My family doesn’t make photo albums anymore, by D’mani Thomas

My family doesn’t make photo albums anymore. Just dirty carpets, prayers and missing posters in every unsaved number. Just recipes of triumph in scar tissue, diabetes medicine splayed out next to a tower of peppermint candies. Like god is praying on the weakest of us with an alzheimered memory/ forgotten remorse/ what does not kill us makes us stronger, so thinning blood and darwin’s theory must be distant cousins.

Speaking of distance. I have not seen some people since the news coverage turned kardashian. Hurricane Katrina and my family are the same in that some government condoned a violence, and no one’s heard from them since. Tangent: believe all of this to be true. Last I heard, the boy that taught me to pop fireworks in the fragile of my palms, was living in a football stadium. Maybe? Maybe someone told me otherwise once .Maybe i’m choosing what to question mark. Maybe i’ll ask what happened to him when my grandmother wakes up.

I am a water baby. Salt water and some ligaments in the shape of bloat fish for stomach, minnow for rare organs, octopus tendrils for appendages i might scab and grow back. I know

What it means to swim in packs and try not to die. Survivor of two oceans trying to kill me. One atlantic /One I call a body . The killing joke

My kin is my kin, is your kin, heard that’s her kin too.

Fictiv in blood, but we can see it everywhere.

So when I found out Janis Joplin once said, “being black for a while, will make [you] a better white.”

I thought.

It’s just so easy to be Black these days ya know’

Rachel and Danielle paved the way for them. Like it’s in their DNA now:

Fake Bantu notted Oakland tongue double helixes. weaves into over priced top ramen diet.

If you are what you eat, then to consume a body means you too are NWA, section 80, hurricane katrinas red line, the subject of Old Kanye’s “George Bush doesn’t give a fuck about black ppl speech”

In front of me,

Some silhouette watches the slave trade happen

And somewhere, a white girl says she can’t be racist, says she’s only 17 , but 1/8th Ida. B.

Says – she loves the NFL and streetball and if she could she would let pornhub’s entire BBC category start a daycare in her stomach

I laugh

Tell her I think she has my great grandmother’s mouth in her teeth

I say,

My country loved me blue

My country took my dust soaked skeleton and put me in a thrift shop my probable children can’t afford.

My country loved me once and never texted me back.

Wild imagination, by Ezzy Callender-Braithwaite

My frontal lobe crafts a path to find an apposite residence ​
for the fields of lavender provoked my limbic system kindling fine motor skills to ​
zoom into high gear swerving over Mount Everest’s most southern hemisphere, ​
Plummeting at warp speeds to crash perhaps into the rapid waterfalls, ​
But there is a tributary in Egypt’s river that’s swelling to the overflow, ​
Triggering the cortex to hover in excitement, like frantic butterflies fluttering in ​
unison, ​
Distressing the frontal lobe, how it throbs faster than the heart’s rhythm, ​
An impulse one too much! Darkness creeps quickly, dwarfing the thinking quotient ​
shutting down the speed of light, ​
Reverse! ​

River, mountain, lavender, butterflies, field, ​
The stroke of beauty vanishes, taken away, compromised, gone! ​
But the shell still exists, the light is on, that means someone is home! Knock Knock! ​
Any one home? ​

Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth? ​
Can you follow my fingers from left to right, from right to left? ​
Smile for me, I see the droop on your face, ​
Let me show you an unframed picture, my daughter once wanted to visit this place. ​
I see by the sparkle in your eyes you recognize the lavender fields! Yes? ​
Take it easy now, be encouraged I will stay with you as you get back to where you ​
need to be, ​
We will need two special luggage, one for our clothes, the other for miscellaneous ​
tools and we are off! ​

Bring a blanket to keep you warm from the cold Himalayan nights ​
A waterproof suit for to keep dry when we near the waterfalls. ​
A measuring tape to record the length of Egypt’s river, ​
A net, to harvest the frenzied butterflies ​
Music to calm the palpitating heart and remember a dagger to cut loose this wild ​
imagination of yours.

Rise, by Larissa Xavier

Rise every day,

day after day,

once and for all.

Rise like the sun

from the dusk to dawn.

Rise like the ocean waves

moving up and down.

Rise like the trees,

which from seeds they arise.

Rise and shine.

And still,

like the air,

to the sky,

rise.

Rise from the ashes,

Rise from the horizon,

‘Cuz

Invariably you gotta rise.

Rise to the top

until there’s no other way

unless

to rise.

Rise and fall

all the time.

‘Cuz

at the end of the day,

we are all

risers,

early or late.

So rise up!


Larissa Xavier
http://www.larissaxlima.com

Shadowmancer, by Andrew McIntyre

Why are you scared, when their is nothing to fear,
Did you listen to the words spoken in your ear.
Dance with the shadows if you dare,
Drink wine dark and red if you care.

He dances with shadows in under moonlight,
Listen to the words that save you from fright.

Take hold of my hand let me lead you from here.
May the words spoken softly keep your heart from fear.
Throw it all to the wind may it be carried away,
Lest the sword that slashes and the day not slay.

He dances with shadows under moonlight,
Listen to the words that save you from fright.

Did you love me or not as we walked in the woods.
Sweet songs that were sung to strengthen your moods.
Take me for what i am come with me know,
Or forever leave me in the shadows power.

He dances with shadows under moonlight,
Listen to the words that save you from fright.

© andrew mcintyre 28/9/17.

