Wandering around, wondering how we allowed a bully and coward
To tweet from the top of a golden tower
And how a pow wow of cowboys can allow bomb showers to rain on the world’s most beautiful flowers by the hour
I will never scowl about a crowd that shouts aloud about the misuse of power
But I do frown down upon clowns only making sounds and not helping out
Think
Outside
The box
The ox
Is just an ox
And the plow…
Is the power
We all despise the crimes and lies that have defined our lives
But despite the plight
This is not the demise of our times
Open your eyes
Recognize the disguise that we’ve been hypnotized by
Don’t just cry and watch time fly
Let’s realize the signs that describe the size of the almighty prize
And let’s rise
Above the rest
We won’t be left just to protest like pests
Even as unwelcome guests
And amid the sting of our bruising flesh
We feel blessed to control our own lives and deaths
I know it’s hard to digest
But let it infect
Because the less we expect
The more we progress
So get up get dressed
And step up to the test
Help clean up this mess
We won’t just mingle
And speak the lingo
We’ll tie a string around our fingers
And let this single jingle’s ring linger…
Peace.
———
Peace, Unity, Freedom, United States of America, USA, Our Country, World Peace, Equality, Acceptance, Growth, Non violent protest, Protest, RiseUp, We The People, This land is our land
“……I will be an old lady one day and I will sit on that rock and when I see myself sitting there I see myself happy, with a smile on my face and I feel I have achieved something in this life. I did good and I look at you even if you are not there and say to you: You can be proud of me. This is how much I care for you. This is your effect on me….”
A conversation between a you and an old woman
Old woman !
Look at me: Young, Firm, Virile
My breasts are like pink tufted buds
on the spring azalea
My lips are like the flamingo’s breast –
pink, soft –
My mons – that secret place only we have
is warm, rich, enticing…….
My neck, long and supple
like Helen’s
My eyes are black, olive-round
My smile, would make Mona Lisa blush
with shame.
Old woman !
Were you ever so ?
Did you ever love ?
Did you know passion ?
Look at you……
Your skin droops
Your breasts sag
Your eyes are clouded
Your mons is dry.
Did you ever know love ?
Ah, my young beauty
Once I too was young and beautiful
Men looked at me with longing
I was the object of desire of many.
But two of these, I remember
even in my old age, I remember.
Tell me old woman,
Tell me of your love
Where are these men ?
Where is your love ?
Why do you sit here
on this rock
looking out to sea,
smiling but
alone
alone
My young beauty
I knew a man
who was my husband
I loved him
with my heart and my head
He was my all
I was complete with him
But then, I was destroyed
I found another man
I found I was not complete
I was missing a piece
This other man was my completion
my half.
Oh my young beauty
Oh my daughter
love is a splendid thing
but a dangerous one as well
Like a sword
you may use it to slay your enemies, or
you may handle it poorly
and injure yourself
Such is love
Of my husband I will tell you nothing
This is still too painful to me.
But of the other
Oh my daughter
may I sing to you
of him.
This was a man
older than I
intense as a bonfire
A man who was
unable to love
in half measures
A man who became my greatest love
my friend
my half
A man who once whispered to me
“Let me show you how I would love you”
And, my daughter, he did !
Do not blush
my child
when I tell you that I would see heaven several times in an evening
This was the intensity of the love we had
And more,
we spoke
we walked
we read
we worked
we laughed
we sang – although my daughter a donkey could sing better than he ! –
we read poetry
This man, my half, wrote me poems
from his heart
so much did he love me
But my dear grandmother !
You are alone
Where is this love of yours ?
Why is he not here ?
Is he dead ?
Did you lose him ?
How did you lose him ?
My daughter
Oh my child !
There are men who cannot love in half or quarter measures
he was one.
He frightened me so
He was always afraid I would push him away
even though I said
“I am not doing this”
He was
a strong man
But I watched as he dissolved
into mist
gone
I could no longer touch him
Did I leave him ?
Did he leave me ?
Oh my daughter
love is so fragile
so fragile
A bond that seems strong
can be shredded with a few words.
But my dear grandmother
Where is he ?
Tell me…..
My child,
look over your shoulder
He stands with me still
whispering into my ear
“I love you more than my life”
“I will never leave you”
But he is as a mist
Oh my daughter
My child
we are young but for a moment
We make decisions we think are good
Sometimes, they simply are
Sometimes, we make them without thinking
My child
you will blink and your youth will be gone.
You will be as am I,
here
on this rock
You will learn to love
And then will lose all
Have I made mistakes ?…
Old woman,
tell me your name….
My child
My great love called me many names
all I cannot repeat here
so much pain could it still cause
But Helen, Persephanie
Penelope
All these names he called me……
and others
Old woman !
These are my names !
The man I love calls me by these names
Who are you old woman ?
What are you ?
Neither the old nor the young woman knows:
Is this real ?
Is this a dream ?
Is there a chance ?
A mystery unsolved,
told in missives of blood.
From Hell he stalked
on clandestine nights,
in the hush of silent streets.
The bane of proscribed escorts,
violator of sultry prey.
With surgical mutilation,
victims splayed unhidden;
guttural lacerations
with innards to behold.
A savage aspiration,
the impetus of death.
Remembered for the carnage
and a letter to the law.
Forever—
in history he sleeps…
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Do we still believe in miracles?
