Mark Pankow, poet
Pat Barron, artist

Artist

I dip into the colors of my palette.
Then with the deft strokes of my hand,
Create indelible images,
That:
Hurt or heal,
Break or mend,
Rile or calm,
Revile or give praise,
Evoke hate or inspire love,
Because by the combination of my colors,
The stark black and white,
The unambiguous primaries,
Or a thousand thousand shades, subtle tints and hues,
That I dab from or mix upon my palette,
Cause your own personal picture to form,
Unlike any other person’s.
For my colors, pure or blended, are words,
The brush strokes my pen,
And my canvas your mind’s eye,
For I am a poet.

Mark Pankow

Sho, wut da hell ya lookin’ at, ashhole?
Ya got a prolem wit me?
Well, so what iff I ain’t pretty,
Don’t shmell so good.
Yer gonna hafta deal wid it.

They call dis here place a halfway house.
Halfway means I got some idea o’
Where I started …………….. and where I’m gonna end up.
I dunno either end of that trip.
So, how da hell would I know,
If I’m halfway anywhere?

OK,
I know I’m a mess,
I guess nobody needs ta tell me that.
But this here place,
This halfway house,
Is where I started crawlin’ up from the bottom,
Stopped seein’ life through the narrow little neck of a bottle,
Started rememberin’ the time when I looked ahead,
Dreamed about stuff,
You know…
Just like other people do,
Wanted to be something,
Just like other people do,
Just like …… other people.

I don’t know if I’m halfway.
Maybe.
I do know that this is hard,
Really, really hard,
But, out of this ruin,
Out of this rubble,
I’ll find the good pieces that are left,
And rebuild,
Me.
Yes, it will be hard,
But today, tomorrow and the next day,
And, with your help, friend,
I am going to deal with it.

Mark Pankow
Inspired by Pat Barron’s drawing “Kip”