…I would not recognize the stranger before me. All angles and lines worn deep with worry. Avoiding the inevitable
by turning off the light
the stranger
utters a pungent oath, walks away, finds a salty puddle
sees without a reflection.
To truly claim thou art human, practice the art of being humane.
I watched African-American Lives 2 over the weekend on my local PBS station. I found it a very moving and powerful – if flawed – series that explained why slavery casts such a deep shadow over America.
“The Middle Passage remains a stain upon the waters”
to see, to touch the past, is, unfortunately
impossible
even a headstone
a shackle, a slave cabin upon the fertile soil of the Delta does
not
does not reach out and throttle the now
but…
however,
a picture, of an ancestor, a stern slave holder
who raped your great-great-great grandmother
that, that creates a churning acid reaction, all the
more potent
for being two centuries later
in the abstract, chickens and cows and Negroes
as property, tabulated
economics fueling westward expansion
labor needed here
laborers, in abundance here
here,
being Africa, there
being the Americas, both north and south
and not all at that, poor white indentured
slaves as well
but
demand -ie white planters and the Five Civilized Tribes in the South,
White merchants and whalers in the North
met supply in the
Black rulers of Africa
the Arab traders shifting from dhows to cargo
more profitable than rum and molasses
ivory and gems
Dutch and English, American and Portuguese,
a trail of blood chumming the Triangular Trade,
French wine and death
wool and Spanish steel
all profited, all suffered
the records of Lloyd’s, deeds of transfers
scoured, seeking names not recorded,
births not celebrated
marriages not sanctified
cultures destroyed and yet,
out of the perished millions there arose
jazz
creole
rap
a pride in being black
being a victim, no longer enough
yes, this marks the resting place of a slave and
yes
this is my ancestor, my family, my tragedy, my heritage
my land
my history
my right to look at the past and say that the
Middle Passage
never ended
never began
that slavery remains an ever present evil under heaven
From Poefusion comes a trio of ‘Titles’ prompt.
From Read~Write~Poem comes the prompt ‘what i never could tell my mother’.
From One Single Impression comes the prompt ‘Assimilation’.
From Sunday Scribblings comes ‘Vision’.
“The Flowing Blindfold”
fear – it oozes-
puddles at my dirty feet, calloused,
bleeding – quivering lower lip – fear
it slides, harsh words, hard men, harder use
fear – it melts – forty flavors
and none,
for me: only fear – fear only… everything,
everyone hurts
lack sight, knowledge, to fear normal
to become someone else, different, better?
Please? – no, no… please…
to swallow anything but that! Not again!
unmoved by tears
uncaring
unable – years of thought
finally understood
mother was afraid too
Manic Monday offers ‘Shine’.
Sunday Scribblings wants to know about ‘Soul Mate’.
Complacency can be mistaken for a soul mate. So can lust. Or the perfect pizza. Nature – or DNA if you prefer – has many devious and subtle tricks of ensuring the genetic material is passed through the generations. What seems to be the ultimate test of human survival, a long-term relationship, is often cloaked in the mystique of love. That, and the catch-phrase, ‘Soul Mate’. It compensates for many shortcomings. For to be a soul mate requires a suspension of disbelief and an unwavering view in the decency and goodness of your partner. It’s not only having faith in them, it’s having faith in your own judgment. It is always easier to blame yourself rather than them if the relationship falls apart. Nor is it likely, or even desired, to be limited to only one soul mate. It may be that the entire notion is archaic.
But there is something valid in the notion of the soul mate that is beyond poetry and flowers. Even though physics tells us that the observer cannot see without altering the outcome, unlike particles and waves, the observed has free will to resist. Why do two people connect? There are chemical reasons – pheromones seeking like honeybees and returning to the hive mind to dance the message of consummation – but those do not tell the entire story. Nor do intellectual reasons in this age of electronic communication. How can you know? How can a single glance/or thought impart an infinite cascade of information that within a fraction of time yields the answer: He/She is the One? Nothing in our experiences of human existence can fully explain attraction. It is obviously very faulty and through the eons societies have sought to control the raw selection process, but in the end, there is in fact something beyond science, beyond faith, driving us out into the world of emotions. We search for a soul mate, and even when finding them, there always remains a slight nagging deep in the heart. What if I was wrong?
Cactus study 1 is here.
Cactus study 2 is here.
Cactus study 3 is here.
Cactus study 4 is here.
Cactus study 5 is here.
Cactus study 6 is here.
Cactus study 7 is here.
Cactus study 8 is here.
Cactus study 9 is here.
Cactus study 10 is here.
Cactus study 1 is here.
Cactus study 2 is here.
Cactus study 3 is here.
Cactus study 4 is here.
Cactus study 5 is here.
Cactus study 6 is here.
Cactus study 7 is here.
Cactus study 8 is here.
Cactus study 9 is here.
Cactus study 1 is here.
Cactus study 2 is here.
Cactus study 3 is here.
Cactus study 4 is here.
Cactus study 5 is here.
Cactus study 6 is here.
Cactus study 7 is here.
Cactus study 8 is here.
Our novel can be purchased at 
Blessing~ 1991-2008
