Shackled

She would express almost daily
how sad, how painful life is.
She would leave me with guilt
because I couldn’t nor did I have
the where-with-all to diminish her sadness
nor lessen her pain, a feeling of helplessness
My day would be encompassed
with the thoughts of …what made her days so sad?
Was it because she was all alone, without a partner?
Because our father and all subsequent male friends
would leave her stranded alone to face life?
…what caused her so much pain?
was it something physical from aging?
Was it her struggles with surviving life’s toils,
struggles and strife, alone?
These questions and daunting perpetuation of feelings
and thoughts shackle me till this day.
Is this the bond, the memories she wanted to leave me with?
Do mothers do this with their children, unknowingly,
as a way of bonding, self perpetuation?
Do they not realize that these memories
will be ‘piggy backed’ with their children’s
own ’life’ experiences, toils, tribulations?
Fortunately, I choose to remember
many fun and loving moments.
Shackled, I am, with love for her.

Freedom of Worship

What is in one’s heart
And in one’s mind
What resounds in one’s spirit
In a quiet space
Alone where no one else can hear
Where no one else can see him
Kneeling kissing the sacred earth

What is most sacred in one’s inherent,
some say intrinsic, makeup
Cannot be extricated through
attempted denying of space or time
by the flow of ignorance
or through obstructionist
attempts of elimination
through misrepresentation
to the ignorant and dissemination
of bias as an obstruction

spiritual or religious belief
cannot be obstructed
through mundane attempts

this attempt at denying one
of an individual to worship
to communicate with their personal
Deity has been, historically, the cause
for violent reaction and wars.
Violent attempts of denying
yields violent reaction
For the ‘greater spiritual cause’,
there is no minimization
in exercising and ascending to
extreme levels of exhortation or protestation.

The liberty to express and exercise one’s
spiritual or religious beliefs in this country
is founded in a written Constitution
that provides the freedom to express
inherent liberties of speech and worship

Youthful Indiscretion

Against my finger tips
yours feel cool and moist
so gentle, titillating
My breath escapes
and my heart beat ‘pitter patters’
ever so quickly
so pure when my first touch
of a girls hand to mine
before I became nine
as it was unplanned,
unexpected and so breathtaking

As my birthdays accrued
and my shyness waned
I would intentionally position myself
in places and spaces
where the occasion would arise
and a girls hand was next to mine
a feigned accident as I would
gently touch her hand when by her side
and with great risk
would brush her skirt

As time gathered in years
although in those ominous halls
of my high school years
the girls partitioned in one half
and the boys in the other
time couldn’t arrive soon enough
for lunch in the cafeteria where
space was shared with those gentle creatures
soft cool moist hands, pretty hair and faces

Years have passed quickly and my shyness
has been replaced by reasons to kiss,
with my lover my friend
holding hands and ascending to
the greatest sharing in the absence of clothes
embracing, bodies moist, soft breast pressed against my chest,
mouths wide open giving chase to each others tongues
and ever so gently entwine in rhythm
remembering with every movement
those youthful indiscretions in the touching of hands
my heart remembering that first ‘pitter patter’

why the silence

I don’t know what I’ve done
Or what I haven’t
But when the day is done
Before my tears run dry
I must ask why,
Won’t you tell me

What have I done
or not done
to have turned your voice quiet
to maybe something I did
or something I’ve said

Solitude and isolation
is a choice sometimes I make
But when the silence comes
from something unbeknownst
the solitude is lonely
and the isolation is cold

Speak to me
let me know
if there is something
I can do or say
or something I shouldn’t
don’t leave me in the grey

If now I sing a song
I can hear my voice
but once upon a time
it would be your voice and mine
singing the same song

My nylon six string
sits inside its black case
leaning up against my
two congas both gather
dust from time past

Life is too short
Family and friends too few
Whisper to me the words of a song
So we can once again sing
In harmony