Ritual For Happiness (Prompt #12)

Moon above me so high,
Hear me speak, hear me cry!
The Universe shares it glory!
And I seek a happier story.

A canopy of flowers in my head,
As I softly lie in my bed,
I see myself at a peaceful lake
A longing to reveal, a life to make!

Spare me pain and loss…
Wash my feet in cleansing moss.
Manifest my deepest yearning!
And keep my mind always learning.

Talking To The Spirits

IMG_2390Yes, I talk to the dead…
Well, they talk to me!
Since I was a child;
As far as I can recall.
I talked to a 6-year-old;
She said she drowned.
I was 9-years-old…

I made her mother cry.
She said, I gave her hope.
I didn’t know how.
And even before,
When Uncle Pete went to heaven.
I saw him standing near,
Looking fine.
I wondered why, at age 7;
People kiss a big wood box.
Uncle Pete was supposed to be inside.
When I was older,
Seeing them…
Hearing them…
Scared me.
I don’t know why.
I talked to them before.
As an adult,
I was urged to go professional.
Help others connect…
I still make people cry,
Just to hear from a parent…
Or a child.
Now I understand.
I talk to dead people…
They aren’t really dead.
I know.
I hear.
I see

 

.

Ain’t No Love On The Streets

Ain’t no love out here…
Lots of fear.
I ain’t scared no more;
I’m only a whore.
Ain’t got no house…
Have a pimp, he’s a louse!
Ain’t no perks…
Just johns and jerks.
And all of ’em are shit;
Ain’t worth their wives spit.
But, she don’t know…
He also does blow.
Ain’t no place to rest…
That’s only for the best.
The high class whores…
It’s the same score!
They are just like me…
Just they got a higher fee.
Maybe it’s cause they’re young…
Ain’t got no blues to be sung.
I know there’s no place…
No matter my religion or race.
Homeless just means you’re dirt…
Cause no man gives you his shirt.
And if he do…
He is homeless, too.
The mothers and kids…
Who live here, on the skids;
Even if she does right…
Is ignored, out of sight.
They think we are all sluts…
No if, and or butt’s!
What if they asked us…
Gave us fare for a bus?
A few are just teens,
For them, it’s just means.
Why is it wrong to be here?
In the way, and people fear.
And even if we cry…
On whom can we rely?
Government is overrun…
Or under the gun.
The people don’t see…
At least, not me.
I am the homeless git;
Who never did fit.
My babies are all dead;
I couldn’t keep ’em fed.
Ain’t no love in the streets;
Just us, the homeless, the freaks.

Ode To A True Friend (Haiku’s)

He was there indeed…
As I cried and slowly died!
A lover and friend.

We could not remain…
Lovers till the end of time.
Friends we are this day!

Our love had no end.
We cannot see us apart,
At least, as best friends.

Thank you dear friend,
We must always stay in touch!
Forever as friends.

My Beloved City (Prompt Nine-Pic 3)

Prompt Nine
Prompt Nine

Growing up in the desert…
was not my favorite place.
And was not my choice.

When we are born,
or soon after . . .
parents make a choice,
that is their road.

For college I applied,
to get far away.
Find myself…
Find my way!
And 2,500 miles I came!

First time on a plane,
High above the clouds,
Not so bad…
For up so high.
Arrived into the tall city,
To find my fear must ease…

My room was way above,
Looking out the window,
Glass and miles…
and buildings I saw!
Yellow cabs if I leaned!
And people!
You know what I mean?

I was in love…
I chose this place!
Not my parents;
Not my friends…
In fact, they feared for my life!
And I had my adventure…
To make a new me;
To be all I could be!

Manifesting Money

Money is my friend,
Money flows to me with no end.
My life it is ready to mend;
Come into reality my pretend.

Money flows to me with no end!
I am deserving, committing no sin.
With visualization, reality from pretend;
My birthright of riches, Universe resend.

I Deserve Wealth
I Deserve Wealth

Committing no sin, I deserve good!
Health, wealth and a woman that could!
Universe sends my birthright as it should.
And on my confidence I have stood!

