-
A Lesson In Strawberries
I was a young girl, about 12. It was our first summer on The Farm and it was a hard one. But it also was filled with good food straight from the warm earth. My mother had a talent for growing things in the city, despite its polluted air that even 70 years ago people…
-
CROESUS, MY COUNTRY
Croesus stumbled and laid back a war torn skin for public autopsy. With bruises bested by emotional welts too deep to be visible, he wept. In the eye of the cyclone, the earth's erratic heartbeat was his heart; the blood drenching the soil was his blood and the screams of the mothers came from his…
-
For Love’s Sake
What we create are memories. Not only for ourselves but for others. What we think we are doing and creating, to another within their frame of reference, is an altogether different thing. For ourselves we may be enriching our experience. For the Other, we are oftentimes teaching something of great value. Or simply giving them…
-
Family Drama
We should give children roots to know they are connected to us but we must remember to uncover their wings so they can fly. Then they will come back. The straight spine is an inheritance. It is agile enough to bend but its natural position is perpendicular. . . . to hold the chin up…
-
Time In The Heart
I was an oppressed people. I wandered long and became very tired of wandering. I hugged the banks of the green river and shredded lives of high calibre. Crying hard and loud I voiced irritation that rubbed edges raw. And soon I walked into the promised land. Even before, even before I died. It was…
-
Toward A Destiny
wild geese move within the moments of their destiny framing patterns struck upon a naked sky. clocked by indiscreet motions they move in gentler waves instinctively. confirmed in their geesehood they soar with speed amid the chastening winds and luring skies. untethered, unfettered. dressed in their celestial garb, melding motive and design toward a destiny…
-
The Poet’s Memories
Torn from an event with memories still alive and placed in an incubator to breathe are poets expected to live. Leaving a world incomplete, they wander in vegetation totally unfamiliar and yet expected to survive. And give rise to credence in a world with no root, where trees are shades of others more vivid, whose…
-
GENETIC MEMORIES
Lurking behind every door are ghosts from a shadowy past, eager to be translated to a dubious present. Impregnated in genes are the memories of these ghosts, split second DNA, with desire housing the delicate substance quoting life. Stupid am I to allow others' memories, lurking in my fresh Being to suck life out of…
-
Peace In The Center
Refresh yourself at the trough of knowledge. The water is cool and fresh and deserves a thirst that can appreciate it. When the eyes see, there is peace in the center. Providing of course the footwork has been done. Not until one sees where one has been can one change direction. Illusions are the finery…
-
The Farm Woman
Woman of the Earth, you are loved. You gather the fruits of your labors to your bosom and feed the children. You’ve inched your way along the dusty path with back bent in great fatigue and cultivated the rows yielding wise fruit. You would feed out of your mouth, those you think hungry and…