Posted in life, love, New Work, Poetry, Self-discovery and growth

Identity.

Don’t call me black,

Call me by my name,

call me by my humanity.

“Black” is one of the many colors

found in the crayon box,

the ink of a pen,

the darkness of shadow;

a shade devoid of character or light –

Yet, I am full of light.

Colors are ideals driven by perception,

Color is only surface.

Pigmentation runs deep.

The green of grass and in the leaves of plants

are not surface colors.

When they get wet,

their green doesn’t wash away;

it gets brighter

it is part of them.

Strip the bark from a tree,

it’s still brown

or shades of it

because brown is within its

nature.

My pigment doesn’t wash away or rub off –

my melanin is my crowning glory.

Neither of these are identifiers –

and I’m not simply a color.

Yes, I am melanated,

But…

I am a person, a being,

of presence, of energy,

of spirit.

I am vital, valuable.

I am adequate.

I am wombman, mother,

I am love itself.

I cannot be classified,

I have class, and…

I am a class all my own.

These “identifications” only exist

to isolate me, separate me,

Invalidate me.

Don’t call me black,

Don’t call me brown,

don’t call me by what you see

on my surface.

Don’t you dare…

I’m more than just that,

I’m more than what is visible.

My layers are their own nature,

not validated simply by a color name.

They are a tangle of blood and bone,

muscle and vein,

emotion and thought…

of pain, and of love.

I bleed when I am cut

I cry when I am hurt

or happy.

I sleep when I am tired

I eat when I am hungry.

I drink when I have thirst;

I imagine, I ideate, I innovate.

I have goals and dreams.

I achieve, and I fail.

Am I so different from

any other being of humanity

that my identity

should be systematized by

a single word,

a color, no less,

a hue?

Is that all I am?

To many, maybe.

To those who know me, love me,

They understand there is more to me

than what the eye sees.

Call me by my name,

Acknowledge my identity.

Call me who I am –

Not what you perceive me as.

Posted in life, Poetry, Random

force majeure

High thoughts

higher dreams,

elevation.

The physical plane

can’t clip my wings.

My flower

a gift to life

infinitely expanding, exploring,

floating along

my thought streams.

Nectar, so sweet

rare taste of magic…

Trying to imagine the  whole of life

at its core

bends the mind almost achingly

a brute force majeure:

hurts so good, I can’t think –

only feel;

I see everything –

and want crave

more.

Posted in life, Poetry, Thoughts and Ruminations

Higher Ups

A sage soul once said

When you hit rock bottom,
there’s  nowhere left to go but up
and up.

I always envisioned this as
diving feet first into the ocean;
Maybe the deep end of
a pool –

never fully do I reach the bottom;
Even as gravity tugs
and despite its insistence
I’m already buoying back to the surface…

A question:

Did I ever actually touch the bottom, even a little?

Down’s always a possibility
on this elevator ride
but Up’s often the stronger motivation
when traveling –

Higher I get
higher I go
fiery air balloon of will
Floating, never stopping…

Until ground level
and bottom
are distant clouds
of memory.

10 August  2020
Posted in life, New Work, Poetry

Killswitch

You like to push buttons

detonate triggers,

throw switches.

You like being surrounded by

chaos and confusion;

Volatility –

Your victims never see you coming

because you mask your intent

with pretty words

and intermittent affection

to get  what you  want…

means to ends –

We were only friends

when you had something to gain

from our companionship.

I pulled the killswitch long ago –

I just never initiated its sequences

…until now.

 

17 May 2020
Posted in life, New Work, Poetry

Buzzed Whimsy (Liquor)

In all honesty,
I can’t handle
my liquor –

Even in pure consciousness
as clouded understanding
grows thicker…

There are no meatballs
in these forecasts;
Even substantial chunks of logic
haul themselves up
at half-mast.

Laughter resonates,
fuel for thought pilots
of hopeless bombast.

Free as finality,
so they say,
free at last,
bright as the day.

And I…
Release all
that’s not worthwhile –
even admittedly, I smile
much less ;
anyway, smiles don’t last…


Not in wherewithal.

I do my best
but only because
someone has to heed the(se) lessons
of gratitude, humility –

Ignorance of bliss.

Found my humanity
on predestined crash course –

And…I like my highness
without a horse,

More so than I do
the buzzed whimsy
of lonesome remorse.

Posted in New Work, Poetry

Melt

We never notice

when the ice melts;

And

through feigned annoyance

at the precipitation

on the glass

as the water mellows to meniscus;

Somehow we miss

the naked glory divine

in the simple, prepense cycles

of the life

that

we declare inane

and eventually leave

behind.

Posted in New Work, Poetry, Uncategorized

Evening Out

Evening, Ma’am, Sir.
Evening walks
to nowhere in particular
and everywhere I’m going.

Evening coffee,
evening meal…
Evening matinees awaken the sky,
as sun sets
horizon alight with gold and orange;
rose and wine and blue.

Evening – shadows.
Moon is rising
the wanes of Gibbous
in half…

Evening, crickets –
how melodic your trill.

Evening
is the middle between
[the] time to rest
and trying to be

still.

Posted in New Work, Poetry

Flight School

Clock always ticking
but I can’t catch the
rhythm in its
tempos,

I’m always just a little off.

Hours keep hostages;
Small cells into which are squeezed
essential bits of life.

But I don’t like the constraints;
[To be] ensnared in eternal judgment
by encroachments
of minute captivity
where there are always seconds…

Perpetual measures, calculated waste.

If time binds us,
then how too
can it leave us behind?

Freedom is timeless,
yet, time is priceless.
And still, flight is precious –
liberation.
I’m just learning to fly.

 

 

20 December 2019