Hard times come again no more...

Difficult times provide a chance to reflect and rethink. We've got a long way to go. On the way, I've been digging around inside my head to try to figure out and express what's there. Here are a couple of musings that formed themselves into poems:


Every morning

The same man sleeps

on the same bench at the edge

of the park.

Everything about him is black:

Black shoes

Black socks

Black chinos

Long-sleeved black shirt

Black hands

Black face

A black plastic bag filled with what?

I can’t tell.

He looks so put together,

sleeping there, self-possessed and calm.

I think, “Maybe he works all night.”

Everything flows around him:

Skateboarders

Cyclists

Strollers

Nannies with strollers

Second-graders trying out two-wheelers

Old couples hand in hand.

Does anybody else even see him?

I can’t tell.

If he woke to see me

intently looking at him

would he think, “What’s up with you?”

Everything about me would give him doubts:

Blue bike

Blue shirt

Blue helmet

White socks

White hands

White face.

Would he know I am his friend?

I can’t tell.

Not like a beer at a baseball game

kind of friend,

just the fellow human kind.

Would he know that my skin

is this thinnest part of me?

That my blood weighs more than my skin?

That the meat and bone and other stuff underneath

is the heaviest part of me?

That I know that the same goes for him?

I wonder if he knows that,

or if my nerves would let me tell him.

I can’t tell.

So, this is what I think about when I see

the same man asleep

on the same bench at the edge

of the park

every morning.

6.5.2020

© Marilyn Rea Beyer

The Disappearing Man


He did not select his fate. It was no vanishing act intended to impress.


He wished to remain intact

to arise and bathe and dress,

to chalk in another square,

mark off just one more date.


Sudden-stilled Earth would like to continue to turn.


What a clumsy sleight of hand,

beyond the angels’ touch,

bent under the gods’ demand for pestilence and such,

that bade humanity embrace the ashen urn.


You, be fierce. Defy the sanitary dying.


Stand upon on your balcony

Shout.

Cheer.

Sing.


Rise up in cacophony. Make the invisible ring.


Be seen.

Have courage.

Be heard.

Be living.

© Marilyn Rea Beyer

5.17.2020


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This poem originated at the Salem Athenaeum...Nathaniel Hawthorne's old hangout. Today it's a haven for new writers. Show your support: http://salemathenaeum.net/support/donations/


We Will Not be SilencedIndieBlu(e) Poetry Anthology... contains three of my poems and hundreds of others by writers I admire. Now in print and Kindle on amazon.com.


Subtitled "The Lived Experience of Sexual Harassment and Sexual Assault Told Powerfully through Poetry, Prose, Essay and Art," this book is neither screed nor pity party. Rather, it’s a positive, powerful platform to give voice to people who have been sexually exploited, abused, treated as invisible.Listen and believe them.

Click for a short video:

Marilyn Rea Beyer Poetry

This one hit me observing my city hit by COVID-19

The Disappearing Man or Resist the Inevitable

The disappearing man did not select his fate.

It was no vanishing act

intended to impress.

He wished to remain intact

to arise and bathe and dress,

to chalk in another square, mark off just one more date.


Sudden stilled Earth would like to continue to turn.

What a clumsy sleight of hand,

beyond the angels’ touch,

bent under the gods’ demand

for pestilences and such,

that bade humanity embrace the ashen urn.


You, be fierce. Defy the sanitary dying.

Stand upon on your balcony

and shout and cheer and sing.

Rise up in cacophony.

Make the invisible ring.

Be seen to have courage. Be heard to be living.


©Marilyn Rea Beyer

Also: Follow the strong words of strong women in Whisper and the Roar. Two of my poems were published during June '18. Click on the poem titles to read To Live Like Shakespeare and I Never Feared Death.