“Streetlight Temples to the Sun”
By Matt Persike
And the LA Sunbeat blotted my brow as she carried away in her blue adolescence
Stunning Oceania gliding past columns to Ra while we hungered like cows at the gate
Welcome to the Wild West; enter the Circus and dance as with peasants
The bricks we lay are made only of the oldest of pages, and we lay ourselves ‘neath our towers, seeking fate
Whipped into shape by our masterful shadows, the Sun’s done away with hearth; with desire
Giza moans to us, rumbles the world over and the Sun never sets on civilization
Freedom burns in Alexandria; Wonder in Boston; Volumes find warm solace in Tyranny’s fire
Rodeo clowns lasso minutes a-charge while we hide behind typewriters named Imagination
A streetlight disciple, I follow the pavement and trace my own lines on my sundialed wrist
Morrowyear’s relics and gold among fools with coffee cups and smoky blinds
Our perfect world spins thirty-thrice per minute, bonded by hate to coexist
History is become us -- trapped in our mirrors, revised by drip-drop clocks and melting minds
So while Westward winds caress the Sierras and young, wayword looseleafs erode Chronos’ horns;
While the daughter of Neptune seductively twirls and darts through the shadows of our Streetlight tower
Though tongues may be many and ears may be few and our canvas is faded and beaten and torn:
The horizon still smirks on our damning candlelit voyage
Flicker by Flicker,
Hour by Hour
"This is us. Ginsberg’s angel-headed hipsters have grown old; their burning ideals dusty, ashen. A series of wars is no longer enough to forge brotherhood. Long-hairs wear their uniqueness in faded
t-shirts from concerts they never saw by singers who died before they were born. Tinfoil and glitter -- they tape wire halos above their minds and smoke and pretend to appreciate jazz because it is intended to be so. Manufactured points-of-view and planned spontaneity for a novel’s worth of bullshit.
But it’s better than the radio.
I am a part-time student, lifelong resident of Rhinelander. Currently completing requirements at Nicolet for my BA in political science/international studies at Madison.”
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“BELIEVE!”
By Norma Semling
Believe is a powerful word.
This one word can open our eyes so we can see light.
It can open our ears to help us hear.
It lifts our spirits and gives us hope
It helps us to open our hearts and set our minds at ease.
It gives us confidence to be strong.
It gives us peace within as we hold on to those things we treasure.
It gives us the courage to use those things we have, and not dwell on those we don't.
We are left with positive thoughts, knowing how precious every moment is.
How lucky we are to be here today, and each and every day forward.
As we learn to understand PD, we do not dwell on things beyond our reach.
What is meant to be ours will find its way into our lives.
We have the power; the strength, and the support of others all around us.
Today is here. Believe in tomorrow.
“Parkinson disease affects us in so many ways and it is so important to be strong and to be positive so I wrote this poem. :)”
