Ode To The Students & Those Who Want Them Well

We are silvering

We are not tinsel, flat
Nor tinny, shallow sound whose echoes won’t be known a year from now
We are, “Mr. Watson, come here. I want to see you.”

We are precious shine
Mined from the deep
Ribbons of pricelessness chiseled from someplace dark we’d entered into
Unknowingly, perhaps, but prepared nonetheless
Thence emerged, the metal of us hard-earned

We cannot be traded, bartered, or sold
We are made of this
We are made from this

Will they see us in next century’s sky?
Yes! And, ’til the 12th of Never

Canyons, ancient, will carry our collective voice

We are silvering, and are not second-place

Our Finest Hour

Our finest hour

And, Goddamn it, lift your voice

Shriek to me from out of the grey

It has been six years and six months to the day

Set aside your pen

Unpoison your wellspring

Harmonize with me

End the endless justification of silence

Of the dark

Lived lives trump safe lives

Remember?

A Making

A going has to come, I know
An acquiescence to the shortened days
A refusing to refuse the night

I’ll clothe myself in skin-tone colors
I will stop hearing creation’s groan silenced
I’ll start feeling good, acting great, again

Original Thought Credit: Nina Simone, “Feeling Good”

Beauty to Behold

I give props to the parts of me that suffered through some things

I can still bring my game, despite all transition brings

For, both void and abundance create a most-sacred space

I’m a beauty to behold as I move with mid-life grace

Blur

Fault me — I henceforth forego jitterbugging feet
Assert some bias in my blood which rejects dancehall beat

As time tiktoks, I cling instead to swaying with the strings
Tango, Pan-Hellenic sway, and all such passion brings

Step danced exclamations void of pop-cultural fray
Barefoot, solo, or with friends — come…blur night into day

Light to the Prism

I tend to the green
I look for the prisms
To escape the prison inside

Grey-brown and desolate
Static-creating status symbols
Causing interferences

I’m a leprechaun lass
With treasure to spare
To share, is my true “why”

I daily trek to tend
Intentionally
To the green