Sonnet I

When first the light of day sets still
send last its breath to meet the sky
and colors dance and lovers thrill
to render not their mornings ‘bye;
When stars set their course unbidden
in heaven’s drape of darkened silk;
wishes float at last unhidden;
to flight and fury, bloom and wilt.
Then to so shadows crawl long and sweet
touch first cold hand upon my breast;
and I stand in silence; old fears to meet
ghosts of past woes, now hold transfixed.
But should I breathe; eyes close to open souls well
I find your face and break night’s spell

{{Author Note: This was inspired by John Donne 1572 – 1631, whose poem Death Be Not Proud – sent shivers down my spine and further inspired me to write!  The one I did, called Sonnet I, is one of my Grandmother’s favorites.}}

Call of Frost

Frost calls to me like a comforting bed
to lay my head in the softness of his words
and imagine a world sometime from now
when I too took a road in the woods.
My heart bent
my heart swayed
I could not take the one others made
instead I saw the woods themselves,
trod a path through them.
And where Frost gently tread on
less fallen leaf
I took no other path
save the one of my own feet.

Perhaps and however
When days are old
warm and sullen
I’ll take to wondering
should my life have differed,
as Frost waned in latter days,
had I not traversed on a course
unlikely
would my life had been as brilliant or
as live-ly?
Alas, neither of us will tell
we are were we are
no fortune to inlighten
as all roads lead to and
away from somewhere
never to tread in a moment
again the path we didn’t take
when the path we took
has now been.

So, I sigh, as the chill of winter
moves to spring
I know more roads will
meet with me.
and when the wood
or rock or glen does lift its
beautiful countenance  and call
When wind dances
and soft rain
dares to breathe on
dew strewn grass and
rivers steam
I will step from convention
conversation and dougt
and let my heart
go where Nature
leads.

For that, as Frost says,
will make all the difference.

::speak peace and tread on::

Spray Paint Me

My color is blu but
spray paint me
please
to a hue
more acceptable and
easy to read.
Let me be green
or purple
or maybe an orange sun-setted sea,
anything
so you will love
the color of me.
Because it seems the color of blu
gets in the way of the
internal color consortium
creating a mess of
crayonic proportion!

::sighs::

I really believe
I am a mixture of grand design
a mix of chartreuse
and peppermint wine,
of melony glass,
a touch of silver and gray,
maybe even a bit of fushia-mixed with
marmalade
a dash of pink
with an oranger flav
but the outside
reflects only
cianic days

so
my solution
to my colors
unfortunate blu
is
spray paint me
please
to an acceptable hue
then maybe
we
can spray paint
the world too.

Taste the Rainbow – thoughts on a shooting

In the minds of many there are only two
there is no shade
no definition of hue
white to be hated
black to be hated
…. no rainbow
no brilliant red
no shade of blu
no confident green
or boldly orange and yellow
there are no exceptions
only rule.
I get all the anger
I myself am enraged
ENRAGED…. at the suffering
of innocence and the
blood spilled every day.
but blaming an other
won’t find justice this day.
Evil is done
it exists in every shade, shape
and shadow
and the irony is
Good can wear
a similar face.
so… how do we tell
when there is evil about?
I can tell you what it is not…

It’s not a bag of skittles
it is not the hat, hood or hair
its not the jeans, the shirt
or the shoes that they wear
no height, not the weight
not the shadow or shade…
No
it is the gun in the hands
of men who wield only fear
and unfortunately for us all
they come in every shade
just as the skittles that fell to the ground
and silenced you that day.

:: May we remember this and fight injustices for all people of all color, all creed, all age, all gender… who we are is not the fabric God sewed us in, nor the place the Divine placed us on this earth, but the character we have while we are here – may we remind people who wield only fear that we will not scummed to their vision of the world but that we will stand together to fight atrocities wherever they may be::

Not Standing

((Work in Progress))

It is not ok
To seethe at injustices hand
but turn and slap me,
who is standing with you.

It is not ok
to scream at institutions
and turn and punch me,
who is standing WITH you.

It is not ok
to rail at inequalities
then turn around and assail me,
who is STANDING WITH you.

standing.
with.
you.

because one day, you will turn to attack and I won’t be standing…

Warrior Wordsmiths

Warrior Wordsmiths:

Wielding words without waste,
wanting we wait while witnesses withdraw and weaknesses
wither… we… werche, wex and wander, waging war with wonton wonderlusted wayward warlords of wrecked worship.

We Warrior Wordsmiths!

Pain, on an intellectual level

I am experiencing pain, on an intellectual level

all this heart ache from regress

and distress

fool situations

has given rise to a depression

and negotiated

my hearts demise.

Am I the only one who

has figured it out

who sits in disbelief

at the words

we all shout?

News on one station or

another calls the opposite its enemy

Blames all the hate in the world

on one single presidency

and fails to accept any

ANY responsibility

Color and gender

are thrown out the window

because opposites

are surely the problem…

right?

I mean if your black your…

if your white your…

if your a woman your….

if your gay, straight, tall, or short…your

…what?

wrong?

your life is worth

less

because God made you

different? and really?

is that the excuse?

the reasoning for all this

abusive behavior?

What are we teaching

the younger

generations?

What lessons can they impart

from the way we

deal with each

each other

from person to nation

I can tell you in part…

we have children dying

at the hands of those to keep us safe

running to survive

under intense situations

with red or blue

or some cryptic

new gang marketing team

selling their brand of deliverance

at the cost of their soul

We have churchs hating

the ones they should love

and the love that we share

just isn’t enough

One gets blamed for the end of the world

while bullies take note

and help end the life of a boy

or girl just getting ready to fly

instead we visit funerals

because they were made

to feel life was a lie…

….I really am experiencing pain,

because this could all go away

or at least be easier to handle

if we just stopped

for a minute…

stopped

for a minute……

stopped.

WAKE UP!

Wake up world are you listening

there is a crisis of mental proportion

enslaving visions of difference

into deviations

of darkness

when in reality all we are

is each other’s favored keeper

meant to lift each other up

and  keep away

the reaper.

we have two hands

so we can lend one

so why don’t we?

Wake up worl are you listening?…

((workign draft… still working))

Escape-ism

The need to escape,
is a fire building at the
base of skull and reaching
to the movement of my feet
it is a reason
creating its own season
of relentless storms
in the wake
quake
and lunging backwards
I have been sensing
lately…
and I just
want
to run…

Because surely
I can leave the me
behind always
siding with the need
in me to remain
inside
and cope
to be the woman
I know I should be
instead:

Skydiving maddly
through the world
of my own visions
to places I have yet
to visit
and absorbing the thrill
of life
in the quickening breath
of the outside
air.

Madness

Trinket trinket thimble and lop, scratch to the center, climb to the top. Hide the red beats, and memorize the stop, mimic the dancers, and repeat what you ought. While the ocean is rising, keep dancing for naught. Laugh when you should, cry if you must, but keep scratching for center and climbing to top.  If you can make it, the landscape is fine – the movement is future and the love there divine…

BUT if you slide down, and slide down you will… repeat again and copy the reel…  repeat: Trinket trinket thimble and lop, scratch to the center, and climb to the top.

Recipe Blu

My mixture is a solution of sedimentary homegrown to historical transplant. My reflection is reflective but I am soulfully deepand my life is a testament to the tenacity of my soulfeetmoving in the direction of wanting to be free – from elementary fists, blood soaked carpets andbroken lamps almost every other thursday to missed carried underage grieving after the fact from lack of fight back to the progression of spit rising up and out to become a word smith hammering out intention on the anvil of my mind. get that! :: K.A.P.O.W. ::