Every day when we look out the window
and it says we’re
not

that important enough but we know
we’re important
enough

–
and yet it still hurts knowing
we may never be
able

to care for each
other

the way we
Want
to

 

mindgallery . twitter

 

 

 

This mindgallery poem appeared on the Brooklyn Missed Connections years ago. I saved it in my archive of Craigslist poems and didn’t think much about it again until today – when its words literally screamed at me. Yes, we are all important enough and it’s the hurt that keeps people protesting and fighting for the respect and recognition they deserve.

Four wars five hurricanes and countless
economic downturns
later

with a mind as nimble as an adjunct
professor with one masters
degree

a phd and a doctorate in between
Dostoyevsky and
Sarte

bird songs break
night into
day

whispery clouds
part

half way
up

a
bluebird

Is
smiling

mindgallery . twitter

 

 

 

I suppose one of the few good things to come out of the pandemic is that the natural world immediately sprung up in the absence of humans. The air is cleaner, the streets not littered with roadkill, and the songs of the birds can be heard thanks to a reduction in traffic sounds. I’m sure Mother Nature has been very happy during these weeks and months – I know she’s not the only one.

They just love being totally medicated you know
when you need to do things
you need to
do

but we can’t
Afford
to

but afterwards most people wouldn’t
understand what that
meant

in this
economy

 

mindgallery . twitter

 

 

 

While mindgallery posted this poem to the Brooklyn Missed Connections years ago, it’s kind of strange how it fits in so perfectly with the current news stream surrounding hydroxychloroquine and the re-opening of the economy. For me, I prefer to stay drug-free and at home for as long as possible.

It was all purple haze & shimmering film
from the blue light as the
television

cast it’s luminous glow from
the late night news
show

–

And it was half past Sunday
and ten past nine as
we lie here
stuck

in between yesterday
and tomorrow in
this

Combustible
bliss

–

Lashing ropes to the mast
and this too will
pass

through scattered sunshine
and pouring
rain

all those memories
down the
drain

–

And each evening we’d leave
a window to our
soul

slightly ajar and it was there
we found something
more

precious than gold in the
memories we hold
in our

hearts

mindgallery . twitter

 

 

 

This may be the longest mindgallery poem I ever found on the Brooklyn Missed Connections. While the title “A Rough Draft” was used on several occasions, this particular poems incorporated a very unique photo – and I believe this may be the only example of it (and btw, the leftover pizza does look good…).