And I Know…

I hear his footsteps coming towards me and I know…
The words he is saying
The rules he is laying down
The fears I am betraying

…it’s not right

I see him in the dark before me and I know…
She does not make a sound
As his fist takes its first pound
And knocks me to the ground

…it’s not right

I smell him as he lowers towards me and I know…
This time won’t be because of drink
Inside myself I start to slink
I must go where I cannot think

…it’s not right

I feel his arms around me and I know…
How many cracks are in the ceiling above
Not to ever resist or push becomes shove
Only open my mouth for the depth of his love

…it’s not right

I taste more than tears on me and I know…
All the lies I’ll contrive
The pleasure he derives
In taunting “Why you still alive?”

…it’s not right

My senses overload when he leaves and I know…
When a fourteen-year-old is no longer sad
Cannot be so bothered to be mad
When ordered to coo “Goodnight Dad”

…it’s not right

A Mile In… 

It has been a couple of days now since we’ve made Donald Trump the new president-elect. Between the various camps of who voted for whom or berating/thanking those who did not vote at all and what it all means,it has been a shit storm of a week. In the midst of it are those saying it won’t be as bad as others are making it out to be. And that is the thing that has probably bugged me the most.

The majority of those who have touted unity, to pull ourselves together, have predominantly been white cis and yes, male. Now,to a point they are correct. It won’t be bad for them with Trump as preident, for it was not bad for most of them to begin with regardless of who held the title of POTUS. Their privilege comes with rose colored glasses that not nearly enough have chosen to at least lower them enough to view how things are for others whose shoes walk a different path. And those shoes coverd many different paths during the campaign – Blacks, Hispanics, women, immigrants, Muslims, Jews, gays..

Muslim women who have had their hajibs snatched from their heads. American born Mexican children being tauted by classmates they will be deported. A black man being called nigger and spat upon. A gay man being told he will soon be executed straight or to death. All of these events, perpetrated by whites, happened within the first 48 hours of Trump being elected. This is not to say any of these could not have happened at any other time, it could, and likely has, many times before. But it has ratched up considerably in just three days. This daily fear and unfortunate reality for many of us -for as a black woman in America I do feel those  crosshairs- is not going to be abated because many chose to push those rose colored glasses higher to hide the ugly.

Anyone denying that the climate has changed enough that the more hateful among us feel not just free, but justified, to behave this way since Trump’s election are accessories to the perpetrators, for silence is consent. Armchair tut-tutting after the fact is empty lip service to those who hurt. For while I do not believe the entire country will completely fall into the dark ages racially and socially, if the past couple of days have proven nothing else, I do believe the day to day social climate is going to be a rougher path to travel. 

In all honesty, I have no idea what kind of president Trump will be. I have no idea how a Republican led House, Senate and presidency will effect this nation as a whole. They may yet shock us all. Not holding my breath on it,  though. I have lived through several presidents now in my adult life. Some were given my vote and I lived through them, some were not and I lived through them. Like it or not, and I don’t, the nation has elected Donald J Trump, President of the United States of America and I am an American. I will respect the Office of the President of the United States, for I know it is bigger than the man who serves in it, and I will live through this president as well.

As I explained to an erstwhile colleague I ran into on the subway, just because it’s not your reality doesn’t mean the reasons for my fear are not real. Telling me it won’t be that bad is in fact saying it will be bad. Don’t you dare then belittle and dismiss my fears as unjustified.

Where The Buffalo Still Roam

For centuries the sun and moon have risen
here over the horizon of rolling hills
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

In the centuries past, our forefathers were forced here.
Here where the land, and our forefathers, were thought
never to be needed, wanted and preferably seen again.
Giving away that which was never owned by them to begin with
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

In the centuries hence, we dried our tears and made this land ours.
We’ve lived and died here. And in spite of it all, thrived here.
Keeping that which is sacred – sacred,
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

In this century now, the smooth grassy curves of the horizon
are broken by the sharp lines of a civilization, vying to creep in.
Exhausting what is theirs now profanely vie to disrespect what is ours
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

This is our sacred, because it is not so for them does not belie it,
in this home where the buffalo still roam.

====================

Inspired by the buffalo sighting at the Standing Rock Dakota Access Pipeline Protests last week.

Color Me With Food

I’m faced with my choices

Cranberry, Beluga, Custard,
Caramel, Albacore, Eggplant

Really Raivenne?

I’m such a foodie.

I came here for one thing.

One.

Decisions. Decisions.

With a sweet sparkling
of creative inspiration
an image forms before my eyes.

Giggling I take them all

<>==========<>==========<>

At dVerse this week’s Quadrille is being hosted by Dee (WhimsyGizmo) who challenges to find the spark as this week’s word prompt.

