Sunday, June 28, 2015

Long ago and yet so clear...

Long ago and yet so clear...

Long ago and yet so 
clear and shimmered
two young faces ran
through the night and
stood spontaneously 
connecting under a 
raised rug protecting
purloined perfection 
Long ago and yet so 
clear - the story - 
the life - 



Had an idea an idea I had sitting there
on the mailbox - legs swinging had an
idea - holding an old book broke spine 
safe in both hands-tight - had an idea - 
sitting there on the mailbox - toasting 
my behind in the summer sunlight -
Had an idea sitting there on the mail-
box - no-where, no-way, to walk, no-
where to wander - nowhere here - no
else-Where?-Sitting there on the mail-
box - that book warm in hands mine - 
had an idea bigger than all in records -
of time - fold myself to a single page -
words of my soul dancing as I slip to 
the soft dark engage in the tumble of 
soft slips of whirling words - and wait 
to mail my own self to wherever I am 
meant to be 

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Take it Down!

Jermaine Rogers *

Take It Down!

It don't symbolize
sarsaparilla or mint
julip or magnolia
blossoms floating
in soft summer sun
It don't symbolize 
sweet sugar sounds
moving slow-sliding
like strap-molasses
no more than than
a swastika symbolize
-sweet apple strudel
It sure don't symbolize
Southern - Dig - 
nity - Nothing
dignified about
hauling up hatred
up on mast....
So stand up and - 
Take it down ...


* thank you to Jermaine Rogers for graciously granting his permission to post his brilliant cartoon with this   poem ...

Sunday, June 21, 2015

a note from our youngest "child"...

Mommy loves me I know that's true
But I wouldn't be here if not for you!!!


Saturday, June 20, 2015

My father held his woman-love

My father held his woman-love 
hard and fast in that never-forgotten
facet of his heart – they wander now - still never separate
Their love still tremulous in the architecture of my soul 
He - progenitor of my being – creator of my city of customs
I live on - in - the moral, creative traditions of his essence –
He - vibrant, vivid, shimmering and present –
in the holds of my heart – remember-ing -
Forever and always as long as I draw his given breath

Happy Fathers' Day

Peter Griffin

Happy Fathers'  Day 

Fathers - men in all their varied manifestions ...
those who have created life -
those who have raised children to life - 
those who are still within arm's reach of a hug -
those who are unhuggable through temperament or circumstance -
those who are whispers in the rustling wind riding the wings of cardinals -
those who are or were larger than life - struggling with life - lifting up or putting down
those who were grand, mediocre, or downright awful...
This day remembered with smiles, tears, laughter, yearning or some combination ....
Fathers ... in all their varied sons and daughters -
squalling new-borns to dreaming centurions ...and those in the in-between
All - children always .. of
Fathers - men in all their varied manifestations
from missing to magnificent - leaving
footsteps on our throats or in our hearts to
follow or flee.
On this day
Honor the father that you deserved to have
whether fortunate to have been so bestowed,
or a phantasmic figment of your imagination -
the father you chose for your children or 

the father you have become, because of, or "in-spite of" -
Ride the wings of what is, was, what could have been or 

what is yet to be-coming...
Fathers -
Men -
Ours -

Happy Fathers' Day
heart heart emHappy Fathers' Da

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Keep the secret


Keep the secret

In the secret storm raining razors of tongue
when sour-think-stink wafts about as sour-est dung
as the bird-brained mouths open to gossip so thirsty
Stand off to the side and bronze your words even if bursty
Yes bursty may they-be-bubbling round, round and around
Percolating alarming-ly – Yet.....Please stand your ground
Stand your ground– Keep it secret. Poem yourself if you must
Bathe in integrity-blossoms while others lay in the lie-down of dust 


I have a secret poem...

Maliz Ong

I have a secret poem... 

I have a secret poem – honed as bladed razors -
opening a throat thirsty for vindication of another.
I have a secret poem – that bangs in a bronze tomb -
sealed in sisterhood in the epi-center of my soul -
beating against walls - a sour fetid storm raging
against its confines awakening a sleeping beast
that roars in righteousness – raging in alarming
alacrity – blinded to any possibility of another -
point of view in the heinous horror against a mother
I have a secret poem in me–risen writ with wet finger-
tips – dipped in the blood-libel soul-searing egregious
intention to obliterate – perhaps it all began with
gossip or misunderstanding now blown to nuclear
defense of the indefensible – ongoing pummels  
attempting to pulp a mother-poet to oblivion –
I have a secret poem – of wrath waiting to be un-
leashed that need never be written - for though 
the mother-poet can now bathe in the salted depth 
of her tears. – she needs no champion - continuing
to get to her feet shake the vertigo of visciousness 
and write on – with love and the light without end
I have a secret poem that will be revised from rage
to respect – from anguish to awe - 
I have a secret poem taken from its lockbox shredded
and released to the winds of change to come - 
eventually ... 

Friday, June 12, 2015




I remember when
you floated down
the aisle - swirling
tulled tomorrows -
soft spring smiles - 
fall of gentle rain -
into sweet-misted-
hearts melting -
into an unforeseen
filamented future - 
unfurling  - for all
I remember when ...

I remember then   ... 
with love...