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The quest for the elusive

Susan Daniels Poetry

Do you chase that other Eden,
ruled by nine sisters, that dreaming place
that swims just past wave-kissed vision,
where women pose as mermaids
and stretch their arms over the Atlantic?

This is the heart of legend, spawning the ore
used to forge the sword in the stone:
the land of mist and promises,
where kings are made,
where all journeys end.

There are no more golden apples.
We know earth is earth, stone hard
and bone-breaking beautiful
if we take our eyes from the grail,
from the ideas that swallow us deeper
than any big fish and do not release us,
spat up on the shore
where we are called to be prophets,
gasping, wet, stinking of the sea;
but instead break us down,
acid eating even our bones.

The magic of all quests is the quest,
the things learned along the way,
not the won object winking and whispering
eternal salvation, immortal…

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The multi-dimensionality of poverty.

Boomie Bol

it stared them in the face As if daring them to be rid of it it made a mockery of them every step of the way One garment day in and out in the midst of flashy Colors and spring like pastels It haunted them in the dark when power was out for lack of payment it taunted them as if daring them to do something about it and laughed in their faces when they sat motionless Unable to speak or refute its presence Unable to move or break from its crippling effect breaking them in pieces night after night when empty refrigerators stared them in the dark It called out to them in the night when stomachs rumbled and tiny tummies ached from hungry days and starved nights that had Lost count and begun to feel "normal" It made a mockery of them as a whole And individually from…

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