Pensacola, Florida

ORGANIZER: Katheryn Holmes

CONTACT: klholmes41@yahoo.com

DESCRIPTION:

100thousand Poets for Change-Pensacola is ready to go! We will be holding our event at 11:30 a.m. September 24th on Palafox Place at the top of the Artel Gallery steps (corner of Government and Palafox). We have a banner, sound, t-shirts, and video lined up. Bring it on

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Pensacola, Florida — 21 Comments

  1. The train has left the station and is rolling down the track! Pensacola poets are in solidarity with their fellow writers around the world today and on September 24th!

  2. 100thousand Poets for Change-Pensacola is ready to go! We will be holding our event at 11:30 a.m. September 24th on Palafox Place at the top of the Artel Gallery steps (corner of Government and Palafox). We have a banner, sound, t-shirts, and video lined up. Bring it on…. Ryn

  3. For the archives:

    Voices

    Silenced no more,
    The sword no match for pen and tongue
    We bring messages to the future
    Bravely and with hope
    Expectant of life to come,
    We gift those waiting
    To receive these words
    Laying claim to lives lived,
    Left behind like droppings
    Or a pheromonal scent
    Identifying our passage
    And marking the boundaries of existence
    Beyond our spawning here and there,
    We give a shout-out ahead
    As we drive the engine of art
    To say hello across time,
    Poetic words arising bravely
    Out of the scattered dust
    Of once living hearts and bones.
    Showing we were here
    Artfully lived
    With deep passion and whimsy,
    As our time fades
    We know the best rewards
    Have been awareness
    And the simple and sublime feeling of it,
    Pleasure and pain
    Love
    Or the trembling as it fell away
    Claimed by death or other desires,
    We may be the last
    Yet cling to those like us
    Who remain as anchorages on a rocky shore,
    Fighting the tide pulling us out
    To that place we must all visit,
    When we call out
    Some say no
    Others say nothing and turn away
    In willful ignorance of voices given wing,
    Gifting them with song
    To play on ear and heart,
    Yet boldly we shall say
    We were once here
    We came after the others
    And before you.

    ©2010 K. Holmes

    Blood

    Fist
    Flesh
    Fist
    Flesh
    Fist
    Flesh and blood
    Red
    Lines trace their way
    From broken nose
    To split lip as
    Ruby
    Tracks fall
    On breast to
    Puddle then drop
    Crimson
    Snakes down a leg
    Mapping
    The shattered and torn
    Scarlet
    Woman waiting
    For the next
    Fist
    Flesh
    Fist.

    ©K. Holmes, 2009

    • For 9/11
      They died with their boots on
      transcendent
      benevolently viewed by the divine
      it’s the American way, you see:
      the revolutionaries who dared to wrench the country
      from the hands of those stealing its wealth came first,
      then sheriffs in the old west fought the black hats
      taking a bullet in order to bring six-gun civility out to the frontier,
      doughboys slogged through rain-soaked trenches filled with deathly gases
      close enough to look right into the eyes of the Kaiser’s boys,
      brave G.I. Joes and Janes far from home
      with bazooka-sent missiles raining death over head
      were over there beating back the jack-booted darkness
      inflicted upon our European cousins and forcing it to acknowledge
      the light of humanity once again rising,
      the honest blue-jacketed blue-steeled protectors daring uncertain outcomes
      to bring safety to the innocent and seeing all as valued
      respect meted out equally to the citizens in their town,
      reluctant warriors who went anyway
      into those sweaty steaming Asian jungles
      some drugged into confusion while trying to sort out
      who was who in an invisible enemy
      then coming home ptsd-maimed,
      NYC’s finest gone into history
      their steel-toed boots burned and buried beneath twisted steel
      as flesh melted and dna merged for all time with cement
      in that September graveyard,
      the best of our youth in the prime of beauty and health sacrificed
      with their futures given over to the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan
      their lives squandered by rich old men safely at ease
      in leather chairs and paneled rooms;
      standing firm against chaos
      American brothers and sisters greeted death
      momentarily floating within and without their bodies
      consciousnesses elevated and honed to such a clarity
      as they had never before known
      everything risked against impossible odds for us,
      all of them were our own
      all taken too soon.

      ©2011 Ryn

  4. Wearing White

    Capless and without haloes
    An endless procession
    Of fallen angels gather
    To gleam and shimmer in robed innocence
    Shining
    In their virginal white
    Like the palest of complexions
    Or new snow drifting,
    Those underpaid madonnas with a guiding light
    Banish the gloom
    Of a seemingly eternal nighttime,
    Such merciful visions of paradise made manifest
    Are meant to comfort the dying
    And ease bodies racked with pain,
    Welcome all that an ailing
    Body can produce without flinching,
    The raven-haired Snow Whites
    Sans dwarves open their spirits wide
    At times closing down
    Yet smiling still,
    In cycles eternal
    Always some amble away
    To be replaced by others arriving
    Ready to go on again
    With broken backs and broken hearts,
    Mother lover sister daughter-
    Nurse.

    ©2011 Ryn Holmes

  5. Can you eat this poem

    you hungry children whose
    black and white images
    flash on the local news
    in my hometown
    – in Pensacola – in Brownsville
    where I can drive my air-conditioned car
    in twenty minutes?

    You innocents
    would you laugh and play and read
    if you didn’t have that monster gnawing,
    clawing in your bellies?

    Your hollow eyes and blank expression
    wrenches my gut
    as I dine on rib-eye
    and sip merlot.

    Perhaps I’ll fill
    a grocery cart with food
    and roll it through those streets
    searching for you.

    But what happens next week
    when I and the groceries are gone?
    How many mouths can this poem feed?

    Andrea Walker
    August 24, 2011

  6. We had a wonderful sunny day for our event after a couple of worrisome rainy ones. The poets graced the community with their words spotlighting their chosen social issues and were quite powerful! A feeling of comaraderie infused the atmosphere, promoting a bonding among the poets. Now, on to 100TPC 2012!

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