There's a hole in the tree
outside
cross the street
from my sister's house
...
Give me all your tears
gypsy
in a gilded chalice
your tears
...
perhaps I am but a weed
sprouting thru the cracks of this asphalt,
...
my child, my child, i am so afraid
my child, my child, please forgive me
...
The woman in the green coat
the kind of green pea coat i automatically
...
Let go during working test
let go during working test
...
sunshine and flowers
white puffy clouds and the silver gray ones too
...
oh the weary soul
that burdens itself with fear and doubt
...
a red felt hat and dark eyes
that peer suggestively beneath its brim
she steals the breath
and blows a kiss with a glance
...
doesn't anybody realize
i just want them to come back for me
...
I've had very little formal training, I just like to write what i know, what I see, and occasionally meander around trying to find new things to write about. One of my favorite writing teachers, Joy Oshun [Pima College, Tucson, AZ] made a great impact on me by encouraging me to explore outside of my own realm of knowledge and experience to find inspiration. As a writer, I aspire to an abandonment of my preconceived schools of thought; I strive to step outside of the boxes that through conditioning and defense mechanism we humans often enclose ourselves in. See more of my writing at: http: //pilarmedellona.blogspot.com/ I am also a photographer and artist, so I am often inspired by imagery and conversely, my art is often inspired by the written word. Walkin' this world, a single mother for the past eleven years has been an arduous effort for me as it is for many. My son currently lives with my very wonderful sister as I work toward some sense of stability. My goal is to overcome the need for the 40-hour work week; reunite and live happily and peacefully with my son, as we make our way in this society and better our lives through creative endeavors. Through all of my experiences in life I have come to believe in the village mentality and strive to build community and share and receive info and resources wherever I go. 10-26-2008)
First Boy...
the first boy
has changed now
the first boy who was my freak of nature
laughing, silly one – sugarlumps
is now grown nigh manhood
iron cage fighter
i don't know him so much anymore
and second boy
whose mamma sick from post partum exhaustion
perhaps
bade me take him to sleep with me
second boy who i never really got a chance to know as well as
first boy
now weaves words with a beauty & passion
that i find myself in awe of
inspired
and these two
now almost men
remind me of how rapidly time
doth flit by
perhaps so that when third boy
my own boy
has reached this ages
i will not be
so surprised
perhaps to remind me
not to let him grow astray.
© August 2007
a poem written in contemplation of my first two nephews. In this poem I call my own boy third, though he is actually fourth, because, I never really new my third nephew when he was little.