Invigorating: Gorrie, Dawson, Donofrio, Panek: aaduna Day 21, NPM


Say there's a boy that has two dreams,
one concerns business, one fishing in streams;
but which is the more real my friend?

A wolf licked an Eskimo's blood-covered knife,
licked it till it cut-up and bled out its life;
but are wolves' impulses wrong my friend?

I saw a terrible play with a terrible end
and horrid lines no writer could mend;
but do you think I missed the point my friend?

Someone opened a door and let a dog in,
unaware of where most strays have been;
but what is real kindness my friend?

One hundred slaves wept at their fortune,
united, killed the tyrant, and began to run;
but don't they still work for their livings my friend?

I found a pocket watch in a patch of tall grass,
hoped selfishly, watched centuries pass;
but weren't we told time heals wounds my friend?

© 2014 Christopher Gorrie                
San Diego, California

Christopher Gorrie (photo provided)

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POINTED FINGERS - then arms (4-27-15)

The problem is not black America
The problem is not gay America
The problem is not Christian America
(or any religion, America)
The problem is division, America.
And that's not really it, is it?
The problem is not a white problem
The problem is not a guy problem
The problem is not a rights problem
The problem is the attitude of, 'it's not my problem'
But it's more than that, isn't it?
The problem is not the police 
(that's an occupation, right? 
so how could that be?)
The problem is not taking our jobs too seriously
The problem is not the youth, either
The problem is not gender-specific
The problem does not exclusively impact women
The problem is that we're terrified 
that things could be perfect
if we actually knew how to love or understand 
anything beyond the vanity of our skyward noses.
The problem is in the kaleidoscope 
of inaccurate definition 
that we're looking at the world through.  
The problem I see is that 
we do everything in our powers to reject peace
& our fears, they expand
and the human thing to do (we're told)
is to attach a face to them
And this world conveniently
demonizes everything of difference
offering us layers and layers of 'I'm not like that'
to cowardly lash out upon.
But I'm not like that, ask my mom
The problem is in us all
and we're perfectly projecting it 
onto everything else
so we don't have to face our own disappearances 
without holding someone or something else accountable. 
The problem is that we have a problem 
in admitting when we're wrong, but I know
somewhere in the world people are smiling
and I'm not trying to downplay anybody's experience(s)
but, America, "Can't we all just get along?"..

© Alexander J. Dawson                     
Iowa City, Iowa                                                                  

Alexander J. Dawson (photo provided)

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There I Was at Coney Island

I felt Staten Island to my left
And the Bronx to my South
But neither place had the best hog dogs around
I still have sand left in my shoe from when I last visited
I still remember the conversations I had with the old man in the old arcade parlor who said the next time he would show me around
I miss the Ferris wheel, roller coaster, and self trance I go into every time I think of Coney Island
You know I was Coney Island’s baby never to forget where I left my heart.

© 2014 Christine Donofrio                
Cleveland, Ohio         

Christine Donofrio (photo provided)

* * *

Anahit’s Kitchen

Rose hips made into a brew
to induce breast milk
for my daughter-in-law
carried warm in a glass bowl.

Three houses up the street
her mother lives and each
night she brings something
wonderful for her daughter’s
family. Mushroom salad,
chicken, walnuts, garlic
lentils and curry--
good for the kidneys
good for the blood
good for lactation
made in her small kitchen
three houses up the street.

She uses herbs, spices
from Turkey, Greece,
Armenia, from groves
and gardens.
And keeps them in
jars without labels.
We smell them. Her eyes
drift to far-off places.

Together we make dolma
in her kitchen up the street
stuffing grape leaves
peppers and eggplants.

I learn so much
from her about herbs
and greens.

Like “Babbette’s Feast”
each meal a banquet
always followed with
fruits, nuts, and
dark Armenian coffee.

Silt sits at the bottom of the cup
while we remain at the table.

© 2014 Bobbie Dumas Panek            
Auburn, New York  

Bobbie Dumas Panek (photo provided)


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