Saturday, October 11, 2014

October 11, 2014 The Sunday Whirl/Little Ladies Keep Your Head Down -- Work Hard -- Don't Ask For a Raise -- and Beautiful Young Black Men

Little Ladies Keep Your Head Down—Work Hard—Don’t Ask For a Raise


dig deep                                                                      what’s on your mind

Halloween is                                                              the next holiday
goose bumps on my flesh

on the news                                             equal pay called a gimmick
                                                                                          by the GOP

                                    mostly fat white guys in suits

perhaps the idea of equal pay                                           a hypnotizing tease

head of microsoft                                                    while speaking to a women’s conference

                                                      let Karma give women a raise

uniform response                                                                     not good

he is supposed to be the guy                                           with the brains

________________________________________________________________


Beautiful Young Black Men

what do they have to look forward to                            no jobs                    nowhere to go

                                    do not pass GO
                                                                                                            go straight to jail

hang on the                                             street
                                                                                      play pool

Sell a little                     get by                                       drink liquor           
                                                                                                           

no where to go                                                                           stick a needle in the flesh

your son and mine                               ring a chicken by the neck

it’s a part of the machine                                     close the schools
                                                                                          build prisons

            we real cool                                                                Gwendolyn Brooks tells us

we got brains                but no trains

it is torture                                            to be born                   beautiful young and black

                                                                           we die soon





October 11, 2014





Note:  Yes, I think women and minorities are tired of this old song.  









Friday, October 10, 2014

October 10, 2014 Real Gardens With Imaginary Toads/ Autumn Afternoon


Autumn Afternoon

                                                             sun shines
                                                                                    golden leaves around my feet

the weather has changed                                        i feel the chill

one kick                                                                      they are in the air
                                    falling....falling.....everywhere

snuggle into my sweater                              pull it close

with my heart in my hand                                       i step into the deep end

don’t know where to start                                       all night long

                                    i look for you...call your name

still think you belong to me                                     are my own

wander through the                                     emptiness

like the leaves of gold                                               beneath                                 my

 feet

my heart has lost it’s bright green color                is dried and crinkled

your memories remain                                             a part of me

my heart and yours’                                                 are one

on this autumn afternoon

                                               
October 10, 2014




                                   




Saturday, September 27, 2014

September 27, 2014 The Sunday Whirl/That Deeper Place/ deVerse

That Deeper Place
Tussey-Mussey, pocket full of poseies
Ashes ashes we all fall down
Sticks and stones will break your bones
Love’s last breath will break your heart

Neruda says it begins with the ‘word’
But I think it begins in a deeper place
A place we imagine
Real or not...
A place where feelings begin
...fear...joy...sadness...
And love...

When we speak of the heart
I do not think we mean the organ
That beats in our chest
But instead that same place I am talking about
Where we can love selflessly
A place that houses ‘the heart and the soul’
The deepest part of our being
Where the dross is burned away
By the flames of love
From where feelings bubble up
To become the truth of who we are
Our identity...what is real

And you were real
You never changed who you were
In the beginning of your absence
I examined everything
And wondered...did I do all I could
Did you know how precious you were to me
And each time the answer came back
Like an echo
I loved you from that deepest place
My heart and my soul informed
My every deed and action


September 27, 2014


 Note:  I wrote this poem with my niece, Michele in mind.  It is her birthday, and about the same time my Son, Jim died, her Father, Charles died.  I am dedicating this poem to her.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

August 20, 2014 The Sunday Whirl/A Life of Stone--Poetry Pantry

A Life of Stone
What is it to live
To be alive
Expression searching
Sailing oceans
In great sailing ships
Keeping time as we all grow old
And turn to stone

In the desert
Where the world is made of sand
There once was a great sea
One night when all were sleeping
The ocean dried to a lovely yellow
Leaving behind all the creatures
Over time they turned to stone
Their words captured with them
You can find them sleeping now

An old miner dressed as a pirate
With a peg leg
A patch over one eye
(A different eye each day
He could never remember)
Who had spent many years at sea
Crossed himself and told of a sea creature
He had found at the bottom of his mine

He had a heart of gold
And his words were true
He kept that sea creature made of stone
In his breast pocket
Near his heart
To remember for all times
Where he had been
Where he was going

...And you

August  20, 2014






Not Just A Cup

  Not Just a Cup       Southern born Not a tea drinker Always coffee For me   Although I often find  Bitter taste Of the dark brew A bit muc...