Moving into a new apartment, I was bemused that all of the paint color choices that appealed to me had food related names. Most, if not all, of those colors will be in a mural that came to me.

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub : Quadrille 19 – Spark

And This Too…

I came across this old comic Calvin and Hobbs strip on the internet a while back. It broke my heart.
calvin-grows-up
It’s not that Calvin is growing up which makes me sigh, for that is the natural way of things. It is through the use of pills (Ritalin?) that stymies his imagination and thus reduces Hobbs to his stuffed animal reality that saddens me.

Please note – this is not a post for or against the use of such medications for children. I understand that. Every child, every need is different and we can all tell stories siting the pros and cons for its need. This is more a bittersweet acknowledgement of this too shall pass in the time of imaginary friends however that passing occurs.
sol
Slice of Life Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers

Smiling Face

I face the sun trying not to see

The shadows I know follow me

They hunger for possession

That plays with my depression

For my mirror darkly

Shows the pains starkly

Always on the cusp of despair

Past the façade of jokes I share

<>==========<>==========<>

Today at dVerse De, aka WhimsyGizmo, invites us to take a look at our shadow in form of a Quadrille this week.
dverse

dVerse ~Poets Pub : Quadrille #17

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: The Big Achoo

One of my several knuckle-headed, irreverent Facebook buddies posted the following…

If God sneezes, what do you say to Him?If God sneezes, what do you day to Him?

Me, being equally knuckle-headed and irreverent, responded in kind of course …

Salud! Careful Big Dude, I heard the last time that happened You accidentally took out the dinosaurs.

Salud! Careful Big Dude, I heard the last time that happened You accidentally took out the dinosaurs.

The older I get the more certain I am that Mr. Alighieri is going to need a whole new circle built for me and my shenanigans. At least I’m guaranteed excellent company.

Yesterday Haunts

like water in desert

the beauty of you quenches

my lips part – breath gasps

for the feel of your strong arms

that have yet to hold me close

><——><

a bloom of scarlet

stark against a white canvas

then sheets – now snow drifts

both give note to the battles

of my birth and of my death

><——><

where there is no sound

one hears how your voice  trembles

its timbre thrills – pains

gripped in memory’s cruel grasp

yesterday haunts tomorrow

<>==========<>==========<>

Today at dVerse Toni has us exploring the Tanka in its more traditional use. Having written non-traditional and super tanka before, I challenged my self to string a few together for something of a little narrative. The first tanka above are lovers at first sight, the middle – a soldier’s poem on his birth at his death and the last tanka – the lover left behind who remembers.

Tanka have a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count, per line.  The first two lines of the tanka are known as the kami-no-ku – upper poem, the last two lines are the shimo-no-ku – lower poem.  The third line. middle line, is the kireji or, cutting line or pivot denoting the difference between the two parts.  This is important to remember when writing tanka.  There are also no uppercase letters, no punctuation (except for the short dash, like an aspirated breath) or title. Tanka are subjective and can be emotional, opinionated, sensual, and lyrical.  They move back and forth through time and use elegant phrases or euphamisms, simile and metaphor.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar – Form: Tanka

Looking For You

Looking for you to love
Laughing delightedly with empty leash in hand

Yawning widely

Your soft body in my lap
We all knew you chose me
Not the other way around
Tail wagging furiously
Already happy
On your first day

Yapping noisily

Gnawing my extended finger
That served just as well
As your favored chew toy
In your puppy days

Barking jubilantly

I quickly learned to measure
What was tail safe height
When you greeted me at the door
In your doggie teens

Growling menacingly

Strangers were quickly warned
Enter either with permission
Or at their own risk
In your adult days

Whimpering piteously

Though we could not see
Anything without
It was our first clue
Something was wrong within
In your senior days

Sighing contentedly

Looking up at me
Your soft head in my lap
Tail thumping the floor
I knew you were
Still happy
On your last day

Crying uncontrollably with empty leash in hand
Looking for you to love

<>==========<>==========<>
So Walt is tending bar at dVerse and we’re asked… what does love sound like? I was totally stumped not having truly thought of love from an aural perspective, other than love-making – and I did not want to go there. Honestly, I  was going to give Poetics a pass this week when a good friend of mine posted that his beloved Sherlock had crossed the Rainbow Bridge with the words:

“My best friend died today with his head in my lap.”

I immediately recalled a video he had posted a while back of a happy Sherlock making trilling noises and I thought he’ll never hear that again. That’s when I realized the sounds of love are not relegated solely to humans, and thus with a little poetic license – this poem for Drew and Sherlock.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Tuesday Poetics: The Sound of LOVE