poetic justice chapbook issue 3- april 2011
DESCRIPTION
Designed, edited and produced by Victoria MouchilisonTRANSCRIPT
CHAPBOOK
-ISSUE
#3-
APRIL
2011
$3All proceeds to sending the ICT Slam Team to
NationalsPOETIC
JUSTICE
All articles and art is copyright 2011, and all copyright revert to the individual upon publication. No part of this
publication shall be reproduced without the permission of the contributors
©2011.
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April Pameticky received her MFA from WSU in 2006 and became swirled up in the Wichita vortex. The birth of her daughter has given her new eyes, and her day-gig as a middle school teacher keeps her fresh and grounded. Her work can be seen in The Salt Fork Anthology, Mikrokosmos, Naked City, and in a forthcoming issue of The Chiron Review.
At least when I smoked,
I could step out for a moment and do nothing
but inhale and then exhale,
giant yoga breaths of calming toxic smog,
exactly 7 ½ minutes at a semi-leisurely pace
to pull down a Camel Light 100
—2 in a 15 mi—2 in a 15 minute span,
15 beautiful, irretrievable
stacked blocks of time with the NY Times crossword
and only some of the spaces filled in.
I am a Pennypress Crossword
and all of my spaces are full.
The Coach Patrick Cantwell
Travis Johnson also known as Black Flash is originally from
Houston, Texas now living in Wichita, Ks. Travis tries to do
whatever he can do to help others more than himself. He
portrays himself as a superhero, someone who can make a
difference, change your mind and save you all in one. He is
currently an undeclared major and is eager to try out new
experiences, while deciding what journey to take. Travis says,
"There are too many ideas for the future at the tim"There are too many ideas for the future at the time.” He
wants to change the world for the better in whatever way he
can and as of now he is accomplishing this
through his love of poetry.
doing the same.
The clock starts ticking and time passes as the young boy you
remember grows into a man.
Where now his thoughts are no longer thoughts but master
plans.
And the memories oAnd the memories of his rough times are only flashback
flashes as he sits back and cashes every
piece of the grind he has in his heart.
Much stronger then the troubled soul he was from the start.
The old equation in his mind has now changed.
The only thing that matters is money.
Its paper times people times Its paper times people times work equals him living and that's
enough to put his mind at ease.
Although he is never satisfied or easy to please.
So he continues his grind and keeps on pushing,
"No days off ”, he says,
"There just a waste of time‘cuz I could die tomorrow, but with
my plan I don't see that
happeninhappening."
More days
More months
More years pass by.
The clinically insane survivor concerned with his life is still
livin’
But he's slBut he's slowly over the time forgetting the equation he was
once given.
Another average day comes as he does the usual.
It wasn't unusual as he was watching the occasional basketball
game with someone dunking on the rim.
But just then someone walks up to him
He doesn't pay it attention he just figures it’s another client.
‘Cuz in his mind he didn't even look defiant.
His thoughts weren't even compliment with the unknown
character in front of him.
His plan His plan was the equation but somewhere in the situation he
messed up the math.
As the stranger pulls a 45 and it ends his life with blast after
blast
Proceeding to show his wrath.
Why you ask?
You see the stranger had an equation too.
WWork plus killing the competition equals surviving.
I can add the rest later...
Youth Open Mic Poetry
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MONTH!
SIGN UP @ 7PMREADING @ 7:30 PM
OPEN TO YOUTH 19 & UNDER
POETIC JUSTICE CAFE
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Phil Danielle Sanders has a mind as open as the universe- waiting to take in every element from her experiences that she can. The majority of her time is spent coming up with ways she can touch the lives of others and spread change throughout her community. She is the She is the Founder and President of the Kansas LGBT Community, Membership Director of Wichita Pride Inc., as well as a local business-a-holic, recycling, smiling, documentary watching, biking, book reading, cooking fiend- who frequents too many thrift stores and too many thrift stores and sports the most outrageous vests.
