Full Metal Sneakers

On May 18, 2017May 15, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized

Veiled. Screaming to be released from the afterbirth

The Caul. My prison.

Cursed by circumstance. Crushed under situation.

Abstract speed reverse back flip imps.

Beaten by barbed wire. Ripping out chunks of flesh. Battlefield: Code Red.

Burlap sack repentance.

Life is the quality of lies we live by.

A Quark of timing and fate.

So said the Hurricane to the Tornado.

LOve,

Pixy Dust

Aftermath

On April 25, 2017April 23, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Christmas, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry

Are we getting rid of family items as well. So the family is not involved. She had no immediate family and the few cousins disowned and abandoned her years ago. Did what was expected of her only to be shunned. Minus the body at least the apartment is neat and clean. Like she knew she was gonna die. Heart burst. Plus a cerebral hemorrhage. Literally died of a broken heart. Her soul died years ago just waiting for her body to follow.

After being married several years the husband suggested she should go on holiday to her birth country. About two months into her vacation her in-laws called saying maybe she should not return. Alarmed she took the next flight out homeward bound only to arrive at the house and find that her adoring husband had rented it out to a swingers club. She no longer had a home.

Never got to go to the Ashram, the Retreat, Spa or Warm Springs……….Forgotten. Fear. Frustration. Failure. Flaws.

asylum, cover, covert, harbor, haven, protection, refuge, sanctuary, shelter ~~ None.

For her no celebrations. No honors. No medals. No rewards. No accolades. Only a pine box. nameless. In Potters Field.

God. She must have been laying there at least two weeks. Found dead on Christmas day. Nobody ever bother to call or knock on the door. Smell alerted her neighbors. Decomposed blob. Nice Holiday gift for the Coroners office. Off to the city morgue with what’s left of this one.

Forty years ago families looked after each other. They cared about each other. Now you throw your family member into a hospital, hospice or nursing home and forget about them. Not your responsibility. After all you have your life to live. Why bother with the elderly, disabled or poor. Nobody wants the broken and damaged. Broken toys belong in the dumpster. They mean nothing. Crime clean will wash away the trauma.

Vanish into the mists of time.

Just remember that the cheapest coffins are hidden behind the ficus.

He left a book behind for his family. A how to book. You know Death hacks. Then he blew his brains out. Brain matter on the floor, walls and ceiling. Part of his face was found on the drapes. Kid found him. Beside him a child actor photograph of himself that a fan wanted autographed. Show ends. Reason for being ends. Purpose ends.

Six months later the wife hanged herself. Poor kid. In six months lost both parents. Only left a suicide manual. Suicide hacks.

Welcome to the Land of the Fucked.

That’s a wrap. Time to bounce. Yandy, I’m hungry. Whatta ya say we stop for a burger and fries move onto the next poor slob.

https://youtu.be/x7BeGDZewHshttps://youtu.be/RFSWW4O6QNM

Elegy for Wait Town

On April 24, 2017April 23, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry

Standing on the platform waiting for the subway train to arrive.

Sitting at work waiting for an end to be homeward bound.

Waiting for the M2 bus. Again waiting for the train.

Hibernation. Sabbatical. We have No Extradition Treaty from this Land.

Waiting for my weekend.

Waiting only to begin the cycle once again.

Which Season is this silent wondering??

Waiting for payday.

Metropolis reformed for the 21st Century.

Waiting for vacation.

Waiting for retirement.

Doctors Office = Wait.

Dentist Office = Wait

Waiting for physical and emotional pain to be evicted while they both claim permanent residence.

Grocery Shopping check out line = Wait

DMV = Extended Wait. Stuck in the passing lane.

Spending most of the time waiting instead of doing. Yet not knowing what I should do to make the wait shorter. On the other hand perhaps the wait just is and it too is waiting for destiny to manifest itself among the galaxy cosmos. Searching for Excalibur alongside Her Holy Grail.

Romance = Unknown wait. The Lover waits somewhat patiently for the signal to begin. Does true Love even exist? Or have all the Soul Mates/Twin Flames gone on strike?

In the midst of doing midway through action only to find oneself on the every present hamster wheel spinning fast deep inside a rabbit hole.

