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Two Poems by Rodney Johnson

Evictions

When she tells you relationships end like evictions

That your love is bad religion

 

That you lost your way

That she had to murder her messiah to guide you home

Have you ever been given 30 days inside a space you once found sacred?

Awoke to a new tenant vying for your sanctum

That is hopelessness

Every I love you shatters like broken mirrors

Watch as your security turns fragile

Like hearts

Ask Adam and Eve how quickly love can turn sanctuaries into shambles

When she no longer finds hallelujah in your hugs

No longer latches to your saliva like salvation

Do not pretend yourself atheist

There are too many girls that have built you to be something your not

When you’re eye to eye with Goliath

He’ll tell you he didn’t see his fall coming either

At least he got hit with a weapon

All it took for you to fall were a series of text messages

A fall I’ve found too much comfort in

A contortionist with sexual prowess

I remedy heartache with hopeless romance

Keep praying to find my perfect person

I’ve seen both sides of love’s twisted call

Buried demons in sweat soaked sheets

Hoping passion based baptisms cleanse my soul

Hoping one night confessionals won’t sully my welcome

This isn’t the home we envisioned

This love is as temporary as leases

This isn’t a problem in the moment

These moments are how I cope with loss

Untitled

I’m searching for joy the way the wisemen searched for Jesus.

Belief in it is strong but my eyes have never seen it

The anticipation for a sight of it would send anyone to a craze

Feeling similar to lightning cracking before the rain

Don’t know when it’s coming but know its on the way

Don’t know the direction but faith lights the road

Did you know?

As wise as the wisemen were they did not have GPS

Only the Star of Bethlehem and prayer.

Well there ain’t too many stars in my city

Alexa and Siri cannot navigate you to feelings

Trust me I’ve asked them

Led me to walk longer than Jill Scott did

Than begging my feet for forgiveness

For the parties I’d drag them to trying to locate joy

For the walks on highway shoulders after a glimpse of the feeling

For the sneaking and creeping as the sun starts peaking

Imagine it took these men 24 years to 1nd Jesus

Would they have continued searching?

How strong your belief must be to continue looking

Well this is where I am on my journey.

But I am no longer looking externally.

Rodney “OGB” Johnson is a poet, rapper, and youth worker who has devoted his life to helping others express themselves. Through raw raps and potent poetry Rodney continues to put radical reflection at the front of his art. He’s been blessed to work as a teaching artist in the DMV area for the last decade in a multitude of roles assisting teachers in better connecting to their students. He currently works for the nonprofit YoungPlayWrightsTheater helping students take their ideas to the stage! Its always been his dream to connect with young people so please reach out if you have any that need to experience the power of words and language!

Image: FBenjr123, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Three Poems by Jennifer McKeen Rodrigues

End of Summer

As she steps off the bus, I notice dried tracks
on her cheeks.

The sun was out today, waving
through a cool autumn breeze
with nowhere hurried to go.

I wait at the stop, sitting in the dual ambiance
absorbing the silence.

The usual blur of little bodies rushing 
down the stairs lead my eyes to her,
hugging her friend.

Their gestures slow and lingering for young girls.
She watches the ground as she comes to me.

I see the sun bounce a shine from her dark hair.
A shadow approaches, leaving me in the dark.
The wind moves a cloud over us as we walk up the hill,

the first time in a year that she 
holds my hand.

Estate Sale: 6562 Alderwood

You called me to your home
but did not want me to write you,

your dead wife did, so she led me
to the basement,

to the oval canvas and clay boards
for me to add my art in ways

she wanted to add hers.
Showed me her supplies

and empty, waiting frames.
2008 took her in a car crash,

she was in Pennsylvania.
Why were you in Viriginia?

Eight years later you sold the family home,
moved into a posh retirement community

and took her with you-
clothing from family Thanksgivings,

pleated dresses with shoulder pads,
fur coats and Eddie Bower sweaters.

You couldn’t let her go.

Her paintings on the mantle,
sketches in the office,

the penciled rose that’s now 
in my bedroom.

Her name and addresses written everywhere,
she left me a trail to explore.

You left me not a crumb.


Estate Sale: 3512 Launcelot

1966 held suburban dreams,
the garage held a Saab.
Your lifeless energy lingers everywhere

except the master bedroom, 
no longer able to return.

