As each year piles on– Clinging to my skin, Barnacles of the modern world, I find myself staring death In his face.
I walk into another year, Carrying my past–lugging Around decades of old Habits and eons of new pain. I fear the embrace of The inevitable–the end of change.
I am supposed to move forward In life, grateful for breath; Thankful for air, but the demons Overcrowd my thoughts, and the Finality of life’s end is my Own personal horror.
I open my mouth to scream– Nothing escapes. This is where I live now– On the corner of the aged, And up the street From the dying.
I knock on the door of The present, and no one Answers.
Thank you toMatt Snyderfor allowing me to gift a poem to you. It has been my pleasure.
To learn more about the Your Poem From Me: The Giving Cause, click here.Let me write a poem for you. I can give it life.
This musical piece is one created by both Sandy & I. I love this song with all that’s in me. Writing the lyrics and having Sandy bring them to life was such a blessing. It still is. Coworkers at my previous job heard it and wanted their copies on CD which Sandy happily provided.
I hope this moves you. I hope you feel what we felt when we created it. Please click on the original post to hear “A World to Save.” Happy New Year, beautiful people!
not everything needs a story it’s possible to want justice without being seen as angry and you’re damned right I’m angry when our justice is perverted time and again, and again you fixate on the anger spinning a yarn about the irrational response of us ungrateful thugs
the ones you want to linger beneath the soles of your feet will be the very ones who you’ll beg to add more days onto your life. and when the Maker calls your number, I will play bailiff, executing all plans for your demise. and the difference between you and I will be that I had nothing to do with it.
make your presence known in other ways. show this world that there is so much more to living than constantly trying to flaunt your privileges in my face OR belittling me every chance you get. “when they go low, we go high,” and it must feel like shit watching angels scale the skies while you reach into your pockets for God-status and pull up lint instead
not everything needs a label it’s possible to seek solitude without being tagged as arrogant I look inward for serenity I demand airspace to be me authentically free from the box you cram to shove me in I guess I’m arrogant enough to exist in stout defiance of your weights and measures
not everything needs approval it’s possible to just want to breathe without society constricting airflow or to share life, laughter with a lover without enraging a stranger lording bizarre, anachronistic, dogmatic views I wish to seek the warmth of the sun free from fear of fatalistic reprisal because I fit some unsavory description or I love in a way that you don’t
and, I’ve watched you, watching me– you want me to be this robotic thing intent on following your lead: no disputes, no disagreements, and no opinion of my own, and losing the biggest part of me is not something I am willing to do. this frustrates you . . . it digs into places of your soul that you aren’t willing to share and I have fun witnessing your strength dwindle to mere nothingness since it feeds off hate. ***
This is a collaboration with my homie and long-time collaborator, Barry. Please, visit his blog and enjoy his genius mind.
*Barry and I have been collaborating for about a decade. If I think it, he can bring it to life. If he starts something, I can usually finish it. We have meshed well for such a long time that I was beyond myself with glee to finally see him get active on Medium. Every time we work together, it is fun to see where we are in our work at that moment. He is a great Writer and a dope fiend.
Survivors write and contribute art of their survival in this Anthology. All proceeds will benefit a great cause. It would be great to live in a world where something like this isn’t needed, but… that isn’t our reality.
Even the most subtle hint of creating change can bring out the beasts of the world. An army can obliterate them. The problem is, we don’t have enough people willing to don his or her armor to fight for what’s right in the open when the light is perfectly set. Fear is a mongrel, steadfast when it has a target. “Stand up for something or fall for anything.”
sits real calm-like next
to Daddy, puffs out a heap of
smoke and says, “Gotta make a decision, Tony.
We bulldozing through this city block
with or without your consent.”
I watch Daddy’s eyes turn cold,
he can’t sit, can’t stand, he just
looks frozen in time.
the man in the perfect hat
pats my Daddy’s leg once, then
lifts himself from our porch swing, a trail of smoke follows him
down the block, connecting his
lies as it forms.
Daddy gives me a quick smile,
reassuring me.
he isn’t a big man, short and thin. he looks like time swaying in
the breeze, waiting for a lifeboat
that’s never coming his way.
he tells me that the Big Wigs
are making us move, taking our
home from up under us.
“We got thirty days, Pumpkin.”
and, I don’t know where
we gonna go, but I hear my
Mom’s soul sigh
in the dead of night.
if she was still alive, she’d cut that man in the perfect hat
with her words and tell him
where he can stick his ideas.
A strip mall.
that’s what they’re building.
fifteen homes on our block
and three on the next will
be demolished in a matter of days.
I sit and think of that smoke
and how it followed the man
in the perfect hat and I wonder if it’s gonna come
back without him one day
and liberate us.
thirty days to go and no new home in view wanting to stay knowing it’s time to leave sights set on tomorrow
get a new home that fit our porch swing a patch of dirt to grow bundles of greens
mom’s energy nearby
while i pick and pull from the stems
she keeps a watchful eye over me
while i soak and rinse in the kitchen sink
dandelions in the kitchen window
daddy’s head hangs over the daily news
we beat the thirty days
we walk at our pace
no new development looming near.
daddy gives me that quick smile
a sway in the breeze, he stands
on a sunday afternoon
a dream memory of my mom, she stands beside us
in between
daddy washes his hands and opens the oven door
our home smells of roasting meat
that time, mom had me snapping fresh peas our family, as whole as can be
before
home was home, our yard had a tree swing
lay mom to rest, our three turned into a two all our memories stuffed into a one bedroom
daddy on the sofa i have a door with a window view of a toxic factory
maybe, a strip mall in our place
won’t be so bad
mom would have the paper preparing for our new home.
i smile daddy’s quick smile, turn to the real estate section we sit in the sun
i reassure him this time
dream big enough for us both sure we won’t see the man with the perfect hat
gone before he returns
it is time and we will go
A Cornered Gurl 
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