Nonet Poem/Hour 12

My brain creaks like an old rusted wheel
On a red Radio flyer
Spewing out nonsensical
Poetry, my muse left
Over an hour
Ago, thrashing,
Fighting for
One more

Prompt 11/Hour 11

Blocked by the skyscraper
A sunset spreads its waning light
upon periwinkle clouds
as the heartbeat of the city slows

Picture Prompt 10/Hour 10

Is it
a forest fire flickering flames of blue
the hottest fire searching for air
flames licking skyward, carried up and away on the wind
black smoke covering its presence as it
stalks the darkness?
Or is it
water flowing upward from the sea floor
waves moving to the ocean’s surface
mysterious bioluminescent bacteria showing the way
in this sea of black?
Or is it
a dark, dark wood
the trees covered by the night’s shadow
their trunks, illuminated by blue moonlight
surrounded by the dancing of fireflies
looking for love?

This too Shall Pass/Prompt 9

My ancestors
leaned on faith
Carried it in their bones
Believed with their whole hearts
they turned the other cheek
when massa beat them down with the bullwhip
when police beat them in the street
or shot them or locked them up

My ancestors endured
the sale of their children, husbands, wives
the deaths of their sons, brothers, fathers
the rapes of their daughters, sisters, mothers
Holding their faces toward the sky
they prayed, they cried, they fell to their knees
Believing, believing, always believing
This too shall pass

The pain will pass
The tears will cease
We can bear the weight of our suffering

My ancestors
whose blood flowed down the rivers
or was sucked up by the soils of Oklahoma, Mississippi
whose bodies swung from the trees,
in Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama
a strange fruit, faces distorted in agony or deathly defiance
dressed in Spanish moss, and yet

My ancestors
never lost their faith
Believed in the story of Job
believed God would not, could not
put more on their backs, in their hearts
than they could handle
They believed as blacks today still believe
This too shall pass

Alone–Hour 8

Alone was once a thing I used to fear
It was a thing I hated
was a place I’d rather not
Now I savor those moments
Those days when I am
Days where I am free to think
Free from the crowding of
Others’ energy, others’ demands, others’ thoughts
I find solace when I’m
A space where I’m allowed to just

Books-A love poem/Hour 7

Books were my friend
when I was a little girl
They taught me things
and kept my loneliness at bay
Books never bullied me
nor did they call me names
Books never said I didn’t belong
or I was too young to play
Instead, they held my hands and
took me to lands so far away
They shared with me their secrets
and made me laugh as well
They showed me the world was scary
but I was safe with them
They spoke to me of tragedy
but said hope still lives
They taught me different customs,
cultures and histories galore
When I was with Books
I could never say I was bored
This is my ode to Books
my friend that stayed true
That soothes me when I’m feeling frazzled
And grounds me when I’m sad
To this day I can’t imagine
my life without Books

Music Prompt/Hour 6

Vibrant and melodic
A pleasure to hear
A song bursting with color
Pastel pink, blue and lavender
the music, a voice
speaking eloquently
carries me away
on a wave of melody
The rhythm to much
to write a poem to
But good enough to hear
while cleaning up a room
Vibrant and melodic
it flows like the sea
an ocean of sounds
a pleasant experience for me

Sunrise–Hour 5

She peeks out
Gently pushing back the cover of darkness
She rises, slowly
singing the night its favorite lullaby
She coaxes night to fall asleep
The time is hers
Her time is now
Suddenly she breaks forward
with full strength
The clouds are ablaze with orange flame
And she rises
And rises
And rises

America’s Past (Critical Race Theory)/Hour 4

America’s past haunts its legacy
A legacy of democracy
A legacy of liberty, justice, freedom for all men
A legacy of creating a nation from nothing
The legacy and the lie of the American dream
CRT seeks to tell the truth
To break through the glass of lies
To raise the mirror and show America its true self
A truth hidden underneath packed and padded stories
histories denying colonialism and genocide
A past built on slavery and white supremacy
An untruthful past strutted like peacock feathers
Spread far and wide, for all to see
Our nation’s leaders are not ready to come to terms
Not ready to offer reconciliation for its past discretions
They prefer to keep things secret, to hide their heads in the sand
to not ruffle feathers, to let things LIE
They’d rather die than breathe in the truth
They’d rather toot stories of the theory being racist
It would cause Americans to hate their nation
But to love is to love all of it
The good, the bad, the beauty and the ugliness
You can’t just love the parts you like, those parts that glorify YOU
America’s past wants to be told
It wants to be scrutinized and reckoned with
America wants us to love all of her
Doesn’t she deserve it?

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