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 Jun 2022 Seranaea Jones
SCHEDAR
Pretty shimmer blues
your sensual current
and teasing light
dance across a hypnotic
sea of streaming circles
putting me under
and over and under
again
celebrity TV interviews
preening for the screen
they leave me hollow
but what am I expecting?
authenticity?
ha! rare if not impossible
as the camera shouts at the soul.

audacious introspection
from one who thinks he is enlightened
in a special way
blissfully unaware of the grip
of ego.

i say this aware
and repentant
of my pride.
How can I tell someone like you
That I need you?  You expect me
To lie, to say I'll be all right.
I never could avoid the truth;
You say it's easy, with practice.
Soon enough it's second nature.

I should be kissing your shoulders
 Jun 2022 Seranaea Jones
Khoisan
Mid- Summers, nightmare
brushing teeth with a scalpel
closer encounters.
Dreams and nightmares
are natural and supernatural ><
 Jun 2022 Seranaea Jones
SCHEDAR
repulsed
by the sound
of repeated
negativity,
her ears begin
to bleed
Yesterday I worked,
deliberately moved about
doing the chores of the house
how did I generate that joy inside?
It was as if I were a walking wire
charged with electricity
motivated
moved by my recall of her
washing clothes, cooking,
all the while her body in pain.
Her love inspired mine.
The surging power of Love.
Rejoice: to feel joy again.
What a delight!
Being retired, my work is more humble, less noticeable, but more joyful.
to label it absurd
does not deny
the pleasure of the nerves
that lie in wait
of overflowing presence
pushing words aside
for better witnesses
I like wakes.
Seeing her body
revealed her latter-day unsettled life
and her female beauty.
It was a final goodbye to this woman
whom we had not seen in decades.

But the wonder of that gathering
was the friends of a previous season,
the smiles, hugs, and  laughter,
together recalling memories seared -
some by pain and others by joy.
Meeting husbands, wives, and children
of people we had last seen in their youth
in just a moment told the sum
of their maturing.

Praying together,
hearing the minister lead the rituals
with humility and gentleness,
reminding us of her life and love,
brought healing
of hurts long heaped up with the church.

This gathering of souls
mystically bound -
in an instant -
pierced layers of scars
wiped away
with the balm of forgiveness,
waking our spirits.

Maybe that is why it is called
a wake.
Last night we were gifted with the wake of Linda Gail Fehmel, the daughter of an old and dear friend, who died at age 40 from a tragic inherited illness as well as other factors. I’ve had the good fortune of participating in numerous wakes, but this one was special and soul-lifting for me.
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