Blind Eye – Poem #3

Please come and read this and don’t turn a “Blind Eye”.


Young Mexican picker man
rises from a mattress on the floor
of a dilapidated trailer
shared with nine other mattresses

buys a chicken bag lunch
from the local seller of chicken bag lunches
climbs on board the contractor bus
with contractor boss man.

Young Mexican picker man
plucks tomatoes to fill his basket
under the blazing Florida sun
his sweat anointing our Florida earth.

Piece work at forty five cents a bucket
thirty two pounds of tomatoes
less than penny and a half a pound;
it is cheaper to rent slaves than to own them.

Picker man wants a tiny house
para su familia
and so he toils with his woman and son
in plain sight yet sight unseen
for all of us the blind eye turn.

Behind the gates of Mar-a-Lago
in the county of the picker man
amid the laughter
a black tie ball.

Christ in the Eucharist

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Creative Ink – form poetry

Come read Colly’s beautiful poem on her process of writing a poem!

Colleen Kelbert

roses haiku

Creative Ink

When I write a poem I write my heart’s inspiration.

A dance within the artwork of poetic verse.

Creatively, ideas flow forth.

Put to paper.

To offer care.

Empathy in a time of grief.

Joyous hope in a time of tranquility, peace.

Solidifying the both when boundaries seem undone.

Unified ideas

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Come see if you would reach the same conclusion as in “Coffee”


She breaks up with me
every night,
when she
is reminded
of that one time
I left right
after we had sex.
She thinks that
I’m going to
do it again,
even though
I only left
that one time
to go get
for both of us,
and then I came
right back.
She says she’s
still scared
So now we just
don’t drink

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