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Sam Anthony Aug 2017
The alien’s ears listen intently
Every syllable landing deftly
Caught between listening and hearing
He struggles to comprehend their meaning
It's like getting lost in a thick forest
It's dark and lonely, in a crowded house
Familiar words like brief glimpses of daylight on a cloudy day
Meaning hidden behind feverish incomprehensibility
Meaning in every word for the speakers
Every meaning for the speakers in those words
The tool for comprehension and its greatest barrier
Francie Lynch Jul 2017
Love the name.
Got upset
When the man called out, Seen.
Stupid man.
It's Sean, and not Shawn.
A year older than Gerald.
Two younger than Kevin.
Two older than me.
That's Sean.
Daddy wrote home about us.
Maura was working at the hospital.
Sheila was finishing highschool.
Kevin won the Science Fair.
Sean plays ice hockey with the All Stars,
All over Canada and the U.S.
I found the letter, penned in '62,
A jagged European cursive. They tend to write the same.
I've seen the words, run together to hide the spelling;
With JMJ's and TG's sprinkled like manna throughout.
The last page was missing,
Just when Daddy'd write about Gerald, me, and Marlene.
Gerald with his Beetles haircut.
Me, mimicking ( probably mocking),
Some unknown priest, to my father's delight;
Marlene, the wee pigeon, he missed most when he worked
Away from home.
Jimmy, The Bruiser, wasn't here yet.
The last of an Irish brood settled in Canada.

I discovered it in the spare room at Granny's and Frank's.
There was no mention of Michael, Eucheria or Particia.
He exaggerated about the harsh, six-month winters here,
And our proximity to the North Pole.
Suggested Frank try putting copper wires around Granda's wrists;
The Egyptian mummies didn't exhibit signs of bone deterioration.
Daddy was hard-pressed to be proven wrong when he concocted.
Sean had a drawer full of ribbons, medals, trophies and plagues,
And a large S, his Senior Letter.
He also had sideburns, a much smaller nose, and,  smelled
as good as he looked,
The Elvis dip-curl, the Connery swag, the Selleck stash to Clooney cool.
Sean kept a disposition of hidden pains secreted for others.
A heart of tears.
A spirit of adventure.
I love Sean, I recall.
He is always welcome here.
Drops by sometimes.
It's always a great surprise.
Serious, hard edit and re-post.
JMJ: Jesus, Mary and Joseph
TG: Thank God
All eleven children are mentioned, but I wanted to focus on Sean.
Xander Kyle Jun 2017
The old champion bows her head and drops her torch.
Fatigue has set in after a century of drudgery
And all her commitment shown, no one can question her decision.
Her partisans are bleak and sympathetic
For how long should they ask the weary warrior to keep standing?
The new masses turned away and the poor exiled under law of phylogeny,
There is now no beacon but a rickety fence creakin’
That children fear when blows the old wind, once called freedom.
Tuffy Mutombo May 2017
Seeking refuge
only to end up being used
cheap labour, low wages
slammed in small cages
stereotyped due to my difference
I pray for deliverance
government blames our growth on their lack of security
just all lies hiding behind their deepest insecurity
afraid to see me be who I was meant to be
blind to your scrutiny,
I search for liberty
in a land where I get robbed of dignity
immigrant is what they label me
Mark Lecuona Apr 2017
Whatever you are
You meet something else
Part of you is the border
The other part is a long stretch of difference
Will you let them cross
They have to walk on your soul
But the other side you also know
The collision is what knocks down the fence
Nothing stops the wind
Or the birds flying south
If you let it happen that way
A stone becomes a river bed of conscience
Mark Lecuona Apr 2017
No puedo hablar su idioma, pero
Es fuerte en mi corazón;
Vi a un niño
Y supe entonces que mi corazón era el mismo;
Cruzar la arena o un río es hacer una vida mejor;
Pero ¿es para cambiar la historia o para reclamarla?
¿No hay remedio?
El movimiento del pueblo siempre ha sido así,
Pero lo único que no haremos es el pecado
Y esperan ser perdonados;
Es nuestra decisión y su vida;
Él no pidió ir,
Ahora no puede quedarse;
El río no sabe quién sufre más;
Aún se eleva y cae en el corazón de los indefensos;
La única cultura que tenemos es la que cambia;
Eso es libertad;
El único amor o el odio que es honesto,
Es lo que digo a sus hijos
Para un niño, la vida;
Para su padre, el orgullo;
No soy la ley, en cambio
Soy ligero
Porque elijo la luz;
Pero también soy oscuridad,
Porque me escondo detrás del miedo de estar equivocado,
En vez del valor de la compasión;
La lucha está en nuestro corazón y mente;
Es la forma en que elegimos vivir y morir
Estas personas que cruzan;
¿Por qué están ellos aquí?
Sabemos por qué;
Hay alguien tan fuerte
¿Quién viviría donde no se quieren?
Hay alguien tan débil
¿Quién tendría miedo de sus hijos?
Mark Lecuona Apr 2017
i cannot speak their language, but
it is strong in my heart;
i saw a child
and i knew then that my heart was the same;
to cross the sand or a river is to make a better life;
but is it to change history or to reclaim it?
is there no remedy?
the movement of the people has always been so,
but the one thing we will not do is sin
and expect to be forgiven;
it is our decision and his life;
he did not ask to go,
now he cannot stay;
the river does not know who suffers the most;
still it rises and falls in the hearts of the helpless;
the only culture we have is the one that changes;
that is freedom;
the only love or hate that is honest,
is what i say to their children
for a child, life;
for his father, pride;
i am not the law, instead
i am light,
because i choose light;
but i am also darkness,
because i hide behind the fear of being wrong,
instead of the courage of compassion;
the fight is in our heart and mind;
it is the way we choose to live and die
these people who cross;
why are they here?
we know why;
is there anyone so strong
who would live where they are not wanted?
is there anyone so weak
who would be afraid of their children?
Neville Johnson Mar 2017
This is the city where I come from
And my folks and before them some
Who left good old Ireland
Yes this is the city where I come from
They came to make their way
They came to see a day
Where they could earn decent pay
To make a new life to be able to say
I am here to stay
I got a yesterday
I got a past
A tomorrow
And for sure a today
Because of the brave ones
Who found this place
Who breathed and lived their dream
The one I now embrace
I thank them with all my heart
Yes it's been a very human race
They came to make their way
They came to stay
Today is St. Patrick's Day. I'm mostly Irish. We are all immigrants. These are the lyrics to a song I am now performing as Trevor McShane. McShane is the name of my forefathers, who changed it (Mc is son, Shane is John in Gaelic) in about 1850 because of prejudice against the Irish.
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