Today is a good day for manifestos. Write
one, for whatever cause.
Mi Festo
The earth turns and so we say,
"the sun rises everyday,"
creating prisms through the crystal ball
at my window.
My cat, new and already too fat,
is still afraid of many things.
Her disposition a consequence of
a life before me, and us, that I will
never know.
I wait, expectant, prayerful to Yemanja, for requests made at the
seashore.
Requests made in white, with
tears, pennies, petals, paper, and
incense.
Smiles for reconnections with
long, although not so lost, friends.
Conversations over bad food about
being mean to tourists and white
people -
the
struggle to not begrudge others their wealth.
I settle into routines of love,
laundry, lounging, parking tickets.
We become a regular couple at the
grocery store, longing for leisurely
walks.
I settle into the stress of
moving the car from side to side everyday,
making plans for work, writing, and a
life off the grid.
paula
Poetry Manifesto
inspired
by L. Ferlinghetti
Wom@nifesto 2006 I declare I that all workers should be let out of their cubicles daily and not
on a leash to roam the parks and city freely to dream and think creative
thoughts II that there should be days when people are encouraged to wear the same
colors connecting us to each other in subways busses streets and parks III that all politicians must read famous poets and philosophers as a prerequisite for office and write some poems and essays daily at bedtime IV that dogs and pets should not be treated as babies or people anymore but be
allowed to go back to their authentic animal natures and ways V that there should be one grand day of exhanging goods so that all our fallen by the
wayside things can be reused and become another's beloved objects again VI that there could be places throughout the
city where all artists musicians poets writers could show their work for all to see and
let the people decide what was good and
worthy Sue Machlin, NYC
“A poem is a voice for change” -
a request for ice-cream on a hot day,
a warning against too much darkness,
a caution to be wary of too much light.
Poetry is that wise-ass kid
snickering in the back of the classroom,
singing on the cross-town bus,
and riding between subway cars.
A poem mutters, yells, murmurs, exclaims,
decries, sighs, oohs and ahs, demands, and sobs -
it speaks in countless vociferous ways.
Poetry is meant to reconceive,
reinvent, recreate, rebirth and renew -
What you will.
Shannon
Klasell