Sean M. Spence

Trois poesies

 

 

Some Feathers Had Flied

 

Six days out, from thence... their greatest - Garland's death - out fades
by sowing there, in collective swells, an austerely-dubious commotion being played,
enacted upon the cobbles; our crumbling Greenwich Village homophily.  Anchorites; 

 

collared's; coloreds; beatniks; artisans.  All alike.

Was it, perhaps, imagined by some hellbent "friend of Dorothy" mystery pageant queens
whilst poor-dear Judy's wake had broken, back behind the Libertines bridge, or... unforeseen,
as in an inundating-overflow of the bluest harass... forcing our bravest few in; to fight
for amelioration toward serious civil rights!?

The Stonewall Inn had infamously double-served as:  A cross-dressers catchment zone...
of any the offending Sheridan Square sybarite; save for on this fate-filled night alone (then on).
June, ungodly late, the twenty-eighth of nineteen-sixty-nine...  each linked an arm to arm stride
fast-pacedly; to rampart o'er fledgling pride.

Wee-hours waning, thinned-on this overtly-stringent summer's morn; turnt its’ dusk to dawn,
fueled... by each... by a gallon-jug of their hard-hopes & a spirited tact-tonic.  Bound,
in defense o' beehived caddy-corner wigs by musingly heroic mascara-smokey-eyed's:
As one could easily surmise, afoul... some feathers had flied!

Fairy den-mothers, our forefather pioneers, won US rights... wit'kicklines of high-heeled heels! 
 

To being Queer!

The Mattachine Society, having played the "good-cops" role, embossed a picture-window here:

"We... plead with our people to please help maintain peaceful and quiet-
conduct on the streets of The Village..."  

the post decried; 

as per The Stonewall Riot.

 

 

 

In Protest

 

This lonely hour
feels like it's wilting
and is fated as a flower,
all goodness sours
whilst still jilting
for fair recompense of power.

Tensions draw nigh
in this dead end night
as a starry sky stops shooting,
while fears run high
wherein their height
the populous begets to looting.

 

 

 

The Subluxation

 

Trotting-off along my day,
walking my courtyard at fair pace...
soon as I reach these gates that guard my space
I just know that I will be bombarded by disgraces -

Misplaced peoples, some whom live in boxes.
Some dressed to the nines, donning pocket-watches.
Others scurrying around in frenzied throngs, in hordes of (m)asses...
hurriedly-along, like a salutatorian-to-be, if he's late for anymore classes -

I'll see the grit and grime that outline main-streets in layer upon layers
of rubbish, muck, haute-couture, privilege, hustlers and players;
of this game called life... which we all contribute to like rivers:
into an ocean, of inhumanity, that each blinded-eye out there enlivens -

I'll see injustices, maybe even some police brutality... which is just plain insanity!
Well, let's face facts, folks... not all those in blue are righteous.  Such a travesty!

People more concerned with who they wear than who they are?  It’s toxic vanity.
Are these type-of-thoughts intended to propel me along my way?  Calamity -

I might see babies bobbin’ by in their wheelin' carriages
pushed by nannies, not their mammies... what's to become of this?
Might see night-workers enticing kempt-up men away from marriages,
but I digress... as these last few are amongst the least of my disparages -

I hope I don't see unsavory people; being hateful toward another, be
it over skin tone, nationality, sex-orientation, disability or being unbrotherly.
I hope I see awareness of one's fellow man; as we all maintain of struggles!
Now, if I only could un-budge that latch; I'd put to rest all of these troubles -

If we only could instill more good, to realign the subluxation;
it would reconstitute the constitution of the whole of our world’s civilizations -

 

 

 

Sean M. Spence is a Long Island, NY native; currently residing on The East End with his partner, John, of six years.  A former Arthur Murray Ballroom Dance Instructor, Sean loves to travel, learning as many languages as he can absorb, and enjoys cooking and baking. Sean began writing as a way to cope with accepting his sexuality as a young teen.  After years of being victimized by bullying, at age 15 Sean decided to leave school in pursuit of his own learning.  He discovered a passion for writing poetry. Sean's writing is largely non-fiction; of an autobiographical, Historic, Civil Rights / Social Injustice, and didactic nature.  He is overjoyed to be a part of the Danse Macabre famile.