Denver

You can smell the heat here

like dog food factory

evaporated acid rain,

it rises from our skin,

our bodies dissipating

into a drug that will save us

we build buildings

from marble--

banks,

courthouses,

shopping malls,

constructing coliseums,

citadels to consumerism

we beat the raw earth

with the jackhammer,

the steel-toed boot

and the Italian leather shoes

so we can make

bastions of discrimination

where the homeless made their homes;

we have replaced

the grey wolf

with one

in an Armani suit

who carries a briefcase

and eats poor children

for dinner,

we deny this reality

as we give away table scraps,

putting a bandaid

on a wound

that will not heal

because we won't stop sucking the blood

and we're thirsty

for transfusions,

feeding a disease

that will always want more

until we quiet

the hunger in our bones

and feed the spirit

hippie

There's a tattoo

on your forehead

that says

Jesus saves

but will he save me?

I am the devil

in my blue dress

and leather shoes,

my skin a map

of woodstock,

the 80's

and following the Grateful Dead

all the way through,

my feet callused

from marching for peace,

my face

tells you stories

of peace pipes,

acid trips,

a night in jail

for disobeying a society

that cannot hold me;

you cannot tie down

someone made of the wind;

I travel

from city to city

spreading

peace,

love,

vegetarianism

and communal living,

I am the messenger

for the earth's wisdom,

a shaman

to heal humanity;

I wish to heal your soul

yet you despise me

because there's dirt on my skin

from decades

of being

what you refuse to become.

And your Jesus will not

save me;

for I am a heathen

in your eyes,

your religion

the purity drug

for which I am

the antidote;

I am not a wall you can bend

with your beliefs;

nor am I

something you can mold

like untamed wire;

accept me

and my soul;

I have been

forever society's canvass,

the artwork of the streets,

the exhalation

of tortured youth.

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster

smog

homelessness

takes in a breath,

being your refuge,

you develop your

identity

as a street corner,

a sidewalk,

a piece of tomorrow

we always savor...

you ask for salvation,

for love, joy,

spirit,

the air is your soul

and the river your home;

we find ourselves

fighting with rubberbands,

devouring

pain in an instant...

I try

and draw your face

with a ballpoint pen

and words

from the bottom of my shoe...

this is my place, too.

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster

woman

There are no sins

to wash from my flesh;

I am not

the body lying next to you;

I am not

the mind you fill

with ideas;

I am not

an empty jar

for you to fill

with your paint;

you cannot progress

until you liberate me;

mankind

shall forever be held back

by the slowness of my steps

until you walk with me.

My hands are strong

from creating the world;

my feet are tough

from marching

for your liberation;

my mind wise

from demanding peace.

I am strong enough

to trust

with the future;

do not

take away my liberties

or you will fall;

for I am

your foundation.

anger

There's smoke on the horizon,

dust from the road

flies up

like crippled wind,

caught in the moment,

lingering

like dirt under your nails

we are angry

for reasons we can't define,

letting leaves fall

like broken promises,

we try and love each other,

but you don't want

to be in the wind

and I cannot

pick up stones;

I try to sing you

like a song

but there are drum notes

on the page;

you're just leftover karma,

an unfinished symphony

to create anxiety,

to torment me

and twist my mind

like a wet rag,

wringing out

all the air,

the water,

the life,

I'm so fucking confused,

I'm through with the crystal ball,

done with the rage,

fucking tired

of your accusations;

I care

and that's why I'm angry;

because I care

and you don't.

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster

Poetry in motion: photos of the Santa Fe Arts District

This is perhaps one of the most colorful communities I have been to. Its full of life, art, crime-- the arts district on Santa Fe in Denver, Colorado, is truly remarkable. It contains a delicate balance between the preservation of the Chicano culture and the appreciation of art. Not far from here is a large area of section-8 housing, community projects such as organic gardens and even a free build-it-yourself bike shop.

Foundation

We're too ignorant

any more

to be trusted with secrets;

nature has broken us

because we will not bend,

and here we are

reigned in

by the spirit,

captivated

by false dreams,

illusions

of our purpose;

we chase fairy tales,

exchanging reality

for lies on paper,

ignoring

the human condition,

likening

our antithesis

to our history,

escaping karma

like a bad middle name,

tossing morality away

with the truth;

we place our ear to the ground

to find a heartbeat,

to find our lost treasure,

but its all buried

under skyscrapers,

houses,

dynasties of failure;

we want to understand

but we can't;

for we have forgotten our feet

and now stand in space,

existing

without purpose.

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster