The Poetry Marathon

Celebration of Life

I was taught to mourn and grieve.

Birthed into the physical world, with a goal of transitioning back into consciousness is frown upon.

I was taught the gates of heaven would not be open to me.

Released into the purest from of energy as the dirt is thrown into a shallow grave.

I was taught to feel helpless and defeated.

Transcended into light and divine connection to the next life.

I was taught separation of the spirit and body do not exist.

I learned the loss in the physical is a gained ancestor.

I learned to feel the presence of spirit through meditation.

I learned the scared place beyond the waters await me.

I learned to transition is to transcend into the duality of life and death.

My Mother’s Roots

My Mother’s Roots can be found in her boots.

I remember her Black and Brown boots before the change.

Her shirts were always tucked into her skin tight jeans held in place by numerous belt colors.

I imagined her Black boots allowed her to navigate between worlds, the distant past, or the anticipated future.

My mother controlled depression and anxiety until she was consumed by the present.

Her Brown boots were more subtle and playful.

She was grounded into the Earth, feeling deeply in a multidimensional space.

My Mother’s Roots can be found in her boots.

Hi everyone, I believe this is my third half marathon! I am looking forward to reading the poetry from everyone this year because we have all experienced some level of impact due to changes in the world around us. I believe poetry is a powerful outcry from humanity.

I look forward to participating in this outcry!

Seeds were planted deep beneath the surface.

Created to produce the bitter with sweet.

Flourishing while nourishing our bodies from the heat.

Sometimes its strange fruit was wonderful and unique.

But the blackness in their eyes would not let it be.

Dollars were created to systemize the poor from the wealthy.

Paper used to produce a new pair of shoes or remind us of the cost of food.

Sometimes its strange fruit was impactful and full of greed.

The blackness in their eyes became blind and numb

to what our president has become.

Prophets and gods were idolized to determine the value of human worth.

Manifesting a life and immortalizing a death all in the same breath.

Sometimes its strange fruit was full of awe and fear.

The blackness in their eyes kept the truth hidden for thousands of years.

Holding space as women of color to share, love, and support one another.

Watching our children laugh, create and play.

What more can I say?

It’s a vibe with colorful currents in our airway.

A melody only my sisters can play.

Men of color your vulnerability is at an all-time high.

A refreshingly pleasant reason to just smile.

Watching you grow, embrace, and shine.

Say it one more time.

This world is mine.

It’s a vibe full of unity and truth.

I finally see you in all your blackness.

The beauty it holds and the passion it invokes.

Brilliance enters as you step in the room as the energy moves.

It’s a vibe a rhythm worth more than diamonds and gold.

The greatness recognized in self.

Aware of our connections and the power in our reflections.

I see you paying homage to our ancestors.

In response to Langston Hughes “Harlem”

Strange enough I find myself thinking of you.

Sitting here reminiscing about our forgotten fruit.

The hopes and dreams we had in hopes of a life together.

Predicting we could withstand any storm together.

I take your hands into mine to feel your energy.

Moments I imagine that never happen.

In reality, you are there and I am here.

Missing the link to a chain, wondering what will remain?

How do I ease the loneliness only you can fill?

Words spoken but no longer heard, a touch no longer felt, and a presence no longer seen.

Am I now a memory of a forgotten dream?

I feel depleted in this dedication to a deferred dream.

Response to earlier poem “Homecoming”

The land you know, even when you are lost can return you to a final destination called home.
The road searching for a hard and deep plot of land to lay your weary bones.
The faces gather to watch in awe the last moments of your physical presence upon the earth.

The air no longer felt or taken in to replenish your body.
The seasons will shift from one extreme to the next.
As you lay in internal rest, exempt from fear, pain, and shame.

The water in the distance moves peacefully as the waves begin to replicate notes of an old gospel hymn.
The clouds accumulate into a dark and peculiar pattern above the church.
The scent of loved one’s flowers laid at the end of your feet.
The somber energy of a homegoing as the pallbearers enter the room.

Dear Fire Within,

You only seem to activate when my buttons

are pressed and a rage resurfaces from deep within.

It is when you appear, I feel the people-pleasing subside.

The need to run and hide.

There is a power you possess that I need to obtain instead of contain.

You make this life less mundane.

When the burning starts and flames erupt.

I fight to control the outcome of your wrath.

When I really should take a moment and laugh.

Fire within, you and I could become great friends.

There are days I need to see through your lens.

Your instinct to right a wrong.

The raw emotion you release awakens the beast I long to see.

Fire within, stay silent no more.

Speak even if your flame trembles

to tear down this façade of galore.

The last time it rained my heart was perplexed.

As drops land on the windshield,

Your words flood my mind with regret.

I should have left.

Instead, I replied, “let’s give this another try.”

Merely to stay by your side.

A downpour of mixed emotions.

Listening to the erratic behaviors your mind would play.

Imaging the relief and excitement to no longer be attached

to the imbalance in your world.

To stay captive under the umbrella you held onto faithfully was just too much.

You love hard but is it enough?

Stepping into the storm, allowing the drops of water to replenish my soul.

Trusting the rain to bring clarity in the midst of life’s woes.