Art urges voyages
– and it is easier to stay at home.”
“Be careful what you swallow
When after a week
He is grunting
Startled at the suck
Of my body
At the impossible of his luck
He won’t know
How easily we arrived here
Playing beats in the half light
Won’t know that I have washed these sheets today
And I will again tonight
Won’t know that I ruin love
With the melody of men
Slipping into the soft hunger of my dreams
Won’t know that I can make storms
And quiet them
With just a breath
“The Safest Place”
The music’s still playing as her feet walk out to the sea,
At the fringe of a life time, as her lips whisper to the breeze,
Does the world turn this calm, or’s it the slow rush of the sea,
Follow me out here, follow me deep
When you love someone, you must be willing to share certain thing that you believe will save them trouble and grief. That is the nature of this message; it is intended to save you grief. So here goes…don’t sleep with other peoples partners! It’s not nice, in fact it is dangerous. It really isn’t nice and if you’re not careful you will find out just how pissed off they are. I know you think its love. I know you feel this is the one. You are mistaken. The one who is with someone else cannot be the one who is meant for you. Forget what they say. Forget what you tell yourself. It is never a loving thing to do to sleep with someone else’s partner under any circumstances. So please don’t do it.
Until Today, a daily meditation By Iyanla Vanzant
We are here because there is no refuge
Finally, from ourselves
Until people confront themselves in the eyes and hearts of others
They are running
Until they suffer others to share their secrets
They have no safety from them
Afraid to be known
They can know neither themselves nor any other
They will be alone!
Where else but in our common ground can we find such a mirror
Here, together, people can at last appear clearly to themselves
Not as the giant of their dreams,
Nor the dwarfs of their fears
But as individuals
Part of a whole
With a share in its purpose
In this ground we can each take root and grow
Not alone anymore as in death
But alive to ourselves and to others
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise I rise I rise.
by Kelly Lewis
Whims of a supernova!
Sublimely magical words
I'm just stopping by for a moment, so let's spend some time together.
Because Words Matter
In a Manner of Poetry
thoughts of a full-time crybaby
To me writing is currently a release. I haven't quite decided to what degree it is I'm searching within my words, yet, I feel something matters somewhere, right?
Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
Vox clamantis in deserto
Rambling ruminations from an addled mind.
Stories about passengers travelling aboard the Number 26 bus from somewhere to somewhere
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
NO RULES FOR THIS GAME
Daphne Shadows: Storyteller / Authentic Mess
"Diving into a writers soul is discovering the broken treasure and beautiful mysteries that make you gasp for air."
The poetry of ineptitude.
A Discarded Plant