"shea" poems
She is A Queen
She's something special, similar to a candy coated dream.
The God in her will sooth you soul as if you were Listening To the sound of the rushing river Streams
Her spirit Shines brighter than a car's high Beams.
Her love is sweeter than brown sugar
And Me oh my she is Looker
Her big chestnut sultry eyes reveals the beauty of Her soul inside.
I can just smell the aroma of her Shea butter and coconut fragranced skin as it glows due to her internal flame shinning within.
Cocoa Brown is the color of her melanated Bronze complexion.
Man, her smile drives me wild.
That luminous smile, her glorious smile, is as gorgeous as the clouds when she shows her pearly whites.
It brightens my day like a lamp in the darkness of the night.
And her mind Is a secret treasure That only her King Can discover and uncover the bountiful mountains he'll climb.
She's Artistic and Musically Inclined
And at the drop of a dime shell bust out in A poetic rhyme
And her words, Gosh her blissfully profoundly spoken words, will send chills up your spine
She's My own little personal ray of sunshine
Radiating truth and her words are so kind
She's simply divine
She's a peacemaker staying serene
From the inside out she is a beautiful Human being
She's good for your mental hygiene
Kinda like how your body needs protein.
Royalty is embedded in DNA gene
And her crown is made of lustrous flowing locks shining like oil sheen.
She is Royalty, She's My sister from another Mister, She is an Unshaken, Strong, melanized Beautiful Queen.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
im crying!
now my mothers hands around me
shes talking staight to my heart
and shes always here
hold my hand
my head up high
she can look at all these broken shards and see a glass slipper
shea looking now
for my heart to open to her words
but theres only closed doors here
im sorry
all the pain
and the strain
and the hurt
and the blame
i had to lock it all away
before my mind began to fray
but she wipes it all away
along with my tears
boy,and i glad to have you here
With all these closed doors
Your the only one to check the locks
Well theyre all loose and free
Shes the only one to see
These broken parts of me
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.
Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.
I'm of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.
2.6k
Turn the lights on,
so you can see my body
shimmering,
glazed by the honey shea cocoa butter.
Like a crystal reflecting the vanilla notes of the sweet somethings floating off of your tongue.
I come to you, eyes focused on yours.
You mean so much to me,
enough for me to expose my body.
Look at me,
Tell me, what do you see...
I don't usually crave milk chocolate,
the warm and hypnotic taste,
pouring down my throat,
into my spirit.
I can't help it right now,
Because you have my hips in your grip,
Rocking and falling,
swinging and calling
baby
baby
I feel intoxicated in this honey shea cocoa butter.
I bite my lip,
and I reach in for a kiss
slipping,
sliding,
my mouth and yours,
reaching for each other,
to get closer
Caressing your body,
with my fingers,
writing love tones with my features
Trailing your art with my words,
writing them all with my tongue,
down
down
down
you're looking at me,
but not with just your eyes
exposed,
Your body's staring back at me too
shimmering with the honey shea cocoa butter
I didn't use to be this way
At least not with anyone else
But then you touched my soul
So Let me touch yours too
Shamed by my body for so long,
scars,
marks,
a healing broken heart.
Walls built by the past,
I didn't think I'd meet a soul that could get through the last
But you're a surprise
Looking at me
A hot chocolate serenity,
Love bites,
******* on your skin,
let me in
I want to touch your soul too
Let's make love, like a love poem can do
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 12:44 PM UTC
*It's optional
Like the fading of skies
Early, wild, or remorseful.
All the impalpable space in the lights
Scaled in weighty gilt and curls
The locks and gold of sun,
early as it sets on a moiety of moor grey
Brushed by shadows of agonised poplars
on a spiral land of sheer pistachio blanket.
Muffled by lyres played from the trumpets of
convolvuluses, behind spears of the brain-
an imagery commence to carouse
into planet deep.
A promenade atop the tulle of skies,
an optional way to live.
Saunter and fall onto slopes, shudder, meditate
and hit a bee coffin pebble on the temple
Where there are options to live, to bleed.
Like the lurid sunrise sifting on
yellow-green nuts, and dandruffs combed
like granulated sugar
Oh the taste of chemistry
on the shea butter candles.