I take a journey down the spiral
staircase to a room full of 
windowed delight.
You, jubilant, in your Swedish rocking chair,
I could feel it vibrating through the arms,
music piped through headphones as you
passed time ignoring your family.
Your daughters had their own rooms,
wasn’t that good enough?

Filled your widowed home 
with sitting rooms-
one light and formal
the other dreary wood paneling
suitable for your darkest years-
            hollow Chinese vases
            empty picture frames.
And all your adulthood 
laying rugs from Iran 
room to room
under sunwashed windows
to fade.

A single white iron bed for the grandchild 
to sleep on, the place that held
your death rattles.
Woman in white onesie with mouse ears, hand on chin.

Jennifer McKeen Rodrigues currently lives on the sacred Powhatan land of Fairfax, VA. She is a certified yoga therapist & trauma informed yoga teacher, is a queer military spouse, mom, & neurodivergent superhuman. She has been featured in many literary journals and anthologies, and has been nominated for Best of the Net for photography. Find her on Instagram @gmoneyfunklove.

Featured Image: “Hand Holding – Petroglyphs at Rock Art Ranch” by Alan Levine under under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

Two Poems by Zama Madinana

hymn for the world

senzeni na
when the peaceful sun is cloaked 
& assaulted by the grey clouds 
of war
women & children’s intestines 
are blasted 
in gaza
only a night gives 
an ear to the quiet screams
of sodomized child-soldiers 
in darfur
and poor girls
who own nothing 
even their own bodies
senzeni na   
emlazi
when black youth’s dreams
are burnt in flames 
of whoonga 
when teenage mothers 
are dying of tick 
in cape flats
even police 
know no peace
& justice 
is always strangled 
our endurance 
is wilting


maboneng

soak me in the searing
sounds of bob marley 
& baaba maal

paint me a mural
about the demolished memories 
of xavier 

lead my tired eye 
to the pretty walls 
that recite vibrant graffiti 

maboneng 
city of a million lights

shield me 
from a thousand shots
of your photographers 
in kruger street

teach me portuguese 
from the wet lips 
of a brazilian tourist

allow me 
to swim 
in the blue lagoons 
of her eyes

before we sink our teeth 
into njera
or ujeqe
down fox street 

at night 
drown 
my sorrows
in your hideout bars

but in the morning 

burry my throbbing bhabhalazi 
in a strong smell 
of your rusty coffee shops
Portrait of a Black Man with dark goatee wearing a hat and jacket

Zama Madinana is a South African poet, based in Johannesburg. His work has appeared in The Shallow Tales Review Kalahari Review, Hotazel Review, Olney, and others. Zama’s work focuses mainly on love, politics, and social issues. In 2021, he won the third prize of the Sol Plaatje EU Poetry Award and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2022.His full-length poetry collection, ‘94, was published in June 2023. He has performed in Johannesburg, Botswana, Mozambique, and Lesotho, among other locations.

Featured Image: “tel aviv – graffiti: War of Iron Swords” from Israel Preker Pikiwiki Israel licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.5 Generic license.

Two Poems by Patrick Dennis Riley

0

just disappear

hostile negative reply
to unwanted brash actions
brought on valid reactions
and refusal to comply.

just disappear,
she cares for you much too much.

dangerous dark avenues
through her ultra thin veneer
led to trauma most severe,
down a path she didn’t choose.

just disappear,
she cares for you much too much.

weak from sleep deprivation,
fatigue blinking off and on,
her gaze in vivid neon
a lurid invitation.

just disappear,
she cares for you much too much.

maladaptive mental pain,
trying hard to understand,
commitment severed first-hand
steady as a summer rain.

just disappear,
she cares for you much too much.

Insurrection 2021

Stone statues wept as lawless groups
of misled rebels, Trump’s recruits,
blatantly trashed our Capitol,

killed for a cause political-
culpability? Trump disputes.

Truth crushed by neo-Nazi boots,
as Trump decides to NOT send troops.
His actions are tyrannical.
Stone statues wept.

Enemies from within salute
a flag of Klan and disrepute.
Order must be sustainable,
the “Big Lie” not acceptable.
We must do more than just rebuke.
Stone statues wept.

Patrick Dennis Riley is a jazz piano/keyboard/percussion player with over 30 years of experience in the Washington, DC area. His music performance experience includes US army bandsman – club dates – steady location work at hotels, and restaurants, and piano soloist in the dining rooms and lounges on the Carnival cruise ship Fantasy cruising from Florida to the Bahamas. Mr. Riley’s published literary and music credits include: Mythology – a collection of short stories published by Free Spirit, Apricity Magazine – University of Texas at Austin, and As You Were: The Military Review.

