Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele Poems

It is nobody's fault
you're poor, black, hispanic or dead
of an Islam bullet
centuries from home.
...

Bertha, or Millie, or Evie,
I never knew her name,
but when my mother's
scrawny white body
...

Oh, how lovely is a tree
so much taller, than you or me.
Spreading out it's branches day and night
for tired birds, from their flight.
...

Looking for me is useless,
If you find me, I am not
able to pass my hand
through your image
...

Lay your bare feet
upon the earth's breast,
then walk. Dip your
fingers into her brown
...

As your sun sets
slowly, let me taste
your tears.
...

You have forgotten
who I am, but
you can clap your hands
and giggle
...

“Don’t tell me your dreams
until after the sun comes up, ”
he’d say. But the light won’t change
that he’s a black Man and I
...

Our bodies must produce sand
to block our sight
opening our senses
to the unembodied
...

An orange ball sun sets
as a green streak explodes.
Lava rock, palm leaves, and breeding whales
crest, then submerge
...