Edens

Song of Solomon 4:16

“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.”

A wind bloweth gently

Stirring the hair

At the nape of my neck

Eyes closed I savor the scent

Of musk and spice and Africa

The loam of earth’s origins

Grown in fabled gardens

I await my beloved’s return

For reclamation

Prepared with anointments

Ruddy with ministrations

Fine gold braided in strands

At the secreted entrance

To a private sanctuary

Pomegranates lay heavy on boughs

Cinnamon studded with spikes

Of the finest saffron

Reddened apple bottomed fruits

And succulent peaches

The table set and feast prepared

Let my beloved come and have his fill

Awake fair winds

Bear him to his garden

Stir the petals gently

To release the spicy pungency

Of my ripened fruit

Grown from his careful tendings

Seeded for his palate only

© NP 7/2/11

Funeral

#7NAPO Funeral

(quote from Frank X Walker’s-“Buring Albatross”)

“Standing close enough to kiss, we almost touch and pretend”

that we really didn’t want to despite the yearning in our hands;

for the closeness of the familial feel of fingers on face

my own wrapped around cheeks holding you still

while wiping a smudge off your chubby cheeks. Just a

mirror of my mothers, smiling in crooked disgust

at being tended to with a gentle assurance that just as

quickly, I might let you go before you are ready to leave.

I straighten the collar of your white shirt and smooth the

shoulders of the black suit, brushing off the invisible dust

That keeps my hands connected to you. My heart tied to the

strings that I braided with the third cord I suddenly found

dangling from the umbilical apron ties that my mother

left on the hospital bed before shedeparted for home.

© NP 4/07/11

TVA

I am ready to be cleansed

Washed clear of the discontent

That straightens my back

Under a heavy weight

I stand firm, totally still

Orders not be disobeyed

On this side of time

Standing ever grey ground

Dressed in coats that lost

The meaning to the tides

Of windswept change

Would my momma know why

She worked on the farm

From sun-up to sun-down

Birthing gravestones under

Every harvest moon

To replenish the ranks

Of the able-bodied hands

To work more, grow more

And glean more for others

Sisters sewing the ash woolens

Of men’s funeral clothes

For their final march

Under the stars and bars

Roll red tide

Until you sweep me away

The idealist now control

The ebb and flow in Tennessee

Across every valley

A blue coat now monitors

Many a watery stone

And the rivers wash over

Those who never made it home

© NP 4/26/11

crash

Standing much too close

To the hoof

I can feel pot liquor

And BBQ sauce

Beading up on my brow

Head swimming with the

Threat of the sugar diabetes

I am forced to find

The cool spot in the shade

I idly watch

The little brown children

Playing hopscotch

Under netless basketball goals

And they Crash into each other

A fire crackles against

A blackened metal drum

Just in between the beats

Of a sax down low

And a killer baseline

Shoulders rock an invitation

To find their step

In a full tilt electric slide

With shouts of “yeah”

And “alright now”

Until house slippers pop

Without shame under

A swerving hip

And they Crash into each other

Standing much too close

To a crackling fire

I can feel the heat

Beading up on my brow

And just in between the sips

With my head swimming

To that killer baseline

You rock my shoulders

With your full tilt electric smile

Lips parted to whisper

“Alright now”

At the end of this summer day

I can’t wait to get home so we

Can Crash into each other

can't sleep

He awaits me

In corners and blind alleys

Full tilt neon boogie

In get back blues

I speak

His name loudly

Damn near scream his name

In a delta rhythm

Heel clicking on sidewalks

Broken glass sparks

Moist and hot

In a basin of water

His power over me

Strong and relentless

So I run faster, wider

My hips sway stactically

Pearls on the river

And blood in my veins

Ridiculously

Drawn towards his light

As if I didn’t know better

I confessed

To my preacher

I just knew

A longing like this

Had to be a sin

He only agreed

And wiped electric

Off his chin

In that tired knowing

Of one that has

Been full before

Has been sated

At the table

No blessing for me

Just a pat on the hand

Even he was afraid

Of a new embrace

That could start

Him to moving

Into the void, again

Still I speak

Him into being

Ordered and

Disordering my words

Staining my radiance

In a swirling mist

Allowing the water

To cover me

To fill the spaces

He left open

Cleansing vowels

My reflection

Breaking shadows

Into more shade

I’m ready

To cross over

Spitting the flavor

Onto the pavement

Rebukement

Of the taste

On the tip

Of my tongue

My flesh is weathered

And bears the mark

Of his days

Across my belly

Around my hip

I span the length

With fingers spread

Until prints

Coil together in

A nest of promises

Unfulfilled sacredness

Trembling at the edge

Of a passerby’s irises

Sightless again

And I just want

The scent of him

In my mouth

To quench this thirst

This knowing

This lightening

Scorching my breast

The dawn is near

Though I know

I won’t sleep again

Closing my door

On the life outside

And drinking tea

In a broken cup

I am ashamed

At susceptibility

Of words spoken

In whispers

Wrapped in linens

And perched on windowsills

Holding the pain

Behind my smiles

He comes to me

In lonely thoughts

But I know hear

For I no longer

Believe

In love

© NP 5/20/11

Radio show

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/inner-child-radio/2011/06/15/the-hump-day-show-with-gail-weston-shazor

I am greatfilled to have been a guest on Inner Child Radio.

Please enjoy the broadcast.

Wednesday 6/15...7PM

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/inner-child-radio/2011/06/15/the-hump-day-show-with-gail-weston-shazor