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An Overgrown Pond


 

 

 

An OverGrown Pond

 

Where the Koi Jumped for Joy into the sky for the water comes from the sky then returns to the sea

Pistons, electrons, neutrons

 

 

 

 

 

By a Picnic Table caught up in sand

Beside a Piano wrapped around a tree

Where I had cracked an egg filled with red ants over his face

Where once I had tried two more times to plant myself on the portico of the place I had lived posthumously

Every day he would come to the drawing room dressed in a new wig and caftan ready to work on his latest illustrated sonata.

His goal ~~ The Chapel where the outline of an over grown cherub with upturned mustaches, a five o’clock shadow, cigar and swollen gonads graced the ceiling

 

In Her Long Flowing Caftan expectations were high.  Higher than ever before

As she crafted her Caftan Swung to and fro in the Breezes

Swirling & Twirling like a dance in Homage to the Muses and Goddesses of Ancient Times

Swaying Sometimes Billowing Out

Billowing Waving Flapping in Upturned Winds

Powered by gusts of frenetic kinetic energy her billowing Caftan swept over the town and villages spitting out flags, Semi-phores, and coded messages to family cemeteries

Leaving behind satisfied scripts which she added to her burgeoning collection

 

Sending Signals across the Mesa

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then the Joyful Koi began to play Ragtime 

They jumped up and struck the keys in sequence creating beautiful melodies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Whose Flag?


Whose Flag?

 

Whose Flag? The flag that ignited the Trail of Tears and condemned my Native American Ancestors far from their Promised Land?

The Flag that ignited Manifest Destiny and stole, robbed, cheated and raped millions of Indigenous peoples to broken treaties, destruction and death.

The Flag that ignited the slave ships of the Middle Passage where my African Ancestors were kidnapped from the Motherland. Denied their heritage. Their religion. Their customs and traditions.  And what of those thrown overboard as so much excess baggage.  Or the others who jumped rather than condemn generations to slavery and Jim Crow.

The Flag that ignited the Dred Scott decision telling us we are only 3/5ths of a man? Where are we in the signing of the Declaration of Independence? Do you see any Native or African Americans in those paintings? Not even any women!  So do we salute a flag, a symbol of colonialism, slavery, Jim Crow and racism? Since we were not included by the Founding Fathers most of whom were slave owners?

http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/dred-scott-decision

Do we honor a flag that forced my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents to get off the sidewalk when white people approached? Get to the back of the bus. Settle for sub-standard schools and housing. Forced sterilization which was done throughout the Southern Bible Belt states.

The flag of Dixie-crat racist Strom Thurmond whose death revealed the Black Daughter he had kept hidden for nearly 70 years?

Read the story of Fanny Lou Hamer one of the Mothers of the Civil Rights Movement.

 

 

 

 

What of our white Sisters and brothers like Murders of Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner up to and including Heather Heyer? White Americans who fought evil and lost their lives. Does the flag represent them?

Does this flag represent the two Indian engineers who were murdered or the Chinese doctor who was dragged from his airplane seat?

Did that flag represent the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.

https://www.ourdocuments.gov/doc.php?flash=true&doc=47

http://www.history.com/topics/chinese-exclusion-act

What of the Japanese Americans who were stripped of all their worldly goods and sent to camps just because they resembled the enemy?  And By the Way who is our enemy?

What of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama–a church with a predominantly black congregation that served as a meeting place for civil rights leaders where  Four young girls were brutally killed.

What of the the nine who were murdered last year in South Carolina during a Bible study by one whom they welcomed as a fellow Christian but who turned out to be a demon.

Tell me again why I should put my hand over my heart or in my case salute since I am a U.S. Army Veteran for this flag. This flag who denied my Korean War Veteran Dad who was in uniform and hungry. Who tried to get a hot dog and the white man said we don’t serve Niggers?

Tell me why this flag and this country whom my Great, Great Grandfather William Henry Halstead who fought in the Civil War still denies it’s promise to me and all his descendants?

Did and was this flag the covering for the slave master who barged into my Great, Great, great, great Grandmother’s slave cabin late at night and forced himself on her?

Did and was this flag the covering and excuse for the Married Redneck Drill Sgt coming to my barracks and calling my name after hours?

Tell me again why we honor this flag and why does this cloth not live up to it’s promise to ALL Americans?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Featured

It’s My House & I Live Here


Don’t Come for Me because I’m not afraid to Rock that Orange Jumpsuit!!

You can’t agree with everyone and you won’t but if something upsets you that badly there is always the Unsubscribe, Restrict, Block, UnFriend, or UnFollow options!! Sometimes I do make general observations about what I see on Facebook or Social Media in general but believe me I’m not losing any sleep over what you or anyone else posts. Why? Because I will kick you to the curb in a hot minute before I allow anything to interfere with my ability to eat, sleep or carry on my daily activities. I have and will continue to Delete Off-base Comments at My discretion. Why? Because this is my Blog.

