Queen for a Day

Such a trampoline of sandy, ill begotten, virtues, bounce up to greet my gritty feet.

And, it is a long road to greet…the others!

The others…like me.

So…I trade mountains for the buttery aroma of all the half shells along north beach.

Not trans.

Not bi.

Just scantily clad friends in need of retreat.

There is no need to beware of differences…between pride or right or wrong.

The Queens and bears and otters who came before me allow for no spite.

Within the dunes, no titles, labels or names.

As the sun also sets…we are all the same.

Pretend, Friend

Do they got a 57 Chevy in the yard?

Do they remember 8 tracks?

Do they say their Hail Mary’s?

Do they fear their environment?

Have they heard of sit-ins’ and Negros to the back?

Have they seen the needle in the spoon?

Stranger, stranger, where have you been?

Should I trust you?

What are the sacraments?

Will we both, continue to pretend,                             friend?

My Jaundiced Sin

My jaundiced from seasoned sin.

imageedit_5_2761080462Could I pull the tattered paper down?

A hound dog, a dove of peace and a quail hustled by.

And, all I could do had been relieving my grief with a sigh.

An influx of vigils there in one self-determined space.

With a stretched out, battled scared, hand.

Pigment a bit red, more brown than white.

Black has been my favorite color…but something I know I would never fully understand.

imageedit_102_4742592811Slipping on mounded snow…a not gracious slip.

Just inches from the ground…strange but not a stranger…a friendly grip.

Another vigilante grounding my sorrows with a lift up.

I need not understand the gesture…no longer had the stranger been so strange.

Homegrown Sunday

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Unwittingly, what have I done…

With every quiet song not sung.
With every lucrative thought.
With every step I walk along and not, among.
Mindlessly, what have I done.
 ⇔
These days not for treading moderately.
A some Sunday, today.
Even now, as I walk,
Sunday’s wistful streets,
it is not myself that I greet.
 ⇔
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With an outlook of flora and fauna.
There is no frenzy.
No need for rivalry.
A recluse traveler.
Worshiping wanderer.
 ⇔
Not an apple, nor a buck.
I am an indigenous woman.
Cherokee on bent knee.
In the middle,
only breed.
Pawning my blood to meet my needs.
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In contrast, I walk between…
hallowed ground and…
vetted towns.
 ⇔
There is no sabbath in this,
the new frenzied silence.
Only falsehoods with an affiliation of dictating violence.

“Whether we walk among our people or alone among the hills, happiness in life's walking depends on how we feel about others in our hearts.” Anasazi- 7 Paths
“Whether we walk among our people or alone among the hills, happiness in life’s walking depends on how we feel about others in our hearts.”
Anasazi- 7 Paths

Ignorant…like me!

ignorant 1
The ‘honesty’ level that people are will to commit to…is the difference between closed doors and open minds!

To yearn for goodness, should be part and parcel of human nature.  Instinctually, it should be something…tangible from the get go!

If we glance around, looking up, around, and, instead of, down…constantly: most every living thing around us, is basically good.  And, if not?  If some part of their behavior seems unethical, unrealistic, it is this way for pure survival!

Humans, persons-not-so-kind, for centuries have attempted to make nature come to us.  Pushing the boulder up hill, repeating the same event over and over and over, again!   From events past and present, if viewed in honesty (and, let us be honest, no one is honest anymore) and with a step back, it is obvious and just a matter of physics, that the big bad ball of stone…will keep on rollin’ back down upon us.

In other simpler terms, instead of taming the tiger by grabbing it’s tail, putting it under a microscope and manipulating it’s survival tactics…does not work.  Most anything that absorbs air, other than the human and it’s condition, will be genuinely good…because it is only natural!

Black like Me, had been a wonderful book, placed in my hands by a lovely, drunk, English professor of mine.  Right after he told me-

“…the world does not make sense!  It is up to the writer to make that truth more bearable..even if that is in an ‘unrealistic’ manner!”

In 1959,  John Griffin, took it upon himself to…

indulge in a radical step: he decided to undergo medical treatment to change the color of his skin and temporarily become a black man.

Obviously, John had been in deep support of displaying the injustices pushed on the minority of the day, the African American male!

What he found in America’s heartland, is the difference between indifference to hate, and out and out, unpardonable hate.

I cannot stress how important this book was many decades ago.  I wish I had the words to accentuate and portray…how history does repeat itself.  In particular, if we are unwilling to listen to it’s messages.

 

“For so long as we condone injustice by a small but powerful group, we condone the destruction of all social stability, all real peace, all trust in man’s good intentions toward his fellow man.”

“Nothing can describe the withering horror of this. You feel lost, sick at heart before such unmasked hatred, not so much because it threatens you as because it shows humans in such an inhuman light. You see a kind of insanity, something so obscene the very obscenity of it (rather than its threat) terrifies you. It was so new I could not take my eyes from the man’s face. I felt like saying: “What in God’s name are you doing to yourself?”
John Howard Griffin, Black Like Me

black-like-me-john-howard-griffin

 

 

the Cracker and Lucifer

Grant me to know …

false illusions of the twin.

To being, the twin…

that twin that crawls beneath

the skin.

That twin…

that will not go away.

There are no angels in a sideway…

glance.

No, significant to the others.

Know good

beyond the distant attic.

To put the evil,

mistakenly uncovered,

back.

This is me, you are talking to

No matter where your secrets LIE.

You will always have to…

look me in the

I!

You will always have to…

look me in the

eye.

ignorant 3

 

I am hobbling into the woods with two persistent thoughts…

This is not the Wonderful World that Louis Armstrong sung of…

…How do I know you cannot fight anger with anger?  Because, once upon a time, I lived in that anger…