Sunday, February 12, 2017

Food for Thought: For Those Hungry or Full

Food for Thought: For Those Hungry or Full

As a child, I spoke as a child until I became woman.
And once upon of time, my tongue could only hold Gerber food, but now
I can season and marinate souls and foods like both of my grandmothers
and mother.
See, apples really do not fall far from trees.
And the trees that harvest good food will not be disremember and
disrespected. As long as we breathe, grow and roll together on blues and greens, the tree
that sprouted this  “Good Apple” will not lack fertilization, water,
air, and the warmth from the sun and Son.

But I realize, every tree has broken and abused branches that do not
recognize nor understand the importance of restoration of the roots,
then or now.

See, help is only permissible to self.
Self-help will teach self-love.
Self-love will teach you how to offer love to others.

Hoping! Yes, hoping that the love distributed within our kinships will
spill over into our friendships just to keep the cycle of loving alive.

But, no!
For many, fear, pain, and a few or a whole past of disappointments in
life will withhold the goodness of some sweet cores from being
properly seeded and soiled out of love for the green goodness, the red
deliciousness, and the gala of the golden.

So, where do we grow from here---because toxic and illegal substances
do not cure the abandoned, the abused, the misused, the depressed or
the disorders improperly or misdiagnosed?

So, where do we grow from here--because miscommunication, anger nursed
in guts, and grudges sleeping between heartbeats are not healthy

So, where do we grow from here?
Because, I know--
I’ve seen---and
I’ve heard that
God only instills a few with the pure, true, green goodness to teach
and reach those seeking purpose.

So, where do we grow from here?
I believe in love.
I believe in unity.
I believe in forgiveness.
I believe in hope
I believe in chances
Chances to make differences.
Chances for spiritual victory.
Chances to make change.
Chances to move even when possibly sitting still.
But, my chances do not tolerate ignorance, stupidity, or foolery
from any tree!

P.S. It is better to break vicious cycles, curse curses, and drown
spells than it is to regenerate them and point fingers.


Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Black Bones + Poetry Between My Thighs + Lily of the Valley

Black Bones

I ain’t worried.
I ain’t afraid.
I ain’t skeptical.
Because I descend from black bones.
& milk did not make my body good.
I can only accredit my melanin for the progress. 

Poetry Between My Thighs

What’s that boom of consciousness in my hips?
As you finish with echoes on your lips.
What’s that unstressed syllable gushing against my limbs?
As you evoke then steepen my soul like a gospel’s hymn
What are those sounds of love dying to scream loose?
That got you dancing for diamonds in my house of oval……….

Lily of the Valley

There is nothing tiny about what I flower. 
I can’t excuse my Godly scents.
From my stem up, strands of robust!
And my roots are not jaded.
They are far from weary
as they hold ties to my heart---
a narrow ladder to heaven.
cover me from the globe of wicked.
Let them not mistake
my maturity for a stillborn
Or misplace it in a bouquet of poison.
Allow me to be the
centerpiece of peace.


Somewhere in America 

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Mr. Pittenger (for Congress)

Mr. Pittenger for Congress

I am not angry because I hate white people.
But I am angry.
I am angry at your blatant racism and
inexcusable comments about blacks.
I am angry that you found freedom in firing gay civilians.
I am angry because the land that was stolen---
my ancestors were enslaved,
raped, and whipped to death on.
While America welcomes you with open arms
and gift you sweet golden privileges
I, a black American,
walk with my brothers and sisters in fear---
trying to unravel the noose from around the neck of equality
and hide our black skin from the bullet wounds of injustice.
I am angry at the abuse, the exploitation
and the humiliation that my people still face
while marching and dying for civil rights.
I am angry at the segregation, the discrimination,
the racism and the hatred that 
breathes in the schools, neighborhoods, businesses,
and even in the system that elected you.
Yes, I am angry because
you hate black people more.


Wednesday, June 15, 2016



Summer flies
then light me up
with memories on Merry-Go-Rounds,
bicycle racing brother and cousins,
skate nights and hopscotch afternoons
kept cool by popsicles and snow cones.
Sharing Bubblicious bubble gum,
Lemonheads and Mary Janes at camp,
Snapping green peas with Auntie Jean on her back porch,
Collecting Cracker Jack and
sucking on  Now and Later with Nana,
Listening to Aunt Sue's stories,
Laughing at Uncle Ron's jokes and him calling me and cousins “Frogs
Eating pears and peaches from grandmother Roxie’s tree,
slicing watermelons with smiles
and picking berries until my palms stain red.

Saturday mornings,
at the library with mother and brother,
smelling through books.
Multi-color nails flipping through Word Up! Magazines,
popping Violin’s strings,
writing words and stories to tell and sell one day,
finding my crush’s hidden love letter,
before my first kiss.
Honeysuckle evenings, family cookouts,
and a deflated heart after father was a no-show.
Sitting still and breathing in scenes
of Poetic Justice and Higher Learning.
Daydreaming that I could borrow their light
at night, to see me through the silent sparks
of my own black, magical wings..........


Saturday, April 30, 2016

"Cul-de-sac" and "Cut-off"

PAD Challenge Day 30

Prompt: Write a dead end poem.


Turning me around again, huh?
Or is it me this time,
not paying attention?

Don’t count the years of knowing them.
Because sometimes-at-times,
Time doesn’t mean anything to anyone.
Even when they began to smell different.
Whipped into shape or out of align---
don’t mind their beauty either.
They can look pretty. Do pretty things. Say pretty things.
Talk of mustard seed. While planting a crooked one with rusty water.
Recollect the times they rooted you in real tight.
Stood by your stem.
Watched over its youth like the Father, the Sun and the Son.
Dared you to branch out, even when only their petals were blooming
and your life’s trembling leaves shook wild.
Don’t tally your exchange of good seeds to their gorgeous pots.
Because that was supposed to be God’s doing.
Reminisce, in your period of evolution,
while you were stretching--
We’re they flowering or arranging dead ends for your soul?


Me and my favorite: Sunflower. Keep your head-up to the sun and Son! Peace! Love! :-)

Thursday, April 28, 2016

"Important to Remember", "Important Letters", "Important As Is" , and "Important Ingredient"

PAD Challenge Day 28

Prompt 28: Take the phrase “Important (blank)”. Replace the blank with a word or phrase, and make the new phrase the title of your poem. 

Important to Remember

The exploitation after
The brainwashing and watery traditions.
The struggles. The progress.
The tears and bloodshed on every street,
day and night, in lines
and on corners for democracy.
The unity before and after:
The Civil Rights. Black Panther. Black Lives Matter movements.
The love and the pride for the people.
The issues then. The issues now.
It ain’t picture perfect, so write ‘em down.
And Remember. Remember. Remember-
black is important and beautiful TOO!

  A mural in Kansas City, MO.  Artist Anon. circa 2015

March on Washington  (MOW) Washington, D.C August 23, 2013

Important Letters

It takes
Motivation and
Patience to
Rough times,
And sweet
To persevere.

Important As Is

If my eyes are not peeking through,
Ears fail to catch a sound, and
my soul is not freed from it.

If my feet are set in stone,
Heart doesn’t entertain a beat,
And my lips are numbed.

If my hands do not fight,
Thrust out for a lift or
Dance along terms to pages.

If it does not remove stars from my mind,
Circle itself around God,
and square itself inside love.

Then it is not as important as is.

Important Ingredient

I know your flavors-
deep down in my soul
like God's tears from the sky.