SUPER STAMP SUNDAY: JAMES DEAN

FALLING DOWN

In their memory...

New York City is falling down
as I rise from my bed
like a stubborn corpse
While people are burned
and buried alive
here I make stiff fingers move
shuffle my numb feet
toward life

Mad planes seek easy targets
in the sky Here I put on my
hat, let the elevator
drop me down
to the basement
below Maybe a miracle
will come in the mail
one day soon
The Disability checks

won't stop
I won't lose the subsidized
roof over my head
untold loaves of
bread will appear in the
empty cupboard like magic
And good blood will
flow through my sick
veins once again
Thank you
America

The Twin Towers fall
and some 3,000
souls are gone
Here I abandon my bed
sip weak coffee
and squint at the
12 inch screen

In New York City
a homeless man has
hung an American flag
across the side of his
cart But I only see
hunger and early
coffins here Red is the
color of blood, ashes
are white, bruises are
blue Now a barefoot girl

has wrapped a flag
around herself like a
shroud Her face is a
mask of ash, her dark
eyes are ringed with
blood, blue bruises
disfigure her feet
She is an American
saint on display

A letter in the mailbox
is a dangerous
thing now, but
I am already falling, falling
Since bombs or germs
won't make my world
worse: I open my mail
never think to wash my
hands, check the empty
cupboard one more time,
and wait for my world
to explode

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell 

THE AGONY OF SYLVIA LIKENS

Sylvia's nightmare
Christ's agony on the Cross
Nobody saved her

Sylvia Likens Home Page

Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell 

ROBIN WILLIAMS: 1951 - 2014

You made the world laugh
While death tortured you inside
The belt was too tight


Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

A POEM FOR SANDRA BLAND

We will not forget you

So now the so-called experts are telling us that Sandra was a major weed addict. Christ, can you not come up with a better fiction? Also, if your findings are based in fact: Why did Waller County not place Sandra in a suicide watch cell, instead of placing her in a cell all by herself?  She stated that she had felt suicidal in the past. So what's up with that? I'm dying to know the truth.


STILL I RISE

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Poem ©  Maya Angelou