Poetry


They stole the land from under you, but today you’re still standing
Strong-black-African-woman, my mother’s story inspires me.

You look ahead, you see hope
You look back and have made peace
Strong-black African-woman, your heart gives me strength.

There’s a secret in your smile, your soul’s bright light’s luminescent
Strong-black-African-woman, the future is simply at sunup, tomorrow.

Looking at you a thought occurs,
If the world were run with half the spirit you possess
Strong-black-African-woman, this earth would be a special place.

The rhythm of your life is in cadence with the song in your heart
Strong-black-African-woman, there is no dissonance.

Oh wise mother, I respect you immensely
Strong-black-African-woman, you live, you love
And this is all that matters when the day closes at evensong.

My mother’s story inspires me.

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Each time I contemplate my existence
I think it so TRIVIAL, so unimportant
In the greater workings of things.

A bruise could lead to death
A sore throat to heart disease
A thoughtless word to a broken heart
Trifles really, but a tot of water is to an ant an ocean.

So, being conscientious is not pretentious
Being Mother Teresa can mend death
And finally being true to a noble self
Will, in the great workings of the universe
Grant at the very least contentment if not peace.

Ooh there he comes riding in

He stops and gazes up at me

Mmm isn’t he handsome

With his soulful brown eyes

Giraffe eyelashes

And his

Wicked, wicked, smile

He sweeps me off my feet

And

Off we go

Me and my

Handsome knight

On his

Shining black mamba. . .

He isn’t mine,

So, why do I, constantly have him walk through my mind at will?

He isn’t mine,

So, why do I, think of him and smile?

He isn’t mine,

So, how come I, so desperately seek his attention?

He isn’t mine,

So, why do I, feel as though by being away from him I’m missing something?

He isn’t mine,

So, why do I, crave his touch?

He isn’t mine

So, why does he fascinate me so?

He isn’t mine

So, what is it about him that binds my soul to his?

He isn’t mine

So, why am I, fervently hoping – what if. . .

He isn’t mine

So, why do I, pray alluding to his love?

He isn’t mine

So, why do I, ask myself – shall he ever be?

I knit, I cook, I draw,
I colour, I clean, I read,
I think therefore I AM.

I laugh, I cry, I speak,
I love, I resent, I forgive,
I feel therefore I AM.

I pray, I meditate, I sing,
I worship, I sin, I repent,
I believe therefore I AM.

I excel, I fail, I begrudge,
I lead, I play, I follow,
I choose therefore I AM.

I grieve, I regret, I enthuse,
I break-down, I give-up, I rally,
I rejoice therefore I AM.

I hurt, I heal, I fear,
I run-away, I stand-firm, I defend,
I’m courageous therefore I AM.

I nurture, I appreciate nature, I’m hopeful,
I breathe, I touch, I care,
I experience because I’m human and therefore I AM.

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