and we grow yet older...
love of my life...
    knees snappin
         joints poppin
              just percussion
                        dear one
                             accompaniment to a life much lived
background music  to match
             my heartbeat matchin your heartbeat

as we grow yet older...
           and gently kiss each others pains away
here
       here
              and there
                         and here
                                   and again right there...
this could be fun...

lay hands on me baby...
                           let me love you...

miss
the smell of baby neck and
***** handprints at **** level from
damp and funky hugs fresh from outside...
two against one
wrestling matches and
hide-and-go-seek in
closets and clothes hampers with
indian war paint
made of toothpaste...
Lifetime-Channel-cries (for her)
with crab legs and scrimps... and
steak and Stone Cold Steve Austin (for him)
cuz "real men (even little ones) eat beef"... and
don't do Lifetime Channel...
the sometimes uncomfortable feel
of heartfelt children's advice
as only they can give it
basic and to the point...
laughing... and sometimes crying
but laughing again
eventually...
oh
how i do miss
that which was
in its time
so taken for granted...
gone for good
into their audacious
adulthood

Just alright are e-books  and
just okay are e-zines
I suppose they have their place in the
natural progression of things
but I
love Books...

Old books and new books
soft books and hard books
to sniff an stroke and even listen to  
when antiquated stiff bindings moan
after sitting unopened for far too long
I just love books...

to pile up beside my bed... and
trip over in the night
to scan and browse and finger  titles
and check dates of copyrights

to feel the vibrations
from cover to cover of
previous generations of
fellow book lovers

to peruse
for forbidden doodles and
marginal ramblings
personal rememberances
and briefly noted things

purposely yet
inadvertently left
for future word finders
like myself

Okay... so...  e-books  and even e-zines
now have their space  
in the way of things
but I still hold
a special place
for
Books...

Read, watched, Listened for snippets
Wore the buttons,
Devoured anything…
Apartheid

Had my own personal
Bedroom Revolution...
Jumped high…In place… with the best of them
Little balled up fists…
Pumping…
Chanted the chants
Sang the song

Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa

And I meant it!  
Oh My God I meant it from my
young revolutionary soul
Cried adolescent girl cries
For our South African brothers and sisters
All of the martyrs
Known and unknown

STOP APARTHIED!
STOP APARTHIED!

Free Nelson Mandela!!

To this very day

I love me some Nelson Mandela

Love the man he is
Mourn the man he was
Big Fine Educated Pugilistic
African
Man
Passionate
Compassionate
On that serious mission

Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality
Gave his life
To promote the cessation of
An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide
In that Death
Seldom came quickly
A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade
In that it was not based economically

Therefore ALL the
“Kaffers”
Could be maimed or die
And it wouldn’t cost a thing…
Monetarily speaking

A society wherein
Each Black death  
Someone’s Job… or
Someone’s Entertainment
Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to
Douse fuel on the already
Brightly burning fire of
Hate and torture and hate

I love Nelson Mandela

For making like David
And having the *****
To take on the Goliath
Apartheid

Satan is creative
His minions resourceful
We will never know the indignities;
Can only imagine the violations
My Nelson was forced to endure
Imprisoned for 27 years

I love
Nelson Mandela
For having the strength
To keep living
When so many others couldn’t
Still able to put
One
In front of
The other
Albeit gingerly
But still locomoting
Out of hell
On his own two feet…
That alone makes him a hero
To me

In my heart he will always be
The

Big
Fine
Educated
Pugilistic
Passionate
Compassionate
Hero
­
That the young revolutionary in me
sings about…

See…
This is private reverence
Basic and primitive
Surging through my soul
Not open to debate or explanation… and
I don’t even care
Who might think it’s silly
To dance like I do
Don’t nobody have to understand
My praise…
Don’t have to agree
With my spirit’s celebration…  
Or feel at all
like dancin with me this mornin.. cuz
I think... this time...
I'll dance
All by myself … it’s
My praise
Hallelujah
And I’ll
Dance all by myself

I have been advised (“…now don’t take this the wrong way”)
That I
Am too RAW…

It was suggested (“…merely a suggestion”)
That I
Water down my art…
Dilute it…
Make it more palatable…
Sugar coat
What may be bitter…
Make what is not nice
Nicer…
For the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”

Don’t expound upon
Addiction or Anger or The Streets
Politics, Passion, ******* or Love Gone Bad
Don’t say
****… or ***… or Hell… or ****…
Bottom line…
In the name of Money… and
In an attempt to reach a wider suburban demographic
Tone it down… sweeten it up…
Sell out….

And you know…
He’s probably right…
Commerciality does sell…

My dilemma… if I took out the
Politics, Passion, Anger, and The Streets… the
Damns , *****, Hells and *****
I may as well be Doctor Seuss…and
A cute and flowery poet~  I am not

I am what I am (a woman fully grown)
I’ve done what I’ve done (some things only Me and God know)
I’ve seen what I’ve seen (I’ll tell you about it one day)
I write about life … and

Not only is life not always palatable
It can be quite bitter...

Not only is it sometimes not nice
It is sometimes not even
Sanitary...

And if the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”
Can’t get with it…
Then
**** their ***** to hell
Let ‘em watch a ******* TV

In a past life… I’m sure of it… I was exceedingly

Grandiose…

And as grand as myself… each entrance-

Pausing in doorways

To give each and every head the privilege

To turn and peruse the

Magnificence that was me…

And with each exit

Shatter champagne glass… and

Slowly… hip swayingly….

Drag full length mink along the floor….

But not this time around… No…

This phenomenal, prosaic, and unpretentious time around

If I drag full length mink…

Some heifer would accidentally… or purposely

Be guaranteed to step on it.. making me hafta

Step to her…

(get off’a mah coat!)

And no good can ever come

From two grown women…

Rolling in gutter gum

And miscellaneous sidewalk debris

‘til the cops show… and I catch a case…  

With footprints on my coat…  

gum in my hair… and

My spirit of woe…

Cuz it wasn’t s’posed to go

Down like that… not the way I saw my

Grand Exit at all…

So…

I’ve concluded … evidently… by the way it seems like i should roll…

Not this time around… but in a past life…

Surely… I was exceedingly

Grandiose