my last...

my last…
never knowing when or why
surrounded by an adoring public who can’t see past my outer core
covering inner wounds with bottles stacked high
kept in dark places...

hidden in cabinets
unknown to one another just to keep the high going
or to make the pain go away
whichever comes first as needed
i sing because i’m happy
and because i’m not…
for those who love me for my gift and not for who I am...
i exhale

whitney r.i.p.

love poem # 3

i left a poem on your doorstep

wrapped in newspaper and tied with rough string

hoping you would read between the thoughts and see into my soul before throwing it away

or perhaps recycling the thoughts

mixed with compost and old coffee grounds to make the flowers grow.

i left a poem on your doorstep

filled with honesty about the joys of love that could never be

only imaginary fantasies between you and me

from my heart into your hands

created by my ink on colored paper

rainbow wishes floating above the clouds

freely giving and receiving

until forever

i left a poem on your doorstep

and waited

silently wondering what you would do

if you knew it was from me

just for you…

just a poem...

on your doorstep

hypocrites

rubbing salt in the wounds of  bleeding hearts

laws enforced at our convenience

we are the self-righteous ones who moralize and demonize

acts of desperation

never to once offer a ray of hope

a word of guidance

or an investment in a weaker one’s future

our prideful arrogance fuels the fires of indifference

as iniquity locks the doors to freedom

living in the twilight zone of a terrorist mindset

neo-nazi syndrome

what will happen when the pendulum swings back

the light is turned on

our sins are written in the sand

and we walk away

with rocks still poised to throw the first stone

our poison tongues ready to paralyze the latest prey

we salivate like rabid dogs

waiting for the opportunity to strike at our next meal

when will we learn

to choose mercy over judgment

life over madness

dreams over despair

hearts are bleeding

but who will see

who will stop the issue

the hemorrhage

the death

from within...

Thank You

in the morning
i awaken to the beat of my own heart
thankful that i’m not homeless
hungry or hustling on the street
begging by the parkway onramp for spare change
because my cup runs over
i have a roof over my head and my own blanket that i don’t have to share with an unwelcome stranger
looking for more than warmth
i have health and strength
and no need for assistance to get up and face the challenges of the day
my chaos has been transformed into peace by the Spirit of the Most High
i have rivers of living water flowing through my soul
and the floodgates of goodness and mercy are opened to me daily
my haters are stepping-stones to greatness
all they can do is watch me rise
mesmerized by the wonders of Your power
they marvel at your faithfulness
Your favor
and love
Thank You

~from "Hairstory"
(c) 2010 PoetryofMotion!
All Rights Reserved

rising...

rising...

lyrically inclined

to sing a new song

each purposeful line of joy

dynamically moves the heart

rhythmically enlightening the soul

taking away heartache and replacing it with laughter

no more sadness fills the space

a happy soul rejoicing in God’s glory with the dawning of a new day

healing waters cleansing

redeeming

gaining strength

eyes open to  beginning again

a flower opening in the sunlight

old things truly passing away

making way for the new thing

that’s just beginning on the horizon

destiny awaits

as the tide rolls in

carrying burdens out to sea

and bringing blessings…

lyrically

no justice

we grieve...
the demise of justice in a world where no one matters
where reasonable doubt means nothing
and truth is hidden from eyes blind to reasoning
we grieve...

a thousand times more than a thousand
for the thousands who have lost their lives at the hands of justice
perverted for the few
with liberty for all who can afford to pay
death to those who can’t
and we grieve today
for the many more who will die
without justice

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.