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?
Showing posts with label moon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moon. Show all posts
2012/01/16
2008/11/11
New Years Day
New Years Day 1-1-94 / 2:00am
In the still chill of the cemetery
as a full moon wanes in the fourth day
my composure fades.
Sometimes I wonder which way he's looking.
His broken young bones laying there
Earth to Earth, our little angel.
Sometimes I wish I was God
Suffer the little children
to come unto me
and forbid them not.
At times I wish he had some
grandiose delusion -
said that he was Jesus or something
that some day he'd come back
to life,
and the joke would be over.
Sometimes I just pray
and kiss his grave crying.
In the still chill of the cemetery
as a full moon wanes in the fourth day
my composure fades.
Sometimes I wonder which way he's looking.
His broken young bones laying there
Earth to Earth, our little angel.
Sometimes I wish I was God
Suffer the little children
to come unto me
and forbid them not.
At times I wish he had some
grandiose delusion -
said that he was Jesus or something
that some day he'd come back
to life,
and the joke would be over.
Sometimes I just pray
and kiss his grave crying.
2008/10/21
Of Whispers and Tears
Of Whispers and Tears 1-16-92
Subdued.
This vast sea of silence
and the still moon rising
has me listening to the stars.
Of whispers and tears,
the prelude to sleep
for this day’s end.
The morrow skulks
and the yester lingers.
Crepid fingers
in the waking hours
and some feeble attempt
to write my first thoughts
or even
my last recollections
of the unconscious
before they dissipate
or make sense.
Subdued.
This vast sea of silence
and the still moon rising
has me listening to the stars.
Of whispers and tears,
the prelude to sleep
for this day’s end.
The morrow skulks
and the yester lingers.
Crepid fingers
in the waking hours
and some feeble attempt
to write my first thoughts
or even
my last recollections
of the unconscious
before they dissipate
or make sense.
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