Deny Destroy Defer Disgrace Dreadful Double Speak Death Destruction Demon Devil We must change, we must change, we must change. Children should not die at the hands that hold weapons such as these. We must change. Rights are not rights to slaughter. Nonsense in mass murder. Cowardice in suicide. Children should not die at the hands that hold weapons such as these. 12/14/12...not again...my heart hurts for Newtown Connecticut and the 20 children and 6 adults murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary School.
There are some voices that are so smooth, silky, and smokey, reminding one of a mellow time and easy mood, such is the voice of Miss Malena Smith and her debut EP entitled "Commencement". http://dillybeatz.tumblr.com/
he promised love and commitment but instead destroyed her soul he killed her spirit and ate her life whole then one day his insecurity was much for him to bear he stepped inside her life and destroyed what was there he promised love and commitment but ended her life one day wondering how this happened how one could end this way this wonder of a woman who changed our lives ended up with the demon in christian disguise dressed in white and laid out in repose her eyes were mortician closed he sat in the pew looking forlorn as the room filled with praise for her to the rafters it arose that beautiful soul was tortured no more how could no one know we gathered at the grave and said our last good bye he off to the side just waiting a chance to go learned later the fate of this magnificent woman who gave my words wind he promised love and commitment and took her light away for his own depraved and evil bend it will not be silent her calling from the grave she has given instr
The sun rose the other day and shined a light on what was is and should be It said go on move on march on journey on travel on Time keeps spanning and waiting no more for getting over a funk or showing what you mean to me Packing placing plowing plundering promising promoting providing preventing permanent It said go on move on march on journey on travel on Dreams waiting knowing missing hoping wanting realizing needing fulfilling The sun rose the other day and said to go
I rarely post other people's work, but really love the message in Dudley Randall's (1914-2000) poem in tribute to Gwendolyn Brook's and her natural. She didn't know she was beautiful, though her smiles were dawn, her voice was bells, and her skin deep velvet Night. She didn't know she was beautiful, although her deeds, kind, generous, unobtrusive, gave hope to some, and help to others, and inspiration to us all. And beauty is as beauty does, they say. Then one day there blossomed a crown upon her head, bushy, bouffant, real Afro-down, Queen Nefertiti again. And now her regal woolly crown declares, I know I'm black AND beautiful.
Everyone has a list when they come in. Big carts, little carts, red baskets. Sales on apples, sales on bananas - were these even on my list? Halloween barely over and the sugar is on sale! Can't wait for Christmas? Men push the carts, women hold the lists, kids want the free cookie. Thursday is always busy, Friday is quiet in the mornings. Football days - hot dogs are on sale and pop is 2 for $5. Bags of candy are half-priced, overfull cart of additives tempting at the door. Old people come in the morning, young people come in the afternoon, moms come with babies after morning nap. The cart pushers wear gloves, the carts are loud rumbling on the tile floor, make a ruckus at the door. They bring their own shopping bags. Swanson broth is on sale for Thanksgiving. It is November 2. C&H Sugar is 2 for $5, store brand is $2.28, side-by-side on a big pallet. "This week only - Triple coupons!" "It's Switch and Save Week!" Box tops for education are supposed to
You reward the ones who make the mess and hate the one who does the work With words of love and eyes of glee you give them trinkets with delight Frowns and yells to the one who cleans crumbs from your table swept down with all your might Why do you loathe the hand that wipes but dance your heart for the ones who do not glean?
The crisp morning air, the brisk bite of wind, the crinkle of the leaves. Hello fall! My, where did the summer go with all its heat and bluster? How did we wake us and under blankets we muster? Looking out the balcony and staring at the trees, goodbye summer breeze! Hello fall! We missed the long sleeves and the scarves donned anew, hot chocolate and lattes, warming me, warming you. photo credit - my daughter Robin - taken this weekend in Blackburn Park, Webster Groves MO
Sometimes things hit you and you are completely blindsided and numb, left wondering, what brought that on. The heart beats and the feeling of a fog takes over. Wondering, again, how did this happen. Drove around for hours, looking for calm, finding no answers to the questions swirling in my head. Should have known the peace wouldn't last, should have known the storm was coming, should have known the evil would open its mouth again and speak death to your soul, should have known. Believing the lie of love in the midst of their addiction and compulsion, holding on for the ones who can not hold on for themselves, wondering, again and again, why now. Numb, sitting still and breathing, hoping the quiet will give answers in the aftermath of the quake. Moving and lifting, folding and sorting, shifting time forward, can't wait another ten years for the ones who can not care for themselves to be unto themselves. Open doors, must be coming from the One who sees all, silen
The sun streams through the shades a gentle breeze kisses my cheek my eyes slowly open a cloudburst greets my eyes new day dawning possibility rising green trees swaying outside my window wind blowing leaves calling me to rise up and dance.
IN MOTHER’S FAVORITE CHAIR by Tayé Foster Bradshaw I am not sure when this journey began or really, where it will even end up. I keep thinking that I will walk back into the room and see her sitting there, book in hand, coffee at her little side table, a smile on her face. But I am fully awake and I know this is all happening, all around me. “Your mother went up to heaven,” that’s what they all told me. “Okay.” I ran off to play. I am only four years old. I believe them. They would never lie to me, this I am sure of. They have always taken care of me, giving me cupcakes that my grandmother made, the lady with the long, long gray hair that I saw one time in the early morning when she didn’t know I was awake. I was supposed to be asleep on the sofa, snuggled next to my little brother and my cousin, we were supposed to watch Romper Room in the morning, I was awake, holding my baby doll, watching her in the mirror. She is a tiny little woman, exce
She walked outside her townhouse into the steamy, misty heat of St. Louis, exhaling and breathing in a mouthful of hot. It took more energy than she wanted to expend to step into the world today when all she wanted to do was sit in her balcony office that overlooked the forest of trees and ponder the letter she received in the mail yesterday. How in the world did a letter that was written for her before she was even born managed to be hidden away on the other side of the country and reach her now? What is she supposed to make of the words etched in ink on the parchment paper, carefully folded and sealed in an envelope? Why the strict instructions to not know the identity of the person who mailed it, not to even know the gender or any other identifying marker except they have been her "benefactor?" This was just a little too much crazy than she wanted to deal with on a day that was promising to fulfill those predictions of global warming, just another St. Louis summer.
You flood my soul. I am sitting here, late at night, surrounded by the darkness, disturbed by the quiet Thinking of you. Wondering the why and how of this place, this space, we exist. My mind is twirling, filling up, overflowing, banks of rivers, rivers of tears. You flood my soul and take my waters past the barriers I am kneeling here, midnight of midnights, moonlight breaking through, quieted by the quiet Thinking of you. Knowing how and knowing why, into this place, existing together, space. My mind is swirling, pouring out, exploding, oceans beyond, oceans of fears. You flood my soul and take my waters past the barriers and through the seas And my spirit is, is, is and the waters are flowing