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Improvijazzation Nation - Issue # 45

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Rochelle Hope Mehr
rochellemehr@hotmail.com





                                    configuration



                   consciousness is a knotty thing:
                              a steel-trap mind
                        may be commandeered
                                  by claptrap
                           yapping and yawing
                              into the mewling
                                  maw of Hell







_______________________________________________





Rochelle Hope Mehr
rochellemehr@hotmail.com





incompatible




There will be no sleep tonight,
no thrashing about in the same roily dreams.

How I would have loved to have loved you,
to have suffered the stridency of stricture.

There is not a thing I can say about you
that is original:

Your clichť chafes,
clanging me into resonant wakefulness.






______________________________________________




Rochelle Hope Mehr
rochellemehr@hotmail.com





Purification


Much of the time
is spent
in anticipation
of the big event.

Much of the day
slants its light
in derision
of the night.

Much of my mind
is split
between the twit
and the wit.

The rest I degrime
to the sublime.

______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano

Season of Hemanta,
please interpret as you see
this April snow upon the mountain...
such a paradox
I do not comprehend.
(Hemanta is the late winter season in India)


______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano


Cicada throught the tall grass, we sing and we play
and let the wind gusts carry us through the mountain
pass
and I gleefully trespass over private fences and
through dense wood
until you run out of gas (I knew you would need to
rest)...
Okay  it is best-we must not overdo
but it is strange
this timeout tho
I am older than you

______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano

"Rain"
Rampant in a pale eagerness,
a morning baptism colors the pavement
and gathers an illusion
in a childless park.

______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano


Thunderstorm
so familiar to my ears
old-fashioned tongue lashing
God's anger
God's tears.

______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano


We bike   we climb
trolley ride to the end of the line
pianissimo andante
stop sign
I am infatuated with you
I am afraid  to read your mind.

______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano

Quand je ne voudrais pas,
me fait mauvais le soleil.
(When I don't want it , the sun    harms me.)

______________________________________________

Peter Vetrano


You say you will not go with me
because
I am too old...
perhaps more correctly
you
are           too young

 

 

Robert Betts            odium resartum
(for amadou diallo, succumbed to The Perpetual Absurdity on feb. 4, 2000)
arenít you really
being prejudiced
mrs diallo   (!)  (?)
o why (say can) canít you (You)
SEE            (see?)
to a well-
trained
police (in blue)
eye
a wallet
held (in
night)
really DOES
look
like a GUN    (?)             (.)
   copyright, 2000, by Robert Betts 
THE POET


Mad, lofty world,
Who can image your plunge
Down into the storm?
Kinema into darknessís tomb,
And a gleeful, blind herd, tumbling like rain.
No one can stop all that mad rush
But who can illuminate
Your madness, and the congealing nightmare vision?
Who will defy the three-in-one God:
Mars, CUPIDitas, Mammon?
I  saw him towering bravely over the squall line.
He was no donít worry, be happy troubadour,
Eyes gay, and glittering.
His long hail mingled with the roiling clouds.
He had a mysticís eyes, clear, but wild.
He still stands above the storm, straddling thunderbolts.
Lightning anointed his pen
  copyright, 2000, by Robert Betts racial hic and ille
(based on four words--pain can be useful--writer Julia Duncan wrote in an
apologist-oriented article in the Spring, 2000 issue of  Absolute Magnitude
magazine, by which she defended science fiction author Harlan Ellison for
making caustic and brutal overgeneralizations in his written assessment of
unpublished science fiction writers. her passionate defense made me wonder:
"would she have defended al roker for having written the same thing?")


jill left the workshop in tears but pain i think can be useful
who the hell does he think he is well mike i ve had an earful
my he s jogging early god look at his muscle tone
i think he robbed someone hon god where s my cell phone
she overcharged me thirty cents well to err is human
haven t  you heard of school bitch i m telling george too man
the calc midterm was tough but pam  used the right integral
so what i never saw her i know she peeked that s all
he puts us to shame love cause he s read greg corso
so what he s read john wilmot love damn he tries to impress so
curt cobain gone oh god these drugs are a scourge
so len bias is dead hell don t you get what you deserve
   copyright, 2000, by Robert Betts 


______________________________________________

 

THE SYSTEM Gary Graham Shaka Sankofa Dead in Texas June 22, 2000

8:49 PM

Jailed age l7 on Death Row for l9 years indited in a single mock trial, inept defense lawyer pleas of innocence and defense witnesses not called.... State- sanctioned murder directed by Texas Governor George Bush.

At the water's edge the jetty reaches out like life wanting continuance~ thoughts wander with the morning breeze he will never feel cloud pictures he will never see this continuum of waves; children can never touch this father again...

how we love to kill... there is a man in Texas playing God whose name is Satan.

A bird flies up gold-red in the sun's projection/ white butterfly on green sea grass flutters summer beginning while his life has ended.

He speaks of injustice, [ that baggage of the poor];

young handsome thirty six dynamic vivid dark eyes that see and have seen too much always rowing toward freedom;

they are killing me tonight they are murdering me tonight

he speaks to witnesses until his heart stops no more breath one eye open the other winks the future.

Life is a gift, who can be so arrogant and heartless to take it away?

THE SYSTEM 2

He fought to hold on until the Governor ordered him killed the way a shot bird falls in the sea.

The little shadow of moon lies directly opposite the sun... the expansive beauty of the earth to which all should have access is more and more walled off by greed, forbidden to victims of the Criminal Justice System.

The systems have stopped: arteries, veins, muscles, nerves, lungs, lymph, sperm will not seek their legacy, the brain shuts down/ past present future over.... who discards in the name of legality?

The gulls fly on...in the north west wind at l0:AM you sit on a bench in the shade, wishing he could be here in this place ~half a day since we learned his fate.

He said They all know I'm innocent

In the distance someone paddles a kayak, paddle- tips flash silver in the sun on his journey; destination is the south harbor where cliffs rise greenness, sand is struck golden and all is pure light.

Leave the evil places to those who govern them and those who acquiesce. Feel the wind's pulse the ocean's flow the beat of the gulls' wings inhale the salty air witness the little searchlight suns beneath leaf shadows; be mute and listen watch the tv image walking to death vitally alive~

 

Joan Payne Kincaid

 

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