Stand with me
while wildfires race the wind
and ash clouds the sky.
I’ll wipe your tears.
Stand with me
while flash floods scour the city
and debris tumbles by.
I won’t let go.
Stand with me
while gunshots echo off hills
and anger crowds the people.
I’ll be your shield.
Stand with me, hand in hand,
as the world falls down.
More diamonds and rubies
strewn across the night sky
than are found on Earth
Photo from the JWST.
To celebrate the Sorta-Sonnets posted on Whispers & Echoes, I stole two lines from each of the seven published works and made a pastiche of them. Check it out.
Childhood Memories of an Afternoon Nap
Sneaking out the bedroom window
jumping off the porch roof
running to the park past
the fragrant rose bushes
Climbing the cherry tree
back to the turtle sandbox
with our crimson treats
Then to the big swings
where we pump our bare legs
pushing toes to the sky
three— two— one—
then free as a firefly
in the summer dusk floating
even as our stomach drops
This poem was composed with help from my friends at Charles House. We read summer-themed poetry today and then melded various childhood memories into the poem above.
Like amusement park balloons
escaping my grasp
you’re lost in the sky
They, Too
after I, Too by Langston Hughes
They, too, sing America.
Our brothers with slightly darker skin,
who built the table, and all our sisters,
who cook our suppers, they deserve their place
beside us and not to be confined to the kitchen
or the bedroom.
Despite what we see on television
or the rabid internet, there are plenty
of seats and they’ve earned their spot
with sweat and blood. They are so beautiful
and I am so ashamed—
They, too, are America.
Brevity
It’s the soul of wit
or a bowl of spit
can’t remember
(for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt, “Brevity” in 12 words.)
If you missed this past Sunday’s FUMFA Poets & Writers Live, you can still watch it on YouTube. I was honored to appear with four of my fellow Living Poets and I think we did a pretty good job.
I wouldn’t dare say that to your face
but I am talking to you:
all the women I’ve objectified,
all the women I’ve ignored,
all the women I’ve interrupted,
all the women I’ve discounted,
all the women I’ve paid less
yet expected more.
A woman’s place is in the kitchen
so you know how to turn up the heat.
Remember, you’re the majority.
So get out there in the streets!
Don’t let my fellow men win.
They don’t care about you,
your beliefs, your body.
How will you vote?
Sunday night I’ll be reading poetry with four of my fellow North Carolina Living Poets as part of the Fairfield University MFA Poets and Writers Live program. We’ll doing doing this online so join us on any of the following channels.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/fumfalive
YouTube: https://youtube.com/channel/UCHLHx6Q6zh3NYYHG2Ps7kLg
Twitter: https://twitter.com/fumfa_live
We go live at 8pm EDT Sunday, that’s 0000UT Monday.
In other business, this is your last change to submit a Sorta-Sonnet to Whispers & Echoes.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 