Between the Drops
A bright light
invades dark space.
Once a fortnight,
it shines through.
After total darkness,
it is painful,
stark and foreboding…
and yet, welcome.
A little goes
a long way.
Try to enjoy
while it lasts…
it never does.
S. A. Gerber is a native of Los Angeles, CA. presently dividing his time between
L. A. and L.V. Nevada before a final move to the former.
His work has appeared in such diverse publications as DesertVoicesMagazine…
Subtopian Magazine…Talking Sidewalks… Mad Swirl… Sediment Literary and
Arts Journal… Poetica Magazine… Black Heart Magazine… The Blue Collar
Review…Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles, and The Linden Avenue Literary
His two (2) volumes of poetry, Under the Radar and Inventory can both be obtained on Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com, as well as Beyond Baroque bookstore in Venice, CA. and The Amber Unicorn in Las Vegas.
Place to Run
Give us a place to run…
a well-worn path to freedom,
complete with burning hurtles,
which many have started
though few have completed.
In the name of Ernesto Guevara,
Woody Guthrie, Ms. Parks, Russell
Means, Caesar Chavez, Paul Robson.
For the sake of Emmet Till,
Minister Malcolm, Bobby Francis
K. , brother Jack & Martin…
Give us that place to run!
Easier to obtain a Glock 40 Cal.
Than a Bachelors’ in ‘Poly-Sci’.
Quicker to kill than to negotiate.
Schools in Beverly Hills awash
with technology while hot wind
blows through the broken windows
of Cabrini Green or South Central’s
halls of learning.
Armed African and Latin children
kill one another in record numbers
over turf they cannot even claim as
their own…or drug generated trifles…
even “respect” they think they are due.
White-trash mutants shoot for record
number of deaths with ‘gun-show’
weapons in theatres, churches or campuses.
The poor complain only to themselves
in frightened whispers, while the one-
percenters vote in other filthy wealthy
mongers to raise their bar even higher.
Political drones, war-makers, and
the rest of the present ‘ruling class’
couldn’t fix it if they wanted to…
which they don’t! They cannot.
Ironic to be this short of breath…
without that place to run.