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Marla Stone Poem
I often ask myself who am I? Who am I to ask for a war to end? Who am I to tolerate a
war that's gone too far? Who am I not to jump up and down in protest? Who am I to stand
from afar and not say a word? My purpose in this life is to be a peace maker, a warrior of
love, a kind person, giving more than I can imagine. I often ask myself, do I have
something to scream or yell that will tell people what I think? Does anyone care what I
think? Hasn't this already been said in the same way, a different day, different language,
state, country or play?
Why do I feel trapped in a small place with a voice as loud as a fog horn lost in the
darkness? Perhaps, in my silent and screaming misery, I will have empathy for those true
warriors fighting for what they believe is their purpose in life. Even when they question the
mission, they stay awake and obey. Should I be the one to step in the way? What would
happen to me if that is what I believed to be my purpose, to protest wildly the things about
this world that I abhor? Would I be sent away too? Where would they send me? Is that
why people are afraid to protest, they are afraid they would be protested against for their
protest?
I remember in the 70's when I was a little girl, the students killed, by the police, for
protesting the Vietnam War. They believed that was their purpose, and they were shot
down. I just don't see anyone taking a stand against this war today? Have we become so
frightened for our own safety, well being? What a diversion buying a house can be! What
are we afraid of? Why aren't we saying anything really loud?
STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP this
WARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
We want the military to send the warriors back from Iraq, back from Iraq...that is my
purpose today-to say that.
What I believe is my purpose in life is to question the absurdities and to fight them in my
own special way. Writing is my purpose in life. I know my purpose will be to write and
offend others if I have to, in order to share my point of view. That is my purpose. I will
write what I think!
In America we can sit and pray for the war to go away. But in America our voice has been
too low and the government's say seems to have gotten in the way. I guess that is all I
have to say, today. Today that is my purpose of life, to share my thoughts and feelings!
Copyright © Marla Stone | Year Posted 2008
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Marla Stone Poem
THE SUNDANCE KID
Lively bursts of sudden air arise out of my sighs of rushed venom-
-out pops my eyes.
I can't believe my sight--I see my kid in Sundance dance,
all eager to please and pump.
The courage gives the love, it lives, it's alive
it's spreads out of his body, only five.
While he's flying off the ground I think to myself, he's got to be kidding around.
What's up is love and freedom and dancing in the sun.
My son lit, light bright and orange yellow streaks coming out of his being.
He's just being a kid, right?
He kicks up his small, brown stamped leather boots,
with little blue jean jeans and his red bandana shirt.
His hat on his head is cowboy suede and he yelps,
"I am the Sundance Kid, and rain drops keep falling on my head", as he falls into
the muddy dirt.
I swirl and twirl, my brain rambling, and blankly stare in strange glaring curiosity.
"How does he know who the Sundance Kid is?" "How does he know Raindrops
Keep Falling On My Head?"
And just as I am pondering the mysteries of a child's consciousness, a bicycle
built for two rides by and the rain begins to pour in front of my panicked,
frightened astonished adult face. My child begins to sing "Raindrops Keep
Falling on My Head" and I hear the sound of music.
Marla Stone
Copyright © Marla Stone | Year Posted 2007
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Marla Stone Poem
Overstepping boundaries,
clinging onto an empty marriage,
carrying the family alone.
Husband fighting war with
General dreams, of glory, in his head.
Carrying myself alone.
Knowing alone is lonely, lonelier every day.
We are carrying bodies, buddies and homeboys home to their families.
Poor mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers,
longing for a glimpse of their boy or girl, dead to this world.
They grow lonely, lonelier day by day and night by night.
Carrying on, pushing harder and harder
to make it through with all their fight.
Smiling the smile, greeting the greetings, and saying I'm okay.
Falling apart from the very start,
until you push too hard and the wound is now a scar,
and you say I can't go on
and the loneliness is gone.
You are gone when you push, you fall.
Take it easy, easier everyday.
Company comes by and then they go away.
Easy, easier, easily they say it takes time and the pain will not stay,
so they say, so they say.
Please I cry to the wind and the sea I want to play, I want to play..with my love.
Too many soldiers died today, died today, died today.
When I push I fall, when we push we fall, when they push they fall.
We all fall down.
Marla Stone
Copyright © Marla Stone | Year Posted 2007
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Marla Stone Poem
Let down, underground ,underwater, under people ,under powered,
overwhelmed, boxed in, can't get out, over and over. Social work, seeing people,
can't fill them up, empty. Lots of dreams to heal the world, people get better, over
and over, the same old story. Abused, used, dealt a bad hand, lost control,
anger, signed up for school, went to war instead, loss, divorce, childhood
trauma, devestation, depression, anxiety, change, new beginnings, old endings,
can't understand, saw too much, voices talking when lips aren't moving,
ruminating patterns over and over.
Wanted to be an actress, creative spark endured, until spark blew out. Didn't die
like Marilyn Monroe, but creativity took a turn, to help those that are burned....out
over and over. Talking, listening, stories turn wild, into sainthood, wounded
healer of the stars, system won't listen to new directions, which would be a better
solution to the sorrow and woes. Stifled endeavors, feelings, hopeless and
drained, helpless empathy that has been gained, fill up the tank, the pitcher, in
order to listen and learn over and over.
Copyright © Marla Stone | Year Posted 2008
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Marla Stone Poem
LOVE SEEDED INTO TWO
Love seeded into two
Turning away from sullen blue.
Time Capsules, souls search,
for treasures and purpose, purpose.
Sullen bellows of gusty winds, there
treads the daughter of mortal sin,
as she grins and picks her victim the truth surfaces.
Abuse, slander, scandal and divorce of principles,
she settles down to a poor man's life.
Creation solely, only, for you going forward to another life.
We are allowed more than one, more than one.
So the sun comes out and smiles and shines brightly
from without and within. There is no sin.
There's reality of pain and the heart wearing thin.
Sink or swim to the shore or out another open, closed door
wondering how you tripped to the floor.
Scams, revelations, points you made in school,
staring at statues of the immortal fathers,
you play piano on the stool.
Crazy aspirations,
pains pass you… asking why there is
death and loss
accumulated.
You will tear them from your heart
as the years go by.
Dreams of money, power, fame and sex,
writing out those bills and checks.
Mundane paper-work,
knowledge from a book,
turning trash into treasure,
while making it rhyme.
Playing the lover, the playmate, the grocer and, the cook may spoil.
Oh the turmoil when we go blind,
we die,
we love,
we toil, only in the human time.
And then God reaches in and spins the records to the tune of you,
where love is love
and truth is true.
Copyright © Marla Stone | Year Posted 2008
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