Song of Self
Song of Self
I live for politics, creative aspirations, and
Words that flow,
At night my mind is chasing wrongs,
As the sun rises, it heats my resolve,
And restores my need to be all that I am not,
I wish, to train full-time, and remember
words captured in awake and in sleep.
The body has a head, that has a brain,
That has a soul and must keep
Neat and Clean,
At night my mind is busy righting wrongs,
As the sun rises, I try to unlearn all that I know,
And relearn what is right,
I am a woman, not a man, but I believe in Democracy,
Working hard, Voting, and Believing in all that is
Good, all that is right, and all that some have taken
Away lead by a suit of red, devil in disguise,
chasing Hate, and growing old, evil, and wrinkled,
I am a woman, who has lived as a helper,
A poet, a writer, a faith keeper,
reaching out for love, dear God, send me love,
That will restore my faith in body and soul,
The body has a head, The body has a heart,
Keep me – a happy woman, a doer, a mother,
A grandmother, and a great grandmother,
Yes, I am many.
A poet would say love is like sunshine. It makes us
glow with inner warmth. It makes our eyes reflect
the joy and our Song.
The symbol for the heart is designed as a welcoming buttock,
where we two become one.
Perhaps, most of us feel wherever love resides,
it is a deep and profound sense of spontaneous adoration for another,
firstly as attraction and then emotional attachment.
Scientists have advised us sometime in the future,
we may take a pill for our ailing heart like lovesickness, heartache, and loneliness.
I’d personally