Sometimes forgetting what I’m waiting for? Dialing. Hearing the phone ringing. Robotic voice, “I’m sorry but the number you dialed is no longer in service.

Waiting are armies of creeping vines taking back what was rightfully theirs. Trees with gnarly rooted feet tenderizing the earth in preparation for Monsoon season.

Mindless waiting versus fruitful waiting? Patience is not my foremost virtue yet she shadows every portion of my life. Patience is the Sugar Plum Fairy holding a dental drill spike through my jaw. Patience is a shallow grave awaiting surrender. The awkwardness of waiting beats out the waywardness of doing.

The Goddess of Harlem shall Live again and repent her people.

Waiting is a desolate abandoned isle populated with numerous shades and shadows ignorant of each other yet crowded together at the beleaguered rocky shore desperately trying to signal passing ships their screams blown away by a fierce sirocco. No deliverance for them. Harmattan blow strong my hopes and dreams carried away to rise no more. Dust bowl funeral dirge mourners wailing marches past not even mindful of my existence. Did the Rapture take place without St. Gabrielle scooping me up with Her multi-colored wings?

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Keep to the funky beat.

There are no rewards, Trophies or medals here only the next phase standing on it’s Laurels.

Stillness. Silence. Breath.

Waiting? Why? I don’t know because Godot never showed up for the Death Angel is always on time.

Our Wait is over so Let’s go to that place called home.

https://youtu.be/x7BeGDZewHs

Silver Screen: What is that Sir? I can’t Make it out!

On March 31, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Daughters of the Dust Full Movie, Edward G. Palmer, Edward Gordon Palmer, Edward Palmer, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Julie Dash, One Word Photo Challenge: Film, Poems, Poetry, Run Silent Run Deep (1958), The Daily Post, The Daily Prompt, Uncategorized1 Comment

The Daily Post

Feb 9, 2015

DAILY PROMPT

Silver Screen

Take a quote from your favorite movie — there’s the title of your post. Now, write!

My Dad’s All Time Favorite movie: Run Silent. Run Deep.

What is that Sir? I can’t Make it out!

Run Silent Run Deep (1958)

Unending Grief of the vacant space left by my Dad’s death in May 1995

That’s my heart breaking.

That’s my soul aching.

That’s another soul flitting across the universe awaiting a new storage container for the old one is broken.

A soul crying in the dark for another dying friend and all those who passed before.

A good life wrapped up in beautifully ribbon colored crepe paper.

What is that Sir? I can’t make it out?

One wearing dark glasses obscuring their orbs. An enigma of its demons. What sins were they running from perhaps we shall never know.

A Wayward Wanderer

The Prodigal Daughter returns.

Why young one, That’s strength, courage, tenacity and the ability to speak Truth to Power.

**********************************************************************************************

https://jennifernicholewells.com/2017/03/28/one-word-photo-challenge-film/#like-15547

MARCH 28, 2017 BY JENNIFER NICHOLE WELLS

One Word Photo Challenge: Film

Part III: People, Places & Things

If you want to share a literal image of the actual word, do that. But if you’d rather play with word association, post something that reminds you of the specific word, or something you use the word for, do so. It only has to make sense to you. Have fun and keep on photographing!

owpc 2017

This week’s word is Film! Don’t forget to check out Color your World as well, posting daily January – April.

Daughters of the Dust Full Movie

Written, Directed and Produced by Julie Dash

At the dawn of the 20th century, a family in the Gullah community of coastal South Carolina — former West African slaves who adopted many of their ancestors’ Yoruba traditions — suffers a generational split. Young Haagar (Kaycee Moore) wants to move to the mainland away from tradition-bound matria… More

Release date: December 27, 1991 (USA)

Director: Julie Dash

Cinematography: Arthur Jafa

Screenplay: Julie Dash

Cast: Cora Lee Day, Alva Rogers, Barbara O. Jones, Trula Hoosier, More

Sorry for the poor quality for better results either rent or buy the movie from an Online source. Perhaps try Netflix or Hulu. You will probably be able to order the film via Amazon.com.