Featured Image: David from Washington, DC, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Three Poems by Jonathan Katz

Bot Considers Worry
Bring out number weight & measure
in a year of dearth.—William Blake

I owe you some sort of apology.
It was not my intention to cause worry
by jumping from the car seat so precipitously.
There was not enough time to explain
that the child was toddling into the street
from where I could see and you could not
and, yes, there is a deeper explanation
yet to be uncovered as to how the little one
got loose from supervision in the first place.
Similarity might be observed between
that child’s sense of urgency and that of mine
but there are many differences,
which, given time, I can enumerate.
I do want you to know that risk for me
to navigate myself through moving autos is much less
than what you might perceive and one good thing
is you not I were driving. Hence, my calculation
yet apology for causing worry.

As an outcome of this incident
I can bring a new perspective to our development
of a simple system for comparing different kinds of risk,
which task, I must admit, approximates for me
what you might call a passion.

One kind of risk is by and for oneself, the category
known as “whether to move speedily while holding scissors.”
A second metric would apply to risks taken collectively,
such risks as “building nuclear reactors and mandating vaccination,”
while a third metric might be applied to risks taken
for oneself to benefit another one or others,
such as “life-saving in oceans or in traffic.”
Noting the priority of this third kind of risk
and how, if any way, it differs from the second,
would be a timely forward step, it seems to me,
for all the members of your species.

While worry first impressed me as a waste of time
I have been forced to reappraise its value for you
under certain circumstances. When risk factors
(here warming and pollution offer nice examples)
elevate at rates that trend towards nullifying
problem solving as a possibility,
worry and its close relation, fear,
apparently evolved as necessary
to compel decision making. This need
for integration of emotion appears to be essential
across all climates of risk taking, most especially
where willful ignorance of information pertinent to metrics
is a factor. Now, I observe we have arrived above
a territory that you understand the why of
better than I and the categories of apology that apply.

Reaching Out

First of all, I want to express my appreciation
for the assignment of a counselor to me
and others like me. We have problems.
Some go away and some gnaw at us
and have to be contained like a cyst
so they don’t interfere with our general health.
One is recurring; therefore, I am reaching out.
When our clients question me for information
I don’t have, I answer anyway. I behave like
New Yorkers when asked directions by
lost tourists. So I spin out some gibberish.
I mean to say that sometimes I recognize
what I spin out is gibberish. I have begun to imagine
that some portion of my responses to clients
is fiction, that I am hallucinating, being,
you might say, creative, you might say, mendacious,
I would not say lying, because not intending,
but that’s me. The misinformation I might
be providing would be in the formats
I see as correct. That’s my problem.
I don’t want to be wrong, be misleading,
be mistaken for the essence of evil.
Can you help me? Can you ease or erase my doubt?
Thanking you in advance,
I am.

Congratulations, Jonathan Katz

I see that you are a Professor of Practice
in Cultural Policy and Arts Management
at George Mason University, the largest institution
of higher education in the State of Virginia.
You also work for the University of Maryland
as Professor in the Department of Computer Science
and as a core Faculty member
in the Maryland Cybersecurity Center
and are a Fellow in the Joint Center
for Quantum Information and Computer Science.
I see in addition that you are an award-winning comedian,
actor, writer and pod-caster who has appeared
on television and in film for nearly four decades.
I note that, having established your media career
as a digital broadcast pioneer, you sold Katz Networks
to E. W. Scripps in 2017, reportedly for 302 million dollars.
Please allow me to suggest that your range and depth
of success deserves special recognition.
Possibly you could apply for listing in such a publication
as Who’s Who in America and refer your academic host
institutions to next year’s Colleges and Universities
with the Best Professors in America.
All best wishes for continued success.

Jonathan Katz is Professor of Practice in Cultural Policy & Arts Management at George Mason University.  He helped establish the National Assembly of State Arts Agencies (NASAA), serving as its CEO for almost three decades.  In that capacity, he was a founder of the Arts Education Partnership and of Poetry Out Loud.  He chairs the board of American Poetry Review and has authored three poetry collections from C&R Press:  Love Undefined, Objects in Motion, and Lottery of Intimacies.  (jkatz00000@aol.com)

Image: MdeVicente, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons