Ward Stories

Ward Stories
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Spring has sprung and our poets issue verse. Five poets have risen to grace the City Voices’ stage with works that reflect love, loss & self-hate. So read these poems aloud and record your recitations. Play it back on high volume, auto-repeat, while engaging in healthful practices during quarantine. I think you will find deep meaning here.

Words

By Sara Abend

It gets worse—I use meaningless words

So silence

I have private thoughts that don’t mean

Anything

Worse—opposite words

Didn’t mean anything—it’s a mystery

The nurses were nice—they listened

I had a narcissistic family

Be very careful with Orlando—

Pick words with care

Can’t get away with it

With friends, not friends

Hairdressers

Work

My family loves me

Even though I’m crazy

 

Untitled

By Kathryn Marie Fazio

Now that you are fifty

you are half.

Take the other half to the beach

and walk on the shore.

Find the hole some child left

while building castles in the sand.

Jump in the hole.

 

Eulogy for My Mother

By Craig Bayer

Thanks, Mom…

For being a dreamer and raising your children to be dreamers and to be people with good values.

For helping me study and get me through public school.

For introducing me to most of my childhood friends.

For helping me find Boston University when I wasn’t even sure I’d go to college.

For helping pay my way through college.

For fighting for me behind the scenes. I almost forgot you were a fighter until you got feisty later on in life.

For always supporting me and believing in me.

For putting me through Hebrew School.

For sending me to day camp and sleepaway camp, even though you did not like being apart from me.

For giving me a loving sister, whom I can look up to.

Mom, you can stop second-guessing yourself, you did a great job from beginning to end. I dedicate the rest of my life’s work to you!

 

Black Love

By Zisa Aziza

Negress to Negress

They my only Empress

God has a hue, she is true

In the mirror, we rendezvous

The bucket I bear, spills with pain

Neither profane, nor ordain–but I reign

Over the years, I pour it out

Dreaming of a drought

When the wound can speak

Shame loses its mystique

I am the practitioner of my liberation

My sojourn to self-love was a deliberation

The itinerary to my destination

Intimates that black love is salvation

Devoted I am

 

Stuff of Comfort

By Howard (Chaim) Kwass

I knew of a place where doubt lurked at all turns

In the end  always losing,  never  seeming to learn

“I canNOT deal with this place I currently reside!”

(Self hate, fear, anger, were lurking inside)

When you’re human with problems you reach for assistance

My STUFF OF COMFORT  and my least resistance

It was THE STUFF OF COMFORT! Then it proceeded to say……….

So I cursed it! And quickly it just ran away

I resolved not to meet up…No! Not just this time

With my STUFF OF COMFORT inside my mind

I was falling and failing, but let’s just be clear

I was trying – the sad part was that I WAS sincere

Then I pondered, “STUFF OF COMFORT your record is dimal!

“Worse than that YOU’RE THE FAILURE so cruel, so abysmal!

“With you on my team I lose – never winning!”

I got it! This was or is the beginning

Sometimes it is worse. But my friends, they ARE real

It can be glorious at times to actually feel

“So goodBye STUFF Howard (Chaim) Kwass OF COMFORT. It’s time for me to have fun

“My Higher Power is calling me. There is work to be done!”

 

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