While there is still time: Trees, Curators of Time

On January 6, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn A Monster Calls, Akashic Records, Babes in the Woods, Don Cheadle is Captain Planet, Hodgepodge Poetry, Isaiah 55:12 New King James Version (NKJV), Taiga Boreal, Trees" Joyce Kilmer poem "I think that I shall never see/A poem lovely as a tree, Uncategorized

http://whilethereisstilltime.blogspot.com/2017/01/trees-curators-of-time.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+blogspot/CInjH+(While+there+is+still+time)&m=1

Trees are keepers of Eons. They hold the earth’s genetic memory like caves, rocks, boulders and stones. They have seen births, deaths, wars, Lovers, sinners, mourners, celebrants, friends and fiends. Trees are silent yet not so silent witnesses to the passage of time and the secrets of mankind and animals. Along with the rocks, stones, boulders, caves, all flora and fauna are the original ancient libraries.

Akashic records. I await my ascent to astral plains.

Once Asleep in other lands I will awaken to new life.

Out of dead stumps come new life.

Tree Trunk Stump Growths

Dead yet Living Tree Trunk Stump

Living Dead tree stump

Tree Trunk Stump Growths

The last recorder of human life. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Covered in shroud. Laid in a pine box.

Trees ~~ Naked and glaring in the winter. Full and Luscious come summer.

Trees — Speak to the eternity of the Ages. Our connection to the Universe and the Cosmos.

Trees bordering lakes, rivers, beaches, oceans and seas.

Trees | Multi-Branched Limbs gather up broken souls with tender root tendrils.

Trees lift up their branches in Praise to Almighty God.

Isaiah 55:12

New King James Version (NKJV)

¹²“For you shall go out with joy,
And be led out with peace;
The mountains and the hills
Shall break forth into singing before you,
And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.

Hodgepodge Poetry

Sweet Woodland Nature hiding captured souls. Sparkling early morn glimmer diamond dew stimulates Lightening thunder zap synapses. Shimmer. Exploring deep brain subterranean Archaeological Repositories.

Finding dense Psymbionic Crystal Castles. Hot wood-chips sip Bass Nectar. Beating out ground breaking pinewood tunes. Rescuing me from my Galactic Funk. Yet still wondering Why We kill the ones we Love. Safe Space and Sanctuary are needed on fluctuating earth planes. Don’t Shatter my Peace. Betrothed couples planning married wedded bliss. Later Yield Forever Sleeping Babes in the Woods. In the forest a Whisper is Louder than a scream.

Every forest land creature came for the Woodland Blessed Sacred Earth Mass. Ceremony, rites and ritual calms troubled souls. Mossy glen altars I can smell the firecrackers in the night air. Populace gathered. Nostrils flaring the High Priestess decides and declares. Scribes Davenie and Dagmar sat poised with mind-generating Quills hovering above tablet-con scrolls.

False Prophet Trembling at the thought that his myth might collapse.

Panthers, Cougars and Mountain Lions calmly grooming themselves by her side. Straight ahead protective eye stares. Solve the riddle of the Sphinx and you shall receive eternal life. Beware the imps and gremlins of the Forest who sell you bursting fresh temptation baskets of produce leading to sin. A Twisted Fairly Tale that springs upon unsuspecting travelers on uncharted territories in mystical clearings. Wickedness never walks alone.

Maternity stroll down Memory Lane.

Ceding ground to no one. Seeding farmland of hungry empty souls. Will these dry bones live? Only time will tell. If one believes the Sainted Oracle. Excuse me Don Cheadle but the Green Man is on the line. Shall I ask him to hold?

Taiga Boreal

My repast. My future. My all consuming desire. O’ Beloved Tree let thy branches and thy roots be my grave markers! I’m Just an Indigo Girl on her way home. Both Banyon and Bodhi point the way.

In the warm summer rain I plant my feet into the soft moist earth and extend my arms, hand and fingers to the sky mimicking my arboreal ancestors. As I touch the Moon/Sun I touch the earth. Wrap me in your branches. Surround me in your foliage. Reclaim my soul unto our mutual Creator.

“Trees” Joyce Kilmer poem “I think that I shall never see/A poem lovely as a tree”

Moist. Paper. Shells.

Tree as Protector, Teacher and Friend

A Monster Calls (20160

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3416532/

My cousins and I scattered my Aunt Helen’s ashes by this tree located in Marcus Garvey Park located in Harlem. When my Aunt Helen was growing up in Harlem during the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s this park was known as Mt Morris Park.