It’s My House & I Live Here! (Apologies to Diana Ross.) Unfortunately I must disable comments on any type of political or racial blog posts because of the haters, flamers & trolls. Not trying to hear asshole bullshit.

There is no reason for arguments and twisted dialogue trying prove me wrong and you right. I’ve noticed over the last six years I usually get a lot of bullshit comments and just plain stupid ass statements when I post something concerning race relations in the United States. Obviously or maybe it isn’t to some narrow minded people my perspective is that of a Black Woman in America. Emphasis on Black.  On that note given what has been going on in the USA over the last few weeks I’ve made some decisions to be part of the solution.

Joined the NAACP

Make small donations to Black Lives Matter. Yes I unashamedly support the Movement. Don’t Like it. Lump it or follow the previous instructions. Close the door on your way out.

I have a thick skin. Keep in mind working in a white environment. Living in a white country if I took to heart every insult, slight, just plain dumbass statement that white people make I would have committed suicide a long time ago. However everyone who knows me that if you step to me I don’t back down from a challenge. Very few people mess with me without experiencing some sort of consequence. I’m peaceful up to a point. My parents did not raise a doormat. Being a Christian does not make me a push-over nor will it silence my voice. It’s not all peace, love and light with me. Get. Over. It.  My circle is small and I keep it that way.

This is My House and I Live Here!!

BTW being Pro-Black does not mean being anti-white. It does mean looking out for your own people in world where any one of us can be executed, exterminated or annihilated at the whim of sadistic police.  Cops who have been given a free pass to do away with an entire race just based on their biased stereotypes. Cops who know that there will be no consequences for their actions. They may get put on some type of administrative leave but they still collect their paychecks while those Black families who lost their Loved ones struggle to bury them, take care of children left behind and must live with a hole in their hearts forever.  My house is on fire so I must take action.

Racism has been real for me my entire life. From the day I was sussed to white school and sat next to a red haired white kid and the first word out of his mouth was nigger to a few years ago when a white co-worker attempted to assault me at the job. Thanks to my U.S. Army training I got the guy off me.

It’s real people. It’s real. That white co-worker after threatening another white co-worker was “allowed” to retire. That means he can come back to the job anytime. That means next time might be my last time.

Will there be a hue and cry from white America if I disappeared from the scene. Honestly. No. Just like on Sunday white people will go to their respective churches. Worship a white Jesus and go on with their lives. After all Black Lives have No Value in America. Stone. Cold. Hard. Honest. Truth.

#BlackLivesMatter

Black Lives Matter

Kevin Hart INSPIRATIONAL Interview At The Breakfast Club Power 105.1 (6/10/2016)

Featured

Baby Boy


He looked like an Angel albeit a broken Angel splayed out on the cold marble floor. His head at angles with his twisted body along with his staring unseeing eyes extinguished any hope that the embers of life still burned within him.  The earth came up to meet him and swallowed him into the heavens.  The Benjamins make a poor parachute.

Cupid shot by his own Arrow.
Cupid shot by his own Arrow.

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Baby Boy

Baby Boy Got $200 sneakers as a reward for cussing the teachers and failing in school. Teacher or principals fault. Grades all F but it ain’t me you fucked up can’t you see! School’s for Fools. Some place I don’t want to be.

Baby Boy he never wrong. They got it all mixed up seeing me strong. Y’all know I’m the King of my crew. God’s Gift to everything.

But in the back of your head all you can see is yo’ no count Daddy, welfare system and crackhead Momma staring back in the mirror saying you gonna be like me.

Hanging out in the upper class nabe with my hoodrat crew. See a few things I wanna take. Wait a minute! What’s that I hear! A siren in back of me. Starting to fear. Next thing I’m on Lock down in Juvie Hall. Where my crew at now when as I’m taking this fall.

Baby boy lying in a ditch. Worse off than being a Snitch. Off to Rikers’ to be somebody’s Bitch. Baby Boy. You Done. You Done.

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His rhymes had got him to the big time. Opened new doors of upper class vice and sin. The immoralities of the 1%. I gazed at my son from the balcony of one of the greatest art institutions in the city seeing not the young man who had entered the 27 Club of the Immortals but every little boy running up and down Linden Blvd., Jamaica Avenue, Fulton Street or Sedgwick Avenue running to be the next 50 cent or Jay-Z finding fame and winding up on 27 Jump Street misjudging the doubles lives one foot in the hood and the other on Central Park West or the Upper East Side seeking Hipster fame and validation.

Jump my Son/Sun. Jump out of your dreams and into Eternity.

Wisdom of the Witness Trees


Wisdom of the Witness Trees.
Gathering African stories from across the diaspora.

Roaming Urban Gypsy

Wisdom of the Witness Trees


The African Tree Trunk Drum has the ability to morph it’s molecular shape from rigid and hard to soft and supple.

Only those deemed worthy by the African Seer Griot and the Green Goddess of Greenery and New Birth will be able to initiate the transformation.


My Grandmother Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer stands within the Tree of Regeneration.

Green signifies pregnancy and the ability of the Tree of Regeneration to birth future Queens, Kings, Empires, Oracles, Seers, Griots, and expectant Bodhivistas.



