Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts
By Alyce Wilson
As always, I took my notebook with me on my recent trip into Center City, a.k.a. downtown Philly.
I returned with a series of spontaneous poems, based on what I'd seen.
You Can't Get This in the Daily News
Let me tell
you @ this newspaper, the
African Militant.
Police Watch -- we
document cases of
police brutality.
State troopers shot
this 12-yr.-old child
in the back. Never
charged. A 45-yr.-old
woman in Detroit
had her finger cut off.
The U.S.
war in Iraq --
thousands of young
black men. This war
is @ oil, not about
terrorism. The U.N.
insp. ain't found
no weapons of
mass destruction.
They def. don't care
how many young men
on the front lines die.
You can't get this in the daily news.
If you want
a copy of
this newspaper, it's $1.
There are sources out there
that have the truth. You
can't get this in the Daily
News.
Thank you
for your time &
your patience. We're
going to meet on Sat., talk
about what this war's
really about.
You can't
get this
in the Daily News.
In the Bourse
A young
man on a
crane, waiting to do
some kind of high-up work.
He jams to the Motown
sound, tapping his hand
on his knee.
"If you mean that
much to me...
Baby... Baby..."
A man in
red sweatshirt
calls directions to him
and he gently slides a
13-striped banner into a
slot to the dreamy Motown
sound. The crane
folds back to earth.
Even the
fortune cookie
was stale.
The rice was tasteless
and greasy, the sweet & sour
chicken smothered in
thick breading.
Egg roll smelled like fish.
And then
the fortune:
A rare source of pleasure
will be revealed to you.
The best
view is up.
A cubed collection of
windows -- Mondrian ecstasy.
Blue vault of rectangle
gold lit cross beams.
Backwards
I like to
sit backwards on the train
And see the faces turned towards me.
Pained or bored or carefully controlled,
Rolling on to places they
may or may not want to go.
The man
in a black knit cap, leaning against the side,
wide eyes fluttering in troubled sleep.
The man w/ black hair flecked w/ gray,
a harsh shag.
His samurai face quietly angry.
The woman
all in black --
black jacket, neat cornrows,
gold spectacles, studying
quietly her black pocket Bible.
The Syrian
woman w/
sad eyes in a fluffy
white turtleneck, as if
it's trying to comfort her.
A woman in a white pillbox
hat and a sweatshirt &
sports jacket.
The man
w/ golden brown skin and
a thin, neat mustache
looking back at me,
wondering why it took so long
for my pen to find him.
Breathe
These little
moments,
you forget about them.
The train paused on
the tracks next to a
frozen glade, a
stream snaking through,
islands of snow.
The rush of the heat,
one person tapping a
rhythmic foot.
the long pause -- held
breath of the train.
Moral:
As the Moody Blues said, it's all around if we could but perceive.
Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson
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