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An Offering of Love and Pride

I hunt this morning in the rain

Aware of my village duty

A deer is waiting to be slain

Her gift of spirit to me again

In all her sovereign beauty

 

She waits in stillness by the tree

And listens to the whippoorwill

I think her bounty just for me

To fill the hunger of the three

Who wait beyond the distant hill

 

The fragrant earth gives up a scent

And sends a message to the sky

I listen now, my ear is bent

A moment more the deer has lent

She does not know the reason why

 

I take a stance and aim my bow

She wonders who is standing there

I ponder why she will not go

And think in vain to tell her so

She only sighs and does not care.

 

I loose an arrow straight and true

It finds its mark upon her side

She looks to me from whence it flew

And dying now her heart run through

An offering of love and pride.

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flash fiction

Every Forever Day

Green green fields washin’ over him.  Green leaves, green stems smotherin’ the red fruit.  Spittin’ blood, wipin’ sweat, cadgin’ the life outa him.

“Go boy, you two boxes behind,” say Red.

Hands crampin’, fingers blisterin’, nails splittin’, sun pourin’ down.  Gotta fill them boxes, gotta rid that debt.

“You full up, boy; heft that box,heft it up,” say Red.

Tired’a Red, sick’a Red, wishin’ him dead.

“Here’s one more box, boy.  Fill it afore break and yer back on quota.”

Bendin’, kneelin’, pickin’, back on quota, God knows.

Speaker callin’ break.  Sittin’ back, breathin’ bad air a sip at a time, thinkin’a Jenny.  Soft yellow hair, snub nose, kissin’ lips, too tired for much more.  Stronger’n him, smarter’n him, sweeter’n ten flats of berries.

Kissin’ in the dark ‘tween cabins.

Red buttin’ in.  “You two havin’ a good time?  Your mother know, Artie?”

“Not your business, Red,” say Jenny.

Knows he’ll go away.  Had some doin’s with him before.

“One more kiss and that’s all,” Jenny say.

Lickin’ those lips, tastin’ that juice, livin’ in hope every day, every forever day.

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Uncategorized

A Caged Bird

A chick on a board.  Rise, drop, hot wheels singin’, the wind in her hair.  Ready for Scarecrow man – break on your board, slide under his skinny arm.  Calls her Sugar, wants her sugar, just like Uncle Boris.  Not about to get it.  Pump, pump, glide down Center Street.  Trash day on Maple.  Keds nailed to the board, still light as air.  Kickflip over the tipped barrel.   Knew she could.  Pump, pump, glide.

Home now, late again.  Pop the board.  Tail a little scuffed, just like hers.  Too much ridin’, maybe.  Uncle Boris cussin’ again.

“Damn, Maya, where you been?  Makin’ me late for work.  You’ll pay for it.  Get to cleanin’ that mess in the yard.  Gonna get rid a that damn dog of yours.”

Tryin’ to hold her; tryin’ to keep her; tryin’ to trash her.  But she’s the caged bird that knows how to fly.  Her wings aren’t clipped and her feet aren’t tied, and her board does the singing.

Listenin’ to Latrice outside Bungalow 2.  “Girl, you look bad.  That old fuck got his hands on you again, coppin’ a feel.  He never gonna quit, you know till he gets what he wants.”

“Uh, huh.  All there is.  And Bosco.”

“And that’s just the beginnin’.  Then he’ll be at you every day.  You come stay with me and Momma.  Say goodbye to that ol’ pervert.”

“Lock my door, can’t get at me.  Keep Bosco in there, too.  Don’t want to mess with Bosco.”

“Cookin’ and cleanin’ for him.  You aint no slave, no pussy woman.  Damn, girl, you aint cooperatin’ surely?”

Rides her board down Center Street, swings ‘round Scarecrow man.  She’s the wild rider jumpin’ the black clouds all about her.   She’s Earth Daughter, a fragrance in the wind.  She’s like a night without stars, dreaming heavy dreams, waking to a day still dark with Uncle Boris.  But there are things he doesn’t know.  Her heart is deep with song, her mind filled with freedom.  She is a rainbow that can’t be clouded up.  She is the hidden star that keeps shining.

And she has a board that sings her songs.

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Life On a Chessboard, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I knew it would happen sooner or later.  Brad Murphy’s gang pounces on me and I’m down on my stomach.  Two guys jump on my back.  Brad grabs my hair and grinds my face in the dirt.  But they’ve tangled with the wrong person.  Every muscle in my body is on fire.  I buck and roll, sending the two assholes on my back flying.

“Hold him, hold him, for Christ’s sake,” Brad shouts. Continue reading

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women warriors

Pussy Riot Warrior Women Rule

Nadezhda Tolokonnkova and Maria Alyokhina

I salute you:

Putin jailed you; they set their police dogs on you; they fire-hosed you; they lied and denounced you to the world community; they jailed you again.  You wrote songs and sang them on the steps of the Orthodox Church, admonished the clergy for throwing in with the Putin regime.

Still, you continue to pursue the fight against the terrible conditions and unfair jailing of the oppressed.  You are the great warriors of the present day.  You are the Harriot Tubmans, the Rosa Parks, the Martin Luther Kings, and the hundreds of warrior men and women who have given their lives in the fight against oppression.

I read and stand in awe of the works of Alice Walker.  Still alive, she continues the fight.  You are her children.

God bless you and keep you well.

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