NaPoWrMo...Let's Write! - Diamante

     Let's write! A Diamante poem consists of 7 lines in an exact format:

Line 1 -  1 noun

Line 2 -  2 adjectives

Line 3 -  3 verbs

Line 4 -  2 words describing the noun, two words that are opposite

Line 5 -  3 words describing the ending noun

Line 6 -  2 verbs describing the ending noun

Line 7 -  1 noun opposite the first one

   You can write about any person, place, thing, or idea you want. If you ever wanted to write a poem, but weren't sure how to get started, this would be a great place. So...what are you waiting for? Let's write!

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

Monday 4.4

I go wherever my ink leads
and write
for love
for peace
I write to bring light
into dark places
so others can see.

Rock

A rock that has no beauty
still serves a purpose.
It holds down the corner of my beach blanket
while I sit and think.

Life...matters

All life matters
from conception
to the grave
no matter what color
language
affirmation
education
affiliation
or ethnicity
if it lives and breathes
it matters
if it's alive
who is anyone to kill
or to pick and choose
which one is superior
or inferior
or civilized
or has the right to life
listen to what you are saying
look at the signs you carry
the causes you march for
if you say all life matters
you can't pick and choose
whose life you save
~Selah

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

          

                  

Today , , ,

Today . . .

I will remember you

I will open my journal

I will write about you

I will get distracted

I will write about something else

I will get bored

I will go back to writing about you

I will cry

I will get angry

I will rip the pages from my book and throw them away

I will call you

I will let the phone ring

I will say nothing when you answer

I will hang up

I will take a walk in the rain

I will think of you

I will go back to my journal

I will write about you

I will save it this time

Heart of a Woman (For Maya Angelou)

On Friday
for only $1
she called to me through her book
sitting on the shelf  alive waiting to be heard
what a price for such wisdom
On Monday
I heard her message
through the pages of her story
amazed and intrigued
leaving the book resting on a red pillow
not knowing that on Wednesday
she would be gone
and although we never met
I’m glad she spoke to me all the way to page 106
and I listened

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

poet

sometimes i go through the motions

numb to the painful devastation

that has become my life

it’s easier to get through the day

without thinking

or feeling

they call it an emotional block

but i call it survival…

in this jungle

where I could easily become the prey

of a predator

i become invisible

speaking only when spoken to

answering when necessary

writing whenever possible

breathing through my ink

watching the world from behind paper

where no one can see me

or run from my pain

they only snap

and ask for more

i give it to them freely

because they don’t understand

that my words

are healing me

so i can live

and move on.

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.

Poets...Everywhere

Poets are everywhere…you will find them in the most hideous of places writing beautiful lines to change the scenery/cool man, cool to the beatnik cadence of fingers snapping and minds tuning into reality and escaping from the fake world/signing their autographs on every open mic list in town for that one opportunity to bring light to somebody’s dark walk/…yes, Poets are everywhere.

 

rain...palindrome

water

pouring skies

drifting along

torrential weather

umbrellas open

yellow coats

black galoshes

spashing children laughing running

dancing puddles

today

puddles dancing

running laughing children splashing

galoshes black

coats yellow

open umbrellas

weather torrential

along drifting

skies pouring

water

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

 

 

 

 

 

if

If you do
because you have to
but don't want to...
give
because it's expected
but you can't afford it...
go
even though you would rather be
someplace else...
then, don't.
Forced behavior that's not from the heart
is like violence
and rape of the soul
that gives rise to bastard children of resentment
from the seeds of iniquity
planted in the womb of hatred
spreading like a disease that pollutes the land
and carries death to its residents like the waters of Katrina.
So if you have to...
don't want to...
can't...
or won't...
please don't.

Day #18...poetics

word and sound

life and love

giving and receiving

connecting and separating

near and distant

alike and opposite

old and new

spirits and souls

bodies converging and complementing

minds exploding and melting

brevity and longevity

full and empty

forgiving and reliving

poetics

I Wish...

Day #16

I wish that I could dance across the page

like my words do…

with no thought beforehand or reasoning why

floating effortlessly line upon line

just living and breathing life from ink

from beginning to end

enveloping grace and speaking truth

at anytime

freely…

Day #13 Haiku

evolving quickly

to another way of life

will lead to freedom

#23

i’m #23 on the list
sitting in a room filled with a curious vibe…
an eclectic group consisting of the types of men that normal women run away from
it’s a creepy crowd of various hues
awaiting the stage
among this malevolent bunch
some of them smell real bad
but everyone has something to say
their words are fire
their songs are heaven
and i’m #23 on the list
at this open mic…
where only the hour hand on the clock
moves

I write

I write

when it makes no sense...

when I have something to say

or nothing to say

not to keep up

compete

or contend for the highest honor

but to be heard by that one whose life will change

because of some random  thoughts that I had the audacity to put on paper

while sitting on a rock on a Sunday afternoon

watching the sailboats passing by

never knowing what my words will mean to someone else

so I write every chance I get

because her life may depend upon my ink.