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“Gust Is Deaf, Hills Are Blind”. . . and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“It’s that magnificent interlude in New York between winter and spring, when you feel the warmth stirring, and you remember that the dreadful naked trees will inevitably sprout tiny green buds, soon. Everyone rushes into the parks, the streets–and you even forget that, very soon , summer will come scorchingly, dropping from the sky like a blanket of steam…”  John Rechy, City of Night

In response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, Another Kind of Beauty, February 20, 2019, poets Paul Brooks, Cubby (Sonya Annita Song), Irma Do, Jen Goldie, Frank McMahn, Sonja Benskin Mesher, Marta Pombo Sallés, Anjum Wasim Dar share the joy and inspiration they find in nature. Special thanks to Irma and Anjum for the added pleasure of their photographs and to Anjum for her artwork. Nicely done.

Readers will note that links to sites are included when they are available so that you can visit. If there’s no site, it’s likely you can catch up with the poet on Facebook.

Enjoy this nature collection and do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.

Gust Is Deaf, Hills Are Blind

trees can’t walk properly,
Flowers twitch haphazardly.

Grass is mute, rivers are dumb.
Nature is differently abled.

Mountains are too tall,
struggle to talk when they can’t

bend a knee, get down to those smaller
who are in awe when all mountains need

is to speak face to face , dispel their myth.
Same with water that rushes by,

no time to stand and stare, moments pass
before they have time to fully comprehend.

Flux needs a still moment but has to go on.
Still waters wish they could rush.

All hankers after what it Is not,
Cannot accept their place as their lot.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Let Me Pass Through

city walls
that bind all your threads together,

walk through this wood,
let your cityself take same walk, see
buildings as lone trees,
homeless hostel
is an oak, butchers
a willow that bends
down over the stream
where jammed traffic swims.

A dead bird breathes
animated by flies
is a man in the corner who sings
the blues to passers.

That fall of a leaf
tickertape homecoming parade.

Your pavement footfall
echoes in my forest.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Riverbrain, Rivermind. Riverwives

synaptic rivulets
neuron canals
sacred water

riverbrain flows in my head
fountainbrain channels my ideas
lakebrain plays the fey

electric rivulets move earth
inside my head

waterskin neural net
circumnavigates damage
fruited hemispheres
replenish, restore, reimagine

senses water roots
springwaters in my head
well in my head.

sheflow

her flaps of the water
bride of the waveskin
her inner lips of the river,
spring and waterfalls,
fermented honey drip
not dragonfly laced stained glass

faplap
lamina moist make out

fragile weirs into lust
nympha

tongue kindly these guardians

 Excerpt from The Headpoke And Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Grovemind, Groovemind

synaptic branches
neuron tipped limbs
sacred grove recovery

oakbrain opens doors in my head
ashbrain spears my ideas
elmbrain plays the fey

electric gust moves limbs
inside my head

barkskin neural net
circumnavigates damage
fruited hemispheres
replenish, restore, reimagine

senses water roots
grove in my head
grooves in my head

between oaklimbs
between ashlimbs

her flaps of the wood
bride of the barkskin
her inner lips of the forest
fermented honey drip
not butterfly laced stained glass

fapleaf
lamina mulch make out

fragile doors into lust
nympha

tongue kindly these guardians.

Excerpt from The Headpoke And Firewedding {Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Prolific Yorkshire Poet, Paul Brookes

FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running an ongoing series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Connect with Paul if you’d like to be considered for an interview. Visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.

The Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jamie Dedes

  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.S. HERE
  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.K. HERE

More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play

When Galaxies Cry

When galaxies cry,
The tears that they shed
Are showers of light
We see overhead
That leave us in awe
As we touch our cheeks,
Speechless but listening
When radiance speaks.

So gaze at the sky
When stars shoot above
And hear as they make
Their statements of love,
For they long to be heard
In the vacuum of space,
Stardrops streaming down
A celestial face.

© 2019, Cubby (Reowr, Poetry that purrs. It’s reowr because the cat said so.)

I Long to Climb

I long to climb into the sky
On steps of wisp and smoke;
I long to feel the sweet caress
Of heaven’s velvet cloak.
I long to greet the newborn dawn,
Blushing in its youth;
I long to shoo the honeyed rays
From shadow’s hungry tooth.
I long to hear the faeries sing
Conducted by the moon;
I long to dance with dimpled winds
In Eden’s fair lagoon.
I long to stroke a comet’s tail
Impetuous in flight;
I long to whisper in the dark
Of dreams beyond the night.
I long for things I cannot have
And I will not deny,
For beauty’s sake is why I long
To climb into the sky.

© 2019, Cubby (Reowr, Poetry that purrs. It’s reowr because the cat said so.)

