Flames lick the night sky
Negativity burns hot
Blame tries to hold on.
Paper becomes ash
Insecurities destroyed
Fear clings desperately.
Smoke floats heavenward
Guilt and shame no longer breathe
Pain fights for its life.
Tears dry by the fire
Hope rises like a phoenix
Only love remains.
My poem today was inspired by a conversation I had with a former student of mine. It was also influenced by several other poems I’ve read in the past few days that dealt with race and stereotypes. I know that critics abound and that my vision presented here is a lofty one. However, I do believe it is possible and I do believe that it begins here and now… with ME and with YOU. This is also my first attempt at a shape poem, so take it for what it is intended to be… a global smile, nothing more.****NOTE: The shape is entirely different here in WordPress than it was in my editor!***
What color are
You? Are we really so very
Different from each other just because
Our skin’s not the same? We live in a diverse,
Beautiful world surrounded by every possible color
Of nature - in our flesh, in our yards,
In our home. Too often we are trapped in
Stereotypes or assumptions on how we’re
Different instead of how alike we are.
Our children are beautiful blended shades of black, brown
Yellow, red, and white. Our eyes are brown and green
And blue. But we all still laugh, cry, and bleed in the
same language. Our roots, our heritage, our origins, set
Us apart from each other. Our love, our spirit, and our
Hope join us together. We seek a world where words like
Hillbilly, redneck, cracker, nigga, colored and gook
Are not a part of the collective vocabulary anymore
We seek a world where peace is more valued than
Race. We yearn for a world joined with common
Dreams & goals, filled with compassion and joy,
Where understanding is more important
Than tolerance. This does not
Need to be fantasy. This can
Be our reality. If each
One can teach one,
We have a shot to
Change the future and establish a
New world. We can be the ones
To make the long-held vision
Come to fruition. We can
Be the generation
Of love.
As you may have noticed, my readers, I have not been posting much since the end of NaPoWriMo. I am still very much involved in creating poetry, art, and the like, but some other big things are happening in my personal life right now that are demanding my attention.
I will soon be getting married to my best friend. We do have a bit of a fairy tale romance. We met in college more than twenty-five years ago and have been friends all this time. Last summer, we had a conversation that changed the direction of both our lives. We’d both been dating and hating it – all the getting-to-know-you stuff, the desire to be loved and to love, the awkwardness of the early phases of dating. We finally realized that the only reason we hadn’t dated each other was simply geographic in nature. We currently live six hours apart (by car obeying all posted speed limits).
We began dating last August and from that very first date, I began falling in love with my best friend. We had the kind of comfort with each other that only comes from knowing one another for so many years. Neither of us felt the need to try to impress the other. We were just ourselves. For the first time in my life, I was able to let all the walls down because I was out with a man that I trusted. All of the pieces began falling into place. My children love him. My parents love him (a FIRST for me). Most importantly, I love him. He is that missing link that I’ve been searching for and I could not be happier.
As I mentioned, we will be getting married soon. The date is a secret for now, but it will be happening before too much longer. I have already resigned from my job here as a public school teacher and am packing up my belongings to move the six hours northeast to live with him. For the next several weeks, I expect to be busy (overwhelmed?) with the process of planning, packing, and moving. I will attempt to make regular posts here to keep you, my reader, informed and perhaps entertained with tales along the journey.
For now, peace and love to all -
MeMe
**This is a poem I wrote in February, 2010, while at the NC Center for the Advancement of Teaching. The final lines are from Adrienne Rich’s poem “Diving into the Wreck”. The initial image came from a free-write that we did while exploring a teenage memory. The story that emerges had a life all its own! (This was originally posted on this site in October, 2010.)
Deep, dark tans require long hours
Of soaking up the sun while
Covered in thick layers of coconut oil.
Like bees to honey
The teenage boys are attracted to the scent.
A boy carrying a beer meets a girl carrying a camera and
A trashy novel in which his name appears.
