Every race and creed
Infinite diversity
meets our every need!
I am grateful for a lesson taught to me by my parents…
that have helped to make my life happy and meaningful:
How it is our differences that make us unique…
and also what make us beautiful….
May we all one day SOON, be enlightened enough to see
the strength and energy of any society
It’s beauty, it’s health…it’s vitality
Lies embedded in it’s diversity.
Look with non-judgmental eyes.
Listen patiently with ears set to kindness.
Embrace change and welcome diversity.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
THE FATE OF YOU, ME, BIGOTRY, AND DIVERSITY
(Apropos Of How It Must End To Be)
Because you are you, and I am me,
You say, between us, there’ll never be unity;
That between us…always oppressive diversity:-
For since God made you different from the likes of me,
In this same world in which we have come,
We were never, ever, to become as one:-
Oh well, if this is to become truly so,
Be aware, it’s time for you to go!
Try individual intrinsic; nations..
Or bland homogeny
Will become your state.)
I am the blue crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I can color the sky that is the cosmos above your head,
and I can give you a refreshing drink of water.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
I am the yellow crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I color the sun that warms the day.
And I am the color of the lemons in your lemonade.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
I am the red crayon in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need me.
I color the cherry that tastes oh so sweet,
and I am the color on a map to indicate heat.
Don't try to make me just like you,
I am pretty sure that I need you too.
We are the primary colors in your crayon box,
and it is clear that you need us.
We can mix and blend into the colors you desire
Or stand strong on our own accord.
Don't try to make us just like you,
We are pretty sure that we need you too.
Aunt Mary’s sprawling wrap-around porch
hid curious six-year-old me.
Peeking over the baluster rail,
I spied Cross Creek Rosie passing by,
tall and stately, walking purposefully
down Jefferson Avenue.
Her constant companions,
rumors and cruel taunts,
pursued alongside.
In an era lacking preferred pronouns,
she was exotic intrigue,
inquisitive mystery,
a Pandora’s box of queries,
the circus orchestra
rife with colorful discordant notes.
Flamboyant scarlet turban,
deeply rouged cheeks, fiery red lipstick,
black mascara adorning manly features,
gypsy-like blouse spattered in rainbow hues,
black toreador slacks.
My tiny heart ached for her.
Small hand lifted in greeting,
I whispered, “Someday I want to be like you.”
Would I ever walk confidently in my own skin?
Almond skin glistens with sheen of sweat.
Welted by whip lashes, marred, scarred.
Steady resolve not to cry.
Slave but in name only.
Eyes plead with heaven.
In agony,
dignity
one ups
pain.
She carved in my bones
Before I could comprehend
My body was a temple
But she never mentioned
How it was crafted from stolen stone —
Every wall lined with ancient scripture
Shame plastered over the cracks
Commandments hung like blackout curtains
Every hymn was a rallying cry:
Kneel, obey, don’t you dare question
Go on and bury that doubt
But
Did she count on my defiance
I was labeled a vessel--
But never the storm
Her god demanded sacrifice
So she chiseled away my essence
To fit her fragile frame
My hips; forbidden gateways,
My tongue: an unholy scroll of secrets
If this is a temple
Then set it on fire
Let the flames scream louder than my demons
My body is a temple —
But it belongs to me
And I refuse to apologize again
To the social media managers, admins and for those of you who post,
Writers, editors, chaplains, parents and educators from coast to coast.
Our freedoms aren't granted by just one faith's might,
But by those who serve and have served for every American’s right.
They fought for the right to vote for the candidate of our choice,
For every American’s right, to have a voice.
No matter the color of their skin, their age or sexual preferences,
Atop each Vets headstone you’ll discover a variety of religious references.
From every religion, every spiritual path,
Defenders of the Constitution, every paragraph.
Not just the Christian, the Hindu, the Jew,
The Muslim, the Buddhist, to name but a few.
Oaths not sworn to a crown but to the parchment of liberty's vow,
And the military code of justice, our protectors yesterday and now.
Please remember this truth as you post from afar,
Our unity's strength makes us who we are.
It’s RACE that disconnected us, RELIGION that separated us,
Our WEALTH has set us apart and POLITICS divided us’
So just what should the color of FREEDOM be?
For true patriots it’s the first word of our Constitution, “We…”
Blindness to our faults
prevents us understanding
those faults in others
We were told to be grateful
for roofs that didn’t leak too much,
for bread that tasted like survival,
for borders that didn’t shoot on sight.
We were told peace was a gift
as if it hadn’t been built
on the backs of the voiceless
the hidden
the forgotten
as if silence were something holy.
They love our resilience,
but not our rage.
They quote our pain
and call it progress.
But I am done being their moral lesson.
My peace will not come softly
It will come with truth under its nails
dragging justice into the light,
refusing to apologize
for existing
So yes,
I am grateful
but not how they want me to be.
I’m grateful
that we are not done speaking,
and that our words,
sharp and uninvited,
still reach them
where it hurts to listen.
I wish the whole world could come share
This park with me
With us
This Sunday afternoon
Run under the spire of blue sky
Green Earth
Shoes to their feet
Experience a freedom from fists and elbows
Fighting itself
Within a slavery box tucked in a palm
Come to this park
Where a dozen boys in a mix of colors
Team under the basketball hoops
And whoop it up
And a field-wide game of cricket
Unfolds with Indian teams in home-made jerseys
Women rocking their picnic baskets
Pickleballs batted over a dozen nets
Dog walkers and runners old and young
Boys and girls gay or not
Weaving this tapestry of happiness
The river streaming by like leaves in the sky
Last flowers aching
Deer peering behind the Oaks
The slanted heat of October sun
Shined upon all our faces
Forever and ever
As one.
Don’t count me out because
I’m not in lockstep with you,
and before I nonchalantly dropkick myself
back to the starting point,
let me point out that because of my whiteness,
I am not
a knuckle dragging racist, hysteric, insurrectionist,
white supremacist, terrorist, cultist,
deplorable, irredeemable,
nor a hypocrite or illiterate.
And the recent gender-neutral policy?
I am
a woman, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and first cousin.
I have a mortgage, enjoy Jamaican stew, and
I am married to a black man.
I’m originally from Idaho. It’s okay to ask me
“Where are you from?” or “Where were you born?”
I promise I won’t accuse you
of micro-aggression.
I do not have guilt.
I stand my ground,.
It’s okay if you do not like what I have to say:
but I remain a
free White woman who
believes in constitutional principles.
Yes—words do matter
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