Poetry

Dark shadows enclose the wall of bricks at 5055 Canal Street, New Orleans, Louisiana.
A place of old spindly trees, fallen tombs and scattered bricks moistened green with moss,
We seek for a remnant of a grandfather who died young and his memory lost:
Entombed at Odd Fellows Rest Cemetery and forgotten for almost a century.
Maybe one fallen brick, linear and final,
Will engrave his name in the red masonry:

John Ellis, our progenitor, as we were told:
“Was an Irishman, linked to the Viking race:
A singing voice that would soothe the soul.
Blue eyed, a muscular stature, broad shoulders, a trim waist,
With an unquenchable thirst and a hearty taste.”

The wrought iron gate is rusted shut
From our generation anew:
It seems strange to think we exist
By only the dice that Fate threw.

—Kathleen Ellis Faulkner

After

an hour of staring into space,

a cup of coffee that would have been better

shared with you,

wondering what you said,

wondering what you really said,

after

conflicting emotions wrestle within,

after

the numbness,

after

the struggle

to put the experience into words

and concede that I am unable,

the tears arrive.

There is nothing to say.

—Virginia Bush

There was only darkness, a quiet darkness
And in the quiet there was a spark
That ignited the quiet
Which grew into a vast expanding explosion
And the universe was born

And there was no one to see

And time went by for eons and eons
And a planet was formed
A barren earth of mountains and valleys

And there was no one to see

And all was dark
Until a bright and blinding light lit the sky
Creating heat and cold
And the winds came with great force
And clouds formed covering its surface
For days and days it rained
When the rain stopped
There were lakes and rivers and oceans

And there was no one to see

One day after much time
The oceans gave birth to life
Which filled it from shore to shore

And there was no one to see

One day the oceans could hold no more
And it cast upon the shore
With waves breaking mightily
Some of the life it had borne
And the life grew and adapted to the land
And propagated itself over centuries
Into a thinking animal

And there was no one to see

Then came man, men of many colors
They all looked different, but all were the same
Some got along and some didn’t
And they multiplied by the millions

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And there were many to see

The earth was teeming with life
But no one was happy
Everyone hated their neighbors
There were murders, robberies and rapes
The guilty went free
And the innocent were condemned

And everyone saw

And then the wars came
Some were quick
And some took years
And there were no winners
And then the Great War came, Armageddon

And some saw, and some did not

It was hot, without a breath of air
And the cities lay dead and burning
Nothing stirred or moved
Not a soul to be found

And there was no one to see

For months and months and months
Smoke and ash covered the land
The cities were melted
And where sound had once prevailed
Only silence remained

And there was no one to see

And then it came without warning
Softly at first and then more swiftly
It fell to the earth
The rains had come
And it did rain for days and days
It cleansed the air
It washed the cities and the earth
And everything was washed back into the sea
From whence it had come

And there was no one to see

—Kelsie Gates

I saw it there,
right there on the wall,
“Don’t forget the killin’”

I did,
I saw it.

The sons, grandsons, cousins,
brothers, childhood friends
who happened,
just happened
to jump into the wrong gang,
And now they’re the enemy.
Don’t forget the killin’

Children who can’t play outside
’cause their mama’s afraid,
they won’t stay alive.
No mom should have to watch
the life drain out of their baby
Or worry
if they’ll grow up,

And jump in with their
cousin, brother, or friend,
so they won’t be hunted down
‘cause they’re the enemy

Burgers on the grill,
laughing, singing, talking
at the family gatherin’.

A drive-by doesn’t mean
you’re grabbing a Happy Meal.
A dark car draws closer to the house
looking for their victims.
Guns come out as they scan the yard.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

People go
diving, hiding, dying.
Children become unintended targets.
Some not even old enough to know
they should be scared.
Innocents killed,
because they don’t ask for ID as the bullets fly.
Don’t forget the killin’

Mama, what do you have to say?
As your baby walks over the passed out bodies
on the living room floor
from having too much fun last night,
yours in the middle.
He walks alone out the door to school
because he wants to escape so bad,
he’ll find his own way out
Don’t forget the killin’

Social Worker, what do you have to say?
Moving him place to place
like it’s a game, and
he’s just a chess piece.
But he won’t win.
He’ll end up somewhere he feels he belongs.
And he don’t forget the killin’

Teacher, what do you have to say?
Thinking he can’t read ‘cause he’s lazy
when the letters jump,
and he can’t hold them still on the page
no matter how hard he tries.
He hits the end of road
in the school bus with nothing.
Don’t forget the killin’

Boss man, what do you have to say?
Wouldn’t hire him because he couldn’t read,
but mostly
because you were afraid,
your customers would be frightened away.
Don’t forget the killin’

Uncle, what do you have to say?
You needed him so bad to take your drugs
to the hotel door.
Law wouldn’t hit him hard.
He was only 16 with no juvey record.
Don’t forget the killin’

I don’t forget
as I hear his Grandma.
Hurt so bad to hear her say
“Baby, I begged you,
begged you not
to die.
Don’t get the way of the bullets”
I said,
“but you did.
The blood stain on the sidewalk
is the only thing left, and
it reminds me of where I held your head
Begging you not to die.”

I see.
We’ve failed him.

We saw it on the wall.
Please wipe it from our minds,

Or let us save ’em,
And stop the killin’.

What do you have to say?

—Mary Morton

 

I enter, though reluctantly, into this dank cavern
Leading deep within the earth.

Into the darkness I go, sensing a twisted maze.
I venture into the unknown.

I pause with trepidation with each step I take.
I feel a coldness and aloneness in the deathly silence.

I lose my way in the blackness of no-where-ness:
I don’t know where I came from so I can’t turn back:
My direction is lost so I inch along blindly.

I am descending now: my feet begin to slide in wet rock:
I grope the walls for balance;
The walls are slippery and help not.

Suddenly, I fall through space, twisting and turning finding nothing to grasp.

I begin to see a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
I feel a sense of peace and I stop resisting gravity.

Weightless now, I glide to the exit.
As I come nearer to the end,
I know that all will be well: my pain is gone.

—Kathleen Ellis Faulkner