Hot Monochrome

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She is streamers
She is stars
She is the red that sustains Mars
Bars don’t exist
On her heart

She is steadfast
She is dangling
She is silver-Mediterranean
Alien and best friend
Alike

She is words
She is breath
She is life seducing death
Express your intent
So to stay

She is present
She is feathers
She is coppery hot weather
Whether you like that
Or not

Ode To The Students & Those Who Want Them Well

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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

Rings and Trophies

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To feel average again
Shuffling, schlepping
Commonplace companionship
Shopping for cozy and sundries
Is all I rage against

I’ve stepped onto some tundra
Passion, as Venus, accompanies me
Silver runs through my veins
Kisses while troublemaking
Too much sweetness to turn back

There are low moments
They become me, though
I look fine in such transition time
Intercepting the unsuspecting dark
Catch my breath then find the zone

Nana

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If there be a legacy
Decidedly mine will be
Silver not white, though all it’s worth
Afro-bold, in spirit, for, I’ll keep good company

Down with brushing shifting shoulders at all times, Day or Night
Upswept, if it serves a proper purpose

Shouts The Story everyday

If thinning it becomes in my end days
May it be that others gathered to pass on the baton
Queens that came before me, know this: You did your job

Kinetic

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We look ahead at sixty now
The gander, grace-filled
The graceful goose
Silvery fire, calm
Wondrous!

So we wait and keep walking
Flying, when we’re able
But never again bewildered
If we would not be this
We could not be that

Original thought credit: Ms. Joni Mitchell; “Both Sides Now”

Forbidden

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I decorated myself with you
Reached, but in no way grasped

Sprinkled you about me
Without the care whether or where

You landed
Beautifully, making a mess

Twice, I was asked incredulously
Is this safe

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Miner’s Pick-ax

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We wonder about whether to pursue the gold, giv’n to many of us as our birthright.
What of the cost, where ought we place it for safekeeping?
Sometimes wisdom begs, shouldn’t we be satisfied with silver?
Eureka! I thought this morning so loud you surely heard me.
Is the gold we claim our own? Increasingly we learn…it’s all somebody else’s alloy. An alchemist had been before us. Pouring trickery, then pulling heartstrings.
I, myself, thank the illusionist for that sweetest Summer. Warm, golden, nothing but refreshing theory. I laugh now and see the moving, invisible hand.
Take we back our minds and hearts. Go forth to the drivers seat, the miner’s pick-ax in hand. Seek silver!

Steel Drum

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Tell me again how the sun is ahead
How the radical winds cannot halt it
Show me how I might squint my eyes
So the mountains seem nearer to me
Describe every detail, every edge
The hammered silver crown atop our heads
As the sound of steel drums shines on

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A Single Piece of Silver

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With a curious morose
They look at you 
As if seeing a long-faded flower
They take pains to not stare
Lest you see pity in their eyes

With a melancholy kindness
They are polite
As if you are fragile
They gently do not linger
Lest their affection break your brittle bones