Poetry in the land of my life
Soft pressure of my boot onto dirt sodden asphalt pulls me towards the earth. The gentle tug bearing me downward to root and grow limbs with leaves.
Homeless
church attic burned out
shotgun blast shattered window pane
squatter tags
why would anyone choose to live here?
cracks in the floor
concrete rubble
asbestos dust
bare floors
you could live here
thrown out unwanted
high on fill in the blank
no money no food no family no meds
gay transgender young old straight alone selling
whatever you can to bed down
in this homeless house of god
where is the community
that serves you?
-Roberta Rahmer
The above poem is based upon this photo
from the prompt at RWP. 
My anti war poem
The moon curled
back behind the trees
a slim shell moved
under the radar
Cooled wind of neglect
traced empty husks
man made meteors hit the ground
& moved into abiding tissue
Your heart pierced by precious metal
stars bleed out overhead
I telephone home where the world is now safer
and say nothing.
Malpeques
gentle plump
opaque
pink tissue
surrounded by
savory juice
of her salty sea.
your tongue, clumsy
seeks out the
pearl within.
pomegranate
licketysplit they come running
“mommy mommy
can you eat the seeds?”
“daddy daddy you
can’t eat the skin!”
suck the juice
spit the pit
a sweet yet tart
juicy explosion
of silly boys
poking their
faces into mine
to see if I
swallow the seeds
or spit them
into my napkin
sweep me in
for I track madness
breathe cold damp winds
down miserable backbones
past thoughts
hail dance
across your rooftop
souls scatter
am I not war?
This is a work in progress, but I had to get it out before I lost what I was thinking about…
We Are Not All Mexican
Every day I see the men sitting
waiting
their eyes ever hopeful
search mine for cash resurrection
as my truck rolls on by
the empty lots in Suffern
At home the wives/girlfriends
seek out homes to clean
by word of mouth
their children
meet my children
in school
The women
desperate for a voice come to family planning
I hear stories of Guatemala, Ecuador, Mexico
El Salvador
children left behind
with mothers, grandmothers, and mother in laws
They gave up so much to come here
did they know it was going to be like this?
Is the $ worth the loss?
How would I even know?
People seeking to change their lives
and we judge over language-I mean color
We are ignorant
They are brave
They are ignorant
We are brave
Words that divide and judge
when we should really just understand
the human-ness in the experiences we all participate in.
Also, I would like to add, I wrote one poem with the word vagina in it…..can you believe the amount of visitors I get for vagina! Unbelievable. I should use penis next time…only why?
I tried, I really really tried the NAPOWRIMO and well…..between Passover, Easter, unexpected guests, more guests, and getting ill I just couldn’t produce the poetry. I have a couple written on *gasp* paper-but they didn’t get to here. And well, the more I look at something I’ve written the more I hate it. Thats why I write and post fast w/o looking back. Otherwise I would’ve given up a long time ago!
Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.Ben Eastaugh and Chris Sternal-Johnson.
Birdsword Poetry 
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