It's sanguine and optional,
your farewells on laden calendars of poems
A promenade- back into sea of spears and flames
A cadaver veined in pink,
bearing plethora of methanol
down pulverising bone.*
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
August 4th, 1992
That night
My heart began beating
To the rhythm of
Two words
Samantha Shea
My baby girl
She was 9 pound 6 ounces
Of pure love and joy
Her mother’s eyes
My ears
But her smile
Was all her own
She seemed almost wise
Just staring blankly back
At me
Like she knew me
Better than I knew myself
I have never loved anyone
So much
I tried to give her all I could
Make her feel like a real princess
Make her feel safe
And loved
She grew up with things
Her mother and I
Only dreamed of as children
But she was never selfish
Never unkind
I never knew
How much she hated herself
Until I noticed that her arms
Made her look like war veteran
And her eyes
Like those of a ghost
A lost soul wandering around
Lost and Suffering
Could it be that hard
To be a teenage girl
Could it be that hard
To have everything
Handed to you
Everyone love you
That night I saw her as
Nothing but selfish and unkind
I mean how could she do this to us
To herself
I looked her in the eyes and asked
Why
With a single tear running down her face
Resembling a winter’s first snowflake
Or a desert’s first raindrop
She let out the words
“I wasn’t meant for this world”
No you were meant for me
You are my world
I wanted to wipe her tears
And heal her scars
Her years of fear and self-loathing
Was no match for my love
My compassion
My understanding
I spent the next two weeks
Helpless, lost, and confused
By the time we had found her
The bath water was as cold as my heart
The floor stained with drops of
Complete sadness
No note
I cried until I was
Red in my face and
Blue in my heart
A parent should never
Have to bury their child
So we had her cremated
We figured that
She spent 16 years
Stuck in her own box
She shouldn’t have to be
Buried in one
I’ve never loved anyone
So much
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Dear Seb,
My infatuation with you did not impress.
Dear Josh,
We were 5000 feet above sea level, with a fear of heights.
Desperation fuelled the climb.
Dear Dave,
You were my first love.
You chew me up and refuse to spit me out.
Dear Dan,
I am sorry.
Dear Alex,
You should be sorry.
Black and purple did not suit my skin.
Dear Shea,
We tried too hard.
We lived in too many shadows.
Dear Dave,
I cannot get you out of my bones.
You squat beneath my ribcage.
Dear Craig,
You gave me disillusion with meaningful words.
I tried to love you.
Dear Joe,
You are breathtaking and the everything of everything.
And I do not know how to be enough.
Dear Keith,
Why did we do it?
Dear Theo,
I would have broken that softness in your eyes.
Dear Dave,
Your indelible imprint colours everything I do.
Dear Cameron,
You are my what's next.
Dear Joe,
You stroked my hand and my hair to wake me.
You are afraid of me.
Dear Dave,
I still remember every word.
Every one.
Dear Lucas,
In my head we had infinity.
Dear Matthew,
I was a vacuum in your life.
Together we were less than nothing.
Dear Joe,
You are the birds singing at dawn.
Why do you want me?
Dear Dave,
I still remember.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
A handcream made with shea butter,
A record collection all-a-stutter,
Fancy watches, ermine fur,
“Cold blooded luxury”
Strawberry liqueur.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
The doctor ... says... I have a serious issue...
He say it's life threatening you guys
...
I don't know what I'm gonna do...
All this research
This inaccurate treatment
Being high to distract my lows
Not really knowing what to suppose
He gave me a date...
He claims it's an estimate, but if I keep feeling like this; this could be it.
He sends me home each visit, telling me that this is rare, but common
It happens, but don't normally conclude in such trauma
His coat, or stethoscope doesn't always mean that he has the antidote
...
As for the symptoms:
•The dry skin,
She used to help apply the Shea Butter
•My hair all over my head,
It was funny when she brushed my hair, she didn't know what she was doing
•Long nails,
She HATED that
•Morning breath the entire day
I would chase her all over the house trying to give her a kiss
•chill bumps •shivers •teeth chattering
We used to cuddle to stay warm, so we didn't use the furnace
•starvation •no appetite
She cooked 5-7 times throughout the week
•restless
I could not fall asleep until she got in from work
•angry •outburst • complaining
She always said "ahhh shut up and get over it punk"
•Listening to the talk radio station LIPZ 102.5 to be exact
I gave her my undivided attention
•heartache
I loved her
That's why it's difficult for Dr. Carmichael to prescribe me medicine
How am I suppose to treat this?
