For the Refugees who have lost their all,
For the Homeless who are abandoned,
For the Forsaken who have no one,
For the Voiceless who go unheard,
For the Loveless who grieve for trust,
For the Dead who perished in poverty’s fire,
For the Orphans who dream no more,
For the Betrayed who died far from home,
For Humanity in a time of mass poison.
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Soon aftah I wen move
into da new neighborhood
I walked around wun corner to see
wun catchy sign above wun storefront window—
Mafioso Pizza.
Next to da name of da joint
wuz wun depiction
of wun 1930s Chicago style gangster.
Da character wuz wearing
wun fedora and wun suit
and he wuz smiling
while he wuz holding wun tommy gun.
Da caption on da bottom of da sign
read “There’s no crime in killing your hunger.”
One of my friends did tell me
dat dis West Side area wuz moa rougher
den wheah I used to live.
At least da owner of da pizzeria
had wun sense of humor.
Den again
it’s not as crazy as da East Side of town.
Cleveland’s police
and some suspect bad guys
recently took it
to wun new kine height ovah deah.
Law enforcement
responded to wun high speed car chase
by…
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His body engines stay roaring
and he’s ready foa take flight
cause all his cells have been altered
and da damage is in sight—
Da reluctant passenger
going crash slowly
into wun invisible fireball.
Neurological
and cancerous consequences
going be talking in present tenses
wen all da doctors do dere tests
and find wun tragedy in da results.
Dis unfortunate situation
could be coming down da road
cause people going find out
wat has been happening.
Da average person on da street
might be one of many
who has been drinking
traces of aviation juice
witout knowing it.
Undahground at Red Hill
da military got wun massive storage system
dat wuz built just above
wun important aquifer.
Da large tanks wuz leaking jet fuel foa years
and now da public going get wun huge surprise.
At da hearing
wun spokesmen foa da Navy
wants to sweep everyting
undah wun bamboo…
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I don’t think I have ever been more sad or angry over events as this past couple of weeks. I’ve tried to stay rational and calm. I’ve written a couple of poems to let off some steam not to raise awareness — awareness isn’t really a problem but steam is. And it’s HOT and people aren’t being looked after by the people who are supposed to SERVE communities. It seems as if hatred stalks the streets and indifference has hands in some very deep pockets.
Only words
They do not serve who rule
both are in I’m not a Silent Poet.
One feels helpless.
In the meantime Bewildering Stories’ Editors once again chose to include my work in their Quarterly Review
Not for the Weak and Do Not Hurry, Do Not Rest
It’s a poem that reminds me of my oldest brother(right) Thomas Arthur Kyle who died, aged 82 this…
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In grade school
my best friend Freddy
was from Nicaragua
and even though he was two years older
then us
and set back in grades
the bullies used to try beat him up
all the time
as the other kids circled around
shouting: kill the brown kid!
the groups of girls forever curious
but thinking of their fathers
and Freddy was older and faster and stronger
and would often get the better of
the bullies
so that the parents would demand
the removal of the foreign kid
who came from violence
and did not know
better.
The last thing I want
is to be stored away in some university library
after it all –
dusty and neglected
forgotten on some top shelf of nowhere
afraid of heights
ever since my parents threw me down
the stairs
when I was eight months old
trying to make the crying stop I would imagine
after many weeks of sleeplessness,
first time parents explaining away the many bruises
I must live with
now.
Her pimp held a knife to her face
said he’d give her a Glasgow smile
and even though she had no idea what that was
she was certain she didn’t want it
so she gave him the money
and talked him down
so she could go back to work
bent over in the back stairwells
two months pregnant
and starting to
show.
reubenwoolley 