4.11

it would hurt
to be the last woman standing
in this place that God
seems to have forgotten 
one day
I’m gonna open the door
and walk out
doesn’t matter
if the door closes back
or not

# NewWorkinProgression

(c) 2016 wyh

news

like mother
like daughter
a flower dies
the bud follows
no more blooms today

3-21-15

it’s hard to believe

and convince others to hold on

when everywhere I look there is corruption dishonesty and compromise

preachers stealing and sleeping with other men’s wives

miserable families

and hungry children sitting on the church pews

people living in bondage that no one can see

the elders turn a blind eye and don’t have time to care

what would Jesus say if he were to walk into your church today

what would be your excuse when he asks “Where were you?”

because every time you ignore the hurt and pain of another

you crucify him again

we cannot continue in this way

walking in hypocrisy

coming into the sanctuary to be entertained

with no real intentions

it’s time to look up and stop playing

in case you haven’t noticed the last days are not upon us they are already here

the faithful falling away

going the way of Illuminati Babylon

prophetic words turning into crooked motivational speech

money raising and Go Fund my jet

and let me fly up and away

so what if your rent is past due

don’t ask me to help you

it’s hard to believe

when all of these things go on daily

but God hasn’t changed

He knows who belongs to Him

just make sure that you are not found outside

when the rain starts to fall

the old people used to say there will be no place to hide

so make your calling and election sure

and don’t give up

no matter what you see.

soul traveling

if soul traveling is real

i want to take that journey on a one-way ticket

see the earth from sky view and dance among the planets

weightless and unrestricted by the gravitational pull of land

i want to escape these limitations

and live like I was meant to

because caged birds can sing but they can’t soar with clipped wings

so if soul traveling is real

i will fly

          

                  

Shalom

fugue and variation

haystacks shrouded within impressionist fog

move to this

spiccato cello against the violinist’s bow

breathe here

in harmony with nature’s dance

freedom of vision on the downbeat

creating beautiful chaos

floating above an invisible melody

like colors of the spectrum

melting with increasing intensity

~Shalom

* Inspired by Dance Theatre of Harlem students improvising to jazz-Israeli music...amazing!

cinquain #2

I know

if I could fly

truly I would escape

to places where no one has dared

to dream…

© 2011 PoetryofMotion!

I Could

I could bloom here

in this concrete soil

with its steel skyline

and endless waves of people walking the pavement

going underground to get from point A to B to C

sometimes stepping on one another

without saying excuse me

making no eye contact

but connected at the root

I could get used to climbing several flights of old stairs

crossing the street to do laundry

alongside big butt menopausal women with graying locs

people cursing each other

in front of China King

and Ma’s old stoop

watching the cat who sleeps curled up in the barber shop window

in the afternoon sun

I could bloom here

in the cold

like a winter rose without thorns

trusting the universe to protect me

from danger

in this concrete soil

rising

Fall

I love when the season changes
to fall
with all of its colors
and layers...
stripes
plaids
leggings and boots
on running feet
hats and scarves
wrapped around to keep warm
in a cold world
where nobody cares
a coat is my best friend at anytime
it waits for me
holding me close in the rain
at midnight
deep pockets keep secrets
loose change
and a house key
fall with its dried leaves
exposed twigs
and open sky
everything moves faster
but I wish people would slow down
and enjoy the beauty of the daytime
orange to amber to brown
the colors of life
the colors of the earth
the colors of me
in the fall

elegy

to my unfinished poems

that take up empty pages of my life

with lines running through my head

conflicting like two ice cream trucks on the same street

playing the same tune on different corners

 passing one another without speaking

kids jaywalking to catch up with the one who passes first

like no justice for Trayvon

while a murderer walks

and tempers burn in the streets

on vacant stores

soon to be demolished

making the way for the blueprints to gentrify

like Brooklyn

Los Angeles

New Orleans

and

Harlem

and by that time

my unfinished poems

will finish themselves

and find greener pastures

where they can bloom

freely.

