purple moon Hendrix

mid day liquor store
sun ablaze wearing gold dress
i sit on milk crate smoking break
from unemployed day
boys girls tourists from Detroit
camera filters flashes and lens
they think im something
but im really nothing more than
a puffer of rings up the sky
beside two buildings
average thoughts baseball innings
hamburger helper bowls
gas prices and cheap strip shows
when they bore of shiny Hollywood
back to hotels and premeditated meals
my arms crossed behind my head
laying on fire escape
conversing with blue moon’s older sister purple moon Hendrix

finally relieved

my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day 
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved

cooing sounds of city pigeons

January

cold restless

eyes opened

limbs clasped tight into the womb of the donated forest green love seat

two suns and one absent moon ago

there you were in faded cotton gown

bleach rough by the sanitation bound

gasping and heaving

not too different

to the cooing sounds

of city pigeons

i never thought that you would go

as i expected that you were fighting

now

so much time has rushed on

and late tonight

while i write this for you

i wonder

were you crossing the Styx

neck deep

tell me

does that river ebb and flow

like your spirit and your soul

is the current soft

do the little waves embrace your ankles

like precious jewels

time split the light in two

we both took in your make up bag

i the incorrigible one

mumbled unsanctified Kaddish

not finding the words

no matter

YHWH had cupped

broken and trite utterances

from my mouth

orphan

i often forget his smile the glint of his eyes pulling an old dog eared letter i touch his cursive delicate but unintelligible there are no particular ideas in the tight ringlets of pale black ink his mind was full of scorpions she never returned to him they both mad with ego and one uppance i progeny alone i with a heart full of wasps

demander au ciel bleu

mbrazfield (c) 2020

when my mind was little

the skyscrapers were tall

God was big too

the streets were filled

with faces strong that walked alone in my drowning dreams

the functions of my body not under my control

and when the body seasoned into what men had sought

it was as if a flock of doves had scattered from my soul

the moon was maiden too long before my birth and then was trampled on her light fallen from its grace

but today i read about a boy and trees his looking for the life that did live underneath

the soil of creation and where someday i will be

looking at the captivating blue glass crystal skies waiting for His words

🌠thanks to my friend Stephen @ https://fullbeardlit.org/2020/04/08/along-this-path-a-five-oclock-poem-by-stephen-fuller-with-audio for inspiring this offering

my gown


look beyond my dark thick gown
be strong and courageous
God is all around me
but you must look past my heavy gown
my light my freedom never closes
for i am not a door without a knob
look beyond my cowebbed gown
but make sure that you clasp your thoughts hand
you will need them for this journey
take time and show me that you are opening a window breathe liberation in
when the threads and seams of my tightly stitched sleeves imprison you
open your heart and push on through
the light is closer than it seems
there will be times when you’ll get lost amongst the blackest gauze of my deceptive petticoats
you will ache cry curse moan writhe in madness
dont be afraid to use the sharpness of righteous diligence to cut on through
don’t be afraid of my gown
within it lay your wings

flown

time sits condensed like grandpa’s old Valvoline tucked under the back porch steps

i’ve flown away from my soul this morning before the hummingbird came to mourn

the landing will happen later today when Ursula preps her beet salad i think that’s when it will happen

nodding trailing sinking from the surface tadpoles file in and soon enough will leap with a part of me

there i am i will paint now i can’t catch myself but there’s a little blue pain that aches to be laid out on rice paper from the kitchen drawer