Sunday, October 1, 2017


Near windows, jaded students gaze toward freedom.
Watch what you yearn for. Can you afford freedom?

My teen vow – to be a queen of love,
a disciple of art, a ward of freedom.

Why did Americans elect a
fascist? Were we bored with freedom?

Starving farmers enslaved by dry earth.
Finally, clouds gathered. Poured freedom.

Not apples. Not a snake’s come-hither hiss.
The lure that can’t be ignored?  Freedom.

Tended to with thick gloves, the broken bat
mended. Wobbled, then soared. Freedom’s

just another word for nothing left to lose,
Janis knew. Others try to hoard freedom.

Women, be like goddess sculptures – open
vulva for pleasure, raised sword for freedom.

Blues greats gave sorrow a tune. Rock gods wrote
lust into rhythm. Mozart scored freedom.

Sour in the convict’s mouth. Tangy in
the immigrant’s. A fickle word, freedom.

Pussy hats.  All races, faiths, ages, passions united.
Four million “snowflakes.” A blizzard of freedom.

I try on names like scarves. Sweetheart. Scapegoat.
Mom. Interpreter of dreams. Bard of freedom.

--Alison Stone 

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