I Could…

I could bloom here

in this concrete soil

with its steel skyline

and endless waves of people walking the pavement

or going underground to get from point A to B to C

sometimes stepping on one another

making no eye contact

but connected at the root

I could get used to climbing several flights of old stairs

crossing the street to do laundry

alongside big butt women

with graying locs

people cussing each other out

in front of China King

and Ma’s old stoop

watching the cat who sleeps curled up in the barber shop window

in the afternoon sun

I could bloom here

in the cold

like a winter rose without thorns

trusting the universe to protect me

from danger

in this concrete soil

rising…

My Other Life

The other shoes you could have walked in

instead of the ones you chose

could have taken you to the ends of the world

taking bold steps

instead of small ones

walking through real seasons

and not phases of the whims of the moon

those other shoes were waiting

but you were afraid to try them on

too afraid of what others would say

not feeling good enough

strong enough

just not enough

settling to wear shoes that didn’t fit your life

walking in hallways you were never meant to travel

and cutting off your own air

but you still have a chance to get new shoes

and walk in the snow and rain

maybe the beach too

pick a pair and try them on

jump, run, dance, skip

in your new shoes

time has passed but it’s never too late

don’t be so hard on yourself

if you don’t try you never know

if those other shoes you haven’t tried

will fit today.

11 Words...9 Lines

 

     I'm happy to have been given the opportunity to write the foreward to this poetry anthology published by Inner Child Press entitled: 11 Words...9 Lines, inspired by a project dedicated to the memory of those affected by the 9/11 tragedy in New York City.

     Within these pages, you'll find dynamic and inspiring poetry that's not only easy to read, but complete in brevity. I have a limited number available and hope that you will purchase one, not only to support the art of poetry, but for the literary treats inside the pages! Please scroll down to the "Buy Now" link at the bottom of the page, and your book will be on its way to you.

thankful

contemplating the future

and remembering the past

we think

we dream

we live

we progress…

continually moving

even if it feels like we are standing still

in a world without walls

standing on a rolling sidewalk

making connections

crafting collaborations

and

uninhibited creations…

being thankful for our many accomplishments

 

 

rain

rain go away

we used to sing as innocent children

at play

when the sun refused to come out

and all we could see was puddles and mud

couldn’t go out

or get our feet wet

to keep from catching cold

so we sang a song

of prayer

asking the weather to change for us

until the sun showed her face

but today

this rain is coming down hard

we have no power over its force

of devastation

no safe place to run and hide

from

rising waters running in the streets

full moon watching

tide swelling

banks breaking

ocean and land becoming one

and…

we wait for the sun

to show her face

so again we sing

our song

rain

go away

 

 

 

 

 

she worries

she worries…

about the weather

the day

the years

and how long it will take to get from point A to point B and all points in between…

and how to get there

if she will get there

what to do when she gets there

what she will do when it’s time to leave there

and if she will live to see it all.

she worries

all the time

for nothing

for all things

waking and sleeping

and the vicious cycle continues…

grounded

i am a poet deep in thought

waiting for the next line

the next rhyme

the next time i write something it will be from wisdom’s gate

and not what you expect

random thoughts ready to take flight

even though I am grounded

my soul can still travel

lost

he used ink as currency

posting bail as collateral

to free him from the prison gates

inside his mind

a broke poet

with nothing to lose

but words

a hot commodity on an open market

sold to the highest bidder

he now survives

on writing to appease

to see and be seen

caught up in the mainstream

and swept away…

chasing the paper

while losing himself in the limelight

listen...

listen…

originality breeds contempt

and the honest reality of my words doesn’t always sit well with those who hear

it makes them feel uncomfortable

but that is the whole purpose of poetry

so listen

and free

your minds…

give these lines the chance to penetrate beneath the hard surface of your opinions

and hear what’s in my heart.

you might find out that it’s not too different to what’s in yours

and we will find a common ground

beyond that cup of coffee

and anonymous snaps

originality could become a new way of life

and maybe end some wars

feed some children

and save some souls...

you never know

so listen...

Barbados

I wrote another poem in the sand

with words from space

inspired by the rhythm of the waves

singing and waving in time

with a rhapsody in blue yellow and blue

black trident in the middle

fist raised in pride

for those who stood behind enemy lines

building this land that I now stand upon

never forgetting from whence we came

looking out to the horizon over the Middle Passage

where bodies lie in wait for their vengeance on the Last Day

with no sense of urgency

because in time all will be free

so in the meantime

I write these words

of grace in the sand

inspired by the rhythm of the waves

calling me…

© 2012 PoetryofMotion!

All Rights Reserved

Day #8

Ocean Queen
finding her place in the sun
sitting on her throne in the sand…
relaxing on the shore
unafraid of the high tide
she casts her prayers on the waters...
and returns to her place of reign
awaiting God’s answers.