Wednesday, August 27, 2014

He spoke. She listened. I heard.

Phebe Schmidt
David Samuelstern
Fiona Osborne
Phebe Schmidt
Jessica Wohl
 State of the art
That is the question

Listened to Patti talk of Whitman
Lines he wrote to all future poets
He with them in mind
Her with him in mind
A life of mostly poverty
Always following the authentic me
He spoke. She listened. I heard.

Afraid people are scared on my behalf
Kindred souls know the need
The way she spoke of Morrison
My understanding felt like sin

cut out paper doll
Folded into her figure I danced in step
Carried this bible in my arms
Clenched to it for comfort
I'm looking for my creative tribe
The way I feel and know alive

I sat with old ladies in Fillmore square
Nylon knee highs
Church gossip
Wandering eyes to passerby's
Young boys in low pants
Girls with high pitched laugher

I wondered what they thought of me
Sitting on the pavement
Swaying to rhythm
Feeling the crash of the waterfall
Rainbow leaves scattered

Trying is too much effort
I listened to the jazz man play
Heard a new story this way
Get your hands moving into play

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