There's no special enough specialist
No surgeon so precise
Not even the smartest scientist,
divinest pastor, or
The most thoughtful psychiatrist that can save my life...
I'm doomed
All I do is sit on the couch in the house that will soon be a tomb
...
My hope is fading
My pulse has feinted
My arms are folded
My back is *****
Back and forth
My rock is steady
... My soul is light
And my eyes is heavy
I'm taking the departure hard
...
Love can be deadly
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
I found it today
as I sifted through my malice
mix this liquid called intent
rub it deep into the callous
Came across the finish square
so long ago, I felt the flame
rolled the dice once more but backwards
I couldn’t quit the game
I found it today
as descriptions beg for air
I nailed it to the stilling floor
convinced one day I’d care
Came across the final need
’twas years ago I saw the fear
rolled the dice once more but backwards
love couldn’t interfere
I found it today
as the moment shrieked delight
in the mists of intermediance
shroud the horror of my plight
Came across the mirrored quest
centuries of bleeding feet
rolled the dice once more forever
I couldn’t find a seat
~Shea
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
Sunshine makes her skin glow,
Like honeydew dripping from it’s blossom.
The stars can not compare to her everlasting beauty.
Strength and power, love and wisdom,
All shimmer out into the world.
She walks with grace, like a cool smooth breeze of the wind.
Her smile radiates in the room.
Her voice as soft as a lullaby.
The soft chocolate ruby brown eyes,
The soft luminous honey blonde hair blows in the wind
Smelling of a sheen cocoa and shea butter.
~Brianna Springs 11/13/19
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
Lets address whats evident
In this room There's an Elephant.
Why do you see us as being irrelevant.
Just because our skin was kissed with melanin
Mixed in with the protien of Keratin
They slapped us with a label of being African American.
Yet we are descendants from one of the 12 tribes of Israel: Juah, Ephraim, Manasseh, Naphtali, Levi, Asher, Issachar, Gad, Zebulun, Reuben, Simeon, and Benjamin
We were taught to be Nurturing and feminine
Because we were raised to be young ladies, due to our body producing high levels of estrogen.
We are sweet like sugar but can be spicy like cinnamon.
We have an Aroma of shea butter, coconut, and honey
We are enlighten with wisdom, so we are far from a dummy.
We cant be bought be bought with your worldly money.
Even on a dark day you would think its sunny
Because our souls are so divine
that it's reflection from the inside will brighten the world like the The moon in the midnight's sky that shines.
We are Unashamed.
We can not be tamed
Inside us lies a firery passionate buring flame.
We have a Hebrew name.
We are not the same,
We are individually different and one of a kind.
We have a beautiful mind.
We are fruitful like ripen Grapes growing ravashingly on the branches from vine.
We age like fine wine.
We are not to be treated as devalued change such as quarters, pennies, nickles and dimes.
Our voices are delightfullly sweet just as the peaceful sound of musical wind chimes.
We tell stories through our dancing, words, paintings, songs, poems, verses, rhythms and rhymes.
We dont need makeup to cover up a blemish
Its just a sign that we have flaws and God's not finished.
The power of Yah flows from us graciously.
For Our beauty comes naturally.
Our souls are birth from the heavenly.
We speak Pleasantly.
Some have a complexion of Maghony.
But My skin tone is Vanilla bean
I get high off life like caffeine
I glisten like afro sheen.
I am a Hebrew Queen.
Thru the untrained eye my future cant be seen
The Most High is listening,
Shaping, and our futures he's creating.
We Seek Yahwehs face for insight
Going through a transformation to get our souls right.
Taking a journey to new heights.
We are stand out like highlights
Shining in the world of darkness like flashlights.
And Yeshua Hamashiach has our copyrights
We say it out Loud
We are Hebrew and We are proud!
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
You slipped
your wedding ring away
from the tip of your finger.
Your skin glowing
beneath the soft
light of the candles
I had treasure-mapped
around the bathtub.
You left
your dress on the floor
in a pool of paisley and whimpered
as the water of jasmine
and shea ballooned your inner
thighs into a deep
coral.
