Shanna Baldwin Moore, US

 

 

Free Verse   Earthquake   when the waves are big I go to the beach If the volcano erupts I'm off to the mountain when the wind blows I climb the tallest tree when the earth shakes I shake and shake too     Civilization   what has happened to the quiet forest I once knew civilization has come to the mountain making big noise people yelling on cell phones chain saws, sick Harleys and generic generators bang away dogs bark at the moon and each other now a large rumble has invaded the hollow piercing the quiet a bulldozer comes closer     Bukowski   Bukowski What were those skinny little cigarettes you smoked? they always went out and your face lit up with the lighter so close to your lips the darkness made you strong your eyes showed the softness in your soul     the basement   the basement apartments two of them flooded below sea level four more above 20 dollars a month walking distance on the breezeway to where I worked The Gas House art director living with the poets their ax to wield of war and the system of things reaching for the stars to touch God's face the H bomb the A bomb the U bomb exploding into the minds of many...they came wanting to see the bards and the Beat generation of Venice Pay a dime ride the tram see the freaks listen to the harrachi’s flappin on the cobblestone ally fingers snappin in applause at the Venice West so establishment couldn’t shut us down sold out for dead presidents and Hollywood we left.... what a sweet ride     coffee picken   Picking coffee the quietness of the trees loaded with red cherry’s fat and sweet the “pak” “pak” of the handfulls of cherry’s into a lahala basket “pak” pak” the cherry part gets thrown away all that sweetness turned into juice tannin’d skins a most robust wine aged till the coffee taste comes through the little beans carry on to the mill soaked and dried in the Kona sun now parchment with the bean inside milled to perfection fresh roasted coffee beans aroma of the season     legs   For Jimmy   on the beach front in Santa Monica surfer girl riding a bike along the boardwalk of Venice stopping at the Carousel and line dance with all the gay guys love to dance but “no touchy touchy” One day I looked up and hooked eyes with a New York poet I'd seen around Sitting on the table writing in a book with black ink his eyes were cobalt blue I couldn’t look away I danced for him his eyes so much to say we talked and walked my bike between us I wanted him to read my poetry I never shared with any one only with my gramma A poetess from the village we talked all night and over coffee in the morning at Chris‘s Horseshoe his New York drawl talking of Billie Holliday The lady here soul and song the sound of her being… the blues the poet waiting for the words when after all the eyes have it I think the legs did it… found and touched the softer side ... a naked body lies so still on the restless sheets of the night before excitement     Tanka   a silver bell sounds somewhere for the old bards.... fingers snappin keeping the "Beat"       Photo Haiga--lovely lehua