Memories...

Marching through DC,
I feel your collective souls
pushing me/pushing all 500 of us
towards the justice, you died
before achieving.

Even through I’ve excepted your passing,
I refuse to relinquish your memory.

And Suddenly Without Anymore to Do

(Poem that begins "And Suddenly...")

I am so looking forward
to the week I plan to take off
after the last bit of duty is finished
with the completion of Pride tomorrow.

Already, I admit to self
that my week, will be more
like a weekend.

Books, DVDs, and Facebook
can only occupy writer’s muse
for so long.

But I still need a break,
after 7 days of activism
as much as my advocate soul
rebukes needed rest.

The Line...

(a protest poem)

This time Shaniek and I are yellow.
Members of other color squads stretch
back as far as my head will turn and still
allow me to move forward in a reasonably
straight fashion.

Our bodies,
no matter how bent or overtired,
are a sight that rivals any Victoria’s Secret spread.

Not So Little Girl, Found

(a hope poem)

Shannon writes me notes
in a child’s scrawl,
even though she’s 14.

I wonder
if she knows
how necessary her moms-
yeah, she’s got two- notes
about dance recitals, baseball practice, and track meets
are to my personal, overworked sanity.

She reminds me,
the honorary auntie she’s never met,
that there is more too life
than this keyboard
or whether some grant committee finds
my work “suitable for funding”.

She reminds me that no matter
where someone starts out in life;
you can become what or whoever
the universe and you, yourself, decree.

More than 5 times

(about things we've done more than 5 times)

1. Made mistakes, in some cases really bad mistakes

2. Brought shoes, ugh!

3. Eaten burritos, cakes, and Big Macs

4. Given speeches on various issues

5. Kissed girls

6. Had sex

7. Recited the words, verbatim, to It’s a Wonderful Life

8. Taught Dance

9. Been paid to write

10. Been to pride marches; going again tomorrow

11. Voted

12. Been to jail for justice!!

A Music Poem

Pondered

(Inspired by Scars by Johnny Crescendo)

I wonder, listening,

to my friends activist anthem

about his own purpled/lavender

permanent skin, if the man

who “bent my bones and organized

my personal zones.” Does have scars

and whether they are available for public viewing

as mine are in shorts while standing.

An Evening Poem

Marlboro Man

People smoke outside hotel,
sadly giving cancer to activist lungs
electing to shut them up more effectively
the powers that be ever could.
I notice them under
the Confederate graying evening sky
and I’m more sad than bearable.