I touched
your pale shoulder, ripened
with freckles and held it
like I was stopping a finch
from flying away. You
sharpened beneath my hand;
your *******
the hairs on your arms.
It was a relief until
I couldn't decide whether it was happiness
or fear.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
INTO THE INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE INELUCTABLE VISUALITY
Leopold Bloom
tousles my hair.
Tells me I'm a
"...grand little fella altogether!"
His large black eyebrows
look as if they will leap
off his face and land on mine
chew my mind.
Of course he is
only Milo O'Shea.
Actor extraordinaire
from Strick's ULYSSES.
Some concert in the girl's gym
has mad him appear here
before me
quaking in fear.
He is the first man I see
in a tux.
Our class is to recite
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS.
Was I not nervous?
Jaysus I was so I was!
The spotlight a Medusa
turning us to stone.
An audience a many
headed monster.
I...I...I
petrified.
I throw my voice
out into the dark
like throwing a mad dog
a bone.
"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky."
Guy beside me starts to cry
wee running down his left knee.
Now it's over and I
am returned to myself again.
Meeting Mr. Milo
is just a happenstance.
Later he will will become
Durand Durand
trying to **** Barbarella
with sheer pleasure.
Now, Zeffirelli's kind friar
in ROMEO AND JULIET.
But for me
he always blossoms
into Bloom
tousling my many many curls.
"A wink of his eye and
a toss his head.
soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread."
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC
The beat of his heart has become one with my palm
As we drift under brunette silk that wisps upon elevated ivory skin
He traces the freckles on mine as I gaze at constellations
Whispered giggles from our strategic tickles
We make love even when we are separate
Our chests glow from our radiation
Reciprocating kisses on lips of shea
His earth toned eyes stare second guesses away
Titled
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
There is a quilt on the bed in Shea's room,
Pink, red, blue, green, and violet,
Lace and stripes and polka dots,
White pillowcases with crisp corners.
There are books on the shelves, different genres,
Stuffed in sideways and upways and frontways,
old fantasy, thrillers, adventure,
Smudged ink in their yellowed margins.
There are papers on the desk by the wall,
Poems and Post-its and signatures,
Cardstock cut into star-shapes
Journal entries and unfinished sentences.
The closet is empty in Shea's room
Cobwebs and dead ladybugs lie still
A lamp has a cord around its middle
No breeze stirs the air; the curtains are closed.
There should be music in Shea's room.
There are songbooks, yes, but no hum of the heater
No branch scrapes the window outside
When a storm comes, the raindrops fall without rhythm
No longer are things made in Shea's room.
The colors are faded in Shea's room.
They say that there's something in Shea's room
Memories and fragments and pleasant dreams
They say stories came alive and still linger
Seeping through the cracks of the wooden floorboards
Horses graze in green pastures in Shea's room.
But I know what's really in Shea's room.
There's a year's worth of dust coating Shea's room
Not a thing has been touched for months
There's no Shea to be seen in Shea's room
Since she headed for the hills and never came back
There's no life and no soul in Shea's room
Shea's room is an abalone shell
The inner shine scrubbed away by disuse
Only shadows survive in Shea's room.
There is nothing alive in Shea's room.
Just an empty closet
And books
And Post-Its
And ladybugs
And remnants
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
The In-Between
Miles of dust and sun
40 needful years of turning on a bitter lathe
Yet only my children will know why
and will their children's children remember?
will any legacy be left written upon hills of sand?
will there be no wind, no moon, no fear?
No
Well…
Maybe
In a way I am begotten of those stiff-necked nomads
In a way, my feet still burn and suffer the lessons learned
But I have my own desert stretching my toes
But I have seen a promised land filled with giants
and I have sided with the ten
and I have labeled the two - nutbrained
But slow your fear shea… slow your darting eyes and consider…
I live
I don't have to but I live
I live now
At least for now… but
For what?
Must I live for something?
