WELCOME to my HEAD

The Artist Realm

I saw lonely in the artist
melancholy
no light
the piper's song
his fingers strum
for merry feet a dancing
a tune for one
the minstrel's hum
if it be the patron's fancy
until and when his soul reveals
a force he cannot disguise
engulfed by sorrow
lying calm
his dream
not realized

then comes from him the anger
and control his soul must take
the cat gut strings
of all his dreams
to play 'til morning breaks

and from his brow
ripe beads of sweat
gather for the storm
awakened now and evermore
the artist needs
reborn

ego

i almost got sidetracked
by the news today
almost got caught up
in the topic of presidential hopefuls
almost overheard
something or other about
oil prices and the rise in sales
of luxury items
almost saw evidence
of the existence of war
But
mired as i am in mid-life flux
engaged by my own
inner turmoils
numbed by my own
constant realizations
deterred by my own
consistent indecision
i find myself
notably mesmerized
by aspirations entitled to youth
ostensibly castrated
by responsibilities of who I am, and
wary, continually, of the inevitability,
of becoming
who i am supposed to be

or not.

Evolution

I slept and dreamed that I awoke
I found I was a butterfly
with wings of silk and eyes
like tiny black pearls
I spread my gaily colored wings
and rose to greet the sun
I spun around and around and around
basking in the new light
Abruptly then did I awake
the sentient woman

Beguiling are my pearl black eyes
Beware!
For I will cast a spell on you
Spread my wings shall I for you
and delight in your marvel at rainbows
Dance will I on all the clouds
and whisper in your ear
and you will find amour
in all my butterfly colors
and I will learn the usefulness
of memories.

Woman

she is the breeze in summer wind
blowing soft over valleys low
she is the moist, wet rhyme of rivers 'round midnight
the whisper in autumn's thrill to dress
and the tremor of earth when storm is a tide at hand
the lilt of her voice
stills the flow of heaven-sent
beguiles the tide
to coax the truth and seek the peace within
she is the bough that will not break
the tears that will not fall
she is the quest of gods,
smitten with sweet,
who court love with sun pies and rainbows
for the pleasure of her smile
she is woman
in pieces and halves
in pebbles and stones
in the soft fleshy center of  a journey home
she is woman
...whole

A Mighty Fine Strut

She struts a mighty fine strut;
this sister, this woman black.
High hipped and full lipped,
squatting over need-be
reaching 'round must-have;
offering her pillow- soft- easy
to roguish, buttercream charm.
Her eyes
too full to wonder if he meant what he said
when he said
"You and me, girl, you and me."
She breaks day like the promise of love
taking a notion to move her ocean
through the ebb and tide of
gotta-make-a-livin' day-sways.
Lunching on bits and pieces of co-worker blues,
healing each-other hurts; leftovers
from the velvet drink of night.
From her overcoat of Someday, she picks lint,
this sister, this woman black,
soothes
and brushes the fabric in her closet dream,
hoping, but not waiting
to strut
her mighty fine strut
for someone strong enough to go on
when moving on
doesn't mean
...
leaving?

Ascension (for my mother, Africa)

my mother was shamed ...
in the plush cotton fields of Mississippi
where boll weevils made babies in young Tom's brow
in the warm glow of freedom's song
where blue marched against gray in the dirt packed streets of Gettysburg
in the raw steel mills of Philadelphia where white hot flame showered air
burned brotherly love like dusty black coals in a fiery winter furnace
in the solemn front pews of the inner sanctum sanctorum of a blue eyed Jesus
hanging naked from a cross
my mother was shamed

bastardized
illigetimized and
classified ...

a wretched whore
whose dark whore skin was stretched and flayed
cut open raw as it bled, gaping into the sun
even as the sun's nurturing rays bathed her in pearline streams of gold and silver dewy mist
even as she hoed the muddy fields, poured cold blue steel,
shouted Hallelujah! falling prone before the cross
even as she spilled salty wet, cry-me-a-river, River Of Tears
tucking in the always-child,
holding tight, like a favorite bedtime teddy
the comfort of knowing that when you're asleep,
it's all a dream.

she did not see her shadow dance.
she did not see the rainbow spins of grace and form as her shadow self wove the precious armor,
sealing the skin and closing the pores,
ensuring that even the rain would not get in.

O she felt the swollen welts.
she tasted the crimson tides but she saw only the shame
as callous hands probed her tender.
pulled and pushed and tore her sweet.
molded her nose to narrow and slimmed her hips to thin.
stole the undulation that made her free.
pressed the head that held the memory.

but from that hollow in her haven soul where shadow danced and spirit sang,
the ancients refuted the claim.

Jehovah cocooned her restless nights.
Allah plucked godling seeds from within her: the Garvey Bush, the Malcolm root
Yahweh whispered in her ear: the victim owns NO shame!

the knowledge filled her slow ... as a river swells with rain
raced rhythmic coursing through her til the seal was loose from vein
pounding and pounding and pounding until the skin gave way

back! the wild and woolley head
back! the shoulders high though bled
back! the stolen pride, thought dead

her scarred neck bulged and grew into a bloated thing!
and with Carol Danvers smoked coal eyes,
with Lena Horne's sultry gaze,
with Barack Obama's call for change,

my mother ripped her shame and showed her fierce!
hugging hurt into her bosum like a passionate kiss,

she smoldered in the night
perfumed the air with sassy self esteem
tip tapping a slow dance in stilted red heels, a sparkle smile and sequin lips,
delivering her God Self into boardrooms and courtrooms and otherwise
closed rooms
delivering back! the shame from whence it came
until the callous hands that held her
the callous hands that choked her life and shaped her world
the callous hands could shame her ...

no more.