Hour 2
Black girl magic bars
Crush white supremacy into dust
Mixed with the fat of the land
Top with chocolate
Serve piping hot
Along with white tears
Sophie’s Dream (Hour 1)
In a paradise of dreaming fields,
walking the inner path of righteous purpose,
pores open along the mother’s young, incubating body,
skin fearlessly drinking the living warmth of the sun’s rays.
Protecting the child, the idea, the seed of the future
swathed in white, rose-petaled linen.
In the silence of her steps that barely
disturb the dust of this sterile road,
memories of their atrocities are not far behind.
When the holy house on the hill comes into view
she checks over her shoulder,
for the shouts and the cries of the innocent,
the bombs and the wails of the dying still echo—
all the horrors of the world persist.
The soul of humanity at risk of being lost,
severed by a fear-hunger feeding upon itself,
the world at war but the child in her arms still sleeps.
The abyss is insurmountable, measureless
a yawning vacancy of indifference swallowing all,
everything dances momentarily upon its lips.
Nothing is safe, only delayed in its ingestion.
She sets the child down on the edge,
carves its name into the earthen flesh of human consciousness.
Save this dream blossoming upon the graves of war!
Knowing the cost, knowing the risk,
she steps forward knowing that all
might change for the sake of belief—
FREEDOM.
White roses dissipate,
an ethereal fire escapes the darkness.
Prompt #1: God’s Perfect Creation
In the beginning of time God created Eve,
Companion and partner to Adam.
So on and so on through the generations.
God’s perfection, all the way to me.
Women, a balance of strength and beauty.
Perfect with her teenage pimples and womanly curves.
With the passing of years
Mind and body evolved.
There are dings along the way.
Broken hearts and broken bones,
All serving to only improve her.
While some women master the art of Cover Girl or Este Lauder,
She washes her face and allows the world to see her
Just as God made her.
Daughter, wife, friend, mother, boss, employee.
God’s perfect creation.
Freedom – Poem #2
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Freedom
One day very soon
I will be free to go
From this rehab place
As I please, you know
To begin again
My very own life
With all the hazards
Including its strife
Independence and
Quiet solitude
To be alone helps
Balance attitude
The Purest of Hearts
As I sit here, thinking, typing, deleting, retyping
I hear you in the other room
Arguing with our dachshund
JackJack
And I can’t help, but smile
You two going back and forth
You, telling him,
“No! Stop chewing on mommy!”
Him,
*whine*
*growl*
*grumble*
*whine*
Me, listening
Imagining the sight
As my heart playfully battles with a pup
Smiling at the thought of how patient you are
How much love you have to give
How good a person you are
In spite of all you endured
It is why I admire you
And aspire to be
So much better than I am
So much better than I was
When you first met me
You’ve just chastised him about bullying our cats
Trying to make them *squeak* like his favorite toys
Which they do, sometimes
All the while I hear him
In response
*whine*
*growl*
*grumble*
*whine*
And you laugh
So pure a sound
1. LIFE IN LOCKDOWN
The world has turned upside down.
Social distancing is the new norm.
It takes some getting use to, this life in lockdown.
in all its unique form.
My profession, I conduct over social media.
Zoom meetings, telephone consultations are all virtual.
To make it work, finding a new way, a new idea.
Is this going to be the new perpetual?
No restaurants and no eating out!
No cinema, no sports and no social gathering!
Always a mask on my face if I am out and about
Always washing hands and sanitizing!
But Wait! Social distancing has some positive privilege.
My home is my new office, hence no traffic.
More time to spend with my family, an added advantage
No longer in a rat race, rushing here and there to make quick.
This new norm, I can get use to,
since, staying at home, circumvents, çontracting the corona flu!
Where’s Me Muse?
One minute and counting. Where’s my muse? Gone. It’s had vegan choc cake, been giggling with friends, crying with friends …but where’s the muse. In the oven with the chick pea balls? In the fridge with the carrot salad? On the front stoop where my friend is having a ciggie…. Muse, oh muse. I am not amused. But hey, a few words for the first shot…. hmmmmm now where shall I go. Heading into hour two. Well here goes……
FOR JUDITH
What will I write about? Fleeting recollections?
The leaf motif on the duvet? Shadows created
by the streetlights? They do not leave, they merely
wait till the lights get weary and fall asleep. That
is darkness, heavy and thick with patience
because it has nothing to lose, not even envy.
We were more alive during the war.
What am I to do with you, fake woman
who carried me, blurred face who looked at me,
cracked pot that threw me away? Pointed heels
on the cobblestones shining in the rain, their hard
morning cheeks cleaned by sleep. Afternoons
are for leaving things behind, easily, so many stones
with faces, so many faces looking like stones.
Anna was Anna, but Claire was complicated.
What about the usual moon? Someone noticed
that it was spiraling away, year after year a little
further, each time the breadth of a fingernail,
a marble down an endless slope, useless dilations.
Will the lovers notice? Will the turtles arrive?
Fewer eggs for the fascist gulls, less bigotry.
I could take a drive to the pliant, indifferent sea.
Maimed (Brandy Goodman Poem #2)
Maimed (Brandy Goodman Poem #2)
Dip the fuse in wax,
Light it and watch it burn.
The flame progresses slowly,
Just waiting for its turn.
Dip the fuse in gasoline,
Light it and get back.
The trail disappears in a flash’
And you’re faced with an attack.
Dip the fuse in nothing,
Light it, it burns at it’s own pace.
It’ll get there when it gets there,
There is no need to race.
Whether it’s a slow burn or a fast burn,
Or something in between,
Your fuse eventually runs out,
And we all know what that means.
A person can only take so much
Before the powder keg we are,
Explodes upon those around us,
Leaving more than just a scar.
The words that will spew from us
At this point in time,
Can never be undone,
We are guilty of this crime.
So when it’s time for you to blow,
Be careful where you are aimed,
Make sure the right people are hit
And no innocents are maimed.