I might live for nothing important
but that is not the same as nothing
and important is a thing to consider
while this wind carries pain into your face
But I do not lie down
to let dunes shift over me
For this fact if none other
I perceive a reason
A something
More even - a Presence
Concepts in the human mind are like these flowing hills - changing
I have not pushed
this far
for the sake of a concept
I know I have not because - becuase - it is not even in my power to do so
you are looking at a turtle on a fencepost - do the math
So return behind the How
Let the weight of the What
and the wonder of the Where
Conclude
with the obvious Why
There is only one
and it is a Who
So tell me while my ears are open
Play Solomon for my blistered and bewildered heart
must I chase wind
or worse… turn heel and flee the wind
all the way back to Egypt
Can these ashes in my mouth be
swallowed or spit
while I yet live - yet journey
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
Just after dusk I walked in,
I catch your eyes first,
Warm just from that look,
Genuinely unrehearsed.
If it were only your eyes, your eyes,
That made my soul sing,
If it were only your voice,
your voice,
That inspires all that I bring.
It’s your mind, I find,
Sharp, unshaken, shared,
Unbridled, unmatched, understanding,
Fair.
Fallen, of course,
perfect you’re not.
But it’s passion and patience
And purpose I sought.
You take my hand,
Your eyes have never left mine,
You whisper, “You’re beautiful,”
“Beauty defined.”
My reality has become
More precious than dreams,
And my weaknesses remain,
But you love those, it seems.
And I love yours, how strange…
How beaten paths can direct
And the stars can arrange,
Have a greater effect.
And the planets align,
And the traffic speeds by,
And the people they chatter,
And the frustrated sigh.
But our affection’s steadfast,
In the midst of this room,
In the midst of this life and
Universe, I assume.
My hand covers yours,
The one on my cheek,
I close my eyes and lean in,
no need to speak.
They flutter open, there you are,
Still staring, studying my face,
And the swelling feeling follows knowing
You’re in the right place.
I turn my head, kiss your palm,
Hum the tune
Of our favorite song.
Nestle closer
In your arms.
Feel your heart,
Hear your breath,
The most calming sound
My ears have met.
And the world stands still,
Just like my mom said it would.
And it melts away,
Everything’s as it should.
And somewhere far, far away,
I understand it can’t last,
The Earth’s eager to toss its seas,
The people, hungry to go fast.
But we’re tethered together,
No matter how far apart,
by the strength of our heads
and the work of our hearts.
I’m in the moment,
I choose to remain.
I choose to love,
I choose to change.
-Shea Golden
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
my voice is a window
that opens to my throat leading
behind my rubber band lungs
and into my humming, drumming,
beanbag heart
my voice is excitable
ringing out into my space
struggling to embrace the eardrums of my companions
and be heard for truth
my voice is a shapeshifter
that wants to make you laugh with it
not at it
and will go great lengths to
elicit that sound from the depths of you
my voice will step on your toes
and then apologize profusely
because my voice wants to be known
but also wants to know you back
my voice will hold your hand in the dark
cushion your heavy thoughts like a pillow
and sooth your worries like shea butter
on a cracked left palm
my voice is loud
like and 8 year old on a playground
explaining the rules of tag
to their rowdy best friends
my voice will make music with you
it will hesitate and it will overcompensate
but if you catch it on a note that isn't self aware
my voice will harmonize
my voice is mine
and it lives just outside of me
in the open
where I am no longer just electric thoughts
but where I am sounding
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
Aye! Foreign Eye; tooth for a truth! you gnome eyne sane? Troot I owe ewe nah, youths dunno, you fin nah Noll. *** eye us fin nah per se, foe Theo Theo, ewe know O you no, enter ups shun, wot in the hex dies... jest say? Dis' awe beast anaconda sate shun bout Intrusion. O Why? O Why? O Eye, ice bins scratch in at Maya -Maya, day yum eye, forests rail lea bane it she laid lea. Wear Aye, yum Aye, yum Ah! Yea, *** eyes us sane, isis slow ands dims sum. Bess beefs be indy, indy, India, India, Far test fum yore deaf viand as understanding! O My! you oft de deep and of diem, diem... dim niche holes. couldst I ask I such without such plea? Pulleys! Pull East! Scaly wax inner interim oh, honor too, ides doe no, disease?
Lo! Land ** Too old geese sirs seize dearth closure mead wits mine ***** eye; and Naughty Wit Stan Ding disown. Yet fervor from mine arenose ol' hail home, I hath ne'er be -admit I to I; and plead to thee, wizened dis' Beseecher's breeching beach! Shea jest dis' a-greased wit who sow error to dew sew... ***** nil eat.
