“Sing”
by Positive Mark
May all your buried corpses now begin to speak.
May their wails be packed with the same emotional violence that brought on their unjustified demise.
When the splatter drowns out the chatter, it should be celebrated as any other revolution.
Now their fools shoot up the schools and other privatized institutions.
The land we love, and all the fixings.
The Lord above, and racial mixings.
I buried my face ‘tween the darkest thighs.
The gush washed the veil from my non woke eyes.
Everything’s possible on mornings I rise, so those brutalized corpses can sing.
It's the dog days of summer that endure
burning deep into September's demure
when cooler temperatures and winds should blow
fostering the change of summer heat to autumn allure.
The humidity still clings upon the air to lay upon the skin
and pool water filters swirl where children spin
benath cloudless skies of brilliant hues of blues
even dogs sprawl upon the dry grass to roll and spin.
The summer harvest is ready for the picking
pumpkins, squash, corn and straw mixings,
a changing blend of seasons forever entwined
with one beginning and another ready to stop ticking.
There was no “magic”
in the markers
only wax crayons
melting on a sidewalk
A bottle of LePage’s glue
soft rubber nozzle
clogged and stiff
Sticky fingers experimenting
eight color “what if” mixings
rainbow hues
Coloring books
lined challenges
attempting to contain
youthful exuberance
in artistic awakening
Color freed
childhood boxes
fading footprints
haunting city sidewalks
©8/26/2018
for Colored Memories Poetry Contest
I know of a special and magical box
It never held shoes or pairs of socks
Infinitely long and side to side
It varies so greatly what’s inside
It holds what it wishes, defying control
It holds what is most nearest my soul
Mixings and stirrings of mem’ries and dream
Such is the content or so does it seem
Creating dreamories behind its’ locks
That is the trick of this magical box
Spy past the locks with nary a peek
And rest assured a voice will speak
So yes today, on Valentine’s Day
I’ll take a quick look if it’s okay
And what do I hear and what do I see
A friend of mine in one dreamory
There on that spot still sitting with smile
A most lovely lady I’ve known for a while
The brown hair flows a bit less now
And simple words convey her know how
A beautiful lady this day and then
A beautiful woman found once again
A dream’ry friend and to her I dare say
I wish you well on this Valentine’s Day
A Christmas from the past lives, alive, well and clear each year
so real and tangible it brings to the eye a joyous tear.
The day with Gramma, Dad, Mom, sisters and brothers
and later came aunts, uncles, cousins and some others.
The table set was expanded with that inserted piece
in preparation for the great goose or turkey feast.
Footsteps through the kitchen, pressed against the parties
caused a shout out to scatter if they were ready to eat hearty.
Just my sisters and brothers, me with my annoying cousins,
got to sit at the small dining set near the oven.
That smell of turkey, sweet potatoes and all the fixings
drew our noses from our empty dishes to the mixings.
As each dish was decoratively displayed before us
our tastebuds watered in gluttony as prayer was said in chorus.
Shared until the faces and the bodies had long disappeared
the memory of Christmasses together is in my heart forever here.
Lines of words are missing,
Lost mixings at a time with movement,
Forgotten phrases of merging views,
Fogged over thoughts that onced bloomed
In concise meaning.
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