In Search of Meaning

Turning, Turning, Turning
The sun is shining
The moon is glowing
Turning, Turning, Turning
I wonder as I wander *
Turning, Turning, Turning

As a child I wanted to understand
This world I breathed
Now that I am older
I realize life is not just what we perceive
It is what we deliver and what we receive.
This is making meaning.

Turning, Turning, Turning
I wonder as I wander *
Turning, Turning, Turning

Some philosphers say we are not
Isolated beings but social individuals
Who bring perspectives to life
Shaping the world to be as it seems.
This is making meaning.

Even though our names go unknown
Our faces never recognized
Friendships never realized
Together we conceive the world
We breathe.

Turning, Turning, Turning
I wonder as I wander *
Turning, Turning, Turning

Channels on the television
Pages in the newspaper
Only to find materialistic realism
Advertised between war-torn landscapes
With leaders' forrowed brows and pointed fingers
Claiming protection against the enemy:
Making dangerous meaning.

Cycling propaganda tossed back and forth
Recruiting young and old to believe
The Other is against the self.
My head is

Spinning, Spinning, Spinning
Yet, the sun keeps shining
The moon keeps glowing
Spinning, Spinning, Spinning
I wonder as I wander*
Spinning, Spinning, Spinning

Sometimes life appears so clear
While other times, it is convoluted
Polluted with self-interests that
Reject peace and humanity.
Who is at fault for such inconsistencies?
Life is what we deliver and what we receive.
How are we to find meaning across manufactured borders?

We make life turn, we make it spin
We accept the sun, we reject its illumination
We acknowledge the moon's glow, we keep our eyes in darkness.
Don't you ever wonder as you wander
About the real life of the Other?
This is making.
This is finding.
This is meaning.



* title of Langston Hughe's autobiography

Like Any Other Stranger (revised)

Days pass like strangers on the street
Never looking behind as you walk with speed
Possibly missing that someone you should meet
Or the peripheral friend from the past
Whose specialness got packed away
With memories faded and frayed.

Looking left then right
It appears safe to cross
To the other side
For you hear destination's call to
Leave the moment without living in it
Persistent in searching for something without ever knowing,
Without ever seeing...

Watch out! A voice shouts as you leap
Out of harms way.
Heart beating like a hummingbird's wings
Soft melody with an underlying energy.
Swinging your head back and forth
To find the origin of the voice.
How unusual,
The city streets are empty.
For just this moment you exist:
The past lives in the present.

Then off you go like any other stranger
And the city bustles like any other day.

B-O-O-K-S

To Thalia,
This poem came to me as we walked home from the library.

We love to read books every day
B-O-O-K-S

With their colorful pictures
Imagining
Different places
Different thoughts
Many feelings
Many faces
All from the words that sing

Oh, how we love to read books every day
B-O-O-K-S

Open the cover
And we soon see
All the diversity
That makes our world
Exciting to be
A part of its magnificence

Yes, we love to read books every day
B-O-O-K-S

Now, close the book and your eyes
Take a moment to visualize
A place that is yet to exist
An idea no one has shared
A picture only you can create
Dream
Imagine
Believe
Of all the possibilities

We love to read books every day
B-O-O-K-S

Little Lady Bug

For my daughter, Thalia

Little lady bug
Little lady bug
Flying all around
Little lady bug
Landing on the ground.

Little lady bug
Little lady bug
The color of red
Little lady bug
Wearing a black dotted dress.

Where are you going,
Little lady bug?
Where have you been?
I wonder about your view
As you sit on the window sill.
Is the world the same
Where ever you lay
Because all the other lady bugs
Seem to dress in similar ways?

Oh no, little lady bug says,
We are not the same at all.
Even though we may jump and
Flutter our wings
Like each other,
You will see
If you get closer to me
That each dot on my dress is
Unlike any other.
And my flight path is determined
By my desired destination.

Little lady bug
Little lady bug
With quite a bit of perseverance
Little lady bug
Never again will you be underestimated.

Catching a Poem

Words j um p
S c a t t e r
B u R s T
P a R a d e to the beat
Of feet,
Of the heart,
Of the blasts of synapses
Bringing thousands of messages
Pressuring
The brain
To produce.

With a mental net
I c h a s e
These hyperactive words
To settle them down
To gain
An order
Within the cacophony
Of thoughts
Ideas
Images
Dreams
Racing in between
Fingers
Pens
Key boards
Lips tasting
Rhythm's sweet and bitter
Movement
This way
That way
One-way
No way
Unable to dominate
These words as they
Wrap their meaning
Around my waist.

Stuck in a chair
Without any grace
To wiggle around
A mind
Confounded by
Wishes and wants,
Hope and love
For a poem
That says it all.

