Got a Bum Knee

got a bum knee

feels like the culture

of this land

unhealed deepest agony

an  unexplained injury

who knew there was this much

torn cartilage collected by those who served

this country to get their families

out of poverty who knew there

was so much pain in the inferiority of those

less educated with less opportunity le$$$$$$$$ money


did believers lose everything to the lies of the left?

whose broken body makes us limp like a lame lost soul?

am I less because of a strong belief in God? less intellectual?

am I less because of the color of my hair my skin? or

my less than beautiful body? am I less because I grew

old and still never get beyond the bills?  do I want to help

those with less because it makes me feel superior?

did a black president make us feel so much better than?

did he feel the need to be better than those of his kin? to survive us?


do i limp now the pain exposed both sides all sides lame?

will you wrap my aching knee in some balm some love salve?

will we get off our high and mighty horses and point the finger

at ourselves and wrap our sore and and bleeding knees and bow

our bodies our heads to the ground like our Muslim sisters?

can we wail our grief till our tears spill down and heal these

knees till we can dance again whole children of the same land the same soul?





Clawing My Way Out of this Black Hole

my grandson would remind me

there are possibilities in a black

hole, maybe a portal to far away

worlds which is very appealing

to me today, another plane where

Trump and Company are

not happening, a flight

to somewhere kind I can only

stop the weeping with deep meditation

a silence resting in the divine lover

I look carefully here in my own heart to find

the words written there

been waiting so long to hear

to hone my reading skills

away from finite to infinite

can anyone hear me calling

i’ve been giving out

answers for so long

it can’t be fathomed

that i have none, but rather need

some i’m squinting

into the light one ear plugged

the other listening

help me i can’t

want the sound of this

world any more.


Full Moon Rising

i rise early
buy my grand girls
christmas gifts from
amazon when what
i miss is the real
amazon the legendary
me raised in the wonder
of Brazil a homeland lost

i read poems of Margret
Randall off her FB page
recalling that i have been
an activist i wrap make up
brushes we got free
with our face cream and i
long to walk out onto the
stage of this lost America
and cry justice kiss the face
of race no cream can charm

i see kyakers out the fourteen
story window of the condo where
we labor for our bread and bed
love the ocean setting long for
the freedom of a small life lived
large how i drove to Mexico one
year and danced with Rogoberta
Menchu and sold art made by
Latin American Indians my brothers
and sister killed on their own land
for greed and i long to walk those
paths again and speak the language
of passion into the greed of too many dollars.

I’m planning a new social enterprise you see
it talks to me gently in the night while I sleep
sometimes cries, NOW at me when i walk
the beach, reverberates in thoughts as
i take classes and connect with the young
of Latino America, so watch out Amazon
cause the real amazon is rising taking
up the bed of her discontent and leaping
for joy at the challenge of yet another
jump off the cliff of comfort into the arms
of free falling love i’ve got a misson y’all
and it ain’t gonna be silent or purty it’s
got a one breasted focus on the dreams
of tomorrow, with the bow pulled taught
right this minute the target is no bull’s
eye it’s the longings of a thousand generations
crying freedom and waiting to be born from the
womb of all that we are and have and love to give