Terrapin Dreams

They say they closed
it down, that old campground
we all knew so well.
The smoke-filled sun
rising bit-by-bit
over the cliff with
each thump of the drums
beating together.
Snapping embers
flitting past the belly dancers
flying over the crowd
landing, pure soot
in the trampled grass.
The grass that cradled us
while others wandered Shakedown street
or searched for tents.
We melted with the air
fell with the morning dew
awoke wrapped in a blanket
of Terrapin Station--Grateful
opening our eyes.
The morning whistle blew
and reality set in,
it was the beginning
of the end. 

Art by Debbie Poon. Words by Ciara Brewer.

I have pictures like that
We used to take those
With pepper. Hold the salt.
At Christmas
When the new squeaky toys arrive
Sniffing up the camera
Pawing at wrapping paper
Cursing the lack of the thumb
While humans encourage the impossible
But there.
There,
There are no pictures like that.
There
The hairy
Four-legged (sometimes 3)
Gypsies bark their own trail
Hang out in gangs
Lie in the streets
Like well trained beasts
Minus a master
It is a free world
But 'oh to be a dog'
Has a different meaning
A 24 hours' fly away.

Art by Debbie Poon.  Words by Kristin Rotar.

She likes to draw

I knew a girl who never knew how to look at herself.
She loved to draw and paint with her fingertips.
Her most startling pieces were self portraits.
They always exposed a tiny part of her heart kept hidden by stifled smiles
and the bones in her chest she layered on daily.
She hardly wears makeup, but keeps her face hidden.
This one her skin is red. Maybe she's embarrassed all the time by something,
maybe she wished she could bleed more.
Maybe she drank too much red wine, slapped herself silly and curbed her behavior.
Maybe she's lustful and longing for someone to touch her,
the passion sweats from her pores.
Maybe she just loves a lot and this red tell us that.
Her hair is always tangled. A haystack with a thousand lost needles
and only finding frustration.
Yet she shares so many memories with that hair.
It's tortured her comb, invaded her thoughts,
it's the only thing she sees in her reflection.
Her eyes distorted and colorless.
She doesn't know how to look at herself.
I see autumn green and the seasons slowly changing and falling in love
when I look at her straight forward.
But to her, she is always askew. To the side.
Her jaw is distorted, teeth oversized
and the helicopter looking thing on top of her head
is because her thoughts are always flying away from her.
She's a too fast thinker and too quiet talker.
She doesnt believe in herself and hasnt learned the lesson of too little pride.

Im not saying one day she'll ever see how beautiful she is,
because rarely people do and admit it.
Her pictures don't need to change either.
Its her truth.
I just want her to know its the best truth I know.

Art by Debbie.  Words by Jordan.

celebration; it's all so familiarly brand new

i saw your dancing smile fifteen times 

one mile away

watchout!

gotcha-again

bird man comin

i know you're special

that's why i brought you a red balloon fantasy

my gift to you

wanna go for a walk?

i'll bring Julio

he likes walks too 

isn't it great having friends

matter fact, lets fly

Art by Debbie Poon.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Bird of Prey

It's funny that this is an owl.

Art by Debbie Poon. Words by Rashaad Hall.