Poetry

Searching for Self with Blind Eyes

Devon Ammons

Searching for Self with Blind Eyes

Another empty vessel,

A pair of hollow eyes,

Droning through the streets,

Of unconscious life.

Though I turn left,

And though I turn right,

I know not my path,

I search for my mind.

The endless trek,

A daunting trail,

Nothing to fear,

Unless it fate to fail.

 

Somewhere between Beast and Machine

Devon Ammons

Self-induced crippling anxiety,

Ripping at my hair,

Constricting my pupils,

Heaving upon my lungs.

Aware of my condition,

It is perpetuated,

A vicious cycle,

Relentless,

Revealing,

Of my own machinery,

My inner workings,

A faulty blueprint.

Short of an accurate,

Functional design.

Yet it remains,

As long as it wills.

Be gone, beast

I plead

I grasp my pen.

With the first stroke,

It recedes.

This domain remains mine,

Until next time.

 

 

Angel Lips

Hal Sirowitz

She had the lips of an angel,

but her mouth reeked

of bad breath

and overcooked take-out

food consumed

on the run. I wanted

to buy her dinner,

to exchange the smell

of Chinese noodles

for something

fresh off the grill.

 

Calling Her Machine

Hal Sirowitzs

Hello Dolly, This is Hal calling

your answering machine. I’m so glad

you’re feeling well, but I’d be happier

if you returned my call. It’d take

a minute of your time to get me

out of my funk. Surely, you can

manage a minute. If not, thirty

seconds. Mainly, I want to make

sure you’re still alive. If you’re

dead, I won’t blame you. I’ll

blame the guy who did you in.

It wasn’t me. I have this alibi.

Light Dreams

Hal Sirowitz

Dream a little dream

of me – about four ounces.

Preferably, not one of those

nightmares, producing

a pound of worry.

Why am I Mad?
 Angela Anderson

Eyes so deep with years, maybe decades, or centuries of ignorance. This question fills your
mind, lingers and dances on your lips. Like a mumble of a child asking for a cookie before
dinner. With all the anger that I feel I can only answer with contempt. So, I will begin… For
centuries, we black women have mothered and raised kings, queens, princes, and princesses.
Future leaders of black America. When the black man’s spirit was broken, we sat and listened to
your problems with America. We watched as you worked hard to achieve a place in this world,
and welcomed you at the door. To let you know that your efforts did not go unappreciated. We
remained to support you through those and these times. Even though the rape of our bodies and
minds by all of America tore us apart at the seams of our souls. We remained. We are your
backbone. However, our payment is to be labeled Bitches and Whores! When the disintegration
of the family began, and you left us alone while you killed yourselves, others, and died all over
the streets of America to be forgotten like you never existed, we remembered you and carried
your children and your children’s children. We stayed and raised those children. Mother and
father to those princes and princesses. To hold on to a culture of Gods, and love for all mankind.
For the beauty of skin, heart, and soul as well as color. For our own royalty, lineage, and
citizenship. We understood and were the brunt of your anger. We remained, and for me, until this
very day I fought beside you. Only to be called Bitches and Whores. And at the climax of the
descending of your existence, we fought hard to keep you. But you still kill yourselves and each
other. Our children are dying in and for your fights. Drugs and money are your new women now.
And we are treated like air, very important but seldom remembered. And since there are fewer of
you every day you figure you have earned the rights of demi-gods. Where we are the servants for
your demented pleasures. You have trampled on our spirits and fucked with our hearts and
minds. You blame us for the destruction of the family that you’ve abandoned. And you got the
gall to try and treat us like Bitches and Whores. However, in the wake of your self-destruction, I
have come to a new realization. I will raise my children and fight for them, for they are all I
have. I am their backbone now. And to preserve this beautiful culture I will fight even you. So,
you’re on your own. Support yourself for a while. Because I am a beautiful black woman first,
and I will never be anyone’s Bitch or Whore. I am my own woman, with higher aspirations,
destinations and inspirations. With my own ideals about love for all men, women, and children.
Black white or indifferent. With respect for myself and the seeds I am blessed to cultivate into
this world. So, when you sleep with that other woman, because that’s what you do. And when
you die in the streets for your new God, I will still be here. Stronger than ever. With my head
held high, and my feet firmly planted on the ground! So, remember this on one drunken or drug
induced night, when you’re sitting there all alone. The way you stood there stupidly asking the
question…why is the woman so damn mad? For now, you know.