Love Me Friendly

I have this recurring conversation
With myself as if I were talking to you
Who asked me to unravel my layered
Pain regarding friendships lost and few won.
It strikes me as pathetic, maybe even comical
That at such an age, I am still plagued by
The desire to be loved friendly.

Well, I sigh as my hand wipes the corner
Of my right eye, I have believed my title was
Friend when in fact it has been acquaintance.
There is a difference between the two, you know.
When you are a friend, the other person
Pulls you out of hibernation so you get fresh air
And not become so comfortable that you forget
To live; she does not toss aside your cares, even
When your correspondences lag.

Maybe this perception is what kept people
At such a distance, an unspoken expectation,
One that became too cumbersome to bare,
Oh, how I wanted to find others who dared
To show an inclination of respect and interest in
My personality, and when they did is it possible
I was not good enough for them?

At what age in life does one stop worrying about
Companionship in its variety of forms?
At what age does one cease protection from
Companionship's potential to do harm?
At what age will I stop returning to this
Conversation where I pick apart the layers
Of sorrowful regret that few truly love me friendly?

I ask myself...

little children (revised)

little children
little children
learning to jump with two feet
barely making it off the ground
only to fall to your knees
roll around and laugh heartily

little children
little children
you put hand to mouth
arms taut around mommy's leg
with clamorous wails breaking the glass
between the haves and have nots

little children
little children
boisterous in the park
drawing master pieces with chalk
and babbling to dogs
kicking balls and crumpling leaves
not realizing what it means as the sky turns dark

little children
little children
your pleas have not been delivered
successfully to Congress' soapbox
not persuasive enough
to bail you out of hunger
out of your home on four wheels
with over 100,000 miles

little children
little children
not understanding adult cares
dance to the chirp of birds
wave arms as the stereo blares
wrestless as your parents bicker about who
will watch you as they look for new jobs

little children
little children
with joy so pure
the potential for its loss
is catastrophically great
if our country does not heed your cry
salvation of the future could be too late

little children
little children
curled up on daddy's lap
as he narrates word for word
the story shared by his grandfather
of a future to come
when all the little children
gather together leaving out no one

To Whom It May Concern

To Who It May Concern:

It does not make sense
Why you hide yourself
By spinning realities
Like different spools of thread
Varying colors and textures
Based on whose image occupies your head.

Do you not see the let downs
You bring wrapped in pretty promises?
Do you conceive you're responsibility-free
From the hurt this causes others?

People will cease showering
You with invitations
If you cocoon them in your web
Of situational exaggerations
Or monetary lamentations.

Appreciate the diligence
Honesty requires.
Let the pangs of falsehood
Be remedied by ambition
To forgive one's faults
And live by one's truths.

Avoid shackling yourself down
By dilatory desire.
Wishing and wanting are markedly
Different from acting and achieving.

Everyone hopes for unadulterated proof
Of not only your self-love
But your self-efficacy.
And most of all for you to listen selflessly
To those speaking to you.

Living like this, you will no longer have to hide
Behind stichings of insecurity.
Your potential will befriend possibility.
Your phenomenal charm will attract
Unexpected felicity.
Hazy vision repaired, now able to view
You and me, he and she, they and we.

Step outside the web
Without hesitation,
Without evasion:
These heavy rocks you push up the mountain.
You are not Sisyphus cursed,
Close the book on mythology,
Make living the life a priority,
Always appreciating those people
Cheering on the sidelines.

Sincerely, Truly Yours, With Fondness,
Good Luck, Your Friend, Best Wishes.
Keep in touch.

Superhero Trademark (2009)

Courage, I remember when I got you
Tattooed on the back of my neck.
It was late, your voice yelled from within
To leave home alone,
To journey toward a new frontier.

For an hour every needle pinch ensured
You were worth the agony:
I finally made it into the Hall of Justice.

Oh Courage, how I needed you then--
My superhero trademark--
Nothing could take me down
My head held up by a symbol
No one could efface.

With strength comes antagonism
So many comic books portray.
Every superhero has a weakness,
A dichotomous cliche.
I was no different than the other no names
Who never left the sketch pad, crumpled up
In the garbage can.

Courage, you were my insignia
Like superman's "S";
My shield from the rogues, the dubious eyes,
The stealthy feet tripping me up, provoking
My demeanor to look a mess.

You were even my disguise from the ugliness
Store windows casted back
As I meandered my way through weather-worn streets
Scouting out an alley where I could take a reprieve,
Just get out of sight.

Never satisfied with my costume,
I had no choice in designing;
Always second guessing others' motives
Not quite escaping without scratches.
What good is a superhero
If she cannot save
Even herself from the grasp
Of Master Disorder?

Courage, you were suppose to be my safeguard
During vulnerable moments
When my armament was softened,
Susceptible to seduction;
Instead, you insisted I admit all
Superheros retire when children
Leave innocence behind;
Symbols mature,
but do they lose meaning over time?

