All those pieces of paper

spread out across the floor

stuffed in nooks and crannies

ideas of something more

Those words are bits of spirit

I caught along the way

fleeting moments drifted through my fingers onto paper

all yearning to be sung and played

I’m on the road to make them

to free them from one-dimensional space

let them pass into ears and hearts

giving this Spirit what its longing to say

Craving an outlet of voice and song

where electricity meets the bone

where the sunrise catches my breath

after being gone for so long, the seeds, now they are sewn

Bless this spacious and long-time confined heart

she’s still standing in her self-built cage

the door has been opened, through magic and prayer

letting in the light, sound – let it out, and not backstage!

Go – down into that story and shine

for the sun longs for nothing, brightens our whole world

sustains us all night, bright and stormy

yet, it must have the Moon mirroring in her journey

Be the mirror, the magical orb of night

the sensual tug of oceans, aeons ago – jump in, every time

take one step then the next then the next

let it shine, like Mr. Byrd said, remember T-Rex?

You came from feathery giants and now stand on their shoulders

simply herd those transmissions, spin them as you get older

don’t box them up and in – allow not for dusty dogma, for they are mayhem!

just like your story, they took time to grow – remember love, you must cultivate them

BOTTLE & CAN, Asheboro, NC

7:00pm (food truck will be outside, wings!!)

On this day a man was born who would change things.  A match when struck that lit the whole world with courage.  That courage could dwindle when we look and see who sits in some seats of power these days.  That courage could seem to have been lost when we look around and see hunger still perpetuating in our neighborhoods, when merely the cold can kill people – much less the deadly assault weapons the NRA pays so dearly to hold onto.  That courage still however, resides.  En masse.  That you can see in the hearts of those who march, more and more and more in the latest of years.  Marches and protests and rallies and sit-ins and phone calls and letters and inundations of people waking up to the need for a participatory democracy.  The need for them to speak up for themselves.  No one else is going to do it for you.  We may differ in our approach to ideal leadership; however we do not disagree that everyone should eat and live and prosper in a way one sees fit.  Where poverty doesn’t damper someones passion for life.  Where race does not determine whether or not you get a job.  Where sex doesn’t determine whether or not you will succeed at being… an actress… a truck driver… a political leader.

We all have dreams and should have equal access to making those dreams happen and in order to make this a reality, we must have courage.  I remember the legacy of DrMLK today as a person (of many) who went above and beyond merely what he alone could do, and fought for what WE could do, together, with others and for ourselves.  While mountains of oppression are inevitable to fail, we have to know that to take the first steps toward liberation means we must see ourselves as worthy.  Those steps are more than voting.  More than praying.  More than hope.  They are filled with inertia, gratitude, forgiveness, giving, compassion, dedication, discipline, and pro-active love.

Live today for today.  But live tomorrow for the good of humanity and the only planet we’ll ever get.

UNITED STATES – APRIL 11: Democracy Spring protesters calling for the end of big money in politics stage a sit-in on the Capitol steps and on the East Plaza of the Capitol on Monday April 11, 2016. (Photo By Bill Clark/CQ Roll Call)

I am not special, but I am unique

A blessing, still a child in so many ways

Stuck because of forgetting where the exits are,

Where’s that damned fire marshal?

I am my own Compass

And I must remember the exits are an illusion just as much as the ground beneath me.

This child still feels the cold

The hunger and the hold of alien hands.

This child still knows alone as if it were her only kin.

This woman is learning what fills her cup and how to hold it in the rain for water and how to hold it in the fire for sustenance.

This woman is breathing in the tools of remembrance, one step at a time.

One moment to the very next,

one owl hoot to the next sweeping call of the crow from above.

The love is real

Find…

No,

Remember it.

It is older than you

Older than us

Older than we can know

Bruce and I start off Hour 2 on Pass The Hat, WHUP 104.7 in Hillsborough, North Carolina. Thanks Bob for inviting us, we had a blast.

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