And therefore store my old hat lore, as I cast in twos that sea... Aye! thee, Foreign Eye! Truth for a truth, if truth it be, truth tell I, true to thee do I e'er be nah; e'er be I, true to thee from noun on; in air go, did jest *** you ditz dun to me, but now a blind eye a-see a freed bird!
- I caste you one lass time in due thus see. Cuss you beast an false eye, my you still dunce see, still blind you be, be dissin' in my sir name an airy way, and mode in air gone come.. a-seaward.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
The phone rings. It's you.
'' turn on the news'' you say.
I hang up and turn the TV on, smiling.
I see a photograph of a very beautiful girl smiling at the camera. *** It's you. Baby!!!!! Your pic is on TV. You're on TV.
I get my phone and dial your number. And the voice from TV thunders....
''A dead body of 22 years old white female identified as Diane O'Shea was found beaten and ***** at the parking lot this morning. According to coroner's record........''
I heave a sigh deep with mouth wide open.......
You just called me....
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 5:39 AM UTC
Amara is sleeping.
She's dreaming.
Not dreams of her future,
But of her many pasts.
She's dreaming of a time
Before time mattered so much.
Days before roles.
Before acts.
Before stories.
Vignettes of time before
Captains, kings, or allegiances.
When loyalties owed only to friends
In the shape of paws
And Stars Sent from the stars.
And then from the stars,
A star fell
And a second past emerged from the rubble.
Shea, Lilacs, and Azure Mist.
She dreams of when she ran away.
Away from this past.
The first.
But not the last.
Amara's dreaming of her fresh start.
A third past.
The promises,
The oaths,
The rules that came with,
The mistakes she wouldn't make,
And the slips she would not repeat.
Then allegiance arose.
Fealty to Duty, Honor, and Glory
.But no stranger to human weakness,
It ended in broken promises,
Tarnished honor,
And a second flight.
She fled from pain
But found neither comfor
tNor relief.
And she forgot long ago
Why she ran a second time,
To spend an Era alone.
Then her demons came.
A fourth, and uncertain life.
When the Hero in Black
Cast them out.
But the Hero could not banish them forever.
Too soon to be spared,
The Child of Dark Hair
Followed.
Amara is dreaming
Of when she swore
Never returning.
Promised herself freedom.
And explored the world of the demons.
Twice she made the promise.
And twice she broke it.
Now she is awake.
The sole survivor of her visions.
She is cold
To know only she is left
To remember the dreams.
She fell from the stars.
She ran from the mist.
She broke the promise.
And in many ways,
She killed the Hero in Black.
Only she remains
To remember the colors
Of her four pasts
Within eleven dreams.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
By: C edric McClester
Where or when shall I begin
With this explanation
Black boys look like men
Or should it suffice for me to say
A black man of 51 passed for 20 that day
The perpetrators mentioned
On the police radio call
Were both in the their twenties
And both were tall
Now lets look at the facts in this case
So as not to proceed with undue haste
His stepfather was tall but Clifford was short
I guess killing some people is still an in sport
Now to hear officer Shea tell it
Young Clifford was armed
And he was in fear of ****** harm
So the police searched
Both day and night
But no gun was ever found
On that site
Yet Shea said he fired
In self-defense
I guess from his perspective
It made perfect sense
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
First Steps
by Michael R. Burch
for Caitlin Shea Murphy
To her a year is like infinity,
each day—an adventure never-ending.
She has no concept of time,
but already has begun the climb—
from childhood to womanhood recklessly ascending.
I would caution her, "No! Wait!
There will be time enough another day . . .
time to learn the Truth
and to slowly shed your youth,
but for now, sweet child, go carefully on your way! . . ."
But her time is not a time for cautious words,
nor a time for measured, careful understanding.
She is just certain
that, by grabbing the curtain,
in a moment she will finally be standing!
Little does she know that her first few steps
will hurtle her on her way
through childhood to adolescence,
and then, finally, pubescence . . .
while, just as swiftly, I’ll be going gray!
Keywords/Tags: child, childhood, adolescence, pubescence, growing up, first steps, walking, running, aging
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 12:57 PM UTC
I kept on telling him
that my lips were made
of pillows as if he
couldn't feel them
with his charcoal tips
as his lips broke across
my shea skin. We are
globs of jojoba oil
set above a fire.
We melt. Together.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC