Rose colored apples

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

buds of generational history

blooms repeat to be the same

pink, red, rosy, given names

Rotten roots lay undetected

Bloody branches disrespected

Refused a haven in the storm

Beaten, battered, broken, torn

Bearing into the furious wind

Dropping seeds, again. Again.

The seeds removed found fertile lands

Grew tall and strong with loving hands

When they bloomed, with rooted shows

They bloomed into a fragrant rose.

The cycle once born is now rejected

crisis averted, genes defected.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

But that does not apply to me.

Somehow there must be A same

But there is nothing in his name

The branches torn where childhood sits

are splintered, demolished. Daddy did it.

He hacked at the bushes with angry words

clashing, lashing, striking swords

No matter what gifts that rose bush gave

it was never enough, but it remained a slave

in hopes that someday, a small reward,

would champion out, three little words.

Expectations and the Pedestal

I used to have a friend that was constantly three hours late for everything except work. The fact that she worked two or three jobs at a time made some of the tardiness excusable. But after a while, we had to adjust our scheduling as a group to accommodate this. If the event started at 7PM, we’d tell her it started at 5PM and she’d show up fashionably late. It was a running joke for a while, but tardiness bothers me when it’s repeatedly done. To me, it says, “My time is far more important that you are. I’ll get there when I get there and you’ll just have to deal with it.” Now, I know that’s not how the thought process works, but it felt that way.

We all have those people that hang on our periphery that just don’t quite make the inner circle. It’s not that they’re bad people, per se, just that they may have habits or ideals that don’t quite fit with our own. Maybe they’re disrespectful of your time by being perpetually late or they find the bottom of a bottle far more interesting than taking care of their children. Whatever the reason, they are still called a friend, but aren’t close enough in our emotional commitment to be able to stop by any time. Cull the herd. It is unnecessary to hold on to people just because you worked with them 15 years ago. Letting them go doesn’t mean a confrontation, just a silent goodbye and an unanswered phone call. It’s okay to allow that relationship to organically decompose.

But what about family members? Those are far more tricky to deal with because of the blood-kin ideal that family is family. Remember, at least the black sheep is an honest hypocrite. We all know at least one that is of questionable views on the world (I push that boundary so I labeled myself the dark gray sheep), but even if they aren’t living life like everybody else tells them they should, they’re making their own choices.

It is my opinion that loving them does not mean enabling them, criticizing, or judging their every action, but realizing that they might not be ready for the kind of love you have to give. Being supportive doesn’t mean that you have to rush to get them whenever they fall down, it means listening when they talk to you about their own wants and desires.

I’ve recently had to relearn this. It was extraordinarily painful because the person in question was throwing out thousands of dollars to the lowest bidder, giving away a free education, and walking around in a drug induced haze while doing nothing to further his life. I was furious with the choices he was making. No matter what I said or did, he kept making the worst possible choices in my eyes. But my tactics weren’t working and it was driving a massive wedge between us. Communication had broken down to the point of stony silences and terse comments. Something had to give.

I took away all expectations and started from scratch. Chores have to be done on these days because that contributes to the family. Three days a week. Daily stuff included being respectful, not using at my house, and sharing responsibility for our four legged friends. I made that change three weeks ago. Things have become our normal at our house. We joke and laugh. We all seem to be happier. When I removed the expectations about his life and kept them to expectations of family responsibilities, it worked out a lot better overall.

Relationships are complicated enough without, what I call, THE PEDESTAL! When we place expectations on other people to say, behave, or be a certain way, we set ourselves up for major disappointments, resentment, anger, frustration, and confrontations. I have to ask myself this question, “Is this them being a human or is this them being a jerk to me?” It helps me narrow down the field and realize that my perception of them is skewed by my idea of who they are or should be in my mind. With practice, it becomes easier to let them be who they are without making them justify every move or action.

I don’t claim to be an expert, but I have found that culling the herd, communication, taking the pedestal out from under them, and living my own life has made a dramatic difference in my happiness level.

These Are My People: Jennifer Alexander

Image

When the words of “I love you” were presumed

They lingered in the air like her patchouli perfume

With years of devotionals abloom

Decorating my hearts scarred womb

Our reverent spirits dancing under the moon

With eons of deep secrets written in the runes

Shared like naked offerings between the sister souls

Bonded by supporting hearts, one to another enrolls

These Are My People: Dawn Brinn

Together We Pray

Together We Pray

With uncomfortable self-proclaimed oddness
Brought together by a mutual willingness to share
Our hands in accommodating service to others
Building faith in unison like reciting The Lord’s Prayer
She with her beliefs in Jesus and in God
Me with my beliefs, an eclectic mixture of odd
But somehow we see each other with our many flaws
Forgiving each other’s awkwardness, overlooking social faux pas.
Although we are but humans, our spirits intertwine
With whispered prayers for one another, based in the Divine.

These Are My People: Freddie Nechtow

The Aurora Borealis promenade the northern skies
The wisdom of your lifetime animates and implies
Coaxing your stellar erudition in your voice alone
Embracing with the emotional blessing of Shalom.
Compassionate communication are not just words to you
Bringing galaxies of practicality, a gift to others imbued
They are words that you exemplify in your actions kind
A serenity of spirit, a pastoral state of mind.

These Are My People: Matthew McBee

My son and I line up at the counter
Draining blood from the coffee maker
Refilling our need for bonding
At our morning communion ritual
Not offered by a priest but by Folgers.
We settle at the dining table
Scrolling through my Facebook feed
For videos to spark heat into our spirits
Blaze them up with conversations
That can’t be repeated in public.
I don’t like the days when
It is just me standing in line
Waiting for the “good days”
Where the shame or guilt of bad decisions
Don’t hang like piñatas waiting
Waiting for us to strike the first blow
Raining the inner conflicts into our laps
Tarnished with expectations of perfection
Waiting for us to strike the first blow
Against one another with words
As bitter as the coffee we cream in avoidance
Of the redeeming absolution we could
But don’t usually offer to one another.