What Will Be Your Legacy?, by Noel A. Figueroa

By: Noel A. Figueroa (The P.O.E.T. aka The Anointed Pen) ©2020

When your book is opened, what will be read in the story of your life?
What will be your story that is on display for all to see?
Will it speak of your courage to persevere?
Will it speak of your determination and faith?
Will it speak of your kindness and compassion for others?
Will it speak of your empathy and diligence?
Will it speak your reflection of your love and hope in God?
Will it speak of the love you have for yourself, your community, your people?

What will be your legacy?
Will it speak your ancestor’s names and the roads they paved for you?
Will it speak of their sacrifices and their successes?
Will it speak of the lessons learned from their failures?
Will it put your achievements on display?
Will your own failures be lessons learned and used as stepping-stones?
Will it speak of a life well lived to its full capacity in purpose?

What will be your legacy?
When the children gather around and ask you to tell the stories from your time,
What will your share that will enlighten their minds?
What will be the level of your impartation?
Will you tell them that as you received help to be the vessel of blessing to others?
Will you tell them that respect, empathy and compassion are non negotiable?
Will you tell them to stand for something even if it means standing alone?
Will you tell them that one of the greatest weapons that you can have is love & respect for self?
Will you tell them that it’s because if those that came before us that we have the ability to go further and do greater works?
Will you tell them that when their purpose is clear, their passion is defined, and their vision is focused that their dreams and goals are possible.
What will be your legacy?

The Mimosa By The Tracks, by Rudra Vaidya

Maybe it was protected,
By the defence mechanism it had devised.
Or maybe it wasn’t protected,
And just grew ill advised.
Every time the train thunders past,
It wilts with all it’s might
It’s not surrender, it’s not defeat,
This is just how it knows to fight.
Did the train and the tracks,
Rattle up it’s insides?
And did the generated gust of wind,
Drown it in it’s tides?
Don’t wilt so much, stand your ground.
Said all the shrubs beside it
It said it’d try, but it never could.
It’s inherent nature denied it.
It’s a thing to wonder.
A conclusion I cannot reach.
Maybe that’s the thing to learn here.
That’s the thing to teach.
Does the mimosa keep wilting
For it is courage, that it lacks?
Or is it just the bravest thing in the world?
For growing by the tracks?

Rudra Vaidya
Genres: Life, Courage, Philosophy, Never-give-up, Hope, Uniqueness

Outside My Window, by Vivian Zems

the tv has been cruel to me lately,

with more and more bad news

about the numberless souls

who have departed

in droves

in torrents

leaving behind a deluge

of grief

and sorrow

Pushing the living

into an abyss of indescribable despair

….forcing the marriage of engaged thoughts

I don’t know what to do

and I feel guilty

because I’m overwhelmed

by having to stay indoors

bored and even more bored

and slightly anxious about the future

while I protect my heart

from the pain that hovers

just outside

my window

Not a king, by Yamini Rana

I’ve pulled,
I’ve held,
I’ve been the lead.

With no vices,
and no dices,
Benevolence, I bleed.

For I need no bling,
as I am no king.
For I break and make,
and weave worthy kings!

Call me right hand,
Call me hidden hand,
But I am powerful ‘The Hand’
As I foresee,
and I fore-plan,
But the crown never do I land.

As I was a king
not long way back,
Best and Just of all
that I must add.

So I know a king has his might,
with a lot of knights by his side.
But a Maker, I am ‘The Bright’
with unique sight working day-night.

As I want no throne,
I want no peak,
So I stepped aside,
my worth, I seek.

As why be selfish
and be the only great one?
As I can make many great kings
when I’ll be through and done!

For I give wings to many other,
And I am no king
But a KingMaker.

Where do we go from here? The Covid Diaries, by Nichole McIntosh

#TheHealingArtOfPoetry

Monday Morning Musings of a Healing Arts Practitioner.

Where do we go from here?

As talk now turns to what we do next.

We cannot help but ponder what is best.

Ease up the restrictions too early to boost the economy?

Or “grit and bear it” for the sake of humanity?

Where do we go from here?

Never has strong, effective leadership mattered more.

History will not be kind to those leaders who see it as a chore.

We will remember the leaders who showed courage and decency.

We will hold to account, with contempt, the leaders who fail to perform their duties effectively.

Where do we go from here?

Who knows for sure?

We are, to use a cliche that will forever be associated with covid-19, in unprecedented times.

Where do we go from here? Living better, humble, fulfilled and dignified lives.

Nichole McIntosh FRSA

Unrequited love, by Elizabeth Kagai

I’m not so acquainted with the language of love,
So when you went off topic, you lost me

I fell,
Fell in love,
Fell for you

But worst off,
Lost my eyes in yours,
Not so sure yours in mine!

It’s like I gave myself,
Gave myself up,
Gave myself to you,
Not so sure what I wanted in return,
Not knowing it should be a mutual feeling,
That I was to get something in return

I became selfless,
Selfless to a point of losing self,
Losing self to the selflessness I had inflicted on self

Or maybe losing self to you,
You and the trust I gave,
Trust that you couldn’t let self go,
Trust that you’d hold on tight,
Trust that you’d know how to take care of self
Trust that I’d never thought you’d break

Countless times I had to convince,
Convince myself that I was on script,
Convince myself I had everything under control,
Convince myself that I deserved the cold
Convince myself that “the hand that giveth is the hand that receiveth”
And all for what?

Maybe all I need to do is get up,
Dust myself of the fall,
Teach myself that I am worth,
Worth fighting for,
Worth more

And that you went off,
Off topic,
Off script,
You should have stuck to the script,
Stuck to your own lane

And that I was just lost,
Yet to be found,
Found by anyone who accidentally passed by the lost and founds,
Anyone better than you,
Anyone but you!

Anyone would be better than you!