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| Mom and Jessica Veneta |
Sunday, January 18, 2015
The Winter of Disaster
the tsuname
all those people gone
the children left, raised together
the nations hope.
louisianna
all those people gone
the ones left, scattered
over america.
the winter of disaster
how we change and survive
our race, our generation
we don't know
how we change.
all those people gone
the children left, raised together
the nations hope.
louisianna
all those people gone
the ones left, scattered
over america.
the winter of disaster
how we change and survive
our race, our generation
we don't know
how we change.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
HOMELESS
Going to pack up my bike
And I am going to ride,
Down the roads of Oregon
On their sunny sides.
I've got my food stamps,
And I am ready to go
My insulin is free,
From the drug company
In this situation I'll freeload.
I'm afraid of what could happen,
And I'm ashamed of being down.
I'll keep a journal of each day
As I stop in every little town.
And who knows who I might become.
I've got creative ways.
I'll think of my adventures,
Then I will write a book and have my say.
And I am going to ride,
Down the roads of Oregon
On their sunny sides.
I've got my food stamps,
And I am ready to go
My insulin is free,
From the drug company
In this situation I'll freeload.
I'm afraid of what could happen,
And I'm ashamed of being down.
I'll keep a journal of each day
As I stop in every little town.
And who knows who I might become.
I've got creative ways.
I'll think of my adventures,
Then I will write a book and have my say.
CHRIS
In my dream I stand by the statue.
Skilled and capable hands had made
The bronze image.
I look into the frozen eyes and frozen smile
Set on a salt pillar, functioning as body.
With my hand spread across the face,
How hard and cold the image!
I, now, overcome with Lot's feelings,
Look into the face of the one who was,
Warm, intelligent, sarcastic and funny.
In my dream I stand by the statue.
I look into the frozen eyes,
Of the one who was.
How warm his arms,
How clear and blue his eyes.
Lovelier than any others.
How strong my brother,
How like a savior.
Skilled and capable hands had made
The bronze image.
I look into the frozen eyes and frozen smile
Set on a salt pillar, functioning as body.
With my hand spread across the face,
How hard and cold the image!
I, now, overcome with Lot's feelings,
Look into the face of the one who was,
Warm, intelligent, sarcastic and funny.
In my dream I stand by the statue.
I look into the frozen eyes,
Of the one who was.
How warm his arms,
How clear and blue his eyes.
Lovelier than any others.
How strong my brother,
How like a savior.
JESSICA
The morning is black and cold
And the mean wind blows against the house.
I would like to walk in the mean wind.
But my baby lies sleeping.
The rain will come and the snow
The ground will be frozen and grey
All the earth around here looks dead
Because the winter has come.
As I listen to the air move so fiercely
My heart quivers and I am afraid
Such weather has no mercy on anything
The house stands about us and cradles us safely.
And the mean wind blows against the house.
I would like to walk in the mean wind.
But my baby lies sleeping.
The rain will come and the snow
The ground will be frozen and grey
All the earth around here looks dead
Because the winter has come.
As I listen to the air move so fiercely
My heart quivers and I am afraid
Such weather has no mercy on anything
The house stands about us and cradles us safely.
GARDENING
When May rolls back the water color sky of winter
The canopy of the northwest sky that shrouds and blankets
In all discomfort, keeping the cold close to earth.
When sunny days attempt to visit now as spring makes an effort
The gardens and the animals know long before us, we who live
In false heat and comfort, wait for darkness to lift it's heavy veil,
The light to enter, the birds to sing, we are nearer as the mornings
Grow nearer and nearer and lighter with light.
I lay here in my winter garden, a blue plastic tarp strung
Over my head, rope stretched to post, the candy cane design
Patterned around and around between tarp and post.
A brown tarp under my body stretched
I write this poem, aware of nature and happy!
Rain won't stop! I want to pound in the metal posts deeper and deeper.
Rain falls from the sky without promise of blue patches or fluffy clouds or sun.
Still I'm dry and fairly warm though I could be warmer, fresh air surrounds me.
The fragrant community garden! Is that grape that I smell in the damp, wet air?
If only the winds would hold still and I could perceive the fragrance.
From sage and lavender the witches yarrow conjures up the dream
Of my garden which in disarray before me confuses me and hides its essence.
So much to do! I lay my head on my grass purse to watch the rain.
