A Message to an Old Friend

For one summer, we were close—
Hiding away from bad influences,
Bonding over the Word of God,
Navigating transitions—
I learned that coworker and friend
Can be synonymous, can be harmonious.
I wouldn't have made it that summer
Without you there to keep me sane,
I would have given up
And nothing would be the same.

My Grandmother's Cookie Jar

A yellow cookie jar
     glossy and round
Sits on the countertop
     old and worn.

The lid no longer fits,
Air seeps through the cracks—
The cookies go stale
and I'm disappointed...

I could fill it up
With tiny snickers bars
Another piece of you
The long lost owner.

Or I could tuck it away
Just a piece of nostalgia
With no real purpose
Left in its brokenness...

This old cookie jar
     yellow and worn
Still sits on the countertop
     repurposed and reborn.

Photocredit: Unsplash.com/

Memories

Memories,
Bittersweet nostalgia
Guiding, Defining, Immortalizing,
Sealed in the mind
Forever

Photocredit: Unsplash.com/Soragrit Wongsa

Origin

Photocredit: Unplash.com/Jeremy Bishop

Brown—
The color of soil
Ripe for planting seeds
That grow bountiful plants—
Beautiful blooms and healthy harvests...
Hands,
Work steadily in the sun,
Brown from the golden rays,
They feast on scintillating crops
Seasoned for the soul and perfectly prepared...
Lifted
My spirit each evening—
Sitting around the dinner table,
Antique wood—brown and rich
With memories spanning lifetimes of generation,
Familiar folk tales and memories made...
Me
In the middle
Of wise old women
Shaped and sharpened by time—
The brown bags of betrayal beneath their eyes...
High—
We aim, above and
Beyond our wildest dreams
Covered by this brown that births
Life, gifted by God for glory and greatness.

Church Pews

Familiar streaks in the brown of pine wood
Moving up the building walls without pause
Lit up in purple, red, and yellow hues
Refracted light from the stained glass...
Sound travels like glue
It binds one memory to another
As the old women rock in the pew.

Covered, With Love

Cover me,
Engulf my body
Fill me with your warmth
And comfort my fears—
The world disappears
As you cover me...
Something else appears
Beneath the folds of your warm
Beautiful dreams, shinning stars
I carry you to the edge of the earth
And back beneath your hiding place.

The First Step

Light reflects

In bright wide eyes

Image from Clker

And out of eyes
Connects--

     Arms, legs, toes, fingers...

Eyes follow movement

     Hair, teeth, nose, nails...

Eyes take them in.

New extensions to use--

To feel.

Touch the surface

Soft and warm--

Feel life;

Discover blood running

     Pulse racing,
          Lungs breathing,

Fall--

But get back up.

The Sweetest Thing

So simple,
The words uttered
A mutual bond
Distance tries to shatter--

One of my friends that recently moved away told me they think of me
every day and I realized I think about them too!

Yet unpredictably,
My mind falls to you
And yours to me...
Then here are we,
Two friends--
Still unforgotten.
Remembered daily;
A thought beyond imagination
And comforting...
How sweet--this simple gesture
Manifests in smiles
As I think of you.

Tale As Old As Time

The credits roll

A familiar tune begins to play

Emotions run back--

And I'm a child once again.

The feeling never dies,

Never changes, never fades

I am forever captured

Intertwined in the story

Lost in the images,

Invested in the heart and soul--

Memorized words of this classic tale

Recited in my mind

Again and again.

Moments We Share

We come here,
Wishing, hoping, dreaming
And its all about reaching a goal,
But somewhere along the way
Mixed up in those detours
    off the beaten path
         down a different hallway,
We find each other.
That same orange echoing
Missions left to complete
And we find ourselves,
Here together.

When Change Comes

We change

We grow

And change is all we have

All we ever learn or accept

Sometimes--

We understand

We think.

No one

Knows change

And change favors none of us

But drags us on through time

Expectantly--

No one

Can prepare.

But alas

Change comes

Like clockwork, the spinning of gears

We spin in circles avoiding fears

Stagnating--

We avoid

In vain

Yearbook Memories

Distant memories of people past
Days, hours, minutes that did not last
Time didn't wait for us to grow
Life moved on so long ago.

Pictures fade--the words begin to disappear
Emptiness in frames hollow and clear,
Stare back at us in solemn woe
Life moved on so long ago

Bittersweet, the chapter must always end
A vague and beautiful memory of a friend
Of  a time when life was constant and slow,
Life moved on so long ago.

I Know Why

I know why the caged bird sings
Why the steel constricts so heavily around
And the weight of the air on delicate wings
Rubs away at their softness--tightly bound
To suppress the worry of unadorned kings
Who cage beauty because they are not crowned
And the bird's song is the gem they seek,
The treasure they possess, but cannot keep.

