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·         Ed Rosenthal  January 2011·          

Shadows stretch to listen in the night
for changes in relationships
they'd been anticipating
since turning to ethereal beings
and leaving their mass behind
long ago

Laying on top of a couple
they once hung out with
before opting for the narrow profile
two shadows mixed to one black cover
over the white metal table
lit by red heat lamps
where their old friends sat
completely un noticed
covering one right arm
as he lifted the coffee cup
to his lips

Each wondered in silence
if they'd hear any hint
of a change in relatedness
role reversal or new goals
which they as mature shadow sleuths
might record
and upon recording
might accrete to them
so they might gain mass again
since now that they were so bored
with slenderness.

Created off Got Poetry web prompts









By  Poetbroker  Ed Rosenthal

Once I took the first scramble  into those canyons I could not return upwards and after three I  found myself on the side of a big grey hill headed down and held to trees shrubs and boulders to keep from falling till  the bottom.

I crossed Burnt Hill to escape and got to the majestic mauve hard rock canyon which rises like jewels from the broad white wash of Joshua Tree and carries you like Charon into the brown Mohave on a one way voyage.

I longed for the Green Lady, the mother of the mountains, to come in the morning and wash my poor worn feet. She didn’t but I had the six antiseptic cloths to fill my arms and legs with faux moisture.  The horse fly also liked the pads.

I signaled day and night three lights flashing blue and yellow on my silver emergency blanket and also blew my orange whistle three bursts in series when I saw a plane. I set two red and gold flare fires in my pale green canyon of salvation.

Evenings  began with the gold shimmer  of the  Southern Cross and on the first dawn  the  giant o Ryan came and hovered like  a mother over  me telling me that I had made  it through the night  and a new day would come.

My internal constellations were gone like desert water all poems, historic buildings, downtown development, and dreams of goddesses, only my wife and daughter stood like sentries in grey skirts and blanched faces.

It’s all about them and the rangers and search and rescue people who are angels disguised as old men, twenty some things, horses and helicopter pilots who succor your family in crisis. They are the heroes not me.

On Wednesday, by leaning on my stick I got up and prayed for rain in Hebrew to YHVH.  Before I could lift my knees o ff the dry escarpment, I saw pink lights and then rain fell.  I lay down on my back with my mouth open.

Copyright  Ed Rosenthal

 

 

 

 




2010 

2009 Public Poems

"Poets Penetrate the Ninth District"  read at Jan Perry's
Swearing in Ceremony at St. Viviana's Cathedral June 4th.

Prominent poets have penetrated the perimeter of the district
Fueling the flames of insight in the glowing nightimes of the 9th
Seeding the seams of the cityscape ranges of Jan Perry's planet
The confluence of 5th & Main where diverse currents of community
Channel through Jan Dam to the fecund plains of future productivity
The wise words of a blind Persian poet rang like a prayer bell
A rythmic L.A. rapper paced like a panther prowling for your heart
These guys lit the downturn insanity with sufferings of humanity

So I saw a flashing silver crane above the  crossroads of 5th & Main 
I ran east to see a dreamy origami creation glow by the gold station
and thought or perhaps those Pharmaka poets bred thoughts in me
Re a community of justice be. A caring councilperson carries futures
That every party of the Ninth be like places of the Origami people
The poor woman in a warm home. See the open door at the Inn of Development.
             ----------------------------------------------------------------
"The Ballad of Rebbe and Rivka" for Dedication of New Torah
Read on Roof of Hass Building September 3, 2009

On Shabbat the Shekinah lifted the lid
off the giant letter Bet they lived within
Then breaking it into little alef lines
she handed them the glowing halves
"Rebbe and Rivka ride the Alef sides
to find a land to plant the Chabad Torah
before my braided sparks twirl and then
plunge in  a silver bowl and I must go".

The Rebbe and Rivka rode the Alef
flying sticks of infinite mysteries.
He the leg that flapped black robes back
she straight  above- the boy in her arms
They  dusked the deserts of our fathers
were enjoying King David's psalms when
whirling purple  talis stripes silkened
the hair from their eyes like a mother.

The blue fringes of cords spun out corners
like  Miriams arms over the blue Mountains
Below on Seventh and Broadway swarms
of dark skinned Jews, Mexicans, Armenians
watched a  man on a red neon ladder
hold a giant Bet to the  skies of Angelinos.

"Heineni" said Issac from RIvka's arms of Aleph
Heineni" said the black flaps the Rebbe held
Return to see the Shekinah seal the letter lid
whirling sparks of Havdalah above your head
Sleep dreaming of the blue thread of our lives
until a Sofar scribes in black upon white vellum
each letter to be wrought brought to Broadway.    
                 ---------------------------------------------------------

Perpetual Poem

The Homeless are Here to Stay       The Council Said It Today        The County Said It Yesterday

The Homeless are Here to Stay       Not in All Districts No Way       Only Downtown They Say

Sleeping on Sidewalks? That's Okay.   Anywhere in the City-any day!   The Council Said thatToday

Poet On Nopal Press Printing Press

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Affordable Housing

AFFORDABLE HOUSING by Poetbroker Ed Rosenthal

 

Think of a man in blue who rode a patrol car across cracked alleys 

Or him in white cruising corridors to tune patient monitor machines

People like them. This is something they grasp for in their prayers.

The guy in black slides down the silver pole jumps up the red engine.

People like them they have to have.  Shouldn’t they have a place?

Or are you telling me a sheriff with kids should drive a hundred miles

up sandstone canyons to pleasant plateaus of green Sycamore glades,

to catch her missing house and see the stolen dream within her sights?

 

Last year this client from New York came and sat at our conference table

on the thirty third floor high above the blue Santa Monica’s and Pacific.

He leaned back, threw his palms up, lifted his eyebrows and told us:

“I couldn’t believe this party for all the big shots in the Chairman’s stable

The brunch, forty thousand easy a diamond pin for each woman listed

And my own boss got a jewel encrusted globe of the planet for his study”

 Poet Broker 

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