Monthly Archives: July 2016

Baptized

waters bapt

Hearts – walked out.

I felt your hollow space,

don’t cha- stop now.

These worlds spinning so fast

but still, our spirits can nourish our souls.

When everything is everything,

When hearts leave home –

Gliding along the slipper cast –

in dimensions beyond these eyes,

Take me to the water and this time,

with no fire to be- awaken,

Take me to the water and let me drink,

in dimensions beyond these eyes.

Take me to the water and this time,

Love me.

Love  me again.

Bless me.

Anoint me.

Take me to the water in dimensions beyond these eyes

Let me see- freedom’s heart with no strings

Take me to the water and let me dream.

Place it back inside – we’ll be home,

and we’ll be home .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wounded Healers

Sun2 Ron Boyer

Here, we cook goodness in wooden pots.

Here, we lay down in back aching laughter.

Here, our essence speaks – in spiritual tongues.

(Kubwa nguvu tumbo) –

Mighty Womb,

 

We dash toward whistling trains.

Thumping under me.

Listening to stillness,

exploring silent dances,

between each toe.

Here, the rivers know my name.

 

Burning off the feeble drums,

 

Awaken

I am whole

I am knowing

I am blissful

I am full

I am returning

I am spirit

 

 

 

 

 

Zuri

flower 2

Chasing after things unseen.

My faith remains,

not hinged on religion,

not hinged on precision,

not pigeoned nor framed,

not substituted for what I can see.

 

My faith is my morning song.

My faith is unwavering hope.

My faith is parting waters.

My faith is freedom.

My faith is – I’m a living miracle.

My faith is – unmovable.

My faith is – unshakable.

My faith is beautiful.

My faith is more than magical strands.

My faith is majestic,

My faith is me….

 

 

 

 

Confessions of a Heart Writer

I haven’t given up – I’m just moving slow and that’s okay.

Most nights, I’m dreaming  that the earth as caved in- and somehow I survive.

Then the music stops playing somewhere – If I could believe,

Yes I believe, my life’s not done.

My words are prayers to the lips of the sky.

My tears wash my pain back into alleyways – side by side

Street sweepers, old folks and dreamers like me.