Sonya Annita Song’s (a.k.a. Cubby) Amazon page is HERE.

March Madness – A Haibun

It is March and I am Mad. The sky is a vibrant electric blue. The clouds are soft cotton pillows. The sun is bright but not warm enough to melt the recent snow. It is a fake spring.

But when a gentle wind blows, soothing my brow with the feel of soft yellow daffodils and hot magenta tulips, I release the anger and betrayal.

Disappointment healed

By springs flowers marching on

The promise of hope


Another coming together of prompts! Merrill at dVerse requested a Haibun about “March Madness” while Jamie Dedes’ Wednesday Writing Prompt asked: How does nature inspire joy in you, inspire your creativity and perhaps even your sense of peace? For me, the symptoms of spring sparks joy however where I am now, spring has been a tease – snowing one day then 60 degree temperatures the next. It is enough to drive one mad!

© 2019, Irma Do (I Do Run … And I do a few other things too …)

The Trees are making music

The trees
Are making music
To the sky today,
In apology for
Yesterday’s silence.

Music
With crystal bells
Of questions,
Hanging on the limbs,
Unspoken,
Unanswered.

© 2019, Jen E. Goldie (Starlight and Moonbeams and the occasional cat)

DANCE WITH DESTINY

 

ETHEREAL WHITE SNOWFLAKES GENTLY

FALLING FROM AN UNSTIRRING GREY SKY. STATELY

FIR BOUGHS LADEN AND RELENTING UNDER  

NEW- FOUND WEIGHT. I’VE LOST MY LULLABY.

 

ONE PROLONGED AND LONGING BREATH AFTER

ANOTHER AND ANOTHER AND YET ANOTHER.

 

EYES FILLING WITH TEARS YEARNING FOR BEAUTY

TO ENFOLD ME ONCE AGAIN. MY PENCIL

SCRATCHES PAPER BUT I STILL CANNOT

SEE THE BEAUTY SURROUNDING ME,

 

A FOG OF DISMAY WASHES OVER ME

AS THE MIST DOES THE MEADOW.

THOUGH DESIRE IS ARDENT, MY VISION

IS CLOUDED, MY MUSE HAS ABANDONED ME,

 

ADRIFT IN A SEA OF MISCONCEPTIONS, NEGATIVITY

AND TRAGEDY. SPRING WITHIN MY REACH,

SO MUCH BEAUTY YET TO SEE, MY EYES

WEARY, MY SOUL MIRED AND LOST IN MISERY,

WARRING WITH COMFORT AND CHARITY.

 

JOY BROUGHT DESPAIR ALONG FOR COMPANY,

I TOOK HIS HAND AND HE DANCED WITH ME

THE WORST OF IT, IS, HE HAS STAYED WITH ME,

WHILE JOY LEFT THE FETE WITH HARMONY.

 

MY HEART HAS DONNED AN ICY COAT TO

HIDE ME FROM SADNESS, I CANNOT SEE THE

PATH TO HEAVEN, THOUGH I SEE THE ROAD

TO HELL, AS I DANCE WITH DESTINY.

 

© 2019, Jen E. Goldie (Starlight and Moonbeams and the occasional cat)

Wordsmiths

Letters inscribed in air; branches
write the seasons and their fickle
variations, shredding coherence
as they thresh and whine, blasts and rants
of leaves and barren seeds.

Gift of the wasp’s gall: indelible
tales from the oak’s heart and hearing;
grand hotel and shelter, shade for
transient languor.Acorn fall.
Sap retreats slow to reticence.

Meditation under rimed sky,
the hermit’s calligraphy spread
across the crystal sheet, utterance
of promise laid in autumn’s scatter.

The year turns; dew-varnished beech glints
with angled light. Decipher the forest’s
library: curlicues unfurling
on spring-dancing branches, stickiness
and insect hum, in April’s breeze
the Book of Kells unscrolling.

© 2019, Frank McMahon

.turkey island.

they say it is too cold there. cold as icebergs

none came the year the storm broke, breached

the shingle bank

decisions were made

i hear

to not repair

now there is salt marsh where samphire grows

some eat it

i don’t

i like turkey island

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

.clean water.

we left early to visit

clear pools of water,

the mountain sloped.

here we wandered,

among sheep.

watched the bug

glide the water,

sucked down

the fish leap.

storm past, this

was a day of sunshine.

we are good friends.

we got better.

so it goes.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

I just met a turtle

I just met a turtle in the park.

It was on the way

Not where its mates

Usually are,

Near the lake

Sunbathing.

It was solitary.

I figured out it spoke

To me.

Told me to slow down.

And so I sat

As words began to dance

In flight

Carrying a smell of pine trees,

Rosemary and lavender.

