Deal to avoid
In the city
where a protest sparked a revolution,
sometimes things have to get
a lot worse.
Echo her sentiment:
they would rather fall off the cliff,
dismiss, trigger and overlook
the challenge designed.
The continuing dumbing down
of our own people,
It’s a concern that does not seem to resonate.
So hat’s off to those who rejected their own plan.
Let’s see what’s on the other side, for
the other side continues to prove elusive,
the most onerous time stopped short.
But we have to endure the pain,
- Jorton Nuster
Batiste, brass band drummer, dies.
Lionel Batiste reveled early Sunday.
He was larger,
with his wristwatch and his sunglasses
and his black tie.
how to act, how to dress?
When Batiste was young,
he paraded on bass drum,
shoeshine tap dancer, pork bandleader,
dirty kazoo all over town.
He occasionally sang so soft
he became away, floated away.
Mr. Batiste towered his heart
along Frenchman Street.
Night surrounded Batiste in his wheelchair.
The band called out,
“Whatcha wanna hear, Uncle Lionel?”
gimme every single place for the last time.
Let’s make an exception for the devil.
A knack for reaching folks, the devil
plunges you into the stew of passions,
animates you in elaborations that weave
refuge and war, human and cold,
happiest when talking through story,
shy encounters with rain.
On the other hand, it’s almost always a bad idea:
novel failures, the suffering of friends.
After such knowledge, what forgiveness
for even a quiet domestic scene?
the devil describes
as emblematic possibility,
a set of questions by huge blunders.
The disasters of possibility,
disaster the context for everything.
a trifling amount
the flak he gets
razzed for it
razzed by the guys
they catch me;
what the hell.
there is such a thing as hanging a target
on your back.
i have to hide
or i will get harassed,
a no man’s land.
where i live,
it’s socially dangerous
like farting in church.
a rageful joy,
thinly disguised attacks
handled magnificently with grace and leadership and intellect.
that’s the way it should have been.
- B. L. Ride
Landmark bearing his name
Mary J. Blige has put in her time
The Church of God Prophecy
Charlie Wilson Overcame
Early June, a rare day.
chickens and dogs, all the animals
Wilson likes seeing.
The catastrophe of it all.
Destitute and homeless, I reflect,
sometimes, tears of joy.
My father said,
Son, your blessings tangled.
But without that past
what would be
the person I am now?
All through the church they struck yearning.
The well ran to bedeviled streets,
haggard clothes walking around all night.
I had a story. It was a nice one.
Two people waking up resurrected.
straight penny in the summer,
he stepped out brightly colored.
I believe I’m a living witness,
I receive mundane matters,
tooth pulled to savor
the enormous distance.
Some moms love baby
I already see a major difference in him.
He can make it through an event.
He’s dancing and cheering to music.
I love all of this.
Babies are cute,
But they don’t say or do anything.
Toddlers talk and enjoy mundane things.
Unfortunately, too young to react.
Children have to be fun.
Families are war games, morning reveille.
Spaces must be reserved in advance.
Your child is too young.
I strongly suggest food.
The experience is required.
Space is limited.
- Mme. Lafitte
Wild morning coffee through the picture window
Conical ears atop a ball of wet fur
Whoa usual suspects
Small male exhausted residents
A golf course
Mangled neighborhood prowl
From Coyote Scares are Pretty Much Here to Stay, RIchard Rainey