World (My) Affairs

Where in the world can we go?

Where the sun does not set nor turn her face

So as not to witness the disgrace of her oldest children

The ones told again and again “You can dance now, but you won’t win.”

In this land–small moments of victory, slight stints of happy, fleeting prosperities–

These cannot enrich chronically scantily fed souls…

Oh, where in this world can we go?

Where our honorable ideas ignite, and nimble thoughts take flight, and our sister catches them in the wind, and our brother invites us over to gather us in 

To share and work and make miracles from that which formed us: blessed breath, salted water, live light, and deep dark dirt

Not born from broken survival spirits and oppressive hurts

Nor birthed from the desperation to be heard, loved, valued, seen…

Where in the world can we go?

Surely there is no space for us here 

Inside of this giant’s fears

When wicked shadows cover doors and floors

And vile betrayers 

Peering from the dark

Steal our trust

Call us out 

To break our hearts 

Hand us over as in ancient days gone by

After those times when some could fly

Back then, we did soar

(Back then,higher…more)

Where in the world can we go?

I  believe that I will dive

To the bottom of the enshrining sea

Collect the magic that was meant for my people and for me

Close my eyes

Push my wings through back and bones

Take our potions 

And set us all free

Then we will know 

Spirit will tell us

Your home will reach up to love you

Wherever you roam

By Regina YC Garcia

Nerd Random

Nerd Randomness…

Why can’t I use “things?” 🤔

My dertimination to specify in terms more precise oft leads me to deadly verbosity.

It is a boulder of my self-made obligation, urgently suggested by grammarians whose rules I’ve placed in on the confinement shelves of my mind. It joins other devices meant to harness me and keep me from being heard.

That’s why I sometimes freakout, shift vernacular, confuse convention, use freeing word tranformation, employ in-fixes, and coin in wild abandon…oh, and cuss…just a little… (that’s different from curse, of course)

Permanently Black


, ,

It’s haaaaaaaaaaaaard to be Black
I pray it will be better
Yesterday (many years ago)
My ancestors, in this land
Were shackled, chained, fettered
Today, in this land
I can open doors
In many lofty rooms
Also, today, in this land
Sundown roadside stops
Too often spell Black doom
We fought a fight
And thought equality was won
We watch stark videos
That prove the job’s not done
Ancestors cried
For life, liberty, and happiness
We are charged to continue the fight
So we can finish
This mess

Come dressed
In righteousness
No lies
No duress
Say less

Love more


I ask:

Why is it that I write best when in pain?
Then, when I come back to those words, I relive the guilt that I am here
While others no longer remain.
It’s as though I write in efforts to regain and retain
Precious lives that have slipped into eternal gain.

Shame answers:

Selfish, Foolish Pen. They are safe. Heaven was theirs to win.
Write most for those and yourself that you all might enter in…

Not Untouched

So evidently, we are not untouched. Injustices live here. My students told me, they who are young and full of promise, and now I have seen for myself… I am teacher, mother, aunt, friend, and I am angry.



How much sense does a charge of resisting arrest make when there has been no other charge for arrest? How can you manufacture a situation which allows you to see what is clearly not there and still expect to be…


No, indeed.

No indeed.

…than yourself

Reflect on that which is…


Noble than yourself
Richer than yourself
Cleaner than yourself
Deeper than yourself
Fuller than yourself
Stronger than yourself
Rooted than yourself
Truer than yourself
Intuitive than yourself
Nurturing than yourself
Invested than yourself
Loving than yourself
Accepting than yourself
Accepting of yourself
Divine than yourself…

…while there is yet time.

Do this for yourself.
Edify. Study. Learn. Grow.
Become more like that which is
Part of a healing, feeling
Remedy of Light

