A city of pristine architecture,
From the grand art to the miniature,
Beauty on parade,
Not a charade,
A doorway to relics,
A home of theatrics,
A host of grand events,
Chauffeuring everyone to pleasurable moments,
A city under the kiss of heaven,
An abode with you is a creative leaven.
January 5, 2023.
Feed our love,
Let it blossom,
Feed our love,
Fan its embers.
A garden of purple beauties is my delight,
A radiant and clear sky is my desire,
A night sheet embellished with dazzling lights is my longing.
A fluttering of colourful wings is my joy.
Nurturing my confidence is your warm smile,
A softer life was our beginning,
Chauffeuring my day is your embrace,
A tranquil flow was our union.
Each day further apart we drift,
Each dawn miles apart we go,
Our disparate dispositions have stirred up the tide,
Our uncommon grounds have cloaked our happiness.
November 19, 2022.
I
Times when one had right to stop one's Beloved
From leaving on a trip, urgent but uncovered
For these times. Omicron has made Africa notorious
But Level 1 Lockdown prevents me being imperious
So, freedom still reigns in my home, we say goodbye
Mind flies ahead to the return (Quarantine or Reunite)?
II
Traveling mercies, LORD, for my Beloved; all who travel
Within nations and across them (though UN heard the quarrel)
Keep them wise, safe, Covid-free, but otherwise kind
Challenges to health and love we've had; when we began to unwind
Urgent pleas and chauffeuring arise. Church on Sunday remains
The focus of my being and those evangelized. Living to break chains
Science…
a handmaiden of knowledge
The upstairs maid
in a mansion of discovery
Chauffeuring itself
along roads it has built
A quantitative valet
—in the closet of the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Too Beautiful to be Re-used
Used and abused
Like a borrowed book from the library
Put me back on the shelf without another look
Like you’re dancing with the enemy…
Do this and do that
I’m Cinderella now scrubbing your floors
Making your wrongs right…
Chauffeuring you around town
Now you should be on God’s next flight
Up up and off into his word tonight…
He holds the key to unlock your untamed heart
Say a little prayer if you’re not sure where to start
I’m the queen of any story in his eyes so divine
You can’t slave me in a cottonfield
Picking cotton, pulling weeds, watering flowers, or planting seeds
I’m simply too beautiful inside and out
To be handled like your watering canister
I design the spout…
So the next time you want to use me
Like a rebound bouncing back
Get with my God and talk to him
He’s listening to your prayers and will forgive your sin…
For I am much too beautiful to be abused
Like a borrowed book from the library that will never be re-used.
By: Aleasha A. Martin
Felix walked through waist-high grass
allowing the ends to skim his fingertips;
to quell an anxiety that he knew was
after all, unwarranted
Our empire of glass and smoke and plastic
amused him, transfixed him
and with a cool grin he contemplated
the movement, color, noise
neon and perpetual
before him
His alpine eyes rung, hopeful for us
as he asked old questions
of our top-of-the-line policies
and one could not help feeling some pride
while chauffeuring him from the interstate
uptown to the eurofashionable plaza
where soy products are peddled
and all of this time
how absolutely Swiss of him
at the airport he finalized a three page journal entry
concerning his days among us
and our how our curious attractions
and voluntary exchange of flesh for capital
had impressed upon him a terrible understanding
he is a dreamer
let us leave him.