La Teatrista

guerillera de la cultura

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Report in Verse

(based on my experience as a teaching artist for Creative Arts Team. Conducting workshops by devising theater to be performed as a vehicle to open dialog to raise awareness on social issue for collaborative problem solving. Residencies were facilitated in school systems, colleges, universities, safe spaces, homeless shelters and Riker's Island.)

A bridge away,

barbed wire curls over the moat

and gate lock echoes

slam thru walls

around this fortress

the vinegar air hangs dank as if it too

gave up freedom

buzzers cry out under orders and complaints

Hushing the small celebrations

tiny sounds and eyes

searching for a reason to open


like horizons of days

they can’t take away

from memories

living like haunted houses

these girls remind me of mine

back when my mind was gone

and my heart cemented shut to breathe

there was a better I knew to be

too hard to believe in then

I didn’t come from streets

but I knew what less meant

I stole from myself time after time

like violent streets down the veins

I wished open.

never for status

nor battles, but war worn in

the anger outward bound to

transgress and over step to

posses power to break

bound dreams taking arms

to express contempt in

bloodshed and hunger

burned into the hearts of the trapped

the unprepared

a less than half a chance given

power taken

for bitter survival or letting


be the hard fate for you

ny outlaw love

what scars you wear to bear

risk and freedom on either side

of bars were your hands rest and reach out

to grab

dignity and regret

bracing for hope

its too hard to swallow

but your hollow stomach needs you

making your own fantasies to fill

the days and mourning

with companionship in shouts

a shared pulse

woven in braids, proud chins

and hand shakes

holding me with you

your walls listen

voices giving the respect

we gave away.

ny outlaw love

How many times have I transgressed?

Gave up respect and took it away from myself

How many crimes have I committed to

liberate from pain,

because I did not care

for anyone, anything, any of me?

As much as I try to simply ask the questions

to be a mirror and shovel at once

dig deep and plant the seed

they make me watch

Thru their mirrors

I see me push up

hard past the earth

like a snake skin


they say it hurts when you’re born.

but the light is so beautiful you forget

till you change again.

If only there was a space, Safe

knew here. A prize

of peace and a mind’s

own place to feel alive.

With no questions

No torture that demands

Enough to be enough

Accepted, loved

Allowed. Out loud.

Here I come with questions

but my ears filled with static

can’t find a clear signal strong enough

to help me be the mirror you need me to be,

outlaw love

You gave me a chance once to hear why

its cold here

I couldn’t listen. Make out your sounds past

this own damned noise

Cold rots the heart

those too easy give in

not us

Fighting deep in trenches

wounded soldiers

Us all bent patched and

Soaked thru all us bandaged

Hanging on to heal as healers

Whether we know or not

Like it or not want.

The bridge between islands means more than freedom


Anonymous David said...

Beautiful Poem!
I miss you Claudia.
Please accept my invite to talk. There is so much I wish to tell you.
David Mikeska

11:05 PM  

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