My inspiration;
I dream of a nation
where the implantation
of dreams ceases all death-
to hungry slaves, those crying
babes, on mommy's sunburnt
knobbly thighs. And in divine truth lies
an interrupted sigh by the girl with wide eyes
who sits in a room in which Big Brother ensues...
These words spoken by scholars who want my golden
dollars, my earned debt, my love and respect, how do we go on?
How do I prove wrong to those bodies standing higher preaching to a
double bladed choir...ready to make words.
but what?

I’m exhausted
Drained by superficialities
That mark a women’s worth.
Pondering questions asked
By those who fear to answer
Because they know the truth.
Ridiculed by baring gifts from God,
A slanted nose or fumbled hands.
Exhaustion are those who embrace;
Embrace scared sanctions from
Others who demonize their faults;
Faults-a rare gift from Mother Nature herself.
That is our testimonial kiss

You’re in my life again
The candle couldn’t burn
The fire must not lose its flame
No rain in a week, fitting my mood.
No wandering men stick their thumbs
In the road. No more plants die
Now lush sprigs, herbs, and buds bloom
On this beaten path we are so secretly walking;
Eyes closed, hands clasped, hearts steady-
We’ve done this three times before
And more ahead. Straight or
Curvy, up and down.
The lantern will never go out
Not even when it rains.

Goodnight dear friends who found a new…
And drink to old times we rehash when we’re back
And drive with convertible tops down and halter tops too.
So that when we pass Christian Hill, and Katrina’s Aunt Jane’s house
We shriek so loud the elementary school librarian turns on the lights
Of the 19th century  green high roofed home, with that neat front porch
Where the last family decorated the wicker swing
Goodnight my high school where fondness lurks and relationships rest.
Never will we go back, as much as you like that.
And these are the things, the forgotten things, I dread.
As you like it, I shall dread it.

Thank you for embellishments, and why the earth in round, and why old men snore during sleep, why the fox betrayed the hound, thank you for musicals, they prance around my soul, dough rises in an oven, humans don’t drink from bowls, thank you for analogies, and why my cats tongue scratches, why do A students love ******, why the pig never hatches, thank you for your torment, thank you for your sins, thank you for your joy, thanks for all the gin. Human kind speaks its mind even if there’s a risk. Human kind is so blind, but it’s how we get our bliss.

Truth is art. You hold its brush in your hands. The canvas dripping with colorful bonds; it’s complicated lines and depth, takes a particular person to see. Expressive intention, your soul speaks its mind. The beauty you keep in the hands of your heart, takes a certain person to perfect its art.

Behold a glance at mother earth, you’re a witness to her fall.
A tortuous act of uncertainty a rage against all those who step
Upon her slovenly ground. A lash of ardent air that’s tears
Her golden limbs down.

As soda pop bottles reel through her grass
As a fawn come to inspect its newest injury
The top do the bottle rolls onto the damp ground
For she has been crying, a blustery song.

Her waterfall carries a small tangled duckling
Wrapped in an armor of fisherman’s wire.
She weeps some more wishing to stop the river.
As children stamp on the pedals of her waters reeds.

A cloud of beastly darkness overlooks a city
And her children cough to keep safe
From this monstrous beast.
She tries to cover their ears with a howl cry
To tell them to stop, or else she will die.

One petal stands on a daisy’s bud,
Her last child picks it away…let it float
Through the air to mothers hand…a reminder of home
When sons and daughters cared.

I don’t know who I want to be
Picking and choose constantly
Among a chain of eyes
And a cupboard of noses
And legs wrapped in plastic.
I get to decide, because it’s my body
Because it’s my life.
So, I’ll slice of my old nose
In exchange for new woes
And I’ll pity the face staring at me
I’ll remember I got my soul
But once I sold that too.
Now there is seldom to do
But sit around and peer out of
Unrecognizing eyes.
Wishing to be one of those
Who has their own mind