SECONEWS Community Poetry Therapy Wall
Description: The SECO News Community Poetry Therapy Wall. A Built Not Bought Community Media Restomod Project. seconewspoetrywall@gmail.com
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The SECO News Community Poetry Therapy Wall Starts Here:
9/29/20
Adrian Hart
Memories Turned Up Too Loud!
Every Fortune Cookie Contains Possibility
A Prompt of Increased Probability
A Syllable of Community Poetry
Etched in Public Memory as Philanthropy
A Contributor Built Yearbook Written By Our
Restomodded Media and Society
9/28/20
Anita Bloom
the wolf walks alone
9/27/20
Val Clark
Pandemic.
Some bought all the groceries.
Some had chaffed behinds.
They say so long before a cure.
The scientists will find.
Many people lost their jobs.
Wheres the fret for them?
When this is over how will they manage
To get back up again?
Some say its a boogie man.
To scare us out of life.
Some have chronicled the way
The country deals with strife.
We need the ones who've made it through.
To come up with a cure.
Aside from that...what to do?
Well im not really sure.
9/26/20-Poetry in the Park
Harrison Mc Cune
Anita Bloom
Life is what you make of it
You can have feelings that may fit
You may feel strong
Feel that you belong
You can make life good or bad
But never feel so very sad
Life has its own way.
To make you feel that you're ok
Life may change history can't you see
It's up to you and me
The history that can last for many years
The deaths of loved ones that we hold dear
So let's make it a memory that we never forget
Yet some may forget I bet
The life we live will change day after day
Don't let the feelings of life turn grey
Keep your head up and smile
Let the life we live last a while
Donnie Hollingsworth
Consciousness Caffeinated Antinomian Open-Mic
I'm watching a Coca-Cola can
dance around on American Idol
the media carousels around like a b-movie stuck on repeat weather
(a scum that grows across the surface of rocks
paradise means 'a garden with closed-in walls'
a symbol without meaning and lives on
split down the middle (pieces of these are breathing in my hands
the sun reflected on a crow's back like a
ruby shining between
a jewel that can't be pulled from the bottom of the sky
created the universe held floating
by fingertips
in a séance
(I dreamed that I dreamt of a dead person on a journey
walking in the morning
stumbling into a Kum & Go (I see people all trying to be different
in the same ways (cursed into us from indo-european castes
like I'm watching all the names of coffee
trying to find the right one
and this older man comes in (a more rigid cliche
addresses me "you lost?"
as usual, at the edge of my words sitting still in the inner spotlight
cathedral without a G-d like an old pale flower
forgotten between pages of a book, buried between you and I
I (without a concert, a concrete world
mumbled
chewed out the words "I was born lost"
and tearing apart in the breeze like scraps of a plastic bag torn across barbed wire
se la vie
without a finished script
I walk out to the corner
looking to cross the overpass of the Arkansas
the teeth of it chewing with high water
and stopping before I do this is the part of the cartoon with only
their eyes in the dark
opened
this is the part of the film where our hero fights off the town
with his cornered-coyote soul
and bubbles to the surface
and tries to make a little stage
9/22/20
Adrian Hart
A Seconews Fortune Cookie . . .
You have no idea what your future may hold.
Wisdom says looking back is looking forward.
Hold on tight to the spoken word.
You underestimate the value of the forgotten. . .
Donnie Hollingsworth
No Language
For years I'd see Tim free fall from some height while sitting still
in the backwoods of his life
after his wife
died
of alcohol poisoning he cut off his heart finger
like a Lakota
as he told her story I imagined the silhouette
of a woman staring out of a window
the light is so intense it pushes the edges
of her silhouette towards the middle
into a thin black line waving like a blade of grass in the wind
...while trembling we still offer our hand
we still take the journey
off the grid: wireless walls (I still feel the feral freedom of being
when I asked about what's inside (what you taught from
a branch bowed down from 56 winters of snow
living from the bottom of the world you inherit
the dread of things being upside-down forever
...you said
“what you see is what you get”
an unexpected heart attack while alone
You existed. You took breath.
You loved your cabin on the mountain:
red gravel and clay silt
an old miner's road that led from your front yard (your best friend: a crow
up the unnamed mountain (flies miles above searching for you
to a grassy cliff overlooking the 25 corridor
where we sat once in remnants of an
older cabin--a silver miner
only the outline of a foundation remained and it felt like wind and rain were
watching each other and that we are all
like missing stones ::: dropped into the sea
at midnight every day we live and die at the same time
as blood runs the border between like dead a man's river that drips away
like trying to see someone approaching through glass
when all you can make out is a glare from the inside
through the misty panes of the cabin
::: I see footprints
::: in the snow
leading up to the door
9/21/20
Donnie Hollingsworth
Untitled 2020
(masking representing the quality defining society the voice of the deity comes from this whirling sound the infantile dies needing approval proof (the way, the road, the only deserving statue the concrete, the asphalt sculpture a long byzantine tongue(tires massage in roadkill skin falls like curtains(while dancing to drums the stage blatant reveals buckram stars beneath and beyond without a hint while face to face hymns and chants(with my thumb in the air
and behind the mask only space a skeleton rivers a skeleton, carbon-black
blazes and smokes but I can’t find the phrase maybe it’s hard to see the oaks
maybe there is no one beneath the mist the outlines the echo masquerading but I can’t find the phrase just the words of pavement grating things keeps eating each other and time is not a mirror
prints of a Big Bang
left
the fig leaf beyond
and then the night: cold and splashing and a circling bird of prey
like a voice over waves alone on a hill with no paths
the waves lick into the sand kisses the beach to death I linger above the pier and cry
the ocean and I want to drown the earth
in a spreaded delta growing giant evaporating the old photograph bleached in the sun like a hardened radio signal from a dead star fades into white
once we were young desperate, waiting for the next role pink-petaled tongues bloomed and trellised about
the flesh is the mind of space and I have no stomach for the la la las
I swim the unrelenting river
things keep eating each other and time is not a mirror
9/20/20
Adrian Hart
My first published poem appeared in the OJC Chinook Magazine in 1997, it was printed again in the Swink School Literary Magazine - Off The Wall, as it appears here:
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