Like butterfly wings

Fluttering in the wind

They intertwined

And slowly began

To land on my paper

One by one.

I pulled my thread,

Took the needle

And began to sow

One after the other.

A word weaver

Just like my friend

Quim

And all the others.

I just met a turtle.

© 2017 Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

The Park

Trees and blue sky,
sweet lavender and rosemary
not knowing why
a few lines I could invent.
Soft wind caressing my face
and the birds singing distant
feeling this nature’s embrace
longing to hold.
So much there is now at stake
sunbeams crossing through tree leaves,
peaceful water of the lake
sensing all, what nature presents.
Let us go on rowing
together on our humble boat
even though not knowing
how long to keep it afloat.

© 2016, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Out of the Shell

Out of the shell!
the tortoise said
out of that hell!
the price was paid.
Now I am cold
but not in vain
as I am told
I won the pain!
I can walk free
did nothing wrong
there is no tree
but I stay strong.

I’m a bit old
and just need love
I’ll be a bit bold
and play the dove.
I found a girl
on a dating site
oh, how I swirl
to her I write.
She’s just too young
or I’m too old
but I’ve begun
and now I’m sold.

My name is Frank
and she’s Nicole
I’m not a prank
yet she’s my goal.
Told her the truth
what will she do?
she’s in her youth
and I feel blue.
Difference in age
is not so good
it is a cage
you think I should?

© 2019. Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Poem inspired by poet Newton Ranaweera’s post: See, we’re free!!: , and by chapter 6 of Mario Savioni’s novel Pickles and Tarts.

Jewels of Joy

Raindrops in heat,
showered  jewels of joy,
a backdrop white dark and grey,
of infinite mercy, yet warning
thunder, of a power beyond –
what joy I felt, as the sun I found
hiding behind a rainbow –

adorned, in grace crowned
unaware yet cautious, masked thorn,
protection visible, smile on the side
why so quiet in repose, love embodied
profound, yet in complete solitude,
few moments in time,when no words formed,
sweet sounds of love’s intense symphony
in two souls, silently merged, a
rose plucked, surrendered to the hand
that controlled, in colorful scent, that
its joyful destiny, meant,in complete
fragrant beauty, drowned-
Nature’s eternal joy in spirit, replete

© 2019, poem (English and Urdu below), photograph and artwork, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

rose4.jpg

                             قدرتی حسن کی دلکشی

یہ بارش کی بوندیں  خوشی کے ہی موتی  
ھیں رحمت  کے قطرے  ھے  بخشش برستی

یہ  قدرت کی طاقت  ھے   سب   سے   بڑی 
   خوشی و راحت ملی ، قوس و قزح پہ نظر جو

پڑیدلکش گلاب  محتاط  مسکراھٹ بکھیرتا  ھوا 
وقت کے خطرات سے انجان چند لمہوں میں 

محبت کے ہاتھوں میں مغلوب ،خشبو میں نہایا
ھوا ، کسی چاہنے والے کی خوشی کے لیے 

قربان ھوا، ،کہ قدرت نے اسی لیے ؑبنایا اسے
روح کی گہرایوں میں  اتر کر  خوشی مکمل  ملے

“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL” Anjum Wasim Dar

ABOUT

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Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded.  I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read by Northern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”

The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton

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On the Razor’s Edge, a poem


“You see the suffering of children all the time nowadays. Wars and famines are played out before us in our living rooms, and almost every week there are pictures of children who have been through unimaginable loss and horror. Mostly they look very calm. You see them looking into the camera, directly at the lens, and knowing what they have been through you expect to see terror or grief in their eyes, yet so often there’s no visible emotion at all. They look so blank it would be easy to imagine that they weren’t feeling much.” Mary Lawson, Crow Lake

Eye-candy, a feast of crocus, bursting
Through the snow-laden ground
Drunk on the promise of spring
The devil behind, that shadow side
Clouds shape shifting, take on
The broad outlines of a memoir

Angels dance on the razor’s edge
Forget that pin stupidity, reductio
ad absurdum, politicians and scholars
Debating, while greed and warring go on
Starving the children, curse the insanity
Dialectic, acquisition, murdering hoards

Clouds, shape shifting, take on
The contours of shame, crocus buries
Itself and the promise of spring
The broad outlines of memoir dissolve
The slashed moon drools ichor

How long can the innocent bear life
On the razor’s edge, coiling the fire
Of their despair around our hearts
Drawn to the verge on the reflux of
Rudimentary souls, vertigo, nausea
Nostalgia for what will never be known

© 2019, poem (first draft), Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

ABOUT

Testimonials

Disclosure

Facebook

Twitter

Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded.  I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read by Northern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”

The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton

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Langston Hughes’ Poetic Homage to Helen Keller

