PALMETTO POEM, Mungin: Jim Crow
By Horace Mungin, special to Charleston Currents
Jim Crow where truth can’t go
Jim Crow where freedom can’t fly
Jim Crow where light can’t shine
Jim Crow where Justice is denied
By Horace Mungin, special to Charleston Currents
Jim Crow where truth can’t go
Jim Crow where freedom can’t fly
Jim Crow where light can’t shine
Jim Crow where Justice is denied
By John L. Byrne
Image credit: Lady in a white dress, Franz Dvorak, 1927.
By John L. Byrne
The moon and lightning bugs dance
between tombstones. Leaves wrinkle
in the sighing Charleston breeze.
A lady, draped in white, drifts
By Matthew Foley, special to Charleston Currents
I know you’ve heard it
all the days of your life.
A voice,
quietly calling.
A song,
for your ears alone.
Over and over again,it has called your name,
pulled you like the moon
calls home the tide. …
By Marjory Wentworth
Because our history is a knot
we try to unravel, while others
try to tighten it, we tire easily
and fray the cords that bind us.
By Kit Loney, republished with permission
Here is how you get filing cabinets to fly:
Begin with stuffing drawers bulge with pictures–
dragonflies, butterflies, all things on wings.
Airplanes and rocket ships, dancers,
sports page clippings of leaping athletes.
Jam more pictures: Leonardo‘s helicopters,
By Jeremy Rutledge, special to Charleston Currents
On the fourth day
of physical therapy
the material
turned to metaphor
all of us working
to find our weaknesses
and give them
our attention.
Barred tail feathers, round brown face.
I wish you would wake, wish you could.
In this sleeping posture – lying
on your back (unnatural, I know),
you appear relaxed.
By Loren Mixon, special to Charleston Currents
Good for:
Wandering minds, i.e. I dreamt myself walking down the street to the thrift store, losing my life in old broaches and lessons in a woman’s fading memory before I found my body sitting in a pew—running from a catholic childhood.
By Alison Palmer, special to Charleston Currents
1.
When a fox gets lost in the snow
it stands at attention, cold soldier
among the trees.
When I get lost in the snow
I bow down, ungracefully, saluting limbs
heavy with the white of morning.
By Danielle DeTiberus, special to Charleston Currents
What if the sunset last night—the waves
impossibly pink and the sand’s sheen
a soft mirror to the darkening
lavender sky— belonged to me
so that I could give it all to you?
What if I could take a page, colder
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