Truth, Love, Justice, Hope
No longer dreams of youth.
Welcome to complex adulthood,
The Halls' demise is proof.

Dramatic?
Possibly, but this is the story
Of Courage coming to be
Accepted by the world even though
They may never see her authenticity.

It’s a comic book fact
Most superheros live a lonely life
Always caring about alleviating the hurt,
Wiping away strife
So many bare without any fault.
The irony rests within the superhero’s chest
Wanting to feel love without needing to protect.

Now Courage you have reasserted your strength
As I look into the eyes of the child I have made.
My lonesomeness cannot remain
Central to my campaign.
I must rewrite the scene:

Little Curiosity is her name
Trying to make sense of her world,
Figuring out her power, her will.
Now Courage must live up to its original quest
To cease living only from the chest.
To experience Beauty, as Plato suggests,
Courage must act with the rational mind.
So Little Curiosity can learn
Her superhero trademark is not a flawed design.

Gotta Move (2009)

Gotta move on
Gotta move on now
No time but the present
Gotta move within this moment

Fantasies collapse
When placed in real time
Tomorrow never happens
When deliberation confines

Gotta move on
Gotta move on now
No time but the present
Gotta move within this moment

Head cranks over shoulder
Leaving possibility behind
Small chance, just a guess
Truth will transpire
Not conspire
To take a rest

Gotta move on
Gotta move on now
No time but the present
Gotta move within this moment

Eyes lower
Shoulders slump
22 catches me again
Ego feeling dumb

Gotta move on
Gotta move on now
No time but the present
Gotta move within this moment

Good-bye to the potential
Of doing someone wrong
Blow away remnants of guilt
Knowing I never belonged
In a place where I forgot
Even my own name
Because when I ran,
A coward I became
When I stayed,
A whipping girl I remained

Gotta move on
Gotta move on now
No time but the present
Gotta move within this moment

Recognize Me (Revised, 2009)

"Even if you don't recognize me
I'm still here," Jill Scott's siren-like
vocals float
through tiny earphones
shoved deep in my canals
so I can digest every word
and sound

Entranced
my legs halt
to let the music
burst out of my belly
showering passersby
with its colorful intensity

"Even if you don't recognize me
I'm still here," she repeats this
line over and over
I hit replay over and over
as if her words will conjure up
visibility

who does not recognize me?
where am I still?
plagued with this unknown
I cannot take off my earphones
in case the secret is a hidden track
like this song she sings as if
she read my mind
how is it she got to say it
before I had the time

"Even if you don't recognize me
I'm still here"
wailing these words until
my throat is hoarse
doubled-over
exhausted from yanking
out the earphones
stomping the music to bits
"Stop taunting me," I plea
but the past persists

I see who I am
really I do
I'm still here despite you
wanting to ignore
your love for me
retraction of your confession
erasing me

But I'm still here
yes, I'm still here
knowing our past will never disappear
nor the devastation to end its future
I cannot accept your forgetfulness
your farbicated ignorance

So even though you may no longer recognize me
today, tomorrow, forever
I now understand how this song captivated me

Red Wine (2009)

Take another sip, girlfriend,
of that red wine
for a brief time
your delusion is real

The buzz will wane
your headache will remain
screaming at you to get it together

Daylight hours reveal a woman strong
a beauty warped when
reflected in your own eyes
so you yearn to cover your head
lay alone in a full size bed
for a world of only you and him

but come one, girl
these scenarios never transpire
how many more times
will you waste nights
making love to invisibility
do I need to remind you
imagination is not so safe

Wait...

Girlfriend, pour me a glass
of that red wine
I think I need a sip

Release (2009)

shadows of hands
covering her face
removed only for a peek
at the street where they
are to meet

this reverie lacks bliss
her skies change
hands remain
in arthritic lonliness

where is he who
she awaits
to nudge his nose
against the nap of her neck
hands release
for him to sneak a soft kiss

alone she sits
foolish with hope
analyzing the lines
on the palms of her hands
crooked and cracked
fatigued and sad

maybe just one last quick peek
but this reverie has
turned into a phantasm
beauty concealed
passion turning bleak

shadows of hands
covering his face
never removed even for a peek
arthritic lonliness encapsulate
the potential for belief
in love's release

wetness enshrine their mind's eye
distance kept
fingers spread
wishing the reverie dead

Rain Dance (2009)

I need to know:
Are we right about the rain
That it can cleanse our pain
That it can bring out the sun
So tomorrow we accept as a new day?

I need to know
If we are right about the rain
Because if this is true
Then I want it to pour down on me
I wish it to pour down on you
I call it to pour down peace
To steady the world's feet
So we can walk toward love
With hope leading our way.

I want us to be right about the rain....

Listen,
Quiet your mind to hear
The rhythm of feet
Tapping, sliding, beating the skin
Of drums.

