The POETIC DIALOGUE PROJECT
an exhibition of collaborative works by artists and poets

POETS

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THE INVENTION OF MONEY



The trees were invented to be cut down and lumber was invented to be
hewn and nails were invented to give us something to do with all that
lumber.

The fire in the stove was invented to give us something to do at night. The
meat was invented for the pot.

When the lightning was invented and the tree that was standing was
struck sorrow was invented. Love was invented to give us something to
do with sorrow.

When we were hungry hunger was invented.

The moon was invented to give the dog something to do. The dog was
invented to give us something to do.

Sickness was invented and health.

More trees were invented to be pretty. More sorrow was invented to give
us an understanding of how the trees are pretty.

Money was invented when the fire in the stove went out. More money
was invented to give us something to do with money.

Sickness was invented and health.

More trees were invented to be pretty. More sorrow was invented to give
us an understanding of how the trees are pretty.

Money was invented when the fire in the stove went out. More money
was invented to give us something to do with money.

When the fire in the stove went out and the tree was struck by lightning
causality was invented to give us hope. More money was invented to give
us something to do with hope.

When the fire in the stove went out and the tree was struck by lightning
causality was invented to give us hope. More money was invented to give
us something to do with hope.


copyright Alan Michael Parker
forthcoming in Elephants & Butterflies
                
(Rochester: BOA Editions, Ltd., 2008)
Alan Michael Parker
Lois Roma-Deeley
www.amparker.com
WHAT THE POOR KNOW


When walking into an office, store or room,
I make my body thinner than a strand of hair.
When the manager/clerk/teacher looks my way
he/she sees nothing but a quivering line
vibrating in the air. I try not to breathe too much.
Always hold my chin in, tuck it close to my heart.
If the church woman in alligator shoes
comes to our house with bags of seedless grapes,
cans of lima beans, cartons of powdered milk,
I will take it all.
She will hand me a voucher from St. Paul’s,
say my family should clean the yard, try harder
to find a job.  I try not to think of aliens
who scoop out the soft spot of new born babies.
At night, when I pray to God,
I try not to curse too much. But my eyes always drift
to the double holes filled with drying toothpaste
which are supposed to make
the screws of the screen door stay in place,
the flat tire in the living room that has to wait,
my aching teeth, that half-bottle of gin sitting on our floor,
the two dimes and twelve dollars I keep hidden
just in case.


copyright Lois Roma-Deeley


                    
Margaret Rozga
PROMISES


Sun edging up at the far side of the lake
The glint of red-gold on the first summer fruit
Wheat as it bends ready for harvest

The way my new son-in-law warms to a joke
Coffee, steaming, and sweetened with cream

Separate strands gathered for weaving
The eye thirsty for color, the poet on the verge of a word
The painter’s fine grasp of the brush

All the hungry, the newlyweds, the artists waiting



copyright Margaret Rozga