Helen Keller

“For, after all, every one who wishes to gain true knowledge must climb the Hill Difficulty alone, and since there is no royal road to the summit, I must zigzag it in my own way. I slip back many times, I fall, I stand still, I run against the edge of hidden obstacles, I lose my temper and find it again and keep it better, I trudge on, I gain a little, I feel encouraged, I get more eager and climb higher and begin to see the widening horizon. Every struggle is a victory. One more effort and I reach the luminous cloud, the blue depths of the sky, the uplands of my desire.” Helen Keller, The Story of My Life [recommended – Kindle version is a whopping sixty-cents]

In the dark,
Found light
Brighter than many ever see.
She,
Within herself,
Found loveliness,
Through the soul’s own mastery.
And now the world receives
From her dower:
The message of the strength
Of inner power.

– Langston Hughes

HELEN KELLER (1880-1968) is a hugely compelling figure for so many of us, an inspiration. She was the first deaf and blind person to earn a B.A.  – at Harvard University, no less.  She was a writer and activist.

LANGSTON HUGHES (1902-1967) – also an inspiration – was a social activist and leader of the Harlem Renaissance, a poet, novelist, playwright, and columnist.  Hughes was an early innovator of a new style in his time, jazz poetry – i.e. jazz-like rhythms, improvisational feel – and much of his poetry was on social justice themes. (Jazz poetry tends to be consider outsider art. It is the root of poetry slams and hip-hop.)

Photo credit: United States Library of Congress‘s Prints and Photographs divisionunder the digital ID cph.3c12513; Am uncertain of the copyright status. The photographer is unknown.

ABOUT

Testimonials

Disclosure

Facebook

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Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded.  I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read by Northern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”

The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton

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Public Enemy and Possible Poet: Bonnie Parker (of Bonnie and Clyde)

Bonnie Parker (1910-1934)

“The country’s money simply declined by 38 percent”, explains Milner, author of The Lives and Times of Bonnie and Clyde. “Gaunt, dazed men roamed the city streets seeking jobs … Breadlines and soup kitchens became jammed. [In rural areas] foreclosures forced more than 38 percent of farmers from their lands [while simultaneously] a catastrophic drought struck the Great Plains … By the time Bonnie and Clyde became well-known, many had felt that the capitalistic system had been abused by big business and government officials … Now here were Bonnie and Clyde striking back.” Milner, E.R. The Lives and Times of Bonnie and Clyde.Southern Illinois University Press, 2003.

The Guardian recently ran a feature, ‘We donte want to hurt anney one’: Bonnie [Parker] and Clyde’s [Barrow] poetry revealed” … Wow! Who knew? I certainly didn’t. The quote in the headline is allegedly Clyde’s work. He tried his hand, but it looks like Bonnie was the poet. For those who may not know these were Depression Era criminals in a day when the most notorious were labeled “Public Enemy” and these two certainly were, though they are often glamorized in media.

Apparently there’s a notebook in which the poems believed to be written by the couple are collected. It is up for auction by Barrow’s nephew.  (Find more details and photos of the notebook at Heritage Auctions. They’re also auctioning off photographs.)

A little further research – very little (but I was curious) – reveals that there are several poems popularly ascribed to Bonnie.  Here’s one:

The Story of Bonnie and Clyde

You’ve read the story of Jesse James
Of how he lived and died;
If you’re still in need
Of something to read,
Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang,
I’m sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.

There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They’re not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate all the law
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.

But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
‘I’ll never be free,
So I’ll meet a few of them in hell.’

The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn’t give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it’s fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can’t find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hand it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There’s two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy;
‘I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We’d make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped.’

The police haven’t got the report yet,
But Clyde called me up today;
He said, ‘Don’t start any fights
We aren’t working nights
We’re joining the NRA.’

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won’t ‘stool’ on Bonnie and Clyde.

If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They’re invited to fight
By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.

They don’t think they’re too tough or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They’ve been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they’ll go down together;
And they’ll bury them side by side;
To few it’ll be grief
To the law a relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.

– Bonnie Parker
.
“At approximately 9:15 a.m. on May 23, the posse, concealed in the bushes and almost ready to concede defeat, heard Barrow’s stolen Ford V8 approaching at a high speed. . . .  The lawmen opened fire, killing Barrow and Parker while shooting a combined total of about 130 rounds.  . . Barrow was killed instantly [but an officer reports hearing] Parker scream as she realized Barrow was dead before the shooting at her fully began. The officers emptied all their arms at the car. Any one of the many wounds suffered by Bonnie and Clyde would have been fatal.” Wikipedia
.
All photographs in the post are in the public domain.
..

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Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded.  I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read by Northern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”

The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton