A Poem by Barbara Sutton and Lance Sheridan

the mulberry street incident   

 

"the bend"

'a tortuous ravine of tall tenement-houses'

where the 

downpour rain 

running water gorges street cracks open

like all

undisciplined lives 

of immigrant children playing ball with a 

stick, hit

it slick 

like ice through a 'Puck' building window,

reflections in

broken glass 

show mulberry trees swaying similar to

drunks trying

to hold 

up crack brick 'roost' alleyway mortar; 

flatfoots with

a slick

ice grip use trash can lids like irish knight

armor to

fend off 

dumb mick mob switchblade knife blade

rusted cut;

the huddled 

masses walk in manured covered streets 

to avoid 

vendor's 'slinging

the crap' on every square inch of cement

pavement; pickpockets

procure the 

rest much like naval press gangs soliciting

lint out

 

of poecketless

pants; hollow-eyed mothers of the motherless

street urchins

 

trudge, heads

down and spirits broken, down the filthy avenue

remembering the

 

false promises

of streets paved in gold; noise of the crowded street

never ceasing,

 

always the

babble of so many screams trying to be heard, sucked

into the

 

tenement brick

like downpour rain, to echo in crowded sweatshops where

hope dies,

 

but dreams

live, even if it's one dream that makes it out, much like

an echo

 

creeping along,

creeping, cat paw similar in 'roost' alleyway mortar,

silent, unnoticed . . .

                                                              

                                                                                                                                       

Barbara Sutton and Lance Sheridan began writing poetry together in January of 2013. Having penned almost a dozen poems in visual freestyle, eight of those have been accepted into numerous journals. What other poets are saying about their writing, "you send the reader on a journey through his own soul;” "symbolically thought provoking"; "the imagery is amazing;" and, “this is a sort of writing which deliberately flouts grammatical structure and any form of restriction. It is not words. It is more music you relax to, curl up listening with an abstract ear.” All of their writings are in Visual Freestyle Works® ’We sift the human storm, the life storm, through the dust and debris of their souls, animating it into thoughts and words. And then we write, not guessing where it might go, exhaling our last breath toward the light.'