Laura Williams French is a poet, author, and publisher who lives in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York. Her collection of essays. "Wigs, Cars, & Sectional Sofas: Surviving Childhood in the 70's," will be released in late 2019. The Hammer A woman damaged by life her heart beaten and battered by men – and circumstance like a bone-bruise deeply injured slow to heal she took a hammer to every new car denting the glossy paint marring the pristine surface so she was responsible for the imperfection she had only herself to blame All Injuries are Permanentshe was lucky, they said the injury wasn’t permanent it was a lie no visible scar nothing to mar the skin aesthetically intact underneath fear lives coiled and hissing warning of danger passed flashback memory strikes in the dark all injuries are permanent No Time to be a Victim prying eyes, invading hands unwanted advances, harsh words insults, anger, and shame all part of a past things that cannot be erased but pain lingers in the back of the mind demanding you be sad to dwell – to grieve to remain wounded endlessly lamenting wrongs tainted joy – toxic to the system misery is a hungry beast requiring nourishment of heartache refreshed to insure equilibrium and satiation days, weeks, years of wallowing epochs lost from bliss surrendered power to bullies and daily tyrants no more! not another moment lost to everyday despots, tormentors, or childhood abusers take back life – peace with no time to be a victim Oz Landing in Oz
minus the technicolor yearning to be Dorothy and wear the magic shoes Instead, playing the Tin Man until my heart broke Pulling levers while hiding behind the curtain Pretending to be Great and Powerful But we never left Kansas
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Sibanda is the author of Love O’clock, The Dead Must Be Sobbing and Football of Fools. Ndaba Sibanda`s work is featured in The New Shoots Anthology, The Van Gogh Anthology edited by Catfish McDaris and Dr. Marc Pietrzykowski, Eternal Snow, A Worldwide Anthology of One Hundred Poetic Intersections with Himalayan Poet Yuyutsu RD Sharma scheduled for publication in Spring/Summer 2017 by Nirala Press and Seeing Beyond the Surface Volume II. Boyhood And Victimhoodboisterous boys in an act of mudslinging sibling rivalry are roughhousing around in naivety they bully and bury their differences violent men in charge of countries and armies are different from those sharing a raucous radio panel discussion they invent self-defense mechanisms lies and farcical foes and fools and play victim to their drama When A Howl Becomes HandyHlengi was behind the wheel Voiceless, visualizing a deal Her fingers frail, itching For a windfall, a fine find Famine had been her friend Her downfall for a long time Her hopes hurt by haziness And people`s deceitfulness She had become strain`s Playground and internee She had to hustle, to act Debt dated her every day Negotiating a sharp bend Her eyes were caught by Something that froze her A gun was pointed at her! She knew she was a kill His game, if she defied She braked the vehicle With a jerk, unsure, unsafe An idea capered around in her Head, on the face of it was folly Anger and anxiety spinning Out of control, she yowled “I`m a magic mermaid-trained Nyanga. Let me teach you aaaa….!” Unease eased into the captor For he fled the scene like a fly! Those Must FallFetch your tools, let us march and avert further damage Our gardens are under siege, their greenery despoiled They are marching, moving en masse as they raid and ruin They devour just about everything in their wake, in their path Fetch your tools, let us march and avert further damage These destructive pets have no shame, silly insect armies! Look how they are active at night, attacking our crops and grass During the day, wriggling, hiding under our garden rubbles! Come, let us take a closer inspection of our plants and prospects Look at the armyworm eggs, let beneficial insects feed on them! Set our caterpillars on them, hashtag: harmful little predators Tell our farmers to take to twitter and twit: armyworms- must -fall A Solid Past She felt the fire As heat surged higher It was tasty and tactile Its flames vocal and visual Like a blind lover, her passage was tough His love was designed to be perceived by touch Her concrete care enabled him to be her part And feel the warmth and bigness of her heart It had a rare palpability, a pleasant presence But now its presence is a memory, an obsolescence For All Time`s Sakethat`s Sir Phuzile on a Friday his noise knows no boundaries offloaded on the earth`s eardrums every sane soul within earshot drowns under its rubble of intoxicants and toxicants tonight his kids might have to retreat into their rooms for the sake of their peace of mind and normality of ears attached are their staggering dad`s PDF files of silly soliloquies his head is emailing horror to his family in place of hoorays of union how will they format his virus-ridden USB of foul words and breath? somebody needs to delete his uploaded files of threats once and for all Never Mind ThemA few months ago Thathawena made a vow
She looked for the highest hill and made a roar Never ever will I ever tuck into any kind of meat Never ever will I wear a high heel, was her swear Everybody said: vegetarian, do your stuff, no sweat Found chewing chicken, cheating on her diet: how dare! That Friday her high-heeled shoes looked exclusive & precarious Revelers’ roars of criticism meant nil, her dish wasn’t mysterious Michael K. Brantley is the author of Galvanized: The Unlikely Odyssey of a Reluctant Carolina Confederate (Univ. of Nebraska Press, forthcoming), and Memory Cards: Portraits from a Rural Journey (BRW, 2015). He is an English professor, a photographer, and a blessed liver transplant recipient. Michael lives with his family of writers and historians in eastern North Carolina. Angel Baby |
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