My mother fainted when
She heard the news. My
Father was shot. In the
Deep south somewhere
The deep south, they said,
Like they don't shoot Black
Men in the deep north.
Author Archives: therealtamara
For an opinionated woman such as I, blogging is an excellent outlet. This is one of many fori that I use to bloviate. Enjoy! Comment on my commentary.
Perfection
These clouds are like smoke
They billow across the sky,
Puffing their way north by
Northwest, making way for
A patch of blue as pale as
Periwinkle, a color perfect
For the walls in a newborn's
Nursery. A first home color
Gentle on the eye, but sure
Of itself and unmuddled. Its
Baby blue as pure and light
As air on a balmy clear day
All in Order
My hair was more interesting
Before I ran a brush through
To create some order out of
The nightly chaos. It seems
That order bores and chaos
Revitalizes. Who knew? I did,
I think, and I am sure you did
Too. Yet we disparage all that
Is chaotic. We crave order in
The little things that make us
Domesticated. We say "A place
For everything and everything
in its place." We say it with the
Grim self-satisfaction of chaos
Conquered. Order everywhere.
The depth of clouds
Who sits in judgment when
The sky turns dark, clouds so
Rich in blackness and texture
As to invite a pad and ink to
Navigate its appearance. You
Need to document what you
See when the billowing clouds
Burst through with a charcoal
So brilliant as to shape your
Vision and leave an outline in
Your memory. The sky wants
Nothing more than to write a
Commentary on contrast and
To commemorate the evening.
Clouds substantial, shadowy
Wispy, solid float overhead,
The contrasts made real and
Solid in dusk turning to night
Dawning
Light begins seeping in
Lightly, gently, so those
Obscured objects begin
To take shape and come
Out of their darkness, out
Of hiding in the dim room
Into the morning light as
It seeps slowly past the
Shade, turns shadow into
Substance, awakes all of
Us lying here with hunger
For a new day, eagerness
Of hope and of renewal
Fall
Do you, like I, have a
Favorite time of year
I am fond Ado Annie
Style whichever time
It is. When I'm not near
The season I love I love
The season I'm near. So
Sorry R&H for my huge
Transgression. All times
Are good seasons to
Celebrate. What? well,
The seasons, of course
But I love best of all the
Season known as autumn
I love it best, I do. Fall
A blinding sun and rippling waters
Are an inspired sight, soothing a
Tired heart calming the weakened
Nerves. It distracts the mind from
Everyday worry. The ordinary will
Be made into a feat or a fete. We
Will celebrate the running river and
Toast the brilliant sun. Allow it to
Allow us the joy of a summer day
As it turns towards autumn. Our
Thoughts are not autumnal, you
Know. They can not be now under
This bright sunlight with eddies
Capping white and clean, all in
Motion, moving forward steadily.
There's a sea out there somewhere
It will meet. River and ocean kissed
By the dazzling sun become one.
Moon verse
Describe your life in an alternate universe.
I told you about the man who's
Been living on the moon. He has
A source of water so he like we
Stays hydrated. But you didn't ask
About him or his issues with food
On account of there's no cheese
There. You wanted to hear about
My life in an alternate universe not
His. On the moon. My alternates
Are deep in the core of this green
Earth. [Still no cheese.] Truth to tell
Not very green deep in the center
Of the earth, in its beautiful heart.
Life up on top was lusher, greener
More verdant but that's just being
Redundant. Alternative universes
Swirl among the stars. I am over
The moon. Somewhere behind
Our sun and up over the rainbow
We can play dodging black holes
And golf ball sized meteors no
Longer buried deep inside earth.
This is some alternative to life as
I have known it; as we know it.
At home on the moon
There's a man on the moon, mommie
He's found his home on that very far side
Like the cartoon panels - they're funny
Aren't they - but mommie, he's real and lives
On the moon full time and year round
I call him Lunar Man but I don't know
What he eats. The moon is not green
Cheese, you know, and it can get cold
Up there for Lunar Man and maybe lonely?
A sighting not seen before
We often notice little things but
Only at unexpected moments or
When all the big things no longer
Make all the noise. It's in a quiet
Second that the sky hands me a
Present and a view that should
Be familiar pops up before me
For that very first time, like never
Before and I think "oh that will
Vanish when they build on this
Corner." And they will build there!
Tamara, really 