La Profesora’s Pen

Requiem for a King


In memory of the Life and Work of Brother Chadwick Boseman

A King looks out, surveys his land and begins to create 

He works early or late but always in time

For kingdom fate is not to be decided by those who know not his people

He puts on robes to instill pride 

Suits in steel to fight the evil sides

Strips to nothing to walk beside 

The Suffering, eye-to-eye

A King brings hope to hearts forlorn

Transforms weariness and dismay 

In souls yet forsworn

And shows them another way

Beyond the path en-thorned 

A King moves his subjects 

To walk in royalty 

Sacrifices inherent privilege 

Leads in precious humility 

His power places promise in every word he breathes

The King embodies the role that his people need to touch, believe, and see 

He calls on his own Creator

To show him what he needs to be

To show him how to handle pain 

To show him how to give his gain

The King often tires

But always pushes on

Finds strength in thoughts of legacy

In the darkness before new dawn

He pulls his deep reserves 

And pushes through his day

He commands the vicious fallacies

His very life casts spiteful lies away

Finally he lifts the pictures

That will always remind and render

The truth that the gifts he leaves behind

Will make our doubt surrender 

And we will be better 

Than what we were before

We can turn his gifts to strength

To break down bolted doors

Good night, Sweet King

Entwined in branched cradles deep

Forever heroic images 

In memory and deed

We shall keep

Regina YC Garcia

Photo Credit: Getty Images

I pray he knew that he was absolutely loved by people he’d never even seen. I pray he knew that he helped to shape our dreams, our sense of self, our pride, and most of all, I pray that in the sweet by and by, he finds that God was most pleased with that which he said and did and gave and lived. A King has died, but now with the King, he lives.

#WakandaForever #ChadwickBosemanForever

Long live our king with The King!

La Profesora voices "The People Could Fly" by Virginia Hamilton Word By Fire!

A Black History Month "Family Stories" Special!
  1. La Profesora voices "The People Could Fly" by Virginia Hamilton
  2. Royan B in the Place To Be!
  3. No Entanglements. I Want God. This God.
  4. La Profesora's Word of the Week: FASTIDIOUS!
  5. La Profesora's Word of the Week




What manner of world is this
When we have stolen and dismissed
Greatness, for we believe
Only the heightened may achieve
And fruit that has grazed the ground
Along with those just beyond margins found
Should drink in acceptance without a sound
Oh wordless, voiceless
Beloved of God
Pushed deep into the hardened sod
Sprout and break
For if you can
You have the gifts
To heal this land
You have the strength
To restore a peace
You are filled with the genius
To bring relief
You are the mighty bearers of light
Carrying news
That brights the night
You may not remember
What Great God
Whispered in your ear
Before he dispatched your soul to your body
And sent you here
You are more
You are more
And when slams the door
Think on this
You bear pearls
Cultivated not for
Those who have it all
And believe they own the call
Your pearls are for the many souls
Who will lift up their weary eyes
And rejoice as hope unfolds

Written by Regina YC Garcia, 08/16/2020

Quara-Summer Self-Inventory

Grammar Intentional

Started with hope. Soon, I sought rope. Physical changes. Life rearranges. Found some new passion. Took some tough lashings. Wrote myself sad. Wrote myself glad. Dreams of perfection. Took new direction. We need an election. Driven into mad sections. It all is so scattered. Folks so sacred our lives matter. So scared of my skin. That erases my grin. Black to where we begin. Before King, we begin. We have to win. Or lives may just end. Masks are pulled on. Masks are thrown off. It’s the way of this land. Not just in the South. People cough, heave, and die. The rhetoric flies. I still look for my center. Need my emotional center. Legacy building. Keep trying, God willing. Can’t always tell. Feels like I might fail. Feels like I might be. Be ready to flee. Feels like I might know. Know I’m ready to go. Go change my life flow. Somtimes those around. Thought they were with. Found they weren’t down. Not just what they said. What they never did. Must’ve been stuff. That they barely hid. I’ll live ’til I die. For my Loves, I will try. My hair–still wavy. My skin–summer brown gravy. Hips still wide, just a bit. Thank goodness pants fit. My mind–still spinning. Still dream of winning. Teaching in my view. Learning is, too. Is what I know ever enough for you? Is what I need to know still in a vast sea of what I need to see? I still want to trod a red rug. I still need the true distanced hug. We lost some of the great ones. Some who’ve known me from day one. Some who set the scene in this nation. That helped Shades rise to their station. To them I say “Thank You!” For all that you did do. For every mountain you scaled. For everytime you were jailed. For every knock that you took. Left you out of school books. Yet God still elevates. ALL the True Goods and The Greats! Vivian, Lewis, and Harrell. Without them, our roads would’ve narrowed. My road would’ve narrowed. My life, far more harrowed. Today, I do feel able. Though, not always stable. I just had to get this out. In case my heart goes into drought. ‘Cause I may never speak again. Summer 2020. My God. Amen.

