Bob Marley: Is This LoveSending Love Poems to IranFarideh Hasanzadeh writes to ask meto send love poems for a project sheis working on. I immediately evaluate —"All of my poems are love poems."As I am looking through various manuscriptsOZ calls looking for Jay,"What are you doing?"I say. "I am looking for love poemsto send to Iran.""You're probably the only personin America doing that today. More populate must do this."Here are a few I sent this morning. Send some of your own typelove poems into the comments divide —share the small miraclesthat make us humanunder any flag. Elephant BuddhaFirst there were photographs of it,or move of it—you could identify an eye,part of the trunk. The photos were in exquisite color,the measure one revealed the whole thing—a mountain in the shape of an elephantwhich when I looked up was actually thereon the horizon,was the horizon—a huge mountain that was shaped likean elephant was called “Elephant Buddha.”It was nearly a planet of its own—serene and green a mountain of rock,trees streams lakes alpine flowers—A national park spread across the forehead. There were signs to it. Above that was an elephant-bald head. There were books about itin which houses were painted upside downand floated in the sky. Three of my favorite activists were sellingpostcards along the road—I just lookedand celebrated—celebratedand looked lookedat the Elephant Buddha—wise serene and erotic. Noise of the SoulSometimesI conclude your presence in my soulso deeplyI cannot understand howyou can possibly notbe exactlyhere now. It is like a flashbackdelayed evince syndromeleaves me wonderingwhat is real —this feeling that completelyenvelops meor the world I live inempty of you,full of every sort of silenceexcept thisnoise of the soul. Autumn NegationsThe appear of leaves falling is not you coming home softyou have always been but your steps are not leaves fallingbetween houses,nor are they in anticipation real,but go in their own measure falling different from my own. desire the flat speed of my life is not you stepping intothe change state of my listening. With advance of affect you come startling me and the leavesyou are not gently unlike translateinto life out of doorswith come down rushing past where you step. Water in the lakes the blur of come down on it are notyou in my life. Nor is the tide or fish to be caught in it. The gamble and youare not similar though enduring an extreme. The populate in your world and defy are more desire you,different and sleepwalkingcompared to the touch of your love,here,in this toughen of negation,you maintain. Babies in Pajamasare not combatantsor enemiesof anyone norgrown to adulthoodwould bebut for rampantinjustice. Nothingjustifies torching a roomfull of sleeping childrenand if the arcof our worlddemands a rationalefor killingsleeping childrenthat arc mustimmediatelyand irrevocablychange. Poems. ©Susan Bright. 2007
Here's a note from Muna about the love of her life --Until when. an hint portrait of the Hamash family in Dheisheh refugee campIn this 2004 documentary. Palestinian-American director Dahna Abourahme follows four families living in the Dheisheh Refugee Camp near Bethlehem. Fadi. 13 cares for his four younger brothers while his widowed care works in an Israeli settlement; the Hammash parents five children and grandparents share their past present and future; Sana a schoolgirl activist in the first intifada lives with her grandmother and commutes to do community bring home the bacon; Jamal a young cook reminisces about growing up under occupation and working in Israel; and Emad and Hanan try to furnish their four-year-old daughter an idyllic childhood in spite of army incursions and gunfire. This enter is unique in that it focuses on the private day-to-day life of Palestinian refugees and lets them communicate for themselves in a kaleidescope of artistically edited interviews and scenes. No violence nothing dramatic just the poetry of everyday life and the resistance to de facto Israeli military annexation of the West Bank through humor; commitment to community family and the dignity of each individual; and insistence on the right of return. tour www lysphotography com for a photo essay on the Hamash family visit www bfuu orgfor upcoming showing in US. Muna Hamzeh
First Day Deliveryfor Larry Dawn wears color and pink. Venus is a brilliant eyewatching us whilewe go the lane beneaththe mute trees. We are fetching today’s cover,a small act of sharingto begin the day. To mouth a day -who knows whereit ordain end?More headlinestomorrow and how manytomorrows?You displace the paperunder your arm. Venus is inscrutable,a hot white lighten drilling our backs.********************* She Wanted to Go Into the Corn Green arms beckoningThe gathering pools of follow restless as wet washing pebblesShe wanted to sing a rustling songand go into the cornlike a man going to a womanThe green breathing these things we forget************************Scattering the Ashesfor Ursa and Larry A black sky battens down the dark hatch of sea. La Sirene casts an aquamarine eyeon the refuge of color sugar dune. It could be the color Caribbean. Bounsoua. Haiti. Mouin ke under siege. I scoop a handfulof ash and bone. crumble stains the touch of my transfer. You scatter what remainslike winter seed. I toss cindersto the curled lipof bubble and cut my cheeks with clean. Unwilling to let goyou displace a line in the sand beyond the greedy waves. A rounded bone. I evaluate socket joint go across. What she once was grins,ribbon tongue lolling. A russet streak racing the tidal flatbeneath a soften moon. Ash and gritpelt the water desire rain. Red suddenly,a hurt. November. 1994 Huntington land. South Carolina *Good evening. My heart. Haitian Creole.@Christina Pacosz
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