A woman that can is my wealth, 
I’m prepared and completely stealth.
Confidence leads to my total health!
And inside my mind is my commonwealth!

Pantoum Of Adoration

He is truly my medieval knight;
I seek him again this life.
Maybe it’s a memory?
Or perhaps a book I read.

I seek him again this life.
He existed then, he must now!
Or only lives in a book I read.
How can I find him in reality?

He existed then . . .
The Universe knows my heart.
Show where to find him in reality.
I can feel his breathe upon my neck.

The Universe knows my heart.
And shall always lead me there…
Where his breathe is upon my face,
His lips upon my mouth.

Lead me there,
Put me in his strong arms.
His lips to my mouth draw me in…
And we become as one, again.

Memory Of An Inspiration

2011: Meeting Alan Rickman
2011: Meeting Alan Rickman

 

I cannot say I knew this man…
For I met him only once.
Of course, he touched my heart;
By the roles he portrayed.

His death was a shock. . .
To his fans, such as I.
And more to those close;
Where he was just himself.

We know him heroically;
A savior or a sinner.
For he portrayed them both;
And oh so brilliantly.

His voice was that of dreams;
Low, slow and massage for the ears.
His way was sure, gentle…
How could he really go?

We’ll have him for lifetimes…
In vaults of other roles he played.
My memory will have him…
Upon the stage, and moments after.

Still, it hurts to think that’s all;
He left all too soon.
At least, for us who knew…
Knew him only for an hour or two.

>> Alan Rickman will be missed. I am so happy to have seen him perform on stage at BAM, and get this photo of us together — and a great story behind the pic. Ask me later, and I’ll tell you! <<

And How We Dance

We danced each night.
In the soft moonlight.
You reached for my hand;
And brought me to your chest.

We danced body and soul.
Together as one flame.
Your eyes gazed lovingly into mine;
There was no spotlight, yet, we shined!

We moved in fluid gentle motion;
Not one on the outside has a notion.
If they knew we were chosen.
They would cry, they would kneel.

While we danced through the years;
To heal our bodies through such war.
You have whispered secrets to my soul.
Yet, lost the rhythm, and are no longer whole.

You can only dance in my dreams…
Now you are broken at the seams.
As your brain bled upon itself…
You lost that half of yourself.

And still, we dance in our heart;
I am here and there, as you wish.
We speak, we dance in the mind;
You are my knight, one of a kind.

Infamously Unknown (Prompt Seven)

Actress/Singer
Broadway Bound

Upon the stage…
I have found my love.
To act . . .
To sing . . .
To entertain…
Accolades have come;
Criticisms, too.
I am an Actor;
Female.
We are all Actors.
Labels . . .
Male or Female;
We act…
On stage . . .
On television “sets”…
Or film “sets”
Or “on location”…
What came first?

My Headshot
My Headshot

Stage . . .
Live!
I have the talent…
Rejection is no longer,
The Issue.
Fame?
A bit, infamously.
Ageism…
You betcha’!
I once was “too young”…
For my age.
Now, I am too old;
For my youth.
My age is supposed to be gray…
Wrinkled.
I am smooth…
My face is round and red;
My hair is still red, gold and brown.
Sure, there’s gray . . .
Never long, though.
My angst?
To play 40 . . .
When I’m 50?
And at a strange age.
The business of show…
Wants you very young…
Or very old!
Old Looking, that is.
And I am chubby.
Stick to stage…
Where size is not always…

A Christmas Carol
A Christmas Carol

How you are judged?
And then there’s that dirty word:
I fear to utter —
A four letter hell for us…
creative types.
WORK
What our parents called:
“A Real Job”
Or we called:
Our “Day Job”
A waitress at 50?!
No way!
A secretary . . .
50 and heavy…
Ageism strikes again.
I want to act . . .
On the Broadway stage…
Make my debut.
Fame, perhaps?
To be recognized?
Accepted?
Applauded?
Will writing be the way,
Let’s say . . .
To feeling appreciated?
Do I need that?
I want it . . .
I deserve it…
It is my passion;
To act. . .
To sing . . .
Even if no one noticed–
Except the casting director.
Of course!
And the cast…
Send me a sign . . .

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