Lorenzo Demery
No Light Through the Grey Clouds
Broken Ebony lives
Pushing ivory rocks
A ghetto Entrepreneur
With Money stuffed socks
In this grey jungle
Below the concrete canopy
The People are Mad
The desperation is thick
Our choices lack Variety
Our children are sick
In this grey jungle
Below the concrete canopy
A Life lacking Details
An Essence so Complex
Wanting more than to simply Dwell
Is The Source of hope in the projects
In this grey jungle
Below the concrete canopy
The Hustler with Time to Spin
Looking for a Glamour girl
These Two Mundos chopped by a Blender
Violence is Vogue, watch the Revolver swirl
In this grey jungle
Below the concrete canopy
Views of grand advertisements
Listen as the Billboards sing
To Allure your dreams close
And to choke what hope they bring
In this grey jungle
Below the concrete canopy
Don Kingfisher Campbell
Prose Poem Inspired By Perfection
inside a library backroom painted guacamole green
containing three hard styrofoam folding tables
laid end to end down the center enrectangled by
twelve chrome-framed black plastic square chairs
filled with warm posteriors of funkily dressed poets
sporting heavily used notebooks and askew folders
of poetic paper in front of their slightly lined
fingers that reach for inexpensive ball-point
pens instructed by mostly spectacled eyes which
have seen poems through deeply wrinkled brains
cherishing related experience while ragged hearts
internally beat rhythm as they somewhat audaciously
expose what was freshly composed within a half hour
Maria A. Arana (no photo available)
Veils on my Eyes
Veils abound
Disguise
Your gift
Of juggling
Them both
One flutters
Winks
Troublesome bars
Of discontent
The other
Mesmerizes
Unknown itchiness
The outdoor kempt
Of visualization
Veils surround my eyes
Darkened
By your gift
Once again
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