‘Poetry’ Archives
Space
By SHELIA BLAND The space where words cannot liveNot in speechNot in thoughtThe space where timeSlows downEven stopsWhere action seemsImpossibleWhere no possible action isEffectiveThe space unlocatable byMapSearch orAIWhere is this spaceWhere words cannot live Shelia Bland lives in Midtown Phillips. She has been writing most of her life to help herself understand the experiences and people in her shared world.
The Sky Is Falling
By SHELIA BLAND The sky is fallingA heart is breakingAlone in a crowdBetween ears emptinessCries in the nightTears falling from the heavens Where is this worldInside a twilight of griefWasteland of desire and wantA touchless world of longing Tunes of anxiety screech across ears All horror, all anxietyAll a prism of science fictionReligions of Religions Religions of objectivityReligions of scienceReligions of statisticsReligions of factsAll is religion—A belief in non-belief Longing to shatter the prison of individualism A prison of me, me, me— I, I, IWinner-take-allSurvival of the fittest Philosophy of annihilationism Dog eat dogFight to the finishOnly one left standing A climax of doom, gloom, and isolationThe real made fantastically unreal Screeching, screaming hollowness between earsOozing the slime of loneliness Transcendental isolation…The “I” as Godhead Shelia Bland lives in Midtown Phillips. She has been writing most of her life [...]
LOST AND FOUNDRY
By DAVE MOORE I picked up a brick from the edge of the demolition,carried it home and set it on my porch,one small piece of that hated Smith Foundry. Forty years of smelling its burnt iron reek,closing windows in summer, eyes smarting,hearing my sensitive partner coughing::::Talked to pollution agency ginks,went to meetings, marched in protest,the whole neighborhood wheezing with asthma.Finally resigned to accepting the horrible stench,either live with the bitter fumes or move.And then:::: and then::::after decades of violations,initialed regulators finally heard us.Smith Foundry shut down. With barely any notice::::heavy scoops began to batter the walls,pouring water on noise and concrete as it crumpled.Now its tall stack lies smokelessly sideways::::Spring air carries the last remnants of dust. So I picked up the brick and brought it home,As if I had torn it out with my own hands.The air, of course the air is still dirtyfrom combustion engines whizzing past the site,but [...]
