Hello amigos & amigas and cyber lurkers and other visitors ~
I have not checked my poetry emails in two months and discovered that three poems have been published by http://www.rpwriters.com/competition.html
The name of the anthology is “Zygote Abstract". It will be on sale in May (I believe)...I have to tell you that they have published poets like Imaru Baraka, a very controversial poet...but then again, my poetry has never been tame and I certainly have pissed off enough people in cyberland...why not piss off a few more people? LOL!
"Divinity" was written with Debbie, Tammy, Steph, Bunie, Jonea, my daughters and a close friend, in mind..."Shame" captures my ambivelance about sex/intimacy and incidentally I was given a TOS by Yahoo for that poem...LOL..."My Soul is Weary", is self explantory...
I am still packing/tossing, money is a huge issue and I am tempted to rob a bank (just kidding), still very ill, on new meds but the MS has a mind of it's own... but hey, life goes on...I will be blogging or at least visiting blogs this weekend...missing ya'll...~hugs~ Alan, I SWEAR, I am gonna read the rest of your published short story...I read some of it but I am having vision issues (the MS really really sucks)...it is good...no Alan, it is great...and I hate and envy you! LOL...ya'll at Sacred Song Space...I will be by to visit; Political Junkie and Robin, Jonea, Joyce, Sharon and Carol, I will visit ya'll as well...Nathan, I was too ill to visit you in December, but will be on the East Coast by the end of January...
Divinity
today I read that god is found in the spaces
in between people
I have been seeking the godhood
all my life
odd where it has been discovered
not in the great cathedrals
with their flying buttresses
sycophant priests and richly bejeweled splendiferous popes
not in the achingly beautiful pristine synagogues
with their endless rabbinical squabbling
and arguments over who is a Jew
not in the geometrically perfect mosques
frozen in time
lamenting their former days of glory
and scientific advancements
not in any of these holy places
where woman is representative of sin
and Eve, Mary Madelene and Lilith
are unrepentant whores and temptresses
where sex is a hidden dirty sin
its pleasures shunned
and its sacredness
denied
earmarked strictly for procreation
or places where the godhood has been sacrilegiously schizophrenically
split
and only the male nature of god
is divine
the female aspect suspect, submissive and inferior
and given insincere verbal homage
where faith in the unbelievable
is preferred over knowledge
pain and suffering
blithely explained as the human lot
I have witnessed the divinity
in the words
written by poets
art
created by artists
music
performed by musicians
today
I discovered divinity and the godhood
in spaces between me and you
Shame
waking slowly
I snuggle deeper
into the cocoon of my blankets
unwilling to start the day’s activities
lingering in the echoing silence
the chill frosted windows
stand as sentinels
to my isolation
my hands explore
smoothing down the body warmed sheets
seeking something
that is not there
the flesh remembers
what the mind refuses to acknowledge
I want to taste this shame
again
My Soul Is Weary
My soul is weary
I want to lay my sword down
write of love and romance
sunny skies, star lit nights
and limb entwined bodies
rest in Elysion fields of flowers
forgetting the thousand thoughtless humiliations
the endless eternal injustices
of being black/brown/red/yellow skinned,
fat/ugly/disabled,
female/young
or poor.
I am exhausted by a world suffering from tunnel visions
of blonde hair and round, blue eyes, svelte, perfectly shaped, tanned limbs, and all the attendant rights;
of obscene, parasitic, robber baron wealth,
and 15 minutes of forgettable fame.
Then I remember
the illiterate man lacks moneyed erudition
and the toothless have no bite
or power
and we, the people
yes, I said we the people
allow the Ivy leaguers to
divide and re-distribute wealth
to an exclusive few.
An outright theft of riches
earned by the sweat of other's brows,
while the elite arrogantly advises
ala the jaded and very dead, French royales
"qu'ils mangent de la brioche"
to let them eat cake
(or is it bread),
and these winners, our social betters, mis-quoters, and silky tongued liars subsequently
write and revise our histories.
Yes, I have no choice but to continue to fight