Closeup of the Green Goddess of Greenery and New Birth/Rebirth.

Green Goddess of Greenery and New Birth-Rebirth says, Those planted shall be Reborn.


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Witness Trees series


Welcome to the development and chronicles of the Witness Trees series. This artwork will be a Triptych journey of my African and African American experience.

Roaming Urban Gypsy

Witness Trees series

In Progress. Still unfinished.

Under construction.

The African Seer Griot and the Green Goddess of Greenery and New Birth. Together Blessed by the Sacred Sweet Sage will mend and join together All broken pieces.

My Grandmother Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer, my Grandfather William Palmer with some of their children at Mt. Morris aka Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem during the 1920s. My Dad Edward Palmer was born in 1930 so he is not in the picture. The little boy in the photo went to the spirit world as a baby preparing the way.

Congo Power figures guard and protect the village from enemies and invaders.

Note the power pack located in his abdomen.

The Green Goddess of Greenery and New Birth says, Those planted shall be Reborn.

Closeup of the Green Goddess of Greenery and New Birth. Those planted shall be Reborn.

Ganesha Chant with African drums

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The Mole People


Chambers Street Subway Station

The Mole People

Chambers Street Subway Station

Should be named the Chambers of Horror Subway Station. Looks like a left over movie set from an old Vincent Price film like the Secret Laboratory Chambers of Dr. Phibes! As I was sitting waiting in a train that I thought would never arrive I recalled that old TV show Beauty and the Beast starring Ron Perlman!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beauty_and_the_Beast_(1987_TV_series)

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092319/

Any moment as I awaited the mystery train dozens of denizens would emerge from subterranean underground chambers and caverns beckoning me to join them! I work the night shift usually arriving at the J train Chambers street station a little after midnight. The trains run so much slower after midnight. Cleaning, power-washing, maintenance and repairs. Subway workers doing after dark what cannot be done during daylight hours. That night as the platform seemed extra deserted. Even the regular unusual suspects of homeless, vagabonds and vagrants were not there. Sitting on the hard wooden benches. I wondered who or what could be down there? Abandoned trains from the nascent years of long discarded 20th Century subway cars? Zombie Train conductors and Motormen still driving ancient decrepit out of service trains? Secret Oracles and Seers ala The Matrix seeking the Chosen One?

Then as my sleep glazed over eyes swept across the opposite platform I saw or thought I saw a faint glimmer of a returned gaze. Shaking my drowsy head and blinking several times my eyes seemed to travel of their own free will back to an especially darkened area and I swore I could make out two silver eyes staring back at me.

Just then the thought crossed my mind, “Small mutants with Silver Eyes have great effects.”

Then I thought of all those who had fallen, were pushed or jumped onto the tracks? Ones who in violent deaths left behind their fragrant sillage and sludge. A Melancholy of neither being in this world or the next. Displaced spirits engaging in mindless repetition seeking results only they will understand.

That night the J train seemed even slower in arriving than usual. Then as if out of the mists a train pulled into the station. But where had it come from? None of the expected rumbling or screeching of rails to track. I boarded the mysterious train and as the doors closed behind me I knew this ride was not going to be the Polar Express.

Hmmmm……… A Potential Creepypasta in the making!

After suffering blows to my head, face and body from a fierce thrashing the night before, I awoke to utter darkness permeated only by a shaft of light coming from a small window high above my head. I attempted to move my arms and legs only to find that I was shackled to a contraption that can only be described as a type of restraining hospital bed found in mental institutions. Realizing the severity of my situation my muddled mind sought clarity; my first coherent thoughts were, “Why and how did I get to this place; where was I and how can escape. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the limited light and since the bed was at an angle I could discern implements of upcoming torture, my torment that would be inflicted upon me if I did not escape or was not rescued.

Heavy measured footsteps approached and I could discern the voices of my captors. The door to the torture chamber opened and my persecutors became visible. There stood Dagmar aka Gorgeous Hellcat.

The underbelly of the castle where I was held against my will appeared to be a bomb shelter left over from the 1940s and 1950s. But as I gathered my various spinning selves together my focused eyes beheld a sight not seen by many above ground.
It was residence akin to a medieval castle built long ago by invaders long forgotten. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Catholic Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Each international tomb had a goddess from the respective ancient culture at the head and foot of the sarcophagus.
Venturing further into the castles subterranean chambers were overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.

Death of a Female Saint


Death of a Female Saint


Death of a Female Saint


Oil on Acrylic


The more she tries the less she has. With every effort she reaps failure and scorn.


With every Hang in there and I got this lie, sickness and disease.

Every thing she did was wrong. The Memes, motivational speakers and Life Coaches mocked her with false promises of a better Life. A fantasy Life only attained in hallucinations.

With every Victory or so called success pieces of her are lost buried in forgotten graves.

Resilience and resources long spent and exhausted. She raised her arms towards Heaven.


Believe only half of what you see and None of what you hear.

Phyllis Hyman