Listen,
Close your eyes to experience
The song of the child who
Yearns for her parents' strength
To shelter her from the dryness of the earth.

Listen,
Open your mind to
The swinging of arms in circles
To the drumming of the feet
To the song of the child
Calling forth the rain.

My friend, I see your pain
Even though I never view your face.
Lean back and push your chest to the sky
Let your arms spread open wide
For the rain will come.

I know I am right about the rain.

Love's Finish Line (2006)

I was born under the sun like everyone
Quickly learned I needed to run
To keep up with everyone.
Many times I lagged behind,
Sighed and
Wondered why
Even with relentless effort
I could not make it across the finish line.

Oh how I have tried
To make up for lost time,
But it's not easy to teach oneself
How to fly.
It's not easy to scale the wall
One's built before her eyes.
No one's giving me ten fingers
Or an alternative path to drive.

At the edge of the cliff so many times
Contemplating the grace of my dive.
I thought this one time when a car drove by
I was saved from my uncertainty in love;
The driver opened the door
Tempting me to explore this other side;
Led in by my bemused heart,
Believing his words were true from the start
I went for a ride...

How wrong was I.
My heart kidnapped
My body paralyzed
By a drug so strong
No doctor would ever prescribe.
Left without a home
No sense of self to be known.
Where is the truth to be found
Amongst silent lies?

At the edge of the cliff one more time...
My arms outstretched in hope to embrace
A new paradigm,
Leaving the errors of my past behind,
Trying not to lose the friend at my back all of this time.
So I took the dive
Landed in the divide
On my feet a bit wobbly.
In front of me two roads diverge in a wood
And I sigh and wonder
I sigh and wonder...
Will there be another life for me?

I was born under the sun like everyone
And learned how to drive on my own
Moving forward not reverse
Getting stuck in my muddy pride.
Through agony I have kissed truth
And now embark on the road less traveled by
Hoping to cross Love's finish line.

Ready to Serve (2008)

I have seen through the bars.

There is no such thing as closure
Nor a resolution.
They only exist on the page or the media screen.
Changing my path, old habits should fade
But since this little girl came to be,
Reflections of self-reproach
Seep through my deeply hidden, rock sealed cave.

Some day she may question her worth,
Wonder why she was not chosen to dance,
Act according to some social standard
Dictated by her peers or observation of media fantasy.

What will I say?
How will I behave?

It's not that I was blind to the male motive;
I grew up believing a man would discover me.
In search of simplicity where complexity lies
The human connection vexatiously revealed,
Disillusioning my sense of being.

She may ask, "How could you give anyone such access to your mind?"
"This power I did not know was mine," I will bemoan.

Too many girls learn to view life through a lens
Not of their own conception.
Getting sucked into the cult of "female strife"--
Never satisfied with the pacing of their breath alone,
The clatter of their feet alone,
The mirror revealing their face alone.

Believing life to be a burden, years passed me by
Before the patriarchal bars were actualized.
I can never bury the past; it is who I have become.
It is who will teach this little girl that life and love are never done.

So the map to my cave is tattooed behind my eyes,
A place I hope my daughter never has to reside.
Someday, however, the deceitfulness of society
May cloud her perception, imprisoning her when least expected.
And my experience may be her only revelation.

I am ready to serve my sentence.

Poetry, Please Speak to Me (2007)

Poetry is Not a Luxury,
Audre Lorde writes,
It is a necessity.
Let me tell you what happens
when poetry leaves me--
I no longer feel Her empathy.

Poetry's soft hands held me close
for fifteen years
as nightmares attacked
during my darkest moments.
Her ears open to my questions
I could ask no other to hear.

One awful, tumultuous day I turned
my back on Poetry,
choosing medicine
to slow the pumping of my heart
to ease the pace of my breath.
As the doctor scratched her pen across
the prescription pad, I heard Poetry sigh.
The sweat on my brow tasted of her cries.

I swallowed faithfully each white tablet
conveniently forgetting Alice's lesson:
Pills will not always lead one to her chosen wonderland.
As my body calmed, my mind's eye slept
And Poetry disappeared.

A year later, She still hadn't returned.
I threw out the pills, climbed out of this new hole,
wishing the pen would spill its ink over the page--
Nothing, only a few dots here and there.

I longed for Her powerfulness to carve out
the unknown feelings and ideas stuck deep inside.
All the chants and spells cannot call Her back.
She can be so stubborn.
I refuse to leave her in the past, to let her go
even though Her hand I may never again hold.

Poetry is Not a Luxury,
Audre Lorde writes,
It is a necessity.
Let me tell you what happens
when poetry leaves me--
I no longer feel Her empathy.

Eye Witness (1998)

A poem should not be easy,
instead tear away
at the mind's seams,
threatening preservation
like solitary moments in the silent
streams of thoughts
that rest behind
closed eyes.