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This is a space where men can share their perspectives on their inner journey. The form can be prose, poetry, photographic or handcrafted images. The purpose is to stimulate, even minutely, the transformative process. All art strives to move us to a different place, that place of the soul, that initiatory space, where the call is heard and identity found. Please reverence the space by respectfully entering and sharing.

November, 2000

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Revolution I

My father would
rail to his glass
or the wine bottle
or my mother
or me or anyone
within earshot,
ñThe revolution
will begin
when bread
reaches one
dollar a loaf.î

He drank himself
to death before
achieving that
particular
disappointment.

(October 20, 2000)

Revolution II

When Joan Baez
sang ñJoe Hillî
at Woodstock,
I remembered the
tune, though I had
no idea why.
You sang it to
me as a lullaby,
your last motherly
act towards me. I sang it to your
grandson.

(October 20, 2000)

Donald R. Walker