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© Simona A. Brinson and mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.
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~by Gwendolyn Brooks~
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?—
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All. -
In the wilderness of self, I stand alone,
A wanderer lost in the desert vast,
With every step, my ego's shadow's grown,
A golden calf, my idol unsurpassed.
For in the mirror's gaze, I find my shrine,
A reflection of my pride and vanity,
In worship of the self, I've crossed the line,
And lost the path to true divinity.
Like the Israelites of old, I've gone astray,
In search of solace in my own embrace,
But, in the darkness of my selfish way,
I've turned from God, and fallen from grace.
To find the road to true worship once more,
I must surrender to a higher power,
Release the ego's grip that I adore,
And in humility, bow in every hour.
Oh, let me turn my gaze from self to God,
And find redemption in His mercy broad.
Simona A. BrinsonPhoto by Alexander Grey on Unsplash
© Simona A. Brinson and mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.
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Photo by Julian Paolo Dayag on Unsplash
© Simona A. Brinson and mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.
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~by Shel Silverstein~
He rode through the woods on a big blue ox,
He had fists as hard as choppin’ blocks,
Five hundred pounds and nine feet tall…that’s Paul.Talk about workin’, when he swung his axe
You could hear it ring for a mile and a half.
Then he’d yell “Timber!” and down she’d fall…for Paul.Talk about drinkin’, that man’s so mean
That he’d never drink nothin’ but kerosene,
And a five-gallon can is a little bit small…for Paul.Talk about tough, well he once had a fight
With a thunderstorm on a cold dark night.
I ain’t sayin’ who won,
But it don’t storm at all…round here…thanks to Paul.He was ninety years old when he said with a sigh,
“I think I’m gonna lay right down and die
‘Cause sunshine and sorrow, I’ve seen it all…says Paul.He says, “There ain’t no man alive can kill me,
Ain’t no woman ’round can thrill me,
And I think heaven just mught be a ball”…says Paul.So he died…and we cried.
It took eighteen men just to bust the ground,
It took twenty-four more just to lower him down.
And we covered him up and we figured that was all…for Paul.But late one night the trees started shakin’,
The dogs started howlin’ and the earth started quakin’,
And out of the ground with a “Hi, y’all”…comes Paul!He shook the dirt from off his clothes,
He scratched his butt and wiped his nose.
“Y’know, bein’ dead wasn’t no fun at all”…says Paul.He says, “Up in heaven they got harps on their knees,
They got clouds and wings but they got no trees.
I don’t think that’s much of a heaven at all”…says Paul.So he jumps on his ox with a fare-thee-well,
He says, “I’ll find out if there’s trees in hell.”
And he rode away, and that was all…we ever seen…of Paul.But the next time you hear a “Timber!” yell
That sounds like it’s comin’ from the pits of hell,
Then a weird and devilish ghostly wail
Like somebody’s choppin’ on the devil’s tail,
Then a shout, a call, a crash, a fall–
That ain’t no mortal man at all…that’s Paul!This version of the poem is from Shel Silverstein’s book of poems for children, “Where the Sidewalk Ends” published in 1974.
I chose this poem as my first Friday Favorites because it is my all-time fav! Me and Paul Bunyan go back 45 years to Ms. Lewis’ 3rd grade class.
It was the 78-79 school year, and if I recall correctly, it was her first and last year teaching. She made it exciting to go to school. If we were good in class Monday through Thursday, Friday was a fun day. She would read to us from Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends. She would often let us choose the poem of the day, and more times than not, we chose Paul Bunyan.
I remember sitting there mesmerized as she read. She gave life to black words written on white pages. So much so that the words came to life in my imagination.
Every time I read this poem, like a time traveler, I am transported back in 1978, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a classroom at Avalon Elementary, alongside my classmates.
You know who you are: Karen, Louis, Scott, Tracey, Charles, Julie, David, Tommy, Jeff, Dusty, Kellie, Herman, Yolanda, Isis, Sandy, Lee, Ismael, Randy, Allison, Vicky, Nyna and Deanna. I can remember 22 out of 29 my classmates’ names and faces. Not bad all!
Simona A. Brinson
©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.
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(For Her) SHE doesn’t stand tall Because SHE has forgotten That SHE is no longer Constrained and downtrodden By he that held her Confined and caged Because his mind was small And he was stunted in age SHE doesn’t stand tall Because SHE has forgotten All the work SHE put in To grow and to blossom So, I am here To gently remind Her, that SHE is Radiant and kind Beyond beautiful Witty and smart And last but not least SHE is pure in heart Simona A. Brinson
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If you enjoy this poem and would like to read from Love In Text: Between Lovers, click this link to BUY NOW: Amazon.com/dp/B0BTV6WNCJ.
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Have you ever felt like you know something about yourself intrinsically but didn’t know it on a conscious level? Then one day, a day like the many that have come and gone, you have a self-realized moment. In that moment, it is like someone switched the light on and a revelation fell from the sky. The revelation seems familiar; it isn’t entirely foreign to you because it is a part of you. A part of you that has been lost and patiently waiting for you to pick it up from where you dropped it off for safekeeping.
Well, I had that moment just recently. I was sitting out on my front porch swing listening to the morning’s birdsong and watching God paint the cloud-puffed sky in hues of red, yellow, orange, and blue. As I sat there breathing in His creation, I realized that I had found myself again. I felt who I am had come back to life. In that moment, I searched my soul, trying to remember the last time I felt like me. I traveled back months, then years. It wasn’t pandemic-related, so I kept moving back. When my mental time travel was complete, I had landed in the year 2013. I hadn’t realized that I’d been lost to myself for so long. Not really lost because she had been sitting here on this porch swing all these years patiently waiting for me to pick her up. Like Janie, from Their Eyes Were Watching God, I’d placed myself on a shelf for safekeeping. Back in 2013, my spirit must have known that for the next eight years I was gonna go through some things, and for safekeeping, she sent my soul here to sabbatical on this porch swing until we were ready to meet again.
Now, I didn’t walk this road of rediscovery alone. God had a plan, and he placed someone on my path to remind me where I’d sent my soul to rest. As I walked down the path of rediscovery, I wandered into the Metaverse. While in the Metaverse, I ran into its caretaker ― a Mette, pronounced “Meta”.
Have you ever met a Mette?
She is like soul-skin (African-Americanized from the Danish word solskin, meaning ‘sunshine’)! You see, soul-skin embraces you with warmth and encapsulates your heart with kindness. Leaving your soul yearning to bask in the purity of her essence. She is sun and light and love, all wrapped up in one being. Who could have birthed a beautiful soul such as this?
To this Giver of Life,
Thank you for pouring warmth and kindness and goodness and light and love and sunshine into the precious vessel that God entrusted you with, that she could bring light into the world. More notably, my world! Her light shone on a part of me that I had forgotten. Unwittingly, she watered and cultivated that long-lost seed inside of my soul and resurrected that little girl inside that I had hidden for self-preservation.
To my Soul-Skin,
Thank you for shining your refractive light into the depths of my soul, lighting the pathway back to that little girl lost. Whether you be a part of my life for a season, for a lifetime, forever or a year, I will always be grateful that God chose you to light my way back to me. You will be forever…
My Soul Sister,
My Kindred,
My Ven,
My Solskin,
My Soul-Skin!
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