

to sail a thousand

ships

- Ivan Jenson

The Way

You don’t listen

to common sense

you don’t go by

the map

you don’t read

instructions

and you don’t

care for advice

you want to

do things

your way

and who can

blame you

after all

you are God!

- Ivan Jenson

Just Crazy

It really

smarts

when smart

people

get stumped

and it’s

pretty unfair

when pretty

people get

bent out of

shape

and when

someone

with drive

is driven insane

and when

an organized

mind

gets all

messed up

and one

who seeks

answers

is questioned

and if

a questionable

character

isn’t frisked

or a frisky type

is sedated

and

a socialite

left alone

and a loner

escorted to

a party

while a major

player is

given a

minor role

and a

minor drinks

too many tequilas

well, these

are the times

that one

must

step back

to get a bigger

picture

of this little

planet

- Ivan Jenson

Forget Columbus

everything would be so

much easier if the

earth were flat

then nightly it

could just be

flipped over

like a pancake

and sunset would

be sweet maple syrup

pouring darkness

and each morning

we’d open our

eyes like eggs

sunny side up

in a

two sided

world

wars

would be

a coin toss

heads

or tails

we both

would win

- Ivan Jenson

Inner Child

you got a lousy rainbow

so what

sure as bad weather

there will be another

and your chariot

busted down

and never swung

low to carry you home

stop hanging on

to threads

leading to kites

in lightning clouds

you didn’t

discover eccentricity

nobody your age

should still be pulling

a red wagon

filled with flyaway weeds

dandelion dreams

stop trying to be

the Pied Piper

of the Peter Pan principal

as dragons

drag you down

through dungeons

of despair

when will

you grow

up and discover

that tree growing

in Brooklyn

and that

secret Garden

State highway

to adulthood

where like

Robin Hood

you can steal

from the richness

of your childhood

to give to

your poor

attempt at

maturity

- Ivan Jenson

It's not you

it’s not you

it’s me

and my

pre-conceived

notions

built on

fables and flicks

and urban

legends

told to me

over campfires

and cocoa

so don’t blame

yourself

I came here with

tunnel of love

vision

filled with

my father’s ideals

and my mother’s

idea of

what is good for me

and what’s bad

for my heart, health

and soul

I trust in

these inner

voices

to gauge

my outer vision

in my quest

for absolute

perfection

and that’s

why I am still

single at

forty seven

- Ivan Jenson

Lady Wen-Chi Has to Decide

Kidnapped from my father’s house,

forced to marry a Mongol chieftain

and bear his barbarian children,

I lived in tents, searched for food,

cooked over outdoor fires.

Now, fifteen years later, I’ve been ransomed.

Shall I saddle up, retrace the route

across steppes, rivers, deserts and mountains,

back across the Great Wall

to the home and parents I’ve longed for,

my books, parchment and settled life,

or remain with children I bore,

nursed, sang to, taught to walk—-

these children pulling at my clothes,

begging me not to leave?

 - Wilda Morris

Note: Lady Wen-Chi was born in China about 178 C.E.. At age 12, she was kidnapped by a Mongolian group called Hsiung-nu, taken to Inner Mongolia and forced to marry a tribal leader. When she first got pregnant, she wanted to commit suicide, but she found when her baby was born, she bonded with the child quickly. Fifteen years after her capture, she was ransomed, and did return to China. She expressed in poetry the pain of leaving her children behind, saying “I was grieved then by coming away, And now I hate returning.”

London Cathedral

St. Pancras Station—

a cathedral dedicated

to railway travel

dwarfs the ancient church

whose graveyard

it desecrated

in devotion to new gods

of the new age

- Wilda Morris