hi

Started out with platinum blonde har, then it changed to drirty blonde and now I'm getting white in my beard.

Me too lol.

Wait! What grey in your beard?

Am I missing something here?

Just kidding...

Just always Pray

Ah-ha! I knews it! you're the Bearded Lady.

Yup, just like my photo shows lol. I used Photoshop. I hope you approve...

I do. Thank you...

I can not sleep, so I am moving some more of my poetry over to my thread. Please do not chat with me right now. I am on a mission...

Wait!
There are rules now?

Go away, I am feeling poetic.
Unless you can add to my thread poetically lol, well you know....🦇 off...

Stay

Pause with me,
sit with me,
on this regular park bench.
Rustle beside me,
with the insects, birds and gentle wind,

Put down your newspaper,
The sky shall not fall
tomorrow -despite -
the doomsday 'prophets' scrolls.

Stay, just this one moment
and hold my hand.
Be.

Fire and Smoke

Born of ancient fire,
her smoke signals summon
primal war howls.

An uprising of razor sharp arrows
pierce the clouded mountaintop,
where it is said she abides.

Smoke and mist pass.
The mountain is barren,
only skeletons of yesteryear remain,
untouched,
entombed
near the ashes.

And the thousand arrowheads broken,
their shafts used to kindle
her fire.

If tomorrow

If tomorrow
I can feel again,
then I have won.

If tomorrow
I still feel numb,
Who has won?

If tomorrow
I forget our love,
I will have lost.

If tomorrow
brings an answer,
I will still be lost.

Because I can't share it
with you.

My Ellipse

Your light is so bright,
I have had to go beyond the ellipse of you,
for less.

Futile wanderings.

Only with you am I fertile,
bearing gifts
and golden fruit.

I have proudly stood,
crawled,
fallen
to my knees

to accept your sphere of perfection.

Do us justice

Tea parties, heated debates,
turned to fliers,
passed quickly
like men's laws and legislation.
It is a matter of dignity
when a woman works hard,
to earn half that of a man.

When a female voice calls for the vote,
women look up from washing
the dishes, the floor,
Head and backbone like steel,
they march out their doors.
Suffragettes are born

And die.
All the King's horses
and all the King's men,
could not put Emily Davison
together again.

The Willow turned

My family tree was a weeping willow,
un-watered, unsheltered,
dying fast in raging storms.
The neighborhood heard the thunder crack,
and blow by domestic violence blow,
the willow wept.

Foster care was a brittle, barbwire cactus,
Aloof, neglected, forgotten by all
but the beatings of old ferocious winds
that scouted the desert plains,
hunting for the weak and vulnerable.

We survived.
Comfort never came,
but we had each other.

The once dying weeping willow dances now,
in breezes soft and slow.
It's branched arms conduct an orchestral overflow of love.
Our children are born
and play beneath the new green growth.
Wrapped safely in it's leafy tendrils,
we call it home.

A ten year old African boy

He stole into a Boeing 737,
the wheel carriage.

French I speak, he thought,
"I am
not alone in Paris".

A little boy with big dreams

Fetal now,

And I cry for you my son.
So brave,
So born of promise.
If I was your Mother
I would be so proud,
I would have kept you warm in my embrace.
I would have sheltered you
in my arms, from the fumes,
the cold.

So indepted
To freedom.
I honor your courage.

Your death voyage
is not in vain baby.

Nobody cares about the article in the news.

Yet you have inspired me
to seek beyond wings.

Curious enough I felt that I should stay.
But, I think she really wants me to go away.

Add a poem to her thread
Or, it's off with my head

Wondering if I should try my luck
But, she made it clear, 'off' is the direction
I should ****