Tag Archives: poetry

Curtis C.

I felt it before I heard or saw it.
A wave of hostility colored in anger
darkness creeping over hearts
while the warm sun kissed the peaceful.
“He’s white!” I hear her scream.
The grandson, after exchanging
the pungent presence of racism
committed to his violence
flailing at the seat-belted man
Releasing his hatred through his fists.
“STOP! STOP!” I yell at the assault
I bring the confused woman and her beau
water in plastic pink cups
The sun should be clouded over
with the bitterness of repulsion, but it isn’t.
 
The moving van waits
The ministry van drives away
The cops come, take names
forget it even happened.
 
My stomach is repulsed by the waves
still emanating from the gathered group
still aching from the pride fallen dead
in the gutter littered with foul words.

Wisdom Seeker

 

The ancient wilds have reached into her spirit

elevated her to endless horizon

Baltered in rhythm with the tides

shrieked, pranced, dashed, danced

Arms raised in worship to the Dark moon

Skyclad but for the whimpered light

of that which compeled and sent her breathless

willingly swathed in the darkness

re-birthed from the warrior to the Wisdom Seeker

the preparation transitions from mother to crone

I don’t want to love you

valentine-wallpaper
I don’t want to love you
at least not the “you” they think you are.
I want to dive into your darkness
swim through your tears, fears, rejections.
My compulsion is to wrap you tightly
within my light until you come up
gasping for air in the dew drop morning
I don’t want to love you
the way you’ve been told to be.
I want to chew through the anger
shredding the sinew and skin from bony lies.
My desire is to offer you haven
where you can release everything wrong
with them seeing you unconvinced
I don’t want to love you
through someone else’s eyes
I want to experience your breath
when you allow yourself personal authority
with words of expressive power
I don’t want to love you, but I do.

Flowing Life

river

We are the water of the river flowing

our drifting paths are going

to a place we are not knowing

but we struggle to stay the same.

Your spirit releases, trickles and flows

Pushing you farther than you think you can go

Creating depths deeper than you know

We are all uniquely one in the same.

Your passion is best when emotions are flowing

Your traveling feet must keep on going

To gain and learn a gracious knowing

Let’s join in unity to be less of the same

Be At Peace

 

lighthouse

Be at peace, my brothers and sisters,

shine your beacon where you roam

Know your power, my bloodkin,

Let love call you home.

Be at peace, my beloved friends,

Bring our spirits passions kept

Be at peace my loved ones

Be at peace with your deepest depths.

Moo-Vee Knight

WP_20150509_087

I wish I were Zuzu’s petals tucked neat within trouser pocket

Or I’d be the photo of Elise and Richard, kept within a locket

I’d sparkle ruby red like the Oz type pair of shoes

Or maybe be the spikey hair of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

I could change my name to Wilson, wouldn’t that be a ball?

Perhaps be a still life in carbon, hanging around on the wall

Oh, to be the infamous sorting hat, four houses I will place

Or to be the heavens of Hollywood, every dream made by a face

What I wouldn’t do to see the world from un-animated eyes

to gain a differed perspective, be unlimited in my disguise

 

A Real Boy

Oak

I want to be a real boy, I don’t want to be a stump

My joints articulating better than my knotty lump

My heart a pumping sap filled core,

with arms outstretched to shelter more

I wait for the carver to create me anew

From my snazzy top hat to my hard wooden shoes.

Direct me, show me, guide life to this oak

Allow me a life, my leaves are all spoke.

Queen in Passing

grave

Solemnity spoke

The night I prayed would never come

has whispered hallowed night

a reclamation of eternal earth

the kiss of chilled winds blight

The hands I loved have now succumbed

The fiery pyre take flesh from sight

a resolution to embrace rebirth

your angelic spirit take flight

Cost of Living

Candle of Hope

How much am I worth to you?

Another theater, another school?

Another place where people gather

Out in public, or doesn’t it matter?

How much can I pay you for

your children’s blood on classroom floors?

How much is the fiance’ worth

if she’s wedding before the baby’s birth?

Tell me, because I don’t want your guns

you can keep them, I’m wanting none.

If you collect or if you hunt

I have no interest in killing your fun.

But any sane person should agree

that these “daily” mass killings are a spree

With romanticized violence the law of the land,

as responsible owners, please take a stand.

Show them what it means to be smart

Give us something, someplace to start

 

I don’t want to be afraid to go to the store

become another pawn in this domestic war

If it happens to one it’s a tragedy

but if it happens to more, a statistic you’ll be

Terrorism doesn’t have the brown skin like we’re told

It’s the murderer’s body count, sin chillingly cold.

These Are My People: Linda Looney

Linda and Mare

A relationship between a mother and daughter

is far more complicated than it oughter

be, with wrecks and disasters no happily ever after

as one struggles to hold on, the other to be free.

But if you ask them, one on one how they feel,

you’ll hear nothing but the true theist spiel

of love and emotion, undying devotion

between mother and child, where nothing is mild

when familial blood runs rivers through reconciled

years washed pure in the hopeful heart referred

“Glad to be of help.” the moniker tenured