Coffee Date

Coffee Date
 
Sucking on this straw
And my coffee ice clinks
My new date
And I are out for drinks
He asks for a story
Before he asks for a nude
If you stick with me boy
You won’t need Pay-per View
“What happened to you?
To make you look so fucked up?”
“Dammit,” I think
“I even did my make-up!”
“Let me tell you
Last night I had one too many drinks
I ended up with my head in the toilet
At least I didn’t go for the sink!
But don’t worry
I didn’t start a fight!
I just lost my front tooth
When I tripped down a flight!”
Shit
….
..
.
Will you still love me?
Or will you get bored?
Hey  – my whole life I’ve been a whore!
According to who? According to what?
If the stars aligned – I’d be your slut.
You know – my last boyfriend – he was addicted to smut
Oh…I’m sorry! Is that gross?
Did I just reveal too much?
I know there’s a lot of ladies out there
But did I make the cut?
I have lots to say
And lots to do
I know it’s our first date
And this much is true
Baby boy
If you can listen to me
For more then five minutes
And your ball still aren’t blue
I’ll have to be honest
I think
I have to say
I’m falling
In love with you
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The Whole World

Listen to a tale of how the whole world came to be
Sit on my lap and sink in close to me.
God rose at dawn, fell asleep by a well
Took man from an atom
And descended to hell
It was then that he saw
How the great sun grew bright
He put up stars in the sky
To make that thing we call “night”
With blue boomerang balls of fire in fists
Blazed rock laden coasts with the air we call “mist”
Moonbeams and sunstreams and water did not
Exsist at this moment for God had forgot
The Goddess inside and her good word delight
Spreading an unyielding love upon a vibration called fright
So they danced and they withered with some special light
Not the kind you turn on, but the kind you ignite
And they waded and walled in all of that pain
Thinking that one day, in some dimension we’d exist on this plane
of projects and problems and death’s brutal brew
so that I could sit here my dear one, and feed it to you

Sunday Mornings Are Never Really Sacred

A poem I wrote years and years ago that I am reminded of today. I like to think something really new and beautiful awakened after I wrote it. I don’t really go to church or am A practicing Christian” any longer, but I do find something wonderful about a Sunday.
.
Sunday Mornings are Never Really Sacred

Sunday mornings are
never really sacred.
You walk to church,
like your feet are carrying you there.
You can’t say why.
It just feels like something you’re supposed to do.

Minds eye takes me home
Meandering road
Pennsylvanian vistas of the
Hilltop crest past the Christmas tree farm,
Barn door tucked into valley folds of
sunlight soaked evergreen pond.
Tampered by the promise of
Lumped on fracking wells
To end this recession.

In the city you arrive at the church
and climb to the balcony.
No familiar faces greet you. The sounds of a passionate piano do not guide the way.
No tapestry of a labyrinth, or a Pentecostal dove.
No smell of flowers or wax dripping off of candles.
No need to brush legs with your neighbor while you step into the pew.
No prayers of concern, no reverend who raises his hands –
Let us stand and greet each other.

Just that little black book, where you write your name and check whether you are a member or not.
And the hymnal too. It’s the same shade of blue.
Without white walls to use as a pallet for the colors seeping out of organ pipes,
your gaze tracks the leaden frame of a stained glass window,
dodging eye contact with a painting of Christ.

Your mind drifts during the sermon,
And when the collection plate comes around you throw a dollar in,
hoping it will atone for the sin of forgetting to tip the cabbie last night.

These avoidances keep you vulnerable,
until the end of the service, when the man in front of you with a startling stare turns around and invites you downstairs for coffee.
Tells you about what a great church this is and boasts of former reverend with Princeton accolades who boosted membership with his own bare hands.

Walking back to your apartment under a grey sheet of sky
you call your father and remember that today after church
you won’t be watching red cardinals and clumsy squirrels
dancing in the big pine tree
outside your long glass window

Rather hum to yourself
Be Thou my Vision
While washing the dishes

How to Get Lit

Lately I’ve been caught in
     the right way to hold your breath, how to meditate, how to stop the mind
     the right way to cleanse your liver, what to eat, when not to eat it
     when to go to bed, how cold to make your shower, what to put in the bath, what scent to wear
     how slow to dance, how to be a woman, how not to be tamed, how to be domestic
     what gave me acne, how to make it go away
     if I start smoking weed and cigarettes does that make me okay?
     i just asked the dentist if fluoride can close my third eye
     but my gums are bleeding! oh me, oh my!
     should I drink? do my armpits stink?
     is it okay to ask out a guy? or is it better to just sit around and wonder – why?
     be with the mama moon on your period or keep the IUD?
     but hey – if you get pregnant just don’t come to me!
     must I feel guilt when the Beibes comes on?
     or can I claim Despacito as my new favorite song?
     just live life by the fly, but please – don’t cry! it makes you seem weak
     you don’t want to loose your own winning streak
     drink bottled water, or don’t, just recycle the plastic
     hey look – you’re fantastic!
     do you compost? Throw your paper away?
     would you vaccinate your kids or raise them on an apple a day?
     do you ever how your gay friends have to pray?
     when so many rights are taken away?
     by those people who can split their heart into three?
     shoo away the Mormons at their doorstep but practice their own form of polygamy?
     I’m sorry to say, as I take a breath in
     I don’t really believe in original sin
     I sort of believe we are all just fine as we are
     all chasing that wish on some shooting star
     so join me perhaps in the “the Way” if you will
     because these self-punishment talks are not really real
     between vegan and kosher and old gluten free
     there’s no right way to do it
     I’m just simply
     me

Can You Take a Wrong Turn?

