Help me design my garden of life
Full of iris, crocus, and lily
With daffodils that shine so bright
Like the sun of the greater deities.

Make me a path that curves around trees
Of stepping stone, wood chip, and moss
Varying in array of colors
Causing one's mind to venture in thought.

Make me a garden so rich in hue
That the sun will fight not to set,
Where merely viewing its beauty
All differences one will forget.

Make me a garden like people of the world,
All different in culture and view,
Contributing to the person I am
Without your prejudicial few.

A garden of only one color, it seems
Would be dull and so very alone.
I want my garden of life to be filled
With every color known.

What were the temples
Of the tribes, Judea
Brothels of slave Shepards
Of child lovers
And Christiandom was it's continuation, post revolt
Back it all goes back to Rome
Further back than that
To Greece
But ultimately the nomads who settled
In the land we call Egypt
These are the freaks
The monsters throughout history
Who eat of their own young and
Lay with them
Who manipulated what were the Pagans
Who continued on slavery, after the
End of its practice.
Cybele & Attis,
The cults that taught
Drugging as a tool
To manipulate behavior
Bend the rules, in their favor
Far off in Europe and since
The civil war, in America
And it was Truman's gang
That hijacked us
They have been hijacking
Various belief and countries,
For as long as there have been them.
We got back control
With some of us Americans getting in
And then they shot that young man
Going through Dallas, Texas
And ever since, it has been
Foreign elements pulling strings
Foul false Americans
Because they made of us
Of our conservative society
One of shame, one of privacy
Where normal people like you and me
Are afraid to speak out for what is right
In the face of ignorance
In the stead of savagery
They blackmailed and extorted our politicians
Right before our very eyes
I tell you, wake up
Be political, and only trust Americans
Including our southern siblings
Common people like us
Who merely wish to live free lives

the dawn rises over the forest,
the dawn promised to wait for us
in the eyes of the eagle the drums smile
and dance
eagles jump up, take turns around the lake,
one round, the second  round ... fourth,
the drums hit the sky,
feathers fall off,
smoothly
are falling, and
are kissing the grass, and
are kissing the earth
when the eagles come down and down
with the beak  are catching the fish
from below waters
the thundering sounds swear the waterfall to be combed by the sun
when drummers smolder all year round
like the star of the night,
smolder like coal extracted from the hearts of ojibwe people

You loved her in the womb,
Until you saw her face,
Then you decided she was an ugly baby,
You loved the story until you saw the person,
Then you decided you don’t believe them,
Because of their Race.
You wanted them teaching your children,
Until you saw their sexuality,
Their appearance their beliefs their eyes.
You loved them until you saw who they love
And how they choose who and how to love,
Then you decided they weren’t worth hearing.

You decided that they Are crazy.
You decided that they belong in a box,
Because we know “how to deal with people like them
How to fix people like them”.
But what you don’t do is listen.
You are so quick to change your opinion,
When you judge with your eyes.

You are so quick to tell call them worthless,
And to say, “YOU’RE FIRED”,
For believing something you didn’t.
You are so quick to ostracize them, to hate them,
To say that something is wrong with them.
Because you judge with your Eyes,
And forgot your heart.

Copyright Ashley Marlow ©

Dear diary;
I have thought a lot
about leaving this all behind
and buying a one-way ticket
to anywhere where no one
knows my name.
I want to forget who I am
and lose myself
in another's culture.
I want to stay until I tire
and do it all again
somewhere else.

That’s the thing about lived realities
They are not expectations
Nor stereotypes about cultures
They are the opposite of common knowledge
How about we document our life and get rid of these misconceptions?

Growing up between
two cultures
too less for some
too much for others
too many expectations
no middle

the first time
our lips met
didn't feel foreign,
it was as if
you were my home
country
and I had only just
entered your land,
then took a taste of the berry tree
which my greatest grandma had grew,
in either ways;
she would be
******.

my Father planted
the seed, yet
I
reaped
The flower.

What kind of
Garden
shall we sow?