Missing

Her cries go unheard
she wails to the night sky,
alone and cold
Where’s mama?
Too small to bear witness
Too young to talk
left to fend for herself
against the elements
she wails at the moon
no one hears
a barren land, she’s left
helpless
Where’s mama?

Baby? Baby where are you?
I can’t hear you! make a sound, please
I can’t find you, though I too am lost
Baby?! Where’s my baby? I am breathless
No one can find me, I can’t find her.
It was to be a short trip, a few days away
a break from life, some relaxation
What happened to me? What happened to her?
Where’s my little girl?! Where are you?
Where am I?
Silent screams
no one hears
her voice carried off into the nothing, on the wind

Poem 12

the moon loomed overhead,
full and bursting in a sorta pale glory
our jeep crept towards the lake’s shore
we admired the horizon.
the lake and sky could not be separated,
we were cloaked in a blanket of the deepest, darkest blue.
it was a still night, silent
and peaceful.
a band of trees created a canopy of shadows, off the lakeshore,
the moonlight could not penetrate.
crickets sang a chorus, as the leaves rustled softly.
we shared a whispered conversation,
not wanting to disturb the night’s stillness.
An owl hooted from the treetops,
we loved nights like this, enjoying one another’s company,
savoring the moon’s reflection on the lake

Homeless Again

Slowly
She packs her belongings into a plastic,
trash bag
Her children’s belongings were packed into
an additional two plastic bags

Three bags of belongings,
all she could take with her of her former life
She placed the littlest one into the baby carrier,
the oldest one followed her out

She sat on the stoop, awaiting the cab
Homeless again, this time with two babies
She had no idea
How to keep her head above water
She always felt like she was
drowning,
Fighting the current for control,
fighting against poverty.
It seemed she lost the battle
everytime

The cab pulls to the curb
The oldest child she takes by the hand,
leads her to the car.
She walks back to get her trash bags full of belongings,
takes another look around
To the shelter they will go,
Hopefully for the last time.

I Praise You

He is a wonderful Father
A forgiving Father
He has kept his hands on my life,
Protecting me
He has loved me through all my bad decisions,
all my failings as a mere human
He has covered me with His grace
even though I am a disobedient child
I am thankful for my Father
He allows me to learn the hard way
I know he shakes His head from time to time,
and clucks his tongue
But He knows my heart,
And I have faith in Him
And I am eternally grateful for His grace
and for His love
He is deserving of all praise
And I praise you my Heavenly Father

Pathways = Decisions

Before me lies a path
Stretching for miles
Leading to parts unknown
Should I take it?
Should I wander from its presumed safety?
Robert Frost said he took the path least traveled,
Shall I do the same?
A river runs peacefully beside me
Should I swim across?
Take a chance on what may lurk just below its surface?
The mountains’ icy peaks look inviting
Shall I take my chances there?
I zip my jacket
Adjust my pack
And continue down the path
God laid out for me

Moon Kisses

As I stare into the midnight sky
She smiles down
Showering her pale light
Upon my face

She smiles down
Her light kisses the treetops.
Upon my face,
She places a kiss

Her light kisses the treetops
As I stare into the midnight sky
She kisses my face
While I shower in her pale light

Angst

Palpable
Permeates my psyche
Visions of what is to come
Visions of what is not there
Anticipation of
the unknown
impossible to contain
cold sweat
hairs at attention
pinpricks all over my skin, at the
nape of my neck
bursting silvery taste of metal
on the back of my tongue
can’t breathe
hy-per-ven-ta-la-tion
panic

My Haibun

Writing is a painful bliss. A piece of me remains on the page long after I have placed down my pen. I am a writer of life. I am a healer, healing my own festering wounds, tainting my soul with a callous ugliness, an enveloping bitterness of hopelessness, trying to suffocate my voice, my words. Writing is my sanity. It keeps me grounded in my creativity and allows me to travel along the dusty trails and mountain ranges of the imagination. It keeps my dreams insight, although just a little out of reach. Writing is my bridge to humanity, it stamps out the horrors of the world. It is hope-filled and dark, sometimes. It is fueled by emotion and bath in truth, my truth.

to write saves me from
bitter inhumanity
and empowers me

Side effects of Social Media

Gone away are our face to face connections
Replaced by the fantasies and imaginings of fake friends and lurkers
The children no longer play
but sit inside watching fight videos,
taking pictures to see how many likes they will get
Self esteem fractured by mean and inappropriate comments
No need to bully you in person,
Bullying can now be done using a computer or a smart phone
People hiding behind fake pages, trolls
spitting out their racial hatred,
a cobra’s poison tainting all who read the comments.
Obesity, time wasted, lack of creativity
falsehoods and phonies
homework left undone
I gotta get that new game system
Gotta put on fronts for my fan-base
Inauthentic, fantastical lies,
fill up my newsfeed
Videos of people killed by police, no filter,
snap-shot conversations
pick up the phone to record, not to call for help
Record the video of my own death via facebook live
Violent videos all through my timeline
Destroying my psyche,
filling me with so much sadness…
but wait,
a cute cat video,
oh look, an owl kissing a child,
wow,
a video of unusual animal friendships,
hope is restored………………..
lol

The Black Woman (Hour 4)

She holds her head high
Towers over the beat downs from her men
Stands above the putdowns from the media
Lives life against the grain
With the deck of cards stacked against her
Yet she stands
With her arms outstretched and open wide
Her hands upturned and fingers splayed,
the weight of her people upon her
And she still stands
fiercely in opposition against all injustice,
fighting valiantly for her sons, her daughters
taking the bumps and the bruises hailed at her by society
with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face
She stands