Seems to me that to not allow the histories of the people of this diverse country to come forward with the necessary narrative fervor that these histories deserve, “we the people” do ourselves deadly injustice. We deepen the wounds of traumas that yet live, view each other with increasing suspicion, drive apart, marginalize, and subjugate the value of others, and descend into a deep frozen state of animosity, ignorance, and fear.
In essence, we become the antithesis of everything this country has claimed it was trying to be-a “more perfect union”- a progressive concept, at best.
We never really got there, but there were moments; there was hope. Now these pockets of hate and ignorance-racism, sexism, xenophobia are putting down roots in the wet ground of fear, fear that calls evil “Godliness”….gods of small things, threatened by replacement, call on ancient Baals with new faces.
(Just a little light momentary pity fit, you know, “how I be” feeling sometimes, and I write, so…)
From the Middle Torture Chambers…
A middle life Yields a muffled cry That no one desires to attend Few, some, around, at times For a minute, dispassionatly, adverbally An adjectivly weak tailspin For no one yearns To hear the enlightenments Of that flattened center space No one cares for perspectives That the verve of exotic margins erase For a middle life predictably draws power That eats the zeal of the day No middle magic weilds enough interest To hold a captive sway Therefore, moderately blessed In-betweens and means may often find That the glory that they seek Will only torture their minds Angst and agony painfully increase While watching long sought dreams Slowly, completely unwind And peter out with a gasping wind As life beckons the middle Ever closer To the end
Pry yourselves from platitudes of piety Flesh and stone dieties betray you Shallow smiles convey That you regard us less For you applaud those who scale monuments In worship of puppet kings In search of absolutions Within the lies they sing Forbid yourself the words You utter otherwise When you wax deeply of your hurts While you ignore the desperate cries And mock brown broken bodies As light drains from their eyes Disallow trite tales And disingenuous turns of phrase That vain would steal my voice While your desires find a way To manifest for your own might Twisting words, shading light Right is wrong Wrong is right… There is no common ground When the blood of my loves stain This stolen hallowed ground As you run to cover the sound Of the beast that yet lives
The Capitol Building, Washington, DC January 6, 2021 No Copyright Infringement Intended
Epiphany 2021
Hands that Pick
Hands that picked cotton for promise
Picked tense times
Places
Uncommon faces
Found Broken Spaces
To Cast Spells and Votes
That Filled and Manifested Hope
Jon Ossoff and Raphael Warnock, Georgia Senators Elect Copyright Infringement Not Intended
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)
Today It’s haaaaaaaaaaaaard to be Black Tomorrow 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 Yesterday We fought a fight And thought equality was won Today We watch stark videos That prove the job’s not done Yesterday Ancestors cried For life, liberty, and happiness Today We are charged to continue the fight So we can finish This mess
Tomorrow Come dressed In righteousness No lies No duress Say less
Love more
Askance
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.
Furious.
Sickened.
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…
Justified?
No, indeed.
No indeed.
…than yourself
Reflect on that which is…
More…
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 Reflection Part of a healing, feeling Remedy of Light
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.
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
La Profesora's Pen 