A Making

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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

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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

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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

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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

Swear Fealty

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I did walk
Unknowingly
Into some feud
With a self-appointed lord

Who fought to the edge of reason
Against me
What false fealty, he
Who sought no reason to fight
For me

With then, my One, True Lord
Into some grace
Finally
I did walk

Solstice in June

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Life I don’t recognize
Here nonetheless
Borne out of The Summer of Love

My first days
My always
Enamored with Solstice in June

Seek True North with me
Kick ass in the dugout with me
Help make love familiar again

Sandy-haired

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I summoned you so hard
So in earnest
Sent out all my Super-she energy
With such sheer-will
With mountainous hope
Which always worked so well for me

But found only my own enlightenment

It can only be the powers that be
Felt fit to see
You find yourself
Crawling
And not
Mountain climbing

Sandy-haired, please find yourself

Je m’appelle Lisa

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I neither got to visit Versailles
Nor know wanderlust’s calm at Gare de Bruges
That glory was one beat too far

Moulin Rouge commanded some checklist, foreign to me
And we’d “miles to go”
Topless beaches on the Med, and all….
Damned dogmas

But Kings and Conductors still summon me
For they heard my name
Nightly, I tell them
You’ve known no such power
And masterpiece
Such God-Speed
As me

So this suitcase sits at my bedside
Packed
With ink-pen and parchment
Pinafores and peace
Decreeing
Whistling
Ready