soccer mom
by raisheme worlds
insects curdle my hysteria
except the bumble-bee.
fuzzy, black and yellow skin
an outfit of my intrigue.
the shiny shells of 6 leg’d things
may speed the heart and yield my breath—
spiraling webs of arachnids
drapping ‘neath an attic attic step.
but the bumble-bee in lethargic flight,
unlike the slip and slime of worms or worse,
dazzles my intelligence
of kamikaze war-jets and women that curse.
“The Love of S”
by Patrice Lumumba Daniels, September 2011
American corporate crony capitalism is rife with greed, monopolization, and economic exploitation. (1% owns 70% of the economy.) It also seeks to reinforce the de facto effective permanence of marginalizing the poor and working class citizenry. The disenfranchisement of millions is indeed the offspring of diehard capitalism in its rawest form, where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.
The question that I repeatedly pose is, “What’s so bad about communalism?” Since when did words like shared wealth or equality become blasphemous?
Any objective economist without an ideological ax to grind or philosophical point of view to advance would have to concede, if they are honest, that capitalism in its 21st century form is doomed to fail. There’s no future in the almighty dollar. It even continues to depreciate as I write this essay or commentary.
The film Wall Street got it wrong Greed IS NOT good, and before I am cast as a Marxist socialist, let me say this: I am not a fan of Karl Marx. I am a champion of common sense. Common sense says that monopolizing wealth and resources under the umbrella of corporate capitalism and “free market” economics means that those not able to compete equally with those interests, will undeniably suffer as a result. The vast majority of this planet’s population falls into the suffering category—and it is no their behalf that I espouse the views I do.
Imaginary Friend
by RaKahna Latrice, July 7, 2012
I never thought to copyright you.
People don’t even know that you exist.
You are a land between the earth
And purple-blue skies within a mist.
You are lightning struck on parched streams.
You are a smile with subtle kiss—
A no one but someone who
Knows no thing but what’s amiss.
And though my vain wisdom imperfects you
And edit what scribbles permit—
I know that you come upon me pure.
You are my mother’s little kid.
(no title)
by RaKahna Latrice, May 5, 2012
My sleep evades my wanting grasp—
Thoughts tonight multiply themselves
and dreams evade my wanting grasp
The round lit little orbs peek at
the nothings of deep space and time—
My thoughts I wish were nothings too
then sleep I would with nothing to do.
(no title)
by RaKahna Latrice
I built my love atop sand dunes
Beneath a whirling acrid sky.
I mixed with mortar deep regret
And raised the walls with stone set high.
My tears storm forth like raging seas—
Its waves crash and enclose my love
And perched above a failing moat
That led to walls almost afloat.
oh, well
by John Grant
Seems like I had everything going. Just before everything went.
I must’ve made a wrong turn: this was not my intended destiny . . . oh, well!!
oh, well, my favorite phrase, simple to hide the hurt.
oh, well, I say, and nothing gets through.
I think I used a different word as a child. But it didn’t raise the wall as quickly,
oh, well!!
Some of the sounds slipped through the child’s ears. Like when the old Mexican lady who used to babysit me for months and months, told me time after time, “Sorry, boy, your mama can’t make it this week-end.”
(Damn those words!) Or when the Judge decided it’s best for me to be placed in the custody of the authorities!! (Wham! That one caught me right on the chin.)
Yeah, I had definitely had to find a better word to keep my guard up.
Sometimes I can hear that boy’s tears as they hit the pillow.
But what the hell, why trip it? Like when the Judge said,”26 years.”
I handled it fine, simply saying “oh, well.”
“What a perfect phrase.”
(no title)
by RaKahna Latrice
I built my love atop sand dunes
Beneath a whirling acrid sky.
I mixed with mortar deep regret
And raised the walls with stone set high.
My tears storm forth like raging seas—
Its waves crash and enclose my love
And perched above a failing moat
That led to walls almost afloat.
“My Invisible Touch”
by John Grant
Five fingers emerge from the well that is my soul.
Move through the red reservoir of my open heart to become a gentle hand mirrored to produce a pair that sprout dragonfly wings at midnight and set out to find you sleeping like a cloud dreaming of me in a place where I am not . . don’t be alarmed!
The touch you feel is mine the three fingers slipping inside you are mine,
It’s not a dream your hips move in response to my invisible touch
Two hands touch you like ten million butterflies beating their wings in every corner of the room, your breath quickens I am with you feel me in your open mouth; in your hair.
Passing lightly across your breasts painting your areolas the color of your favorite fantasy
The night is long the smile you wake with is real and so is that empty place beside you.