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  Feb 2017 Mary Winslow
Jeff Stier
Bring me your
orphan memories
and I will stitch them
into a chapter of time

Stepping fearlessly into
empty air
walking the tightrope
of certain death

Drawing memory
into the web of this moment
Bleeding it out into meaning

While sleeping
While dreaming

These poor words
strain to tell a tale
a shout out to eternity
and it is a clarion call
from the dawning
to the setting of the sun
announcing a state of grace
that surely will ripple
through time.

The night calls sweetly to us
Bids us sleep well
and find courage in the day.
  Jan 2017 Mary Winslow
Jeff Stier
The candles of the dead
will not be extinguished
floating like blossoms in the deep
cradled by spectral hands
never seen by the living
except in dreams
or art

Did you come this far
for the view?
Or was it a curious urge
to find forgiveness
in a time of grief?

I can grant you forgiveness.
I have the power
through time and the tides
my calloused hands
have held the sun like an egg
my feet have climbed
Mt. Olympus
and none the wiser

So come gently with me
leave your battered dreams
on the bedside table
drink a draught of this noble wine
stand upon this precipice
of uncertainty
and contemplate something
near to eternity.

The candles will light your way.
  Jan 2017 Mary Winslow
L B
“…Take your place on the Great Mandala as it moves through your brief moment of time…
Win or lose now
You must choose now
and if you lose, you’re only losing your life…”  Peter, Paul, and Mary
___________

Stitching the hem of a prom dress to the
Chicago Convention on TV
Pink brocade, white gloves to the elbow

Night sticks snap skulls

“...and a time on a 27 will always shine a light”

Seven Day War
but neither of us dance

Whispered under weeping willows
“What will become of us?”

“The New Left” scrawled in my yearbook
under Danny’s name
I stared at him puzzled, half-attracted

The New Left came
from Harvard, Radcliffe, Mars?
to the grimy streets of Lowell
to teach us “worker kids”
‘bout our sorry selves

Aloof
from our bad teeth, unplanned pregnancies
stuccoed bungalows
chrome kitchen sets circa ’53
So far beyond

Alienated
by our worn out dens
with proud TV’s
the evening’s beer proclivity

They, weren’t “Right on!”
with the smell of furniture polish and
lifetimes of motor oil on overalls

We were okay to be organized though
before they left—

Because they knew what mattered!
…and “How could WE  know so little!
‘bout Lenin, Marx?
the exploits of profit and endless war?"

How could THEY know so little—
  
about the death down the street
‘bout the conflict caused by *in-house “Pigs”

Husbands in Canada
Brothers in Nam

Dying small-town, piece-work kids
Labor's legacy
Lost bourgeois

Freezing on street corners
Telephone’s tapped
Handing out leaflets

to talk of guns...

“Our people blew up the Bank of America!
You know”

To talk of guns…

While Black Panthers were dying
No ******' around

Hell’s Angels—  graphite ghosts
hover in ****** shadows of shared back yard
Revolutionary panic as
mafia muscle makes an appearance
comes-on to me
sped-up and pulls a pistol!…
_____

Guts ran out the holes in my head

Lonely now
…and not so… ready?

Someone suggested “experience”
to explain for certain
the face on the clock
the of wince of Time
and all the reasons there were to die

Should ‘ave asked why— they called it “acid”

Connecting the dots of despair
I saw it all— for the first time

and lost— everything
*in-house pigs:   cops in the family

Definitely a GOOD LISTEN.
Another amazing song from Susan's dorm room: The Great Mandala--
Peter, Paul, and Mary-- probably their best and most important song!

6https://www.google.com/search?q=the+great+mandala+peter+paul+and+mary+you+tube&ie;=utf-8&oe;=utf-8

This was the height of the American Civil Rights and Anti War
Movements of the late 1960s.
I was trying to capture something of the American despair and drive for change of that time. Not all of us were drugged hippie flower children. Some of us actually saw the extent of the loss around us, and in my case, anyway, thought I was witnessing the last possibility for change-- the last throes of conscience of a once hopeful people.
I was also really young, facing what I am sure now, was the truth and was really afraid of dying. Thought acid (LSD) would reveal meaning-- sort of a religious search.  Only did it once-- You know what they say about "What never happens the first time..."  Happened.
  Dec 2016 Mary Winslow
Jeff Stier
This elegant bloom
forgot the season
came stocked for summer idylls
picnics by the water's edge
scent of mowed fields
scent of love's flowering.

Pitiful rose
how did you become
so lost in time?
Nothing now becomes you.

So I carefully cut
the stem
placed your ******* vein
in a slender jar
filled with
the last spring's freshet.

You came to life
for us
at Christmas time.
A meager blessing
in a time of pain.
A frail totem
in a time of dread.

I wake each day
with despair eating at
my good spirits
the specter of
a new political order
crouching in the darkest corners
of my place of rest.

******* it!
Send that orange horror
into oblivion.
******* monster
robbing my nights of peace.

There is no sense to this life.
There is rhyme without reason,
pain without relief.

Just the same
I will slog on.
One foot in front of
the other.
Repeating as necessary.
And then letting it go
through the latched gate of time.
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