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South City Lady Jan 2021
I blush even now,
our earliest memory, a sleek song slipped
about my mind as we drove along
the Emerald coastline staring through
sunset's liquid blaze,
our strange magic stirring embers
I thought were distant, faded
from my heart, warm pigments
suspended in ultramarine air-
how you painted my eyes
in burnt umber, my lips
with cadmium red
as I awakened
from the sea's silk
your earth and fire
South City Lady Sep 2020
when silence breeds discontent
and critics ensnare your feet
in a morass of minutiae
amplify your truth

when gossip makes
a mischief of reality
stand your ground
command all energy
toward positivity

never relent because
others seek to mold you
in their stale likeness
never submit to quietude
when you are gifted
a poetic voice

It's your obligation
to subjugate negation
and contort vexation
into your own narration
toward personal salvation
Your thoughts, your creation
only your fingers, the translation

Never submit to false authority
lies, malice do not signify you
hold your head high
Look to the stars
and dream in words
again
HP is a safe haven for poetry and creative expression, and we have a responsibility to protect this hallowed ground as a place to think, share, and dream. This poem is my pledge to remain true to our mission as poets. Never let others' opinions falsely define you.  Dare to be authentically, unapologetically yourself.
South City Lady Sep 2020
A high school graduate
posed a question on YouTube
         What is school for?

After 25 plus years
of instructing,
I'll provide
a heartfelt answer.

School, for me, is
an opportunity
to share a passion for listening,
reading, opening minds,
      developing souls,
teaching students to share
their feelings,  
    debate opposing views,
challenge what they already knew.

I detest state tests,
and I'm worried
about the coronavirus,
but I step through my school's doors
each morning donning a mask,
and I teach
     for the love of my students,
     for the pride in my subject,
     for the hope of our future.

I teach because if I don't,
will someone listen to their hearts,
and pre-pandemic, who will bring
extra food to share after class,
dress up  as a cheerleader
at pep rallies and homecoming week,
coach cross country, sponsor
Friday afternoon writing clubs
for students who need
an outlet for their creative voices?

You see, there ARE many of us
out here who truly care
and want to teach
students life skills
and a way to cope.

Be careful when you ask,
"What goes on in my high school?"
Stop in and observe first-
I am proud of my heritage
as a second generation educator,
and I'm grateful for the students
who have taught me as much
as I've taught them.

Teachers model empathy
      and understanding,
the ability to time manage
     with school, sports,
                 and part-time jobs.
They remind us that we need
to think
and feel
and care
for each other.

Come to my school;
     walk through our doors,
and then tell me -

             What is school for?
My son shared this video with me. I was stunned. We need our schools and teachers as part of our communities. They teach us to care and can help us heal during this time.
South City Lady Feb 2021
I imagine . . .

a room draped
in muted lighting
the scene of a recent
gathering,      now departed,
nostalgia clings
to a hazy Chardonnay glass
stained by cinnamon-tinted
lips, one sip remains;
                              I indulge

across the room,
      conversation erupts
into liberated laughter,
echoing spirits    l o o s e n e d
in moonlit tongues
beneath a winding staircase;
my shadow caresses
the wooden banister,
              eaves
                     dropping  

by floor-length windows,
majestic fingers cloak
a bohemian blush
as ardent eyes lean in
without inhibition; my lips
burn from their amorous
        exchange

then haunting notes
drift upon midnight air,
the room blurs,
disintegrating into
shimmering confetti,
      spilling down
              back steps
that sting an untamed night
with distant memories,
bewitched in peonies,
fragranced by a piano's
final resonant
key
South City Lady Dec 2020
each note unrehearsed,
unrecorded, a chance
to breathe the interplay
of music in exchange
for words, violin strings
delicately rearrange
my heart's melody,
such irresistible beauty
to be held in love's downy
blessings abundantly fall
softly, majestically
as midnight snow
feeling every flake
coating these thoughts,
breaking open, alighting,
silver angel frost upon
the undressed earth
A cold night bleeds the heart into the surrender of a new day.
South City Lady Jan 2021
frost bitten, burdened
with a rucksack of sorrows,
we unravel doubts casting them
far below . . .
the darkened riverbed  
channeling heartbreak
through an embouchure
of song, harmonic breath
of winter's solstice, lilting promise
tilted toward warmer seasons
hope's amulet inscribed
with goldenrod
and swallow's melody
May the days of winter's darkened footsteps lead us toward a new year where sunlight beckons in unfiltered joy.
South City Lady Sep 2020
lying in bed
the day cradled by darkness
drifting back through wisps
of who I'd been at thirty
baby suckling my *******
workday weary and money starved
yet proud of a life carved out
in fruit trees and a hammock
swaying beneath pines

such a long streaked memory
I crawl upon hands and knees
through the portal to now
recognizing that every blessing,
every tear stained disappointment
all the years of wiping down
studying, providing, enduring
have proffered this moment
an opportunity
       to step beyond
   the mind's confinement

to risk safety for beauty
anxiety for understanding
   to become again
a child of wonder
sculpting her future
in the clay of stars
South City Lady Sep 2020
we sat after class tracing scratches
through six months of static
stinging and hacking
from so much phlegm
trapped in our vocal chords

as I wrote
their bravery bled through
my dry silence,
an overpowering heat
strengthened my resolve
to speak through crippled lips
bloated from too many withheld words

I closed my eyes, felt their calm
soothing my hands
folding them into a fingered steeple
where now we bow our heads
retreating from today's tension
into the solitude of curved symbols
a hieroglyph for hearts

to recreate
          that which was once broken
to foster reconnection from distance
to peel back layers of feeling
and arrange our secrets
         as poetic scripture
My Friday writing club group met for the first time after school today. Although the students and I wore masks, we wrote together and rekindled our special connection. We all left feeling like we had experienced a therapy session. :))

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