Biota
A bird’s eye view of the California shoreline, by Nancy Kaufman.
Between Pandemics
A poem dedicated to my father (Sergeant Harold B. Kaufman, Jr.) and his life experiences.
I Hear America Mourning
There is nothing more tragic than to find an individual bogged down in the length of life, devoid of breadth. Martin Luther King, Jr. Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed— I, too, am America. Langston Hughes I Hear America Mourning For their dark brother Floyd murdered knee in the neck by
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Two Dead
TWO DEAD … “soldiers are gunning us down” Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young Speak through ripples/waves In marrow they rise Dried blood the language of the unheard Don’t speak unless you want to hear dissent Recede like the tide till it rolls out to sea___ A storm stirs in the bones Returns to the rivers____