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Walter Rooks Jr. Poem
When she closed her eyes
the weight of the world went away,
she could be whatever or whomever
she wanted; nothing more than a dream to dream.
When she closed her eyes
the potential of the world was realized,
she could, with elementary arithmetic,
add it all up, give grace to God and be good.
There was not always time
to close her eyes. Sometimes she had to watch
the world this way; bent and brutal.
This too she subtracted for God.
Copyright © Walter Rooks Jr. | Year Posted 2005
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Walter Rooks Jr. Poem
love drips
from frozen trees
sun warmed eaves
redeemed
droplets drift
undreamed
to wet my lips
pristine
from old men’s mouths
and tongues
aqueous
their seasons sung
wet with
babies dew
from mothers’ breast
we spew
in fragments
evaporate again
to the air of love
but when
Copyright © Walter Rooks Jr. | Year Posted 2005
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Walter Rooks Jr. Poem
The churches are closed and it’s cold.
Outside on these holly grounds,
The tired and hungry huddle,
Become part of landscaping, pray.
They are all alone,
Each with their own story,
Telling it to God and anyone else
Not bothered by their circumstance.
Tonight I am one of them,
Shuffling for a place to sleep,
With empty pockets and stomach
Growling at God and religion.
Copyright © Walter Rooks Jr. | Year Posted 2005
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Walter Rooks Jr. Poem
Sunsets
behind soft shoulders
bare. Her hair,
pinned up to tease me,
keep her cool while she drifts;
I drive with eyes
mostly for her.
Windows
make beautiful views
whip. Her lips
part from silence, sigh;
all roads lead to her.
Slow lanes allow
one hand on thigh.
Oldies
play to wake her up.
This, her kiss
taste like summer nights.
I am starry-eyed,
calculating
love-miles traveled.
Copyright © Walter Rooks Jr. | Year Posted 2005
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Walter Rooks Jr. Poem
You told me you cried when Kennedy was shot,
Mourning with most of the world
That twenty-second day of November, 1963.
Mama tell me what it was like
To touch Malcolm's hand,
To feel his smile and know his soul.
Where were you Mama when that bullet rang?
When a gentleman named King was struck
For the last time.
Mama tell me about these seasons of change.
Why do cowards kill and what makes a man?
Why did you cry when Kennedy was shot?
Copyright © Walter Rooks Jr. | Year Posted 2005
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