The canopy of the northwest sky that shrouds and blankets
In all discomfort, keeping the cold close to earth.
When sunny days attempt to visit now as spring makes an effort
The gardens and the animals know long before us, we who live
In false heat and comfort, wait for darkness to lift it's heavy veil,
The light to enter, the birds to sing, we are nearer as the mornings
Grow nearer and nearer and lighter with light.
I lay here in my winter garden, a blue plastic tarp strung
Over my head, rope stretched to post, the candy cane design
Patterned around and around between tarp and post.
A brown tarp under my body stretched
I write this poem, aware of nature and happy!
Rain won't stop! I want to pound in the metal posts deeper and deeper.
Rain falls from the sky without promise of blue patches or fluffy clouds or sun.
Still I'm dry and fairly warm though I could be warmer, fresh air surrounds me.
The fragrant community garden! Is that grape that I smell in the damp, wet air?
If only the winds would hold still and I could perceive the fragrance.
From sage and lavender the witches yarrow conjures up the dream
Of my garden which in disarray before me confuses me and hides its essence.
So much to do! I lay my head on my grass purse to watch the rain.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
BEVERLY
I remember the dress that I was wearing the day that we met. It was white cotton with lace embedded in the material, sleeveless and mini length. We were in class but on a break. "You are not fat at all, your brother said that you were fat!" I looked down at myself and it was true, there wasn't much there. She was twelve and I was thirteen.
I had spent the summer in the land of abundant and beautiful food. Sioux City, Iowa. I remember opening the fridge one day and there was a huge cheesecake that my aunt had made, a great rectangular thing piled high with homegrown strawberries from her little strawberry patch out back. They drank milk with every meal and my cousin Ron sprinkled sugar on his pancakes. I mean to say, poured.
At home in California there was no food. At ten I had awoken one morning to an empty apartment with no food. I found flour, sugar and water and mixed them together and ate it to end the empty pain I had in my stomach.
"She is a compulsive eater," my grandmother to my mother. So I was... told.
When I returned home from Iowa, my mom got diet pills from the nurse that she worked with unbeknownst to the doctor. I began to thin down. I did more than that, I became anorexic and stopped eating. Mom took me to my grandfather in Palm Springs and he coaxed me back to life. I never became fat again until I had my Olivia.
So began our friendship in 1963. Beverly was my brother's friend to start out. She was 12 and he was 16 but we shared her. She had an IQ of close to 200. She had written journals from childhood that she stacked in the bottom of her closet. She had been belly dancing since a baby. She was warm and empathetic, much like my Olivia, and she seemed to collect people of all sorts and came to know just about everyone.
She had tried to kill herself before I met her. I sat in the car one night with her parents waiting for her session with the shrink to be over. She came out of the building, crossed the street and got into the car. "What was it like? What do you say?" I asked. I kind of could not imagine such a thing. "Oh I just make stuff up. I never tell him the truth."
I had spent the summer in the land of abundant and beautiful food. Sioux City, Iowa. I remember opening the fridge one day and there was a huge cheesecake that my aunt had made, a great rectangular thing piled high with homegrown strawberries from her little strawberry patch out back. They drank milk with every meal and my cousin Ron sprinkled sugar on his pancakes. I mean to say, poured.
At home in California there was no food. At ten I had awoken one morning to an empty apartment with no food. I found flour, sugar and water and mixed them together and ate it to end the empty pain I had in my stomach.
"She is a compulsive eater," my grandmother to my mother. So I was... told.
When I returned home from Iowa, my mom got diet pills from the nurse that she worked with unbeknownst to the doctor. I began to thin down. I did more than that, I became anorexic and stopped eating. Mom took me to my grandfather in Palm Springs and he coaxed me back to life. I never became fat again until I had my Olivia.
So began our friendship in 1963. Beverly was my brother's friend to start out. She was 12 and he was 16 but we shared her. She had an IQ of close to 200. She had written journals from childhood that she stacked in the bottom of her closet. She had been belly dancing since a baby. She was warm and empathetic, much like my Olivia, and she seemed to collect people of all sorts and came to know just about everyone.
She had tried to kill herself before I met her. I sat in the car one night with her parents waiting for her session with the shrink to be over. She came out of the building, crossed the street and got into the car. "What was it like? What do you say?" I asked. I kind of could not imagine such a thing. "Oh I just make stuff up. I never tell him the truth."
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