Two Poems About The Inner City

I spent two years on a volunteer project in South Central Los Angeles. The intent was to somehow have an impact on the violence in impoverished communities. It is evident from the headline news that violence is still rampant. These two poems come from conversations with young people who lived in those communities.

South Central

Graffiti on the walls mark the territory
the smell of urine emanates from the alleyways

eyes peer through basement windows
fear, like a curtain, shrouds those who live there

Pop! Pop! Pop! Who is it this time,
a gangland enemy, his brother, a child?

Doors don’t open to inspect the violence
the car screeches away unseen

a ghost drifts through the ethers with no one attending
the body left to be discovered in the morning.















Mama Said, “No!”

Mama said, “No!”
and I did it anyway.

I climbed out the window into the street
where a stranger offered me a ride
to the ghetto of Long Beach.
He bought me a burrito and coke
from the local taco stand.

He said I could stay
until I figured out what to do.

I never found out what that night held
because as I approached his apartment
there was mama, sitting in the car
along the curbside.

How could she find me?
We were miles from home.

Mama was mad and didn’t let me stay.
So I went back and the stranger ran away,
cause mama said, “No!”
and she came out to get me.

California Coast

Year round summer
West Coast beaches
buff bodies
bikinis
beach cruisers
board shorts
barbecues
beer
surfboards
sun bleached hair
flip flops
Hawaiian prints
coconut oil
bare skin
muscles
warm weather
clear skies
evening fires
love songs
Frisbees
waves
life in the
California sun.

Picking Blackberries

Picking blackberries at the end of summer
is a family tradition.
We find the tasty black fruit among the thorns
and thistles, nestled off most traveled trails.

Usually found in thickets off the roadside
along fields, mountains, or seashores.
This delectable fruit is available for our taking.
We carry baskets or pails to fill to the brim.

We eat some while we gather but are careful
not to eat too much to avoid a tummy ache
but more importantly we want enough
for jellies, preserves, muffins and pies.

There is nothing better than the aroma
of black berries being baked for dessert.
The purplish stain on our lips lets others know
we’ve eaten one of the best treats of the season.

September Sun

Picture by Bill

Heat of August finally subsides
cooling breeze crosses the plains.

Trees release greens of spring
one by one leaves turn to yellow then fall.

School days fill with backpacks and notebooks,
class schedules and new classmates.

Homework, gossip, and karate in the afternoon.
Flip flops, shorts and swim suits put away.

Daylight shrinks between dawn to dusk
Sun in September sets in the west

Goes out like a flame
in the ocean.

The Happy Tree

I call it the happy tree.
It sits off center
in the front yard.
A trunk about two feet in diameter
with branches spreading out like an umbrella.

Some water and occasional trimming
is all it needs to prosper.
It thrives in all seasons
but if I’m feeling down
I sit underneath in it’s shade.

Sadness seems to get
caught by the roots
and offered up to the sky
where it is washed in sunshine
and returned as joy.

Humphrey loves the tree
as much as I do.
He sits by my side
and forgets to bark
allowing others to join us
in the cool shade
of the single tree.

Loneliness gets lost among
the branches when people
stop by to chat
the general malaise
of the whole human race
is forgotten for a little while.

Time slips away,
friends are made,
games are played,
conversations had
to solve world problems,
at least for today.

Buried In The Sand

I went to the beach as a child
my brother buried me in the sand
nothing visible except my head and hands
quite content in the earth’s embrace
until the sun burned my face
and my thirst forced me out into the world again.

As a teenager I buried myself in lies
started out with small white ones
then it seemed I couldn’t utter the truth
my words became more difficult to track
and to this day I don’t know if anything
I remember from my adolescence is true.

In my twenties I became a mother and took on
PTA, kids clubs, and after school activities.
Soon buried under the burden of too many yeses
I was teacher, nurse and chauffer.
Time with the family was minimized.
I thought it was my job to save the world.

When the children were gone, work became the focus
board meetings and big decisions
running groups of people and their activities
buried under administrative tasks
papers, reports, and budget ledgers
no time to reflect, finding it harder to breathe
and then I quit.

With retirement I’m buried
under the expanse of time.
I've learned how to fill it without schedules
and daily demands from other people.
The emptiness beckons forth
creativity in all its forms
but this too shall end
and once again I’ll be buried in the sand.















Pictures by Bill

Jump Rope

It takes three people to do it right
two to turn
and one to jump.

"Jump," I hear them call out loud
I wait for the rope to slap the pavement
then lift both feet up into the air.

"Jump," they shout again and again
I skip, hop, wiggle, and twist
I don’t want my turn to stop.

"You missed," Sheri screams
throws down her end and runs to the middle
I pick up the rope and her turn begins

"Jump," we sing out in unison
but she misses her first chance
“Do over, you didn’t turn it right,” she cries.

Sara, doesn’t even argue,
she drops the rope and steps in place.
“Jump,” she says and then we chant:

“Officer, officer
do your duty
here comes Sara
the natural beauty
she can skip
she can hop
she can wiggle
until she stops.
one, two, three, four...”