let my eyes weep
for all that’s lost.
let my belly have no bread
let my tongue be weary and dry
for the dead shall be mourned only by the living.
let their graves be burdened with my sorrow
let their silent hearts be quickened by my elegy
let their blow fly and cheese skipper be kept away at my wailing
for all that are dead will be brought to life.
There’s a song in my head that won’t be put out.
Good thing it’s one I love to sing!
There’s a vision in my head that just wouldn’t let go,
a dance of colours we don’t yet know.
There’s a song in my head I can’t let go.
There’s a song in my head, and we’re all singing,
you, me, seas, and stars above, or beneath, whichever way your head’s turned looking.
That’s the vision in my head, it really wouldn’t let go.
Mountains bellowing, many trees clapping.
That’s the song in my head and I can’t let go.
There’s a song in my head, and somewhere there’s a master,
the kind that gets us to all chorus together and get our notes just right.
He’s in the vision in my head (not even that tinie tiny would let go),
his whole heart singing, his two arms lifting.
Oh that song in my head, just let it go!
There’s a song in my head, and the words’re in English
or whatever language dreams play in but you get to understand it all.
But there’s a part of all this vision I can’t see yet.
He’s the one we’re singing, the one we’re seeing but can’t see yet.
He wrote this song in’ my head, and He won’t let go.
There’s a song in my head, I can’t let go.
There’s an emptiness that lurks in my heart still.
I give it my scowl face, but it won’t leave me be.
I give it no bed space, but it finds room, a squeeze.
I look away, but sad is my heart song still.
black magic girl.
the charm of her voodoo’s
not in her hips
nor in the jiggle of her feet.
her voice does not mimic the gods’,
but I pray, let her speak
the chants that play with
the beats of her heart.
let Black Magic Girl
dance now to
her tune, not the
drums of your bellow
nor the trump of your ego.
please leave the black magic girl be
to show us her charms
and not her skin or her
screams and your
black, brown, white magic.
black magic girl,
click your fingers and be
away from men,
women, who do not see
that you are the charm,
your mind and your heart
(even as your skin glows
a blend of velvet chocolate and coffee grounds), of
black magic girl.
‘Twas pitter-patter of thoughts on the roof
the kind that wasn’t going a place soon
that kept me awake, listening, like th’ full moon
I have seen Autumn’s leaf fall
a proud, graceful sway to its end.
I have heard its sound
of rustling, portending a withering brown dying.
I have seen Autumn’s leaves fall,
curtseying the end to a season.
When I think upon the finer things in life,
closing my eyes in sleep at the end of the day,
singing a song with more than my lips,
believing in God whom I cannot see,
are the times I long for them most.