I'm a Growing Woman

PAD Challenge Day 11: Write a home poem. House of Grief  Lately, Grief has been a frequent guest in my family room of my traditional home of comfort where it tries to rent to own empty spaces, when I'm the only resident, paying in full for memories and pain, after gratefully entering and exiting a foyer of prayers daily. My living room is painted neutral and cozy with pretty memories of when I thought I had enough length of time by the width of life with my Father, grandmother, favorite elementary teacher, sister-friend and mentor that can no longer have a seat at the table of life with me. Instead, Grief has taken several seats quietly. It knows how to sip and be merry, break bread lovingly with me like we are loyal comrades, when it is really a recurring enemy that has tried to cook and poison me in my own kitchen.  I thought about emptying a few bottles from the wine cellar to drown the pain, but I can't find the strength to because they can't carry messages in a bott...

PAD Challenge Day 10: Write a mini poem. A Poet's heART Gallery  Poetry,  my atelier, where I  press n' paint my  heart on pages; Pitching  true colors  of my  soul to  the world. 💜D'ElegantOne 

PAD Challenge Day 9: Write a “(blank) But (blank)” poem. 💰 4 Wars, But Can't 🍽 the Poor if Tupac was alive i would instantly reply where's the lie? these are the coldest  wars to live by politicians rather hype up  chaos and capitalize spend millions to billions to trillions for fighter and bombers jets to fly- cause more economic disruptions  aggravating disparities and  environmental destruction psychological distress and post-traumatic stress  let innocent civilians die than allocate federal monies to supply subsistence to keep citizens alive Inspired by "They got money for wars, but can't feed the poor." - Tupac Shakur (Keep Ya Head Up, 1993) 💜D'ElegantOne 

PAD Challenge Day 8: Write a paranoid poem.  The b &w  Paranoia Activity  there are always thoughts about  how blacks physically fit  into phenotypical spaces  according to our genotypes... but one's color  like size does not fit all  even dark meat has been  picked apart from the white  balanced and weighted  differently down to whether  red or yellow bones are better  and  if those blacker  than a berry  has sweeter juice  all along acting  as if being black  wasn't good enough for b&w when really the color of black culture  diligently dressed us unanimously  in different seats at the table  where the history of our bloodline conjoined us  and we became music  in rhythm with  our Black American blues  a black chorus  singing the sweetest amazing grace one band under one sound and  soul food kept us coming back  for seconds or more of ...

PAD Challenge Day 7: Two-for-Tuesday prompt, write a dawn and/or dusk poem. Daybreak Before the daybreak, I lay vertical to the heart of dawn outside my window where I listen to the spring songs of American Robins, Carolina Wrens and Sparrows. My eyes rest while I stretch my imagination to wonder, how the sun feels about rising and warming up to this new day? Is it tired from shining the day before? Will it humbly share its light some more? Does it have enough charisma and energy to scatter, trace the shadows and figures of trinkets, nature and people? Is it confident enough to create and star in Earth's drama series? Will it be positively happy without any guilt or shame about it's natural brilliance? Or will it lay low, hideout patiently until Earth comes back around again? Nightfall After the sun call it a night, I wonder how the moon feels about his orb stepping out of the limelight of the sun onto the stage of nightfall; Sometimes at times, solo or leading a band of star c...

PAD Challenge Day 6: Write a water poem. Tears of Joy Out of an ocean of grief An ephemeral river flows from me What a relief  I'm a lily coming out of a valley  Rain dancing on the mountains  to life's positive peaks 💜D'ElegantOne 

PAD Challenge Day 5: Write a safety poem.  A Safe Place My spirit sustains honor  in what I call a household  of unconditional love  and genuineness to heart,  where men, women and children  feel safe and sound. I host no vacancies for  prejudice and judgement to live. I soley welcome courage and vulnerability room to gradually  grow from within. I set solid security codes  for one's emotions and insecurities  to permanently rest in peace. I take comfort in knowing  I comfort relatives, friends and outcasts who: Crave compassion with confidence; Thirst for wisdom and personal depth, Seek refuge from life's natural disasters; Humbly request asylum from  wars launched by natives and foreigners; Desire rest after being a blessing in disguise;  Possibly, in dire need, of prayer  and solace from a wholly sanctuary of peace; May ask without asking for shelter  from the cold hearted and cold blooded; Look for a quick hi...

PAD Challenge Day 4: Write a friend poem. Lost Friend If I look like I lost a friend I did and this loss feels next to kin. If you could radiograph  my inflammation and pain, You'll see photogenic  memories across my brain; Swollen tearducts after  another 24 hours of  dry cleaning my eyes; Lungs deflated by an inch in size; The density of my heart  heavily soaked in grief; Cardiograph uttering a rhythm of bradycardia beats; Extra gray matter of emptiness inside;  Contrast proof of depth love  no longer by my side. 💜D'ElegantOne 

PAD Challenge Day 3: Write an “Open (blank)” poem. Open Up Three  raindrops  kiss the middle  of my forehead Signals from a cloud or two Preparing to open up  for an ugly cry on a pretty Good Friday 💜D'ElegantOne 

PAD Challenge Day 2: Write an express poem. Order of Operations (PEMDAS) According to America’s standardized order of operations, being a Negro in America is an arithmetic expression. We are grouped by  (race and ethnicity), once transported in brackets, preserved and valued as commodity (traded…sold) to the New World where our freedom  was (exempted) and names (redefined) without consent. Modern African (Americans) historically, distinguished as Colors to an actual color (Black) Not once perceived as (human), always categorized as something (ugly) (The N-word. Coon. Monkeys. Apes.) Our grandmothers (good cooking, cleaning Mammies) Our mothers (called Sapphires when the helix of our DNA exposed the world to black diamonds and pearls) Our Fathers (a boy or a buck) (never seen as a Sir or a Gentleman…) Our children (Sambo or Pickaninnies…today’s (thugs) All of the above… always seen (suspicious) Let America tell her story, even she knows, She has more freedom significantly than ...

PAD Challenge Day 1: Write a seed poem. Mustard Seed If my spiritual mountains could talk, they would dare not whisper a lone sweet parable. They would shout, in the name of Jesus, declare and decree victory over my misfortunes. With poise, chapter after chapter, of despair and sorrow, their words would etch and sketch me out of hopelessness and calculated schemes orchestrated by life’s adversaries. Their words would color me pretty undefeatable; show and tell the peak of my faith; shape me in the symmetric of the eleven Hebrews. Down this visual Hall of Faith , by my lily in the valley, these mountains will faithfully announce the fate of my faith. They shall say: God is her only idol. She is a descent of Abraham; Her righteousness never took rest. She is an ark and captain of her sea, by and by, floating by faith through the flood of her grieving tears. She is an escapee to death and modern slavery; a modest scion of black success, steering new generations with wisdom and comfort. S...