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  April 2019
volume 16 number 1
-table of contents-
 
  home  
 
  contributing poets
  Michelle Angelini
  luis cuauhtemoc berriozabal
  Jack G. Bowman
  Lynne Bronstein
  Deborah Edler Brown
  Anna Cates
  Beverly M. Collins
  Chella Courington
  David Flynn
  Paul Hellweg
  Glenn Ingersoll
  Scott C. Kaestner
  lalo kikiriki
  John Leonard
  Cynthia Linville
  Marieta Maglas
  Xavier McIves
  Scott Thomas Outlar
  bc petrakos
  Diana Rosen
  Walter Ruhlmann
  David Scriven
  Megha Sood
  Terrence Sykes
  Perry Terrell
  Tim Tipton
  Davide Trame
  Roman Tunkel
 
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bc petrakos
April 2019
   

 

bio


    Has written tons of stuff, been lucky to have had a few stories, plays, poems published; she has done shows in lots of fine places including, London, Berlin, Edinburgh, Stockholm, and many beatific places in California. She has been nominated for Pushcart Prize, Best of The Web,has two books published by Sybaritic Press, and has won a few prizes for writing plays; publishes poets and writers as an editor at International Word Bank.
bcpetrakos@yahoo.com

   

 

What I Miss

I have been in bed for the last few years. Covers pulled up, media distracting, moments stolen,
I have been in bed for the last few years. It is a condition.
Not medical, no, but a condition of the guts. Pression, on the deep, the deepest part of my being, the listless part of the insides, Deep Pression. The kind that misses ever little thing from before. Pression that is like a great fist pushing down on my head. My neck under pressure, the inside gray cells firing off wishes, and remorse then the stunning reality that everything like a vapor. Foggy, and unreal and disappearing as I watch
Pression, deep and long lasting.
Memory fading but flickering in its message to me, that there was a time when it was different.

What I miss, is that time.
Times when I had no idea, the time when I did not read any news, or had any news foisted on me. Time when I did not know what anyone thought, so I assumed we all were OK with being and thinking differently. A place and time when the wires were NOT connected to people trying constantly to sell us stuff and concepts.

What I miss is freedom
Poetry in the park, laughing at an off color joke, making fun of things, flirting, being happy,
really, really happy, for someones good fortune, new wedding, new baby, new something
What I miss is happiness
Stupid joy, creative stories that fell from the sky into my head and onto the haphazard stages
in library, coffee house, living room, alley, art gallery, etc
The poetry about her broken heart, his love for his friends gal, that teen age feeling stuff that I used to make fun of, but miss because now readings are all political bullshit, and choirs of complaining

What I miss is joy
The joy that comes with meeting new friends, taking a long walk
sharing words, music, ideas, experiences

I miss our world before we all became merchandise, and swiped down to get the topic of the day
drilled into our minds, and filling us with indignation

I miss conversations, I miss the time when not agreeing was the norm, and it was possible NOT to agree and be friends, I miss being Safe to think
differently, be different
I miss the time when artists had something to say
that was not exactly the same as the main stream media

I miss artists, and writers and innovators..I miss new ideas

I miss LIFE - Beautiful, Complex, Colorful, Colorblind Life
This is what I miss...and am looking for
but I suppose I will have to leave my room
and get off the screen to find it

copyright 2019 bc petrakos