I know why her wings will not break,
Why in the midst of ruin she will always rise--
In fear she will not fold, she will not quake
For the strength of God is buried in her eyes
And the sound of her song soothes her wake;
Let not the coming darkness be a surprise,
When the last rays of light caress her battle scars
As the sun sets, fading between these metal bars...

I know why a brave and startling truth must come
Why it's hidden there in the notes of this bird's song
Bellowed and swallowed by vocal cords numb
From the consistent denial of right from wrong
Strained and beaten to a mournful hum
That voice keeps singing, keeps beating strong--
She will not stop, allow her soul to be reduced
For the lock must be broken, the chains loosed.

I know why a woman and bird must be the same
Why times are different but people are unchanged
In a world where everyone and no one shares the blame
Left amongst the evils of men, mad and deranged
She weeps in her song for the passing of this horrible shame
Exploited, forgotten, and in the end always shortchanged
Her song never dies, will never falters--she will always be
Proud, strong...a caged bird, a woman phenomenally.

Maya Angelou
author and poet
(April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014)

Childhood Days

Ice cream dripping,

And the fizz of soda bubbling--

Cold melting together

Under the heat of the summer sun...

The smooth taste of cream

Undermined by the spark of soda

And the bubbles tickle my nose.

The sweet smell of vanilla burning

While the clouds move in, rolling--

Another summer day spent.

Saving Moments

The slow chiming of bells
Resonating above the familiar ticking
Of hands circling a well worn face--
Stop to savor the moment
One second of one minute
Echoing in perfect pitch
And I wish I could hold the tone forever
Relish in this one second of time
Embroider images in the length of the chime
Vision of experiences past
Merging into promises of the future
All dancing around this one second
This present of the present time--
While my eyes drink in each passing tick
I wrap myself like ribbon
Around this moment,
Wrapped up and preserved forever.

Dreams of a Sugar Plum Fairy:

Spotlight on Misty Copeland

I was young
Everyone was doing it—
Blonde ponytails, pink tutus
And then there was me...
If I'd noticed,
Maybe I would've quit
But I loved it
And I wanted to shine.
Twirl and twirl
On pointed toe,
Ribbons and colors
Music and art—
Sugar plum fairy dreams
Swirling through snowflakes
And me in the background
Awaiting my chance...
Expensive dreams,
Pirouetting in front of me
Taunting and haunting
Until at last I concede.

Misty Copeland is a soloist in the American Ballet Theatre. According to some sources, she is the first black soloist for ABT [1, 4]. Another, however, states that she is the first black soloist in 20 years and the third in the theatre's history [2]. Either way, she has climbed the ranks even from a general late start at ballet. Performing as soloist in multiple productions as well as alongside Prince [3, 4], Copeland is breaking the mold in the ballet world and changing the image in an otherwise white art.

References

1. Meredith Turits. "Misty Copeland, American Ballet Theatre's First African-American Soloist in 20 Years, Talks Breaking Barriers with Aplomb". Glamour Interview. April 23, 2012
2. Robyn Carolyn Price. "ABT’s Misty Copeland Talks to Vogue Italia About Being a “Black Ballerina”". Huffington Post. January 23, 2014
3. "Misty Copeland". American Ballet Theatre; visited February 2014
4. Rebecca Carroll"Misty Copeland On Prince And The Curvy Ballerina Revolution". Huffington Post. September 14, 2011

The Dress

Bulging at the seams,
Threads begin to stretch
A dress of splendor
Shamed with lost sequins
Fabric sagging dull and depleted
Hanging under dust
Forgotten behind the new
Strong, full, and worn
Waiting to be remembered,
Hard with which to part
And useless upon the hanger.

Reflecting

Friends come and go,
Words lingering behind
And you often wonder
About motives and feelings
Uncapable of concluding,
Yet there you are,
At the end of some
Unknown disagreement
Questioning,
Anger vs. Time
But nothing you do
Causes change,
So let the words linger
As you come and go

Memories

Thoughts drift,
To times less complex,
To faces, to memories
To people I miss
And images fade
Over time, worn away
Wait for the pieces
To reappear.

Reflection of the Past

Dirt, caked on dark fingers
Scarred and calloused,
Bare and bruised--
The same gentle fingers
Softly braiding my hair...
Scrawled words, inked carefully
Traced slow into the paper's fold
Small, delicate words
Of an education cut short
Rendered unnecessary and left behind...

A warrior of immeasurable standard
Brave and fearless,
Unwilling to to mar the soul
With the damage of the body
But to pass on it's beauty...

The legacy of fortitude and strength
A powerful awakening
Rooted deep in the tree of life
Blossomed with the immortal flower,
And I was born of her...