It is Time to Sing the Blues
It is time to sing the blues
She whispered softly to the crowd
She with her eyes lowered to where her heart rest
Like the beige suit jacket hugging the backs of chairs
Chairs supporting the weight of jazz thirsty,
Trumpet eating, bass thumping, drum beating men,
Hungry for the texture of her caramel, brown skin, the tone of her
thighs under those two inches past high
sequined blue dress, Her deep hazeled eyes
blended in with the stage she stood,
back tangled and
bruised with darkened grey hues
her eyes were a mysterious
grin,
reflecting red tints of lights,
Dim,
Wrapped around the notes,
melodious harmonies
trapped within from the
Crown of her head
Right to the nail of her toes
She stands… waiting
It is time to sing the blues
She whispered softly to the crowd
Red velvet hats emancipated themselves
from the tops of the women’s head
They relaxed their spirits
their essence illuminates
her reflecting presence
Welcoming tides of high n pitched heavens
that they too would accept into their
emotional crevices
Her voice illustrated the beauty
Of their broken arts
They are freed from the
Restrictions and inhibitions
To be unseasoned
within their broken start
The chorus line, erupted from her soul
Trumpets blaring quietly, smooth rouges like wine
Every note found refuge in their glasses
they drank
The healing powers of her cries
The trombone emulated her growl
As she neared the ending of her solemn tune
She,
liberating these women and men
It was time to sing their blues

Weathered in Perfection



“Cinderella fairy lies and
Sleeping beauty poppy ****,”
She was never hesitant to ruin
The imagination of a faultless child
She, with four lines nesting above her brow
Brusque words caked upon her cheeks
In which she stored animosity and rage.
Crinkly lines of despair rested somewhere
Near her mouth, where frowns were often found
Screaming at the contentment in a stranger’s soul

She was battered by “death,”
Another name she gave to her husband
Years of porcelain affections
Shattered beyond repair
Her heart was frozen solid
The fluidity of her bitterness
Ran like The Mississippi River

She was pure in her hate for him
Until ten thousand smiles
Erupted from her face
Upon the news of his
Unpredictable death
71 yrs of marriage
Perfected in unhappiness
Would lead to her inevitable
Engagement to life

"Sorgente' " (Spring Waters)


I never knew tears could be so rough
Scratching my chest as if trying
To climb in, next to my heart.
Perhaps they would be more comfortable together,
able to fathom what my mind won’t.
I see the pain clawing on his face-
Engraved
like the tombstone we picked out for him
a couple of days ago.
All it was missing was a date…

Date the waters, watch how time will freeze them over.
Frozen in time, their memory awaits our remembrance.
It was only yesterday that we took a traditional dive
In the glistening, silkened
Waters-kissed the base
of that cold, slippery precipice. But we were gazelles that
early spring. The Impalelies and Witbietou flowers
Met rowdy cheeks and our seasoned grace.
We were Eagles, soaring to gather our prey.
Plop! To the crust of the water’s earth,
we dived uncharacteristically.
Characteristically- I, resurfaced.

You touched the Sun and the Moon that morning.
You called on God and His Son, Jesus Christ.
You said a prayer to Buddha and Indian goddess Indrani.
You kissed the fragrant air of the Jacaranda tree,
and consumed the fate of the Great Julius Caesar.
Makeda and Zulu King Catewayo,
cried in Imhotep’s arms that morning,
Tears beat upon the Djembe drum
Performing Indonesian Gamelan
We chanted the words- spero

Here I sit,
there, next to you
wondering when our eyes will meet
again.
Wondering how long you will play this game
of “who can hold their breath the longest.”
You are winning…I am crying.
My face is stained with your name,
your absent spirit, envelopes this hospital room
but your soul-
your soul will run, jump into the air,
And up there,
This time-
I will catch you.