This I Knead

As the bars closed the windows rolled down I heard the cries of a happy man. He sang with joy as though it was his first  and last day in one. He sang and all the hope in the world  flooded my soul. He sang and soon the sound  was in all of me. As the bars closed and the windows came in I heard the cries of a happy man. His voice was laden with sparks which flickered and glistened  like fireflies in the darkness. His voice was sweet and it rang and stirred  my soul to dancing. His voice was the light and the darkness meeting at once  only to part. The windows drew in and the world was shut. The windows drew in and the world was shut. The windows drew in and the world was shut. No borders but barriers No barriers but walls No walls but chains No chains but whips No whips but words No words but stares STOP! * * * * * * * * * no borders but barriers no barriers but walls no walls but chains no cha...

Image Credit: kelseytaylor210.wordpress.com Should your freedom depend on diminishing someone else's dignity you are no better off than those who oppress you. Your words come harmless wielding flags and slogans but your bullet cap teeth crunch and hurtle pain and you close your eyes to pray. Your truth has been compromised by your hunger yet compassion peels your eyes open and you turn from ' God ' towards Love. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

There’s a Lesbian at my table. She sits adjacent to me and eats the food I make. She chews well enough –   with her mouth closed. She doesn’t swallow too loudly, Or slurp her drink. This Lesbian at my table bides her time by calling me “Mme” , and seduces me with offerings: “ Nka lo siela tee?” and “Ke tswa go reka kuku e e sukitshana.” I suppose she has learned well – she can slip herself past thirsty eyes and unchaste ears. I found the Lesbian at my table where I had left my beloved child. She seems to have consumed her like a hungered bird – waited too long through a rainy night and awakened to find no morsels creeping along the moistened earth. When I sat down for our evening meal I thought I saw the tassels of booties I had knitted while swollen like a mango at summer’s end. They were yellow like the sun whose over affectionate kisses had me too ripe to touch and unforgivingly tender.  They slid between h...

When a friend of mine, Lame, chose to ask for the most precious gift for her birthday, I was inspired to make this. I am a spiritually visual person and I believe that more than what we taste, feel or hear, the greatest impacts on our lives are made by what we see. As one of her poet friends, I sent this through as part of what will become her poetry anthology. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

No way out, but in. (It's a pun.) Is your promiscuity getting you all knotted up?  Whether it's with humans, food, or with your words, most of your promiscuity is a survival trait of lonely souls. There are elements of life that we tend to feel are too much to handle so we find securities. For some that security comes in the form of bulky arms or a heaving breast. For some this security comes in wolfing down and inhaling the formula to indigestion, heartburn and obesity. For some this security comes from filling the world with words. The latter tend to be the most popular and we veil ourselves as poets, politicians, artists, but never as lonely liars. I happen to be one of these promiscuous people, I whore myself through language. My linguistic freedom may be misconstrued as informedness, intelligence, aptitude or being articulate, but in it's truest form it is the child of loneliness. Loneliness is not the evil here, it is a fundamental part of the human conditi...