Born into a family created by relatives.
Some folks come with the blood; others
Come with the character.
Family is the name they respect you for
You can walk,
Before you can speak, before you know
What love feels like or what void can do.
Kinfolks...
They're the ones life introduces at a leisurely pace.
Through the hard days, the quiet nights,
The moment you didn't think you'd make it
Through.
Family is the starting line; lineage is the ones
Who show you.
Who Stays
Who lend an ear
Who lifts,
Who love without feeling the necessity, A reason.
Blood can place you in a house, but residence
Builds you a home; names can tie you to a tree,
But demeanor ties you to an individual
Born into family, formed into relatives and
Somewhere between the two, you acquire the
Truth:
The people who choose you are the ones
Who keep you unharmed.
489.
Prayer For Relatives
Oh Father God, we pray for all relatives
That they grow & multiply like leaves
Oh Lord Jesus, we pray for every relative
That with us they harmoniously live
Oh Holy Spirit, we pray for our kin
That they may be away from harm & sin
This we pray to our One True God. Amen.
-12/25/2015
(Dumarao)
*Prayer Poems for Christmas
cut him loose everyone said
but if he was not so exasperating
why would she like him?
No more my mother is the only woman I love-
I say it with respect and truth.
No more my sisters first, my wife and kids last
No more kowtowing to my bloodline while you
must grovel for a pittance from me
That was childish,selfish,small minded.
I put you second too many times, I hurt you.
I treated you like you were temporary while
protecting habits that didn't protect me.
I am sorry. I was wrong. I mean every word.
No heirs will sniff my dying bed,
No priest will spoon me from his book.
I spit the staged lament away,
The velvet hush, their hoping face.
Wheel me to the window’s edge—
Let dawn’s knife enter through my chest.
The world will turn without my name;
I will dissolve into its dust enraged.
Conversation With Relatives
Today, I feel an intense resolve. About two years ago, family members frequently shared news of someone's passing—whether it was from the village or someone I had once known. During those conversations, I would tense up and firmly request that they refrain from calling with bad news.
Death is a constant reminder, glaring at us from our calendars.
I recall a time when my neighbor had called to inform me that someone was outside my door, dressed in black, was banging on it.
My immediate thought was that the Angel of Death was seeking me out. In these pandemic days, he is everywhere, like an Amazon Prime van overshadowing UPS trucks.
While the world faces shutdowns, some individuals refuse to take it seriously.
They blatantly reject the vaccines, either out of selfishness or fear of death. It's essential to acknowledge that death will claim us all; poets write about it because they express truths that other forms of communication often miss.
As Lao Tzu stated, "A man with outward courage dares to die; a man with inner courage dares to live."
My mantra today is to seize each moment and live every day as if it's my last.
Relatives
relatives should be closest friends
but many become enemies in the end
a numinous mist
spied by the young ones
unseen by parents
forming in the dining room
above great-great-grandma Rutherford’s claw foot oak table
supernatural magic, kept in secret compartments by the young
money-grubbing relatives
oozed out of the woodwork and the shadows of greed
when Josephine’s death was announced
distant cousins she had not seen for centuries
demanded to know if she had left them anything
their audacity was irritating to those close to her
who had been taking care of her for years before the end.
We find deep inside ourselves
The traits of ancestors therein dwells
Grandpa’s eyes, our Mom’s hair
Our stature from … who knows where?
What we claim as thought process
We may be forced to re-address
Twas Grandpa Lee that caused, you see,
Our newer minds to think like he.
Our gait, as we walk around
Has origins in history bound
Great-aunt Edna, strolled about
With identical strides – long and stout.
And talents that we think so fine
Are not all yours, not all mine
For somewhere in our ancestry
There lay originality.
Our composition, it is made
Of melded steel that made our blade
For all our ancestral kin
Provided steel to place therein
We flaunt individuality
But in truth, it’s not just we
‘Tis ages of posterity
That comprise our totality
Religion
the bullet
that loads
in your gun
Projecting
its damage
belief
zero-sum
Exclusion
delusion
its sights
center mass
To kill
nonbelievers
the infidel
class
(The New Room: December, 2023)
Shelly’s family was full of claircognizant relatives.
Some were clairaudient; they could hear spirit.
Shelly did not know that was abnormal.
She had been doing that since she was two.
It was her “normal”.
Her grandmother Ida was a clairvoyant.
She could see things others could not see.
Shelly’s mother was clairsentience.
Strong intuitive feelings aided her in reading a room.
She felt danger before most; and escaped being harmed.
Shelly knew things without knowing how she knew.
She was claircognizant and gifted in a variety of ways.
Hearing whispers daily from her great-great-aunt Gladys.
Shelly had been hearing Glady's voice since her birth.
Even though Gladys had passed over the veil in 1952.
eventually
we"re all cousins
calls for kindness
Jesay Meray rishta daar Hain
Khuda aisay Kisi ko na day
Jesay Meray dost ahbab Hain
Khuda aisay Kisi ko na day
Jesay Meray neighbour Hain
Khuda aisay Kisi ko na day
Jesay Meray dushman Hain
Khuda aisay Kisi ko na day....
She was turning eighty so I sent in the birds with a word.
The happy birthday singers, whose trills were absurd.
They outsang her relatives, they outsang the bee.
They outsang her husband, but they could not outsing me.
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