I finally wrote a series of poems about my trip to New York.

—————————–

Can You Take a Wrong Turn?
  1. Wrong Train
I got on the wrong train towards East Village
And fretted – will It ever stop?
Will I ever get off?
Do you ever wonder?
How many people boarded a vessel to come here?
By choice or by brute force?
More likely, some combination of both
After hearing two girls talking about the slaves
Harvesting sugar cane in the Caribbean
You can feel that New York City
Vibrates on a level of
Everyone who has come and departed 
Looking for a better life
Only to be caged in coal mines
Profiting from industry
And the cleansing of the countryside
To think we all that we had something
Together
Fusing steel to sky
To see it all
  1. To Be Appropriate
More than death in the Civil War
Burns a cultural vapid hell 
Some envy in knowing where you come from
Some hold resentment for those who drink
From the well
Sitting on my hands and clear separation 
I’m thinking this shirt from West Africa
Fits better than yoga pants
He said, “As token of appreciation 
For more than a minute
Of your understanding.”
  1. Revolutionary Sister
The Lady Liberty in the Brooklyn Museum
By Dingha McCannon
Stands taller than 
Her green-eyed predecessor 
With bullets on her belt and flag-pole hair
Gazing in at the room of Judy Chicago’s
Goddess gathering
Suppose that no one would have invited her there 
“How do you get to Harlem?” she asked
“A-train I suppose” 
I didn’t need to know New York
To know the Duke taught me that
  1. 23 And Free
Other so-called nations don’t trace their
Generations into the pathways of ghosts
Question their DNA
We’re forced to wonder “What am I?”
Search in codes of chromosomes and hormones
Leftover from McDonald’s chicken nugget bones
For the soul only knows “I am”
And that bodies are just individual homes
  1. Bad Juice
Seems like everyone struggles with
Knowing they were born “bad”
Born a conqueror or born a slave
Born to be broken or born to be made
Thank the gods of industry for bringing me
Comfort in a mason jar of freshly pressed juice
For only ten dollars
Get a cleanse for your soccer-ball soul
Make you right, give you better eye sight
So I gave her my credit card without looking twice
  1. Prayer
Shaman says:
Oh Great Spirit
Visit me again tonight
Take me away
Heal my bones
Comfort me and remind me
No matter the sins
Of our Ancestral lands
That the end
We all go home

 

Better in My Body

Better in my body
Better to be on the ground
Better to heal some eternal hurt
          with the patchwork that I’ve found
Better to hear music
          and dance my life away
          greet the sun with glory
          and fade into the day
Better to have lovers
          that I know will break my heart
          bend it out and backward
          so that I may make some art
Better to lead children
          into the great unknown
          in a world that limits their expression
          before their bones are sown
Better to learn languages
          that some tongues will never know
          speak some truths around the world
          from my palm and its light glow
Better to make mistakes
         and take the wrong turn going home
         so that I can be more present
         in the places my soul has flown

Compassion

Eating seeds of compassion
From my hands
An open pomegranate
Of thick tears
Crying for those I lost
   A soul mate
   An idea of mom and dad
   A grieving brother
   A friend I call sister
Crying for those who rule over me
    A powerful woman
    Who in passing
    Awakens me to love
    Like all of us
    She walks in her own hell
    Talking to her
    Leaves me with
    Pools of reflection
    That wash away
    My mask of denial
    “Why do you do this?”
    “Listen to us, like this?”
     She says, “Because, I care for adults here
like
     the adults here care for children.”
     How then, does the heart
     Translate those words
     To a crying lover asking
     “Why do you do this for me?”
     “Stay here with me, like this?”
     “Because, I care for my friends
like
     the children I care for every day.”
     From inside, I hear
     The voice
     Of a child
     Whispering
 tenderly
     “Actually,
Because,
     I love you.”

Femme

I came over hungry even though I already ate
I watched TV alone
Learned something about
Those indigo children on Ancient Aliens
While knowing it felt good
To be fed by your hard work and provisions
And be given to keys to your empty house

As a child of addicted healers I want to know –
Are you an addict to your own abandonment?
Or is this how you treat everyone?
Running from one thing to the next and away from
The only woman who will accept your pain
As you accept mine? ~

Dance, life’s finite dance.
I spin my web, to whatever side lands up first.
This is how I don’t go crazy

And into the forest of which I get lost
There can never be too many days
To devour their art
That explains all that is within and without me
It becomes all of my dreams
A place where all the motions go crazy

And when I feel stuck
Can’t stay living on this planet
Longing to go home
It doesn’t scare me
I feel whole at once
And ready to eat
All other things that
Just fuel my fire
Ready to pounce
And pull a trigger
Of a tragic trajectory

So I suppose that in this lifetime
I can rest upon the laurels of
Feminist mothers
To then feel, at once,
That I am one of them 

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#indigo #indigochild #healers #healing #rekationshios #relationshit
#feminist #feminism #femme

In Your Eyes Now

I am in your eyes now
Fall out through some and valleys
Fall into that lost space
I am in your eyes now

Falling for formations
Motion set to pass
For I am in your eyes now

Rising sun and rising moon
Set apart and set too soon
I am in your eyes now

Too late to find a friend
One with motion, one with end
For I dream too much
And able to say as such
That I am in your eyes now

The Child

我要让孩子长成的样子

而不要我期待的样子

因为我知道孩子并不属于我

他只是经由我来到这个世界

去完成他自己的梦想和使命

I want the child to grow into the way he wants to grow into

Not what I expected

Because I know the child does not belong to me

He just came to this world through me

To complete his own dreams and missions