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I am older
No longer strangled by
blinded naivete
with a smudge
of silly
embracing the white
invasion
in every crevice
of my body
I am a glacier
receding into
the extinction of Me
Now that I am closer
to the fervent void
I will savor
this child free air
a crone and a mystery
to thee
I'd rather be me
than you
in this skin
there are no apologies
just small anxieties
that come with
a purpose
to move me into
the center of my being
unafraid
to be happy in these bones
and free to be me
After it all
I’ll be sitting by
The cello moon
Under a sprinkle
Of stars
I’ll be steady waxing the tides
And waning your cries
Licking ambrosian tears of
Salt and honey
from your cheeks
We could be
gravity in the living flesh
you and me
the sun a bitter remedy
We are all mending
taking turns being gods
I am city no doubt
love the safe haven
of instability
and fast-moving cars
no room for death
There was a time
I was connected to the bracken
to the brooks and the wide open
fields filled with flowers
from the pages of yore
Nature spoke to me
the forest whisperer
I was in an enchanted land
created by me
I took refuge there
youth shielding me
from apathetic eyes
at the lonely black
girl talking to the sky.
~
Strange how
my feet won't touch
the ground.
Strange how
my bags are packed
with sadness.

Plight is
my fellow passenger
to Osaka sun,
or Artic chill,
or some volcanic
love nest.

Strange how
my jet-setting eyes,
they see paradise only
on satellite tv,
yet they see the once
beautiful people
and all their utter dismay,
as they pass through
the metal detectors.

So strange
that I can hear
their strife
their suffering
well above
the engine's roar.

~
 Jan 2022 Seranaea Jones
Khoisan
Then at noon
where I am one
equinoxed
my sun found me
a Icarus.
I want to grow
As fast as my cat
I wanna be big already
How can I do that?

It’s ok to be young
Don’t worry it will come
You will grow fast enough
My child my little one

But I’m too small
Kids make fun
The tree over my shadows
Covering me from the sun

You will grow soon my dear
You will sprout quickly
In another year
No need to fear

Sigh. I guess you are right
You were young once too
Seeing pictures with grandma
I wish I knew the small you

You know me now
I’m telling you child
I’m still that little person
Deep down inside

You know how I feel?
Yes my child, I do
How do you know for sure?
Because I was once you, then I grew
Our parents were once children too
 Jan 2022 Seranaea Jones
Traveler
Extremism
is a condition
of an over active
existentialism

I imagine we’re all
an ism of some type
or sort
With that in common
we’re all cohorts!

Poeticism
has a hold on me..
Speaking in rhyme
Set a soul free..

When one takes sides
in an ism
the imitations
becomes a schism
Perhaps my philosophy
is lost in intuitionism!
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