“acceptance” by L.K. Thayer

when you find it

it speaks to you

there is a soothing voice

a touch, a sense

of belonging

the uncertainty of yesterday is filled with passion

grace and Light

it illuminates your every breath

when you find it

the covers come down from over your head

your feet slip into the shoes

that once didn’t fit

and you can walk forever

with a new attachment to the earth

beneath your feet

when you make the discovery

a warm shawl is wrapped around

shadows of doubt, fear

and disbelief

you take on a new stroll

a saunter, a strut

you are able to enter doors

that were once closed

open windows that were hammered shut

look through curtains that allow you to see

the view, for the very first time

when it comes to you

welcome it, answer it, embrace it

ride the magic carpet

ride the wave of fortune found

take the joy ride

home

Poem & Photo by L.K. Thayer

Edit by Giempe, France

© 2012

“En France” by C. Jean Pearlstein

https://i1.wp.com/www2.worthingtonlibraries.org/teen/blog/Image/travel/france_eiffeltower_2001_07_122.jpg

Vermillion trousers targets
Blood red French soldiers
Blood soaked fields sprouted
Poppies, blood red
Blood and bodies fertilize France’s fields
Verdant green and silent now
Bleeding up through two wars
The first, “for nothing”
Prince’s assassination and stale mutual support agreements
Bled France dry of one in four young men, for what?
Vermillion dye lobbyists convinced French
Procurers to use red trousers
Perfect trajectory for German bullets

Trenches silent and abandoned decked in lush forest greenery
Hidden atop hills and deep valleys
Profuse Allied graveyards sprinkled throughout countryside with the blood
Sought out by grandsons and granddaughters searching for meaning
Reminding grateful France of sacrifices
By Allied brethren.

Shiny black German crosses clustered in
Small, obscure places, shared graves
To not offend the victors
Of the peace that ended peace.

Special brown spotted Normandy cows
Viking cargo of first millennium
Chew cuds, nurse calves, roll in fields in bucolic splendor
Give special flavored milk for cheese, butter, and meat
Delighting tourists
Nourished in the blood that was
Spilled in the soil that
Fed the grass that
Sustained the cow that
Gave the food that
We ate on our trip to France.

C. Jean Pearlstein
© June 8, 2010

“The Hunger” by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Here’s the thing: not every hunger can be satisfied. That given, the room is an oasis of cool. The temp’s hit the century mark but inside the air is set on frosty. The manager swears the bed is a top of the line something or other, the sheets 600 thread count. He winks. I wish he’d leave. My thermostat’s on Horny, time’s awastin’ and boy, those sheets will feel sweet on my ass. There’s an ancient Felix the Cat clock on the wall; the tail goes swish-swish. By the time we finish it’s 9pm.It’s late; we’re hungry till we see the severed camel’s head resting on the curb, eyes gazing up toward God, blood gushing out into the gutter like a ruptured water line. Fresh-fucked tourists on the prowl for a delicious meal and what do we get? Fresh camel. It’s poor here, meat is expensive & one thing I’ve learned about Ethiopia, is that you eat what’s offered or go hungry. I begged him to let me return to France, to eat pate de canard & pomme frites, not this still warm camel kidney from a dirty-handed stranger. Each of us has our limitations; I have reached mine now. I would rather go hungry, my ravenous grief a gaping hole. The sun is high in the sky, the hyenas howl as if to say if you don’t eat the damned thing, we will. Scarcity hardship, all distinguish Ethiopia, which is the poorest of countries. The original Jews are from there, one of the lost tribes. Maybe they ate their camels and that’s where it all went wrong. Like the one on the Joe Camel cigarettes, ours had a stupid look on his face. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made me and all the Ethiopians smoke camels & ride on camels & eat their warm crunchy kidneys & then maybe I could fit in better, have more orgasms & be a better person, too. Le chameau a deux bosse, le dromedaire a seulement une. & here’s the dif: More water storage. As if it were a blessing. Eat up, mes amis! all you want is here.

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© 2009