Prompt #3: The Result of Generations Lost

The generations lower their heads as they go to the fields.
All sense of hope for a better day slowly leaving their idle minds.
Blisters and sunburns, broken bones and shattered dreams.
Their children in the yard watch as their parents work jobs.
They are not the slaves of the American south
But while their families were freed, their dreams were never returned.
They are the result of generations lost.

A free man is able to succeed or fail using his own will.
A man not taught to dream does not know what he is working for.
The children of a man with no dreams do not see a better day in their future.
They live their lives from day to day often left to their own defenses.
Society tells them to go to school, but the children don’t know why.
Society tells them to get a job, but they are children who have yet to play.
So, they wander through life left to their own defenses.
They are the result of generations lost.

A child must be motivated to succeed.
To please their parents and loved ones.
To achieve the goals that their family and community set for them.
That is how children grow.
But to raise a child to achieve we must know how to achieve ourselves.
We all as adults of every race must encourage the children of our society to succeed.
To strive for a better day.
There is not a man, woman, or child alive on God’s green earth that does not have a better day ahead of them.
But if we cannot come together
Then we may all become the result of generations lost.

Poem 7 (Hour 7) Season of Serenity!

Season of Serenity!

 

my heart has been lodged

in a very colourful, pleasant domain

where love is an activity to play

with or Without mindfulness

i have been deserted by a facial charm

but could not control the wills and get harm

that time was time of helplessness

what an unmuted recklessness

and the fraction of time ceases forever

i oath to do this never

that fragment puts me in serenity

i started to enjoy universe in cecity

 

Ifs, Ands, Maybes

i am sick of “ifs ands or maybes”

the possiblys and kindas rolling off the jokers tongue.

i am more than just a “eh, well i guess” or “we’ll see.”

shoulda

coulda

woulda

left here on my toes a while ago, planting thorns on my running shoes.

i am more than a “if”

i am a definite.

prettier than a “and”.

i am the one, the only.

more stronger than a “maybe”.

a “yes” is the exchange i’ll take.

don’t bounch my checkbook with these sorry transactions.

i am a “definitely”, a “absolutely”, a “will go right now” type of woman.

i only deliver promises. never indecisive thoughts of “ifs ands or maybes”

i deserve better and i will get it.

Beautiful and the Innocents – Poem #8

I hear you rustling through the trees hunting a safe place

What once felt serenely secure, you must now guard.

Protect the young ones and keep innocence alive and well

Last year was my first to meet you and your lovely family

Winter came, and I wondered if you survived.

I’ve never been the ‘hunted.’

Watching you care for your brood, I realize

how blessed I’ve been.

Four walls and a roof to keep the wolves away, unlike you

Moving your little boy and the twins,

along with your older daughter and her offspring,

from place to place under trees and behind sheds.

Foraging for food where you could find it.

I cheered for your survival each time I saw the

scars on your back. I knew the attacker fared

worse than you. It brought joy to me

when you accepted food I wanted to share. So,

Winter came and I prayed you’d make it.

Spring came, many didn’t make it. I couldn’t go

look for you, again I prayed.

Last week Summer came and so you returned

with two new babies, precious,

spotted babies, you let me see.

This week your son returned with three

velvet-spiked pals to show off.

Handsome yearlings, for certain, will want

to meet his sisters and once again,

I will hear you rustling through the trees

hunting a safe place to

Protect the young ones and keep innocence alive.

Hour 8: Notes to My Teenaged Self on Boys, Dating, Sex, Men and Love

Hour 8: Notes to My Teenaged Self on Boys, Dating, Sex, Men and Love

 

I. Boys

 

They will not be truly interesting until their 20’s,

and maybe not even then

 

When they do dumb shit to impress you,

rolling your eyes only makes it worse.

 

The less interested you are, the harder they try.

(Be wary of your best friend’s crush.)

 

They always want to go “all the way”

even if they have no clue how to get there.

 

Being “one of the guys” does not make you a guy,

and they never forget that.

 

 

II. Dating

 

Your first boyfriend should not be the guy who cheated on his girlfriend with you,

even if you were together for two years.

 

Flowers on your homeroom desk, notes in your locker, and holding hands in hallways

should always be appreciated.

 

If you’re always driving him around, get gas money.

Nobody rides for free.

 

If he doesn’t call you his girlfriend in front of his friends,

you’re not.

 

Cut cheaters loose.

You already knew this could happen.

 

 

III. Sex

 

You’re going to give it up sometime so be smart and use condoms.

It doesn’t matter that you make it to almost 40 without getting               pregnant. Things work better when you’re younger.

 

You do not have to be in love to have sex.

You don’t even really have to like him, but it helps.

 

It’s fun and sweet, and if it’s not,

you’re doing it with the wrong person.

 

Get to know your body.

You won’t know what you like until you try it.

 

Sex isn’t a tool, a bribe or a reward.

You’ll be ashamed of that later.

 

IV. Men

 

They still do dumb shit to impress you,

but now sometimes it works.

 

Always wear a bra, especially in air conditioning.

Your eyes are up here.

 

If he’s more than ten years older than you,

why is he into a teenager?

 

They have feelings too.

I know…I was also surprised by this one.

 

They still always want to go “all the way” only

now they ask for directions.

 

 

V. Love

 

It isn’t a tool, a bribe, or a reward.

 

Fall into it as often as you can.

You can get back up.

 

It’s never the same twice,

that doesn’t mean it isn’t as good.

 

Never regret it. You may change someone’s life forever.

Maybe even your own.

The Revolt Poet- Welcome to Peterloo (a fragment)

We are all still lain slain at Peterloo
Ill-represented, repressed,
Hearing echoes of Shelley too –
Politicians reduced to personifications
Of eternal sin.
Has anything ever been as apt as that?
Representative democracy – a pile of crap.
A single borough and school, is hegemonic
– The bureaucrats,
Remodelled, to give the semblance of the meritocrat,
When, as a matter of fact,
The dial of the thermostat,
Has not been turned a single click from the white heat
Of 1819.
Manchester Yeomanry.
You and me.
History… Repeats.
The plaque took 150 years to adorn the street
And of course, euphemistically,
Initially referred only
To the “dispersal of the military”.

Past Future Time /hr 7

The  ribbon of  filmstrip

Known as linear time

Is starting to fray at the ends

Always travel west

Just like ol Jim said

“The west is the beeesst”

Oh, I know that was before my time….

In a club up the boulevard

Frequented by  ” rock stars”

Stored in happiest happy hour time

Through my time travel film strip

I can still remember

But cannot imagine quite

What it was like looking

That like, or like that, like

The everything of the past

Is the nothing at all of today

Too old to go out

Too bored to stay home

There’s not enough makeup

In all the world.

 

Even Blake Would Be Confused

Do cats build campfires?
Tell stories?
Watch fireworks?

Never mind!

I understand emojis
about as well as Blake
understood tigers.

And who is that ghost
lurking about?
Is someone framing a shot
or giving the ghost a sign?

Maybe I’ll do better
with Whitman.

Messing with my head

Am falling hard

falling hard for him

Know it is hard

Been awhile

Guard has been up forever

What am I doing

Have millions of things to do

Is it really about him

He don’t even think of me like that

Why am I stuck on stupid

why is he messing with my head

He don’t want me

He should let me go

Why keep messing with my head

Though I was doing something my reaching out

Lingering feelings keep me at bay

Mind is what is being screwed with

Question God

Why me

Yet I look like an old maid

How 

He’s messing with my head