Love Has No GenderBy Phil Danielle Sanders
If my voice, Was a man’s voice,I’d be able to stand up here And say, “I love her.”That when the breeze That when the breeze Catches her hair, And sends her scent into the air, I cant help but get weak in the knees. Thinking to myself, THIS is the way it’s meant to be. For ME. Her soft hands in minHer soft hands in mine,Kissing, reminiscing, Until the end of time. Melting in her arms. The world can do us no harm.The world can do us no harm. I want to know that when we fall to the sheets, When she sWhen she snuggles up beside me, In our bed, That the world has got it right In their heads. This, This, The two of us, Is none of their business. When When we lace our limbsThrough one another’s,
We know we’ll always have eachother. Not the man next door, Or the pens signing Away our ability of Holy Matrimony. We cant wait for them to get on The same paThe same page. To eliminate the rage.While we continue to fight, The signing away of our rights. Separate the church From our stateFor we are a country of diverse faith. The sanctity oThe sanctity of marriage Is not ruined by same-sex couples. Our partnerships are builtOn a foundation, Of love.The same basis Their religion teaches.The reason for their creator from abThe reason for their creator from above. Like, I love the look in her eyes, When I roll over in the morning.The sun shining.Her heart beating next to mine. Syncing like the metronome, Guiding the orchestra of our heartsTTo the crescendo of the perfect composition.The birds outside the window, Sing back up to the deep breathes
We breathe in unison.In the privacy of our bed room,We are one. The politics, The critics, The bigots, Are noboAre nobody in our book Of compassion. In our world of love and admiration.I don’t need the man standing at the podium, To tell me I have done wrong. I have done no wrong. If giving this woman, All the lAll the love I have to give, Is wrong. Then Mister, Stop loving your God, And giving him all you’ve got. Because that’s all I want to do with my life, Is dedicate it to the woman of my dreams. KnKnowing she loves me. For me. And nothing else. That is my definition of love. Unconditionally. Not Conditionally. Without rules and regulations. stipulationstipulations.Words that sayI can be here but not there.
I can laugh this waybut not expect it to last. No. I have looked into her eyes, And I have said, “I love you.”JJust the way you are. I love that little mole under your eyeAnd that toe, That’s slightly longerThan the others. I will love you like The prince lThe prince loved Cinderella, Even after, He knew she fed the animals And had an evil stepmother. We can work through anythingTogether. Because, This is a paThis is a partnership. Equally wrapped up in one another. Tangled in the bed spread of our loveShe will always be Mi Amour,We will fight out this war.We will win the battle Of an Equal happily ever after.
“Performing my own words has given me a means of expression beyond anything else imaginable. I’ve found myself in this, and it just keeps going,” says Greg.
Greg Walker was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma and now lives in Wichita, Kansas. His experience in performing ranges from competitive Latin Ballroom, to mime, and now to his original poetry.
A Woman's TouchBy Greg Walker
Standing on the up-side-down paint bucket she buttons the last buttonOn the strips of white fabric that loop over the tension rodTo hold the sheet of white linen That seThat serves as a make-shift closet door
She is humming a perky little songHe thinks it makes her seem like Doris DayHer blonde hair adds to the illusionBut splotches of red beneath her swollen eyes make the illusion go away
She She runs both hands, front and back, over and over the clean fabricThe top trim of the curtain is like a sheet of cotton battingLike the stuff that comes out of your favorite stuffed animalAfter you've loved it too hard for too long
He can tell she is trying to disappear into it““You've made it look amazing. It was dingy and flat, Now it's – fluffy...”“...like a cloud.” She says, finishing his sentenceAnd steps down falling backward onto his lap
“Tomorrow, “ she says without looking away“We'll go get some paint and paint butterflies. Different color butterflies of all sizes
All over this bottom part.”
But he knows they can't leaveThat the judge allowing them to be together in this construction trailerOn the edge of the courthouse groundsInstead of a jail cell is a rare act of mercy
But to heBut to her, it's like the judge and the courtroom and the juryDon't existIt's like the childrenNever existedHe breathes in once and her reality Fills his lungsHis cautious grip on her hipsSoftens Softens And slithers around her torso like tentaclesAnd they make loveAs if they are one creatureAs if each is the air for the other to breatheAs if they are not under surveillanceAs if tomorrow isn't the day of the sentencing
They shuddeThey shudder,And their heads bow in a quiet reverenceFor peace that comes like a billow of fluffy cloudsFor the sweeping linen veil of eternity that lifts itself one last time before falling again to the floorFor grace that comes like the kiss of a thousand butterflies of all sizes and colors.
Marsha K. Phelps has over 38 years of experience with 35mm, printing, editing, video, and digital photography. Her approach to photography combines her love of nature with a keen eye for composition.During her Final Friday show at Poetic Justice she was asked to read her poem that she wrote about one of her photos. And the rest is history....
““Poetry helped to get my emotions from my foggy mind, to paper,” says Marsha.
The PhotographBy Marsha K. Phelps
I was missing you, like you don't know.You are so handsome, as I hold an old photo.As I taped it to my mirror, I saw my reflection.For only a moment, I smiled...as I used to and then some.As I remembeAs I remember, even through my delusion.
IT'S ALL IN WHAT YOU BELIEVE...By Marsha K. Phelps It's all in WHAT you believe, that makes you whole.What you believe from the bottom of your soul.No one expects their loved one to just leave.TTo go on without him; to cry and to grieve.Believe that you were a whole person when he met you,Then you can be again, for now you must start anew.LET him live in your heart,Know that the love that was bound will never part.It's all in WHAT you believe, that makes you whole.What you believe from the bottom of your soul.
“Starving Artist eats own Soul”~Shawn McDonald
www.shawnmcdonaldart.com
POETIC
JUSTICE