Tuesday, July 14, 2009

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

Friday, July 10, 2009

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.


Wednesday, July 8, 2009

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

Monday, July 6, 2009

Prostitute

I am the sign on the corner
that says "open"
in red, warm letters,
my thighs are sore
from last night's paycheck
when someone came inside me
and used me
like a credit card

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster

shopping mall

You can't find your place here;
its too easy to get lost
among the forest
of roads,
cars passing by
filled with people,
a river of life dries up
as industry sets in,
making way
for fields of
shopping districts
and excuses
for unhappiness;
the rearview mirror
is clouded with smoke,
ghosts
of a past never defined
by our history books,
but lived
by the brave
who live longer than their stories,
casting themselves
to the wind,
not losing their place,
but solid,
immovable as sand.

Copyright (C) 2009 Sara LeMaster

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Allergic to Wal-Mart


So my mother decided to take me and my sister out grocery shopping. We did the usual health-food store sweep, then decided to go to Wal-Mart, where my sister was determined to find better prices for the things that she needed. Being the social activist, I resolutely decided I wasn’t going to contribute to Wal-Mart’s corporate money feed, so I chose to see exactly what was so “great” about the store.

I believe I have discovered one of the many things wrong with America. Though this should come as no surprise, it is a fascinating discovery. Walking through the grocery department, I decided to find organic produce. This being a super center, it should have everything, right? I found organic spinach, and that was about it. More interesting, however, was that many of their prices on produce were higher than those of the grocery store we had just come from, some of them even 2 or 3 times as much. Along with this was my realization of the fact that this is where most of the American diet originates. Proportionately, the produce department was much smaller than the meat and dairy department, and more interestingly, the processed and boxed foods aisles comprised the majority of the grocery department. Proportionately to this, many of the customers shopping these aisles were heavyset, many of them severely overweight.

On to the clothing aisle. Walking through a Wal-Mart clothing aisle is severely depressing for anyone who has even the slightest fashion sense. Items are on cheap hangers on cheap racks, or folded in mass quantities on shelves. They look as though they came straight off the assembly line to the store; there is no personality. A quick walk through here reveals that the majority of dyes the manufacturers use is riddled with formaldehyde and other synthetic dyes. There is hardly a clothing item over $20.00, and it all looks as though it’s made to fit the plus-size people shopping the grocery aisles.

After being in Wal-Mart for 20 minutes, having had a cold for the past few days, I began to feel my symptoms worsen. My eyes started itching and my sore throat felt worse. As soon as I walked outside, I felt better. I realized that it was most likely the indoor air pollution—the overpowering fry smell from the resident McDonald’s which overpowered the produce department; the formaldehyde from the clothing department, and the overall plastic smell from the entire store. The synthetic air was just too much for me to handle.

If we wish to change America, we must change the way that we consume; we must think of the impact of our choices and work towards more responsibility and environmental stewardship.