Where Poem by Marilyn McIntyre

            WHERE?
            Where? 
            are poems alive 
            upon the page 
            do words have meaning 
            does the music sing 
            when no one hears 
            am i alive when i’m alone 
            does my breath soar 
            and reach another’s dreams 
            will God hear me 
            can i feel with no other 
            to give me bounds 
            and where do my feelings fly 
            in the night 
            mysterious and dark and calling 
            if my eyes cannot see 
            is it so 
            and the candle 
            what of the candle 
            will it still glow 
            without tender whispered murmurs 
            where will my love touch down 
            must it float forever 
            meandering among the stars 
            where does it all go 
            where does it go 
            when it’s gone?

more from Marilyn
 

Contemplating Hell by Bertolt Brecht

Contemplating Hell

Contemplating Hell, as I once heard it,
My brother Shelley found it to be a place
Much like the city of London. I,
Who do not live in London, but in Los Angeles,
Find, contemplating Hell, that it
Must be even more like Los Angeles.

Also in Hell,
I do not doubt it, there exist these opulent gardens
With flowers as large as trees, wilting, of course,
Very quickly, if they are not watered with very expensive water. And fruit markets
With great leaps of fruit, which nonetheless

Possess neither scent nor taste. And endless trains of autos,
Lighter than their own shadows, swifter than
Foolish thoughts, shimmering vehicles, in which
Rosy people, coming from nowhere, go nowhere.
And houses, designed for happiness, standing empty,
Even when inhabited.

Even the houses in Hell are not all ugly.
But concern about being thrown into the street
Consumes the inhabitants of the villas no less
Than the inhabitants of the barracks.

Bertolt Brecht

Phenomenal Woman Poem by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

***

Musketeers of Illusion Poem by Dandelion De La Rue

Always the coldness
creeping in
disturbing the warmth
of my illusions,
illusions of
d’Artagnan seeking
one for all and
all for one
true friends
warm love
risking all.

For them
the musketeers
there were no borders drawn
between them,
they knew that
borders don’t exist
imaginary lines
drawn in the mists
of paranoia.

But they
the musketeers
are only my
illusions,
now.

Like them
I drift into
invisibility
missing them
I have become
a nonexistent
border
separating love
and despair.