These Are My People: Anjana Love Dixon

Wild Woman Goddess

Wild Woman Goddess

I remember the day you were born in my heart.
I was ignorant that I would fall in love with you so completely.
I could never have guessed that the iridescence
You displayed would seep into my bones
Leaving me breathless with passion for life.
But there you were.
Clothing barely covering the privacy required
Golden skin flaring sunlight under the spotlight
Of the darkened room filled with soon to be worshipers
Your smile the Goddess’ blessing glimmering
Love on those who cat-called for your attention
As you walked, no, strutted into your skin
I witnessed something that makes me weep
Even now.
I watched you become;
as the fears, doubts, and self-deprecation
Fell to the catwalk in murky ribbons.
And there you were. All of you.
Without reasonable excuse or denial
You became an integral part of my personal journey
The personification of a Human Goddess
I remember the day you were born in my heart
It’s one of my favorite memories.

Love Thy Neighbor

I went to a meeting today. The meeting was filled with women from 29 to over 60. There was one man in attendance. We sat in a crowded room filled with false hopes and diminishing resources trying to find the solution for funding the programs that help the impoverished in our neighborhoods and communities and the county at large.

While I sat there listening to the stories of unnamed clients going without it saddened my heart that so many people in my community, where I live showed a reflection of poverty to me. With a funding cut of over $13,000 that could be used to lift our people, my people, up in this world, there seemed to be an air of discouraged hope, but hope nonetheless.

But hearing that my neighbors were going without, made me think that if the weight of their care lay in the communities where we lived, we could do so much more. And even with that realization that we’ve become so disconnected from one another, so caught up in our own daily lives that we no longer take that time to breathe life into the very neighborhoods in which we come home to.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I hated that I felt out of place in wanting my people, your people, their people, our people to feel the love of community. The feeling of unity left in the gravel roads of unkempt, overgrown, weeded horrors that grow the mold of fruitless living inspired by poverty to excuse our dismissal of their humanity. The refusal to understand that the human life we live, they live, I live is not transcendent in the sense that when that next meal becomes a harboring of resentment against full refrigerators, cupboards, and pantry’s and the only thing to eat in the house is Ramen noodles, hot dogs, or macaroni and cheese again because that’s all there is. Why?

Understanding the problem is not the issue. Believing that a change can be made is not the issue. It’s the hands that we have as a people that are the issue. The hands that turn away our brothers and sisters from their basic needs being met. It’s the hands that raise up against social programs that benefit our communities by raising children who don’t have to worry if they can eat more than subsidized school lunches while surviving the summers with hopes that someone will see their condition but praying against all hope they don’t.

I believe in Love Thy Neighbor. I believe that love brings a meal over to the ailing neighbor. I believe that love brings resources into the places where we live and blooms them into a sense of hope and belonging. I believe that loving thy neighbor is more than just a Bible verse, but the very act of using our hands to bring goodwill, food, clothing, and hope to everyone.

Who am I to call someone else lazy? Who am I to look down my nose because you lost your job and can’t support your family right now? Who am I to cast that first stone against your situation when my own cupboards barely keep my family fed. I am nobody to judge anybody for their situation. I don’t have nor would I want that power. Instead, I propose a radical change with our hands.

Use those hands to feed the hungry. Use your hands to help an elderly neighbor do their yard work. Use those hands to comfort a new mother who is overwhelmed with the responsibility. Use those hands to drive a neighbor to the store when they need it. Use those hands to call in reinforcements when the battles get to long and hard and your people, your neighbors, our communities are falling to violence. Use those hands to reach out to one another in kindness and compassion.

Their story doesn’t have to match your experience. Their beliefs don’t have to match yours. Their choices are not a reflection of you, but they are the faces of the people you live among. They are your geographical tribe by need, necessity, or choice. Every one of these people, in all their humanity, with all of their faults and triumphs is a reflection of yourself. Reach out to your people with those hands who have held them with disdain and judgment. Remove the faulty assumptions and listen to the words they speak for they may teach you compassion, kindness, or the sincerest of needs and desires that you may have the gifts to fulfill.

Love Thy Neighbor. That’s what I believe in without question.

These Are My People: Linda Looney

Linda Looney's birthday friend.

Linda Looney’s birthday friend.

Each day that her phone rings
And every time she answers
A sliver of her mundane shows
In the music of her laughter.
There are so many fancy words
That could show you who she is
But they are shallow compared to her
Yet deeper than an abyss.
I could lift her up in glory
Extolling virtue and blessing
You’d believe me because I told you
But there’s so much you’d be missing.
Because my Mom is lovely,
She’s neither devil nor a saint
But she’s everything I long to be
And lots of things I ain’t.
I will tell you this much
A truth deeper than the sea
I love my perfectly human Mama
And I know that she loves me.

Happy birthday to my beloved mother. You’re Fezzes and bow ties to me.

These Are My People: Shonda

No More Violence

No More Violence


Tyrannical howls encapsulated
Intent on the destruction
Of their mutated version of devotion
personified by shattered glass while
screaming babies witness the impressionistic home
Painted in blood and bruises.
Kill me first! Kill me! Kill me first!
The begging screams for relief
from their suffering
But, fear motivates shelter
in uninhabitable relationships
with violence the language spoken
in vehement protest against their being
broken people with broken lives.