I am...**

I am
   unchained optimistic
I wonder
   which questions fit the answers given
I hear
   merfolks beckon with sweet siren song
I see
   footprints of possibility
I want
   promise upheld

I am
   unchained optimistic
I pretend
   their thoughts matter more than my own
I feel
   blessed and strive to bless others
I touch
   divinity like water in cupped fingers
I worry
   that my worries will insult Creation
I cry
   unbidden fear for our children and theirs

I am
   unchained optimistic
I understand
   nothing but seek overstanding
I say
   words have power beyond comprehension
I dream
   technicolor utopia
I try
   living wisdom to make my mothers proud
I hope
   for justice, connection, beauty, legacy

I am
   unchained optimistic


**in response to DC Poetry Project - Half-and-Half writer's workshop prompt**

(c) Journey by Fire 2013

Prompt #2 - Inspiration: "Street Music" 

Inorganic orchestrations

muffled by 8 panes of glass

and 

incessant distractions of 

gear-shifting, radio tuning, texting-while-not-driving and whirring white noise of one's ever churning mind

And yet in infrequent moments of inattention

all falls still 

allowing aural imagery

to penetrate metallic chrysallis

Uninvited, street music 

insinuates itself first in primal basslines

oozing up through rusting floorboards and worn rubber mats

rhythms pounding heels fallen arches and big toes

horns blare in midday reveille

breaking voices of graceless children longingly stretch past their years 

with too-loud curses, like a toddler clunking along in mama's high heels

In personal silence

worlds pass 

heads nod 

as the beat goes on

Granted, Taken, Bestowed

Dinner seasoned in advance
Marinated in juices salt and rubbed with love
Without a bite, food doused to camoflage
Time and effort for granted taken

Extreme energy to reflect and refocus
Vaccuum laundry trap intruders
Dishes bandages hair nails homework
Time and tides honored and gifted

Sweet gentleness beseeches active listeners
Trailblazing freshness in space of exhaustion
Freedom blessings and duty's curse

Day Seven - A Nomad's Life

The nomad's life is filled with newness.
Each new place brings a new reality.
New realities bring fresh perspective.
Fresh perspective engenders an altered consciousness.
In turn, new understandings emerge.
Each new person presents an infinite mystery.
How then, could the nomadic life ever get old?

Day Six - Valediction

Fare thee well, my sweet
I'll await no reply

As countless joyful memories
Recede in rearview of mind's eye

Intersecting paths for divergent feet
Gift of brief union a most natural high

Gentle kiss on glisten-y cheek
Until next time, my friend...goodbye

Day Five - Cinquain

who knew?
how stupid phones
could make or break friendship:
o'er family plan rejected
or shared

Day Four - Jaundiced Outlook

Stumbling through life wearing
Lemon-colored glasses
Makes everything seem
Pissy

One person's untrusting
Becomes
Another's unwilling to compromise

And one person's outlook
Has suddenly become
Another's reality
Watch out...jaundice is contagious

Day Three - Sea Shanty

Oh the motion of the ocean puts you right to sleep

Sailors rock the middle in between the sheets

Aye the crew of two ne’er worked so hard

Standing at attention under skies bright-starred

On a bed so big it should be called your ship

Cap’n barking orders and cracking the whip

No landlubbers in this nautical tale

Jump aboard matey cause the ship’s setting sail

Oh the motion of the ocean puts you right to sleep

Sailors rock the middle in between the sheets

Day Two - About a Lie

simplicity's curse
blessed truths
escape tongues and tides

Day One - Something Borrowed

Abortions will not let you forget
Ill-conceived yet noble goals unmet
Should've could've would've beens
Rank among the deadly sins
Nostalgic wish a child inbred
Half-cocked ideas turn walking dead
Never-was equates unbirthed begets
Aborted dreams you can't forget


*First line courtesy of Gwendolyn Brooks' poem, "the mother"

Warm-up (chipping away the rust)

Insomniac rhythms justified 
By clocking time in distant places
Bright morning sun caresses upturned Eqyptian faces
Midday offerings grace Balinese holy spaces 
While unyielding urban lights strain
Silent sentinels to bull-horned passing freight trains
Disrupting muted city post-midnight soundscapes
From dried and dusty pen, virtual timewarp coaxes nascent imagery to first attempt escape

writer's block

scarface's rough rhyme
fills the space in my mind
hood anthem chorus
of few built just for us

...on my block...

no writers, no readers
no bloggers, no tweeters

...on my block...

young kids and their kids
play and fight, day and night

...on my block...

inspiration abounds
if i'd just look around

...on my block...

but i hide inside
my own prejudicial pride
as i debate and decide
whether or not i'll forever reside

...on my writer's block...