Stand at the doorway--
("wait your turn!")
Poised to run--
("Look out!")
Dashing off,
headlong down the hall--
("here I go!")
One giant leap,
arms outstretched to each side,
eyes closed,
Whump!
Open your eyes,
("I did it, see?")
Hop off the chair again,
("Now you try")
And scurry back down the hall,
to continue to practice
this very important skill.
Then Mom comes in,

One of my first songs ever. I started to write a poem, and the music started playing in my head, so call it lyrical poetry or call it a song, here it is. Dedicated to my old family.

I'm lookin' into those glassy eyes
of my family in that photograph
from a few years back.
The picture's worn and nearly black,
but I can still see our faces,
smiling as the camera flashed.

you came running
over the green fields you came running to meet me
you took my heart by surprise
you came dancing
wildflowers and windswept trees, smiling out loud
you took my hand and spun me
you came singing
echoes in the ruins of a majesty at once ancient and undying
you took my breath away
and somewhere
somewhere back in your dark, wet earth

Looking down
At my hands
Wonder were
the time has gone

It seemed like yesterday
These two hands
Were small and helpless
A baby’s hands

I will never forget
When these two hands
Were learning to write
A little girl’s hands

I will always remember
When these two hands
Grasped hold of another
A wife’s hands

Memories that will endure
With these two hands

One rainy night much like this one, my father once told me, "It's rainin' pitchforks and nigger babies" and I laughed,
because I was a child and didn't know any better.

My mother once let me take a sip of coffee in the sewing room.
The drapes were drawn, and I sat on her lap by the window.
She said it was what big people drank, and so I tried it,

The night, this cool and breezy night,
While in the vast unclouded sky
Stars stand lonely vigils, bright

The sea, the sea which rushes gently to the shore,
Reflects the starry light
Into the coral’s distant roar

The wind, this wind that softly stirs the trees,
Blows soundless ’cross the sand
On its journey o’re the seas

The sand, the sand which softly sinks beneath my feet,

One speck on a solitary hill, standing
Outlined against the green, watching
Flowered plains stretching, empty
While birds swoop, flashing
A sudden blot of red, soaking
Into trampled mud, churning
Hooves grinding fragile petals
Swaying peacefully in the breeze, catching
Wisps of hair on a solitary hill, above
Distant eyes, staring, dimly down
Into rocky glades, stones sharp as swords

Can you see the hunger written on the faces of the people?
They are mute.
They cannot see themselves,
And no one breaks the code of silence.
Let the dead bones lie in their graves.
The gettysburgs, the teaparties in boston, the morning stroll of
the Blacks to lincoln’s shrine—they are over.
Let dead men lie.

“No, no do not wipe away the tears.
We should never have shed them.

Ten days we were together
Nine times I held your hand
Eight times you said “I love you”, while
Seven times we danced
Six years had found me searching, while
Five I couldn’t understand
Four times I found you wandering
Three times I called you back
Two days you left me waiting, while
One night faded into black