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The Sudan
By Andrea Barnwell
Freedom is not an afterthought
Nor is
it punctuated by a
Rare
comma
Freedom is not dismissed
From
vocabularies
Nor
ignored
Where
carnage and death
And
destruction flow
Casually as if a mother’s
Child
should always bleed
Away
her life
Screaming horror
Crying
why?
Freedom is not an afterthought
Nor is
it punctuated by a
Rare
comma
Freedom is not pushed aside
Like a
fly swat
Crushed like a roach underfoot
Abhorred like a snake
Or a
diseased rat
Rather~
Freedom is a
Gift
Given
in love
Through love
Love
June 16, 2004
* * *
* *
January Again
By Andrea Barnwell
Snow's
melted from my heart
a new
chill sweeps past
putting all else on hold til
sticks
can be bent again
like
green willow
til a
flower can stand
up and
stay without frost
and my
eyes see smoke
not
rising from my breath
but
from summer sidewalks
Sliding, swaying with icy wind
a crow
sits on the line
assessing time's wreckage:
just
another january day
to
recall or forget to remember
that
we are no longer children
playing at life, but living it
like
countless ancestors before the
first
cold took toll for winter's folly
but
spring's promise to warm
away
the chips of below zero
chemistry put us on notice.
This
strange poem in the cold southwest
of January's morn prattles on about
what?
Note
us: taking stock of the past
Looking toward the future when
time
in this body will end
A new
time will begin past
the
pain, the toil, the tears,
the
joy of life on earth and she
will
Dis-Cover the secret that everyone knows:
This
life is but the greatest and smallest
of
deeds, honors, dreams Time leaves for
death
- the portal we all must travel through
for
the greatest and eternal spiritual life
awaiting us with God
Jesus
January 20, 1997
* *
* * *
To Myself: Lists
By Andrea Barnwell
i
write you notes
around
silence
around
children's noises
happy
laughter
around
the house
i
write you notes-
reminders
in
deadline timelines
in
stress, in poverty
reminders
in
loneliness, in hope
in
toil, apprehension
of
filing working shopping
things
to do that
don't
get done
or
somehow
manage
a half-task
reminders of the mundane
reminders
to
wash, cook, shop, dry fold
and
put away, sweep, mop, vacuum
call a
million people
in
promises to return
their
needs
reminders to remember
to
mend, sew, mail
to
pray to sing to read
to
write, to rest, to meditate
meditate?
to do
hair, nails, personal hygiene
to
fulfill this appointment,
that
job
i
remember to forget
to buy
what i can't afford
i
scratch out what i discard
and
remember to save
your
notes - my lists
carry
them around
wearing their edges out
in my
purse
frey
the fold lines
i
carry notes
not
forgetting to save
those
torn shreds
of
tasks long accomplished
to
show me my progress
and
tasks yet to be done
turn
up on another list
of
things to do
my
husband
accuses me of placing
my
personal needs
with
him on that level
organizing our bedroom
relationships
so
listing i remember
to
overlook his insinuations
that
this listing is evil
evil
work this listing
of
things to do
as i
write to you
around
backyard birds
chirping and
moffit
field planes
buzzing and
lowrider cars pounding
whizzing bumping through
the
silence of another day
gone
by
another accomplishment
another time honored
honing
of
taking
out trash
mowing
the lawn
watering fertilizing
planting the garden
fighting the pests
washing the car
grooming the dog
with
the urge to do nothing
to
want everything
done
to
organize others
and
obey
this
incessant needling
to
work
to
create
to
dream
to
help
to
care
to
remember
to
write
another
list
written in 1981
* * *
* *
Rain Poem
By Andrea Barnwell
Rain
Spilling all over
Guts
Hurting
Not
purging
The
gutter swirls
Green
bile
Our
grass
Grows
long
Trees
get
Strong
while
Rain
sheets
Pour
down
Our
street
Neighbors
Come
Without
Umbrellas
Rain
Makes
things
Grow
all over
Insides
Swell
urging
Forgiveness
Stoops
at the
Doorstep
Opens
the
Porch
planks
Rain
Washes
the
Stench
while
Wet
earth
Smells
Something
Something like
Love
August 12, 2003 |
