Monday, April 4, 1988

I’m old enough to drive

And walk right into bars,

Ican go to jail for unjust acts
And worship from afar.

I can try most everything

They let my parents try,

But one thing that I have to say
I’m much too young to die.

You left us with your legacy

Of smog and death and hate,

Your stupid redneck attitudes

You left it up to fate.

You nevef guessed how life would be
"It’s up to them" you said,

The world you left, in which we live
Is something close to dead.

So don’t you tell me how to live,
I don’t want your advice.

I hate your fucking values
You’ve screwed our future life.
So let me set my own life plan
Don’t tell me what to do.

Trash your cosmic genocide
Cause friend, I pity you.

by Dean MacPherson

   

 

A MAN DISCOVERING HIS SOUL

One rainy day, as a man is driving along a highway, he
begins to have deep thoughts. His wife is in the back seat,
in labour. He is driving over the average speed limit in order
to try to bring his wife to the hospital on time.

Suddenly, he loses control of his vehicle and crashes into
atree just a short distance from the hospital. A few moments
later, he opens his eyes slightly and envisions his wife
delivering a baby boy. He wakes up and notices that he is
in some kind of aroom. A woman, who looks like a nurse,
walks in carrying a blond, blue-eyed baby boy. The boy
looks exactly like he envisioned him, a little prince. The
man then shuts his eyes. He’s dead. His son is now ’king’
of the family. Although the man is dead, a new soul is put
forth in his son.

by Liana C. Di Marco
c previously published 1984

 

 

 

the Other Press

 

Tah-das-te 1898

Messenger for Geronimo

 

 

Daddy’s Daughters

I
had.a photo
once
in a shoe box
filled with holidays, and birthdays
and you

staring at me from this coffin
Lazarus almost
You were perfected there
except
for a bit of hair and
your right hand torn off
in battle for who should own you

We wanted your soul
for our own
but got your pyre
and a lung full of ash

We held our breaths
but had to let you go
go then I said
if you must
but in our childish way
I thought you immortal
and not so flat and grey.

by B. Towell

 

 

 

Il pleut, il pleut

Il fait beau

Il fait du soleil

Il est tot

Il se fait tard

Il

Il

Il

Il

Toujours Il

Toujours II qui pleut et qui neige
Toujours Il qui fait du soleil
Toujours Il

Pourquoi pas Elle

Jamais Elle

Pourtant Elle aussi

Souvent se fait belle

by Jacques Prevert

 

 

 

L’>homme Qui Tu Resemble.

J’ai frappe’ a ta porte

J’ai frappe’ a tan coeur
Pour avoir bon lit

Pour avoir bon feu
Pourquoi me repousser?
Ouvre-moi mon frere!
Pourquoi me demander si
Si je suis d’ Afrique

Si je suis d’ Amerique

Si je suis d’ Asie

Si je suis d’ Europe?
Pourquoi me demander la longueur de mon nez.
L’espaiseur de ma bouche
La couleur de ma peau

Et le nom de mes dieux?
Ouvre-moi mon frere

Je ne suis pas un noir

Je ne suis pas un rouge

Je ne suis pas un jaune

Je ne suis pas un blanc

Et je ne suis qu’en homone
Ouvre-moi mon frere
Ouvre-moi ta parte
Ouvre-moi ton coeur

Car je suis un homme
L’homme de tous les temps
L’homme de tous les cieux
L’homme qui te resemble!

-unknown