Sabbath Rest

An oasis in the wilderness.

She was free
Not in the sense of wealth nor power
But of the mind
She was free
Didn’t have desire to be cast down by chains
No one speaking her name in vain
She was free
Of the world; of the worry
She was free
And that was a beautiful thing for her to finally
Be.

When he came after the Canal,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Island,
We did nothing.
When he came after the minerals,
We did nothing.
When he came after women,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Alliance,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Greenery,
We did nothing.
When he came after the children,
We did nothing.
When he came after the North,
We did nothing.
When he came after Liberty,
We did nothing.
When he came after Freedom,
We did nothing.
When he came after Justice,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Sheep,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Truth,
We did nothing.
When he came after Decency,
We did nothing.
When he comes after YOU,
What will they do?
NOTHING!
NOTHING AT ALL.

Wilderness seasons

There was a time,
Not too long ago,
When I was lost;
No roots, no fruit,
Wandering and shallow.
Further along, I acknowledge,
The riches taught
During that wilderness season:
Plant myself wisely,
And let true wisdom mellow.

Theresa's Quote:**
"To the black hairstylist: Again, I will say that you are a blessing to these women and a blessing to this hair.

Black hair is a heaven-sent gift that helps black women keep their heads held high in public."

I prefer the black wig B1; it suits my complexion and looks convincing.
This is about her internship in Washington, D.C. During her college years, her health fluctuated. She spent two weeks traveling from Maryland to the city, all while searching for a place to park her car.
Before boarding a train to Washington, she majored in political science. Some stories are best left untold, but not this one. It eagerly reveals itself through my poetic sense of humor. Poetry writing is not only about rhythm and rhyme; it can serve as a voice of reason, a therapy session, and a means of soul-searching as our fingers work their magic.
A Black woman’s hair is often viewed as off-limits to outsiders. Her numerous wigs are her crown and glory. Her extensions tightly squeeze her natural hair, which she ignores for the sake of beauty. Even with a low-paying job, she carries herself with grace. Even if it means using the same wig repeatedly, she secures the B1 bob cut with bobby pins.
On that Friday afternoon, her school credits were on her mind. Her career path and every little thing weighed heavily on her thoughts. Even her romantic life took a backseat. As she headed toward her car in the parking lot, she searched for her keys in her bag, thinking of ways to beat the bumper-to-bumper traffic back in Maryland.
As she opened her car door, she noticed a well-dressed man in the adjacent car watching her. He looked attractive, and her instincts kicked in. Was he checking her out or being creepy? She offered him a faint smile.
Just as she was about to get in, her bobbed wig fell to the ground, exposing her messy natural hair. Embarrassed, she quickly picked it up and closed her door, silently asking herself, "What just happened? Why did my wig let me down?"
Second chances seldom come along.

I heard the first joke discovered
Written on an Sumarian tablet
Involve a dog
Well alright
That's an temporal nexus
The doggie's love
Looking up
If that's what it is
Is grist for poetry
That did always exist
The projection of worth
And innocence
And truth
And belonging
The nature of nurture
For them that weren't
Into parenting
The dog by the way
Walks into a pub
And orders a pint
Of something not too rough.

I've been wasting energy in various ways.
Especially in certain thought patterns and internal fights in my mind.