MLK and the Moon

why don’t we view the moon with racism and hate?

we as people
from where we are
we mind the moon.
it brings to the surface a hidden love.

make note of your internal thoughts…
is it the fervent company of the howling wolf?
is it the alluring perfume of the blooming midnight orchid?
is it the damp grasses growing under foot?
is it the innumerable cloud variations passing between?
is it the corn on the cob, roasted on a campfire?
that stops you in your whatever and has you saying
“look at the moon.”
i sense that it is a hidden love for the moon.

yet visibility under moonlight requires indirect sunlight,
a subtle dependency in the darkness.
what do you do when the moon is new, in darkness?
when the laws of darkness are binding the moonlight
to the reality of oppression,
will this oppression fail in nonviolent exposure to indirect light?
yes.
don’t be afraid.
i challenge you to watch the sky
as the moon is present
both day and night
exposing the newness and fullness of the moon
in distant degrees of promise, the inherent beauty,
horizon rising, the orange, the red, the yellow
the black and white of it.
in varied modes of existance
the moon changes colors, yet we admire all colors;
devoid full racism.

in the sleep, our dreams,
in the wake, recalled
beauty, the flesh of all mankind,
see it as one.

Author's Note:
I usually don’t share my writing unless I’m happy with the entire piece. I feel this piece is a bit awkward in some spots. I have been reluctant to do anything with it. However, today we are celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his dream. I don’t care about my happiness with this piece at the moment. I think for my peace, the need to share the overall message is stronger than the condition of my happiness. The moon is something everyone on earth can see. I assume everyone accepts it in its varied modes of existance. Why can’t everyone do that with people?

take me to the place in the sky

http://www.flickr.com/photos/rebelwithafrog/5211040376/

Take me to the place in the sky
where hands are held.
Take me to your bones.
Feed me your gravy - the marrow
of your mind keeps me alive.
Take me to your attic of broken furniture
holding memories of spent Sundays and
the beauty of wood. I am your glue.
I am the cobwebs on your longing.
It’s my toes, they told me so.
They’re waiting for you at the door
with open arms.
They see you
as the footsie queen.
Take me to the place in the sky
where feet run free.
Take me to the blue in your eyes.
I am your pupil.
Feed me your seasons, I will taste
your ever changing moods.
I will learn your recipe.
Take me to your pic-nic.
Your red and white checkered sunshine wicker grass basket
and I will take you to my shady tree.

I am this fresh new day
and you are breathing.

Author’s Note:
folding away my forgotten journal in a desk drawer, that is darkness. i took out an old journal from the 90's to see what I was doing around this time of year. i was thinking about love, thinking about everything meaning nothing and nothing else matters, thinking that my future spouse is out there walking around somewhere. thinking that we've yet to meet. those were my thoughts.

be in love*

8/3/2009, 6:47 am

http://www.flickr.com/photos/rebelwithafrog/3784941312/

*i waited for the chance
to meet her in the garden.
an hour consuming
summer’s beautiful display.
children play, flowers bloom,
hopscotch, blue spirea
breeze ruffles the foliage.
perfumes of russian sage
broadcast and saturate
my senses delight.
the sweet nectar attracts us both.
she arrives.
to see her fine hair
so golden by the velvet black sunlight.
to know she frequently visits
regardless of my devotion.
to admire her form and dainty sip
refreshing.

I am offered a glimpse,
a fleeting moment in the shade.
to blink not for want
for a thousand words
i silently stutter my worth;
rendered invisible, of no interest.
and as quickly as she came
she is away.

Author's Note:
I intended for this to be a poem by itself without the picture so I took the part "of my lense" off of the end of the line "a fleeting moment in the shade". The removed text appears in the original version on flickr, but not here. The poem is intended to be read while viewing the picture, but it should not rely on it. It should be able to be read by itself. Both are independent. Both belong with the other.

In the end, whatever you do, be devoted to it. Be passionate about it. Don't go about it half way with idle thoughts of other doings. Don't be concerned with what you could have done or what you should do. Don't worry about what you can or cannot do. Aerodynamically, bumble bees should not be able to fly. Do you think they know that? Whatever you do, just embark and do. The world needs more people who are in love and alive with passion.

Be in love and you will find your nectar in the blooms.