In Spite of it all…

Thinking of my Beautiful Ivy Beyond the Wall, Helen Peppers Harrell, Statesman and Freedom Fighter John Lewis, and God’s Warrior for Justice Rev. C.T. Vivian. This has been a Summer of Mountains. Trusting God for Peace in the Valley… ❤🙏🏽❤

What A Word! Series One

Touch, Torch, and Eternity

What A Word Inspiration provided by Portia Bright Pittman, Stacy Jarrell, and Pansie Flood

*Inspirit, Jubilant, Change

(L) Portia Bright Pittman, (Top R) Pansie Flood, (Bottom R) Stacy Jarrell

Saints gifted to Inspirit a world 

Bring life to broken weary hearts and bones that are

Struggling to find any home to lay down  burdens 

These humble paragons lift up those who have wrestled night and day

With the evil myths an rifts in a world of  perceived Godlessness 

The Jubilant messengers, soulful sojourners soothe, cajole, enliven and smear ointments of peace and joy on the one or the hoard of faces marred and bodies stoned

And they

Pour libations for the nations

They are 

Angels wrapped in flesh

Disguised with smiles that pierce, confuse, and beguile the cloaked demons 

That lurk just outside the periphery 

Or boldly walk unashamed 

Within the territories

Change conditions

Undeterred, these Torch Bearers of Night, Bringers of Light that 

Helping others pull dreams into fruition

Wizened warriors spanning eons of the holiest traditions

Who lift blood, clay, and breath towards the sky 

That those who live ’til they die might one day

Know the sweetest by and by and by and are 

Now measured in divine plans of forever

Good Friday Song

What A Word Inspiration provided by Raymonda Peele, Tanisha Hines-Johnson, and Jean Lovett Cahoon

*Extortionate, Contraption, Committment

(Top L) Tanisha Hines-Johnson, (Bottom L) Raymonda Peele, (R) Jean Lovett Cahoon

The Extortionate cost of our souls

(For we were unworthy)

Bought with the richest form of love 

Stripped from scores of tears and welts and bleeding sores

Pinned to planks, pierced, and pressed with

Unforgiving points

The monumental sacrifice 

Of purity for sin stain

That we might live again

No greater love 

No greater Committment 

For He never left

He never left

Hung upon that 

Vile Contraption 

That we now kneel before

Seasonally draped in white, purple, red

We Pray, Praise, Adore

And oft we never conceptualize 

The wretched tears and cries

Of people we claim we despise

Neighbors, Family, Friends

Faceless citizens

We hoard land, money, power

But my Savior hung for hours 

That we might cross boarders

That once held us in this graveland

Yet we pinch what we’ve been given

Merciless souls of flesh living

But two things He asked of thee

To love His Father eternally

To love each other as if we see 

Ourselves as them 

Again and again

Temporal Musings

Temporal Rift

I’m floating in a pocket outside of time

Though perhaps you see me

Because I seem to be


Skin, hair, teeth, and bone

Roam the world

Yet often, my essence rumbles in a temporal rift 

A space that I inhabit when I am terrorized by the thought that the pieces I’ve left in real time will make no difference in the place I’m thought to be

While I peep from the pockets where I store my insecurities

I try to hurry, that I might return to the rest of me 

To create my illusion of free…

Temporal freedom

Temporary freedom

No time…no time…

No peace of mind can ride this temporal stream alone, intact

In fact…

If I could move up and down the continuum to control my fear

If I could stop and restart tears and fears

If I could control the gift

I could avoid my journey to the rift

The trip that sends me adrift into the darkness layered carefully between light 

Where I try to build up the inner fight

To ride a train of temporal courage

That will not wane

To leave a legacy that will play sweet refrain

Long beyond my footprints stain 

The earthly floors that do remain…

In the meanwhile 

I do as I do

I pray that one day

It be enough…

I preach comfort

I teach conciousness 

I build carefully 

(Fear and trembling)

I scream “I think of thee and these! Are you pleased? My God, are you  pleased?”

Is God pleased?

Forgetting nothing…

Am I forgetting anything?

Yet when pain sets in

I run again

Into the rift

And the angel stands guard

While I store and discard the pain

And ask the Spirit to reign 

And restore me whole…

Temporal trials fade

Temporal trials fade

This is as God has made

This is as God has made

Continue reading