Do we still believe in ourselves,
that maybe we are meant
to do something than just live
an ordinary life,
and all the struggle that we have endured
was to lead us to that pivotal moment?
What if there was another 9/11?
What if there was another US Airways Flight 1549?
Would we be another Sully,
or would politics and race play a bitter card
in the division of our lives?
Would we watch the city burn
or listen to their screams die?
Would we say,
“They were not one of us?”
This was a fear that gripped me tight
as the news bled into the passing days,
but then Hurricane Harvey hit.
And despite all our differences,
all our hate,
a miracle happened.
We forgot the bullshit,
and heroes rose
Feels like I am drowning in black and white, when I choose to live in radiant color.
My whole life I watched those with erasers; masking utensils follow behind.
“Why would you want to fade these beautiful hues?” I would ask.
“Because it discolors our scenery.” They would say.
And follow you will, continue to stand behind; here, my love reigns.
I prefer a colorful horizon, multitudes of beauty and breathing endless color spectrum.
Science can have their primary Yellow, Red, and Blue.
Our sun radiates yellow, our sky covers us in blue, and our hearts beat red.
Those with erasers in hope of new beginnings will not wash away my love.
Nor, mask your angry of ink to deface my crimson heart.
Cast out your erasers and agendas and open your eyes.
Dive into the life that has been painted before you; if you love today, may you love even more tomorrow.
I feel like I am drowning in black and white when I am breathing colorless air.
The poem represents the individual journey which leads to activism and standing up for truth and justice. It is meant to be motivation and inspiration for all those on such a life journey.
What motivated you to write this poem?
My own life and struggles as an activist against all forms of abuse.
How long have you been writing poetry?
Since I was a child. Too aging to give figures. 😉
If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?
Maya Angelou
What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?
I want to share my poetry on the internet in a viewer friendly form.
Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?
I have published 2 books: ‘In the Wings’ and ‘Letters to Mandela’ (Award-winning)and written a few screenplays, some of which have been placed in competitions.
What is your passion in life?
Inspiring global change to create a better world for future generations.
They call me Silent A—
Who am I? They ask and don’t ask
Slithering into a discussion about
School, politics, what happened on the news—
While everyone gazes for a reaction,
Do they look concerned? What are they thinking? Do they know?
But you can’t seem to get out of the dazed,
Confused state I put you in.
I come when you least expect it—
In the middle of a bar,
The music pumping, juices flowing
Through your body.
The heart starts pounding,
Panic sets in like a
Storm crossing the horizon.
You look around, making sure no one notices.
In the middle of the night—
3am as silence fills the air,
Coming off of sleep meds and
Mixture of Vodka Tonics and Merlot,
Anything to keep the mind
At an altered state of nowhere and beyond.
But I’m screaming at you,
The toxicity won’t keep me away.
I’m the one who kills—
Friendships, relationships, your purified mind
Keeping you away from what you love,
What you don’t love.
Standing in that darkened corner,
Waiting for that next high off of me.
They call me Silent A—
You can’t see me, they can’t see me, but I see you.
Waiting seemed to be the norm
They never thought how it made her feel scorned
Many times she did not understand
So all she did was take a stand
She would stand no matter what for what her heart felt was right.
After all everyone knew she would never have enough to really take flight.
But she could fight till the end
That is how time taught her spend
Some wait a little while live the life of dreams.
She waited and still waits to have a life free from there seems
She wondered if it would be ever happen
You know the basic things that make a life.
The things that she could only admire and know would never be in her life.
Funny how they never got enough
Enough of trying to teach her tough.
Tough was not her lesson.
She had and learned enough.
No one ever thought about love or compassion.
Those she knew too well
But, they too did not stay too well
Only her heart would swell
Still on she waited….
I hope she gets a little resemblance of life.
For living is not to be a strife.
She need a life to live.
Not a life to give.
We’re on the moon. Years ago, I knew I couldn’t
save anyone. Despite that news, I made sure that
I tried to save anyone thereafter. But it’s easier to say
it than to do it. The moon doesn’t love you. Without
anyone else, I am just a room devoid of life. It is almost
impossible to exist without deception. Do you love me?
I must tell you that I’ve failed at loving you. You wanted a
deep, passionate love from me, but I could not give it. I know
that people need to be loved. But right now, I see only hate. I hear
only hate. I feel hate growing in my heart. My country is confusing me.
Our money is not infinite like the oceans. But even oceans lose their currents. Water runs dry.
Banks fail. Our money is better off under a mattress. Besides, we don’t sleep in the same bed
anyone. We haven’t in years. I don’t miss the warmth of your body. It went cold when my heart
did.
We must refuse evil. We must not abandon our hearts. We must end the worst of life, the
debased, racists, religious terrorists and the elite. They exist because we allowed them to. They
exist without love. Their love is warped. But we aren’t pure either. There is still coal inside us
diamonds.
I wish this otherness would end. But there seems to be no ending. Our love struggles onward,
life support, breathing tube, ineffective medicines. Oceans are dying. The rich continue to get
richer. The poor labor with only love to sustain them. What will sustain us? Something beyond
this otherness.
BIO: Shirley Jones-Luke is a poet and a writer from Boston, MA. Ms. Luke has an MFA from Emerson College. She was a 2016 Watering Hole Poetry Fellow. Her work was shortlisted in poetry by Adelaide Magazine. Shirley’s poems have been published by Adelaide, BlazeVOX, Deluge, ENUF and Fire Poetry.
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