And lust – or maybe even love – run rampant
On the sandy shores.
That’s how we met – you and I
On that steamy, sweaty Saturday in June.
And here we are today
On this chilly November Tuesday
A lifetime of beachfront memories
Windblown and weak
From the hurricanes of life.
We are, I am, You are
By cowardice and courage
The ones who find our way back to this scene
Carrying a knife, a camera, a book of myths
In which our names do not appear.
** For Patrick
I never knew that it could be like this
It took 25 years to get to our first kiss
When we first met we were too young to know
All we had to learn, the paths we’d have to go
Who would’ve known that it would take
A Facebook threat and a bottle of Cake
Never thought I deserved a man like you
I wasn’t good enough, but you’ve changed my view
I love you enough that now I can see
You love the broken pieces of me.
**This poem is dedicated to the memory of two moms lost in the past two days.
There is nothing more pure
Than a son’s love for his mother.
To him, she’s a woman
That is like no other.
She held him and fed him
And showered him with love.
In his mind there’s no doubt
She’s a gift from above.
God in His infinite
Wisdom has made
A woman whose love
Could never be swayed.
Through childhood skinned knees
And a teen’s broken heart,
She helped dry his tears,
Helped him make a fresh start.
She taught him the difference
Between right and wrong.
Through her example of gentleness
He learned to be strong.
She held on with grace
Until her very last breath,
And now this dear lady
Knows the secret of death.
She’ll still be there, though,
With her angel wings wide
Standing forever
By her dear son’s side.
She’ll hug him with breezes
And kiss him with rain.
He’ll thank God that finally
She’s no longer in pain.
He’ll walk proudly on
With his head held up high
And know he is still
The apple of her eye.
What is done in anger is never worthwhile.
Being nasty to another human being because they are gay
Or trying to convert them to something other than who they are
Is unfortunately one of the worst things a person can do.
It eventually poisons them against the persecutor and his cause.
And often leads to a perhaps beautiful soul
Becoming filled with bile and blood.
Love is louder.
written by me and Mickey Beaver
Now don’t come ‘round here tellin’ me you’re sorry
You’re a two-timing son of a gun, I know it’s true
The neighbors are out in the yard and gettin’ nosy
I’d get the hell outta dodge if I were you
(Chorus)
I’m nobody’s fool, I play by my own rules
And I guarantee my bite is worse than my bark
I don’t fight alone. Boy, you’re on your own.
‘Cause mess with me and you get the whole trailer park
It’d prob’ly be good if you get your things and go now
Take your charming smile and leave me be
I’ve heard enough to last me for a lifetime
Keep on tellin’ me lies and you will see
(Chorus)
I’m nobody’s fool, I play by my own rules
And I guarantee my bite is worse than my bark
I don’t fight alone. Boy, you’re on your own.
‘Cause mess with me and you get the whole trailer park
I ain’t gonna fight alone. Boy you’d best get gone
Mess with me and you get my whole trailer park
**Inspired by the Adrienne Rich poem “Diving Into the Wreck”
Deep, dark tans require long hours
Of soaking up the sun while
Covered in thick layers of coconut oil.
Like bees to honey
The teenage boys are attracted to the scent.
A boy carrying a beer meets a girl carrying a camera and
A trashy novel in which his name appears.
And lust – or maybe even love – run rampant
On the sandy shores.
That’s how we met – you and I
On that steamy, sweaty Saturday in June.
And here we are today
On this chilly November Tuesday
A lifetime of beachfront memories
Windblown and weak
From the hurricanes of life.
We are, I am, You are
By cowardice and courage
The ones who find our way back to this scene
Carrying a knife, a camera, a book of myths
In which our names do not appear.
The basis of optimism is sheer terror. Pessimist: One who, when he has the choice of two evils, chooses both. - Oscar Wilde
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a mystic housewife searches for the simple life in suburbia
Poet, Prophet, Singer-Songwriter, Epigrammatist, Casual and Intellectually Lax Philosopher, Tosser
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