Wait
She looked at him with eyes as brown as the earth
Her skin hued by the ancestral blood of the original
Native American possessors.
Her hand leapt to stop the encroachment of his
Inevitable possession of her heart…
Landing on his chest.
“Wait”…the whisper seemed to call forth her
Truest self and in full regalia she showed
The shaman a thing or two.
His body quivered as he felt the cool fingers
Trace the lip with its peach fuzz hair
And she smiled
She leant upwards like the young flower
Seeking to bloom as it strives to
Absorb the full warmth of the sun.
Her lips grazing, not his, but the mark
Of his struggling hirsute badge of
Masculinity and age
Her eyes closed and the expression of
Sublime washed through her
Into his soul
It was enough and yet not enough
And the conquistador knew
He was conquered
She looked at him with eyes as brown as the earth…
Move
Blistering summer heat
Next to open hydrant showers
Laughing smiling children
Melted ice cream kisses
MOVE!
Heads turning in unison
As the clouds give a
Single clap applause
That deafens the arena
MOVE!
Surreal movie strobes
Of the paper cutout
houses folding in
New room for a playground
MOVE!
The police barricades that
Hold in the holdouts
Of a dying identity
Ancestral consciousness
MOVE!
A woman drags her broken
Shell of a body
With an unbroken
Spirit of Fire
MOVE!
With whispers heard in the
Cacophony of silence
She gives a name
To the action
MOVE!
Lady Africa gives birth with
The tears and blood
Born of resistance of
Her dying young
MOVE!
Shuddering eyes betray the inner
Tremors of a schism
As the tectonic
Plates of her skull shift
MOVE!
A once and future America king
Ordered the cessation of
Her progress by a
Helicopter bomb
MOVE!
Looking into the dimming eyes
I wonder how I give
Beauty to beauty
With artless words
MOVE!
A Nubian inner city goddess
Lying in a rising tide
Of a crimson sea
By her near forgotten sacrifice.
MOVE!
Can you tell me the actors’ names?
Who was mayor then?
What was his skin color?
What was his soul’s color?
MOVE!
If reincarnation is true
Would he have been Esau
Judas or James Earl Ray?
Who called him Good?
MOVE!
ARS POETICA
A poem is a blind man in an ocean of emotion
seeking to find the shore inside
A poem is a grenade hurled by an angry mob
that explodes onto bouquets
A poem is the gentle caress of a pair of
speechless lips
A poem is the echo of God’s anthropomorphic
heart
A poem is the gasp of air that burst from
The lungs of a drowning man.
A poem is the ice cube trickling down a summer
baked back
A poem is the screech of chalk on a blackboard during a moment of silence.
A poem is the declaration of (In)dependence
A poem is in your eyes
A poem is…
For GED Graduation Ceremony
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