Why do I want to see them all
from twenty years ago?
Although we do not write or call,
why do I want to see them all?
To throw some kind of midlife Ball?
To re-live what? I just don’t know.
Why do I want to see them all
from twenty years ago?
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NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 23
Miracle Planet,
what have we done?
Allowed our own god Greed
to hold your Future,
which must be
our Future, hostage.
And now Greed’s
power has grown.
This god has corrupted
Justice, Industry, and Governance.
And we sit, paralyzed
by Greed’s minion Guilt.
She drives our hand
to make offerings,
obeisance, offer fealty
to the servants of Greed.
But what if we reminded
Guilt that she is none
but Anger turned inward?
Instead of paralysis,
Anger could push us to
act, to resist, to vision,
to change.
What if we withdrew
our offerings to Guilt
to Greed, and to Destruction?
What if we found
new gods to worship?
What if our Future
was released
from bondage,
wounds healed?
What wonders
could she weave
on this Miracle Planet?
And do we have
the courage
to set her free?
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NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 22
1.You will walk farther in comfortable shoes.
2. Your beliefs will take you half way to your destiny.
3. You will eat pie at least five more times.
4. Your children will be your friends.
5. Your hosting prowess will help save the world.
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NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 21
I
I can
I can be
I can be alive.
—————————————————————————————–
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 20
I am walking to work,
electric orange trench
over muted grey shift dress
and sneaker clad feet.
This is my urban-American
professional woman
uniform over brown skin.
On the radio this morning:
“Police pursuing suspects
in Boston Marathon Bombing.”
I pray as I walk,
Cherry blossoms
hanging fattly
in the branches above,
“Let them not be Muslims.”
Passing by the crossing guard,
lime green raingear catches my eye,
and the sound of a woman’s voice
talking shrilly behind me
hooks my ear like a helpless fish.
“Chechnyan? That’s Islamic right?
They are all the same people right?
And what are we going to do about it?”
Inside my body, my heart is yanked
from my chest, and beats wildly
flailing around, recognizing
that danger is near.
My mind races ahead.
“Is she alone? Am I safe?
Should I say something?
What should I say?
Would it help? ”
I imagine myself
turning to her and saying,
“You are making me afraid.”
I turn. She is on the phone.
We exchange glances. I turn back.
My sneakered feet quicken
to match my heart.
A Black woman in hijab
passes me in the other
direction, her children
close to her skirt.
They are beautiful.
An aging white couple
walking their two dogs
nods warmly at me.
A White newspaper man
hawking his wares
lifts peace into the sky
crying, “It’s a beautiful day
in Philadelphia.”
I try to take comfort
in these things.
These human beings
holding me in the light.
But the fish, once
released from the hook,
still bleeds in the water.
And the uniform
does not hide
the brown skin.
__________________________________________________
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 19
Today is a day when there’s nothing to say
nothing to write, nothing to bray
nothing to vent and nothing to moan
nothing cry out, nothing to groan
nothing to laugh about
nothing to figure out
nothing to show
nothing to grow
nothing to say
today.
—————————————————–
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 18
We are the face that glows with memory and prescience.
Our eyes hold galaxies and the moistened soil after a summer rain.
Our hair finds the tempo of your heart and matches it.
Our feet reach down into the earth’s core and burn.
Our legs rise like columns bracing the temple of our torso.
Our torso swells and recedes like the tides.
And when you meet us, our soul reaches out
to yours and says, “We welcome you, be at peace.”
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NaPoWriMo 2013; Day 17
Duck feet, square hands.
Jelly roll around the waist.
Board butt on thunder thighs
looks as though she dressed in haste
Pocked face, apple-shaped
lips too thin to pencil in
bulbous nose, lopsided ears
one hair growing on my chin
Once long hair now falling out
dyed to hide the graying crew
knees that sound like breaking twigs
Feeling older than I knew.
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NaPoWriMo 2014: Day 16
Not sure what to say.
Tears well unbidden.
What Darkness compels the heart:
“Destroy”.
————————————————————
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 15
She breathed him in
each cell expanded
Lord Krishna awakened
right toe nail, twitching
cheek. He was all.
They hated. She belonged to
family not this statue of another
house’s god. She was theirs to
parade, abuse, subsume.
She should be punished.
Her unsuspecting lips
touched cold steel cup
and liquid death
eagerly approached her
Now molecules
moved, unlocked, mutated
reassembled. Poison became
wine. “SHE IS MINE.”
Divine intervention indeed.
Gift basket appears at her
doorstep. Delighted, she moves
to open lid. Inside, writhing sea
of deadly asps await. Her finger
feels, soft flicker of tongue?
No, soft petals entwined with
thread, garlands, jasmine scent
wafting into nostrils calling forth
the sweet ambrosia scent of her lord.
The sharp point of persecution pushes
her out onto the unending road.
With her vena, her voice, her passion
she wandered the world and hundreds
followed to hear her weave stories
of love for one unreachable, untouchable
yet so utterly, totally hers. Lord Krishna.
Meera bai Godlover, Divine Poetess
freed from the rites of dharma
to pursue the truth of Krishna
Today she sings through the mouths
of thousands a thousand
years from her last breath.
This is the true miracle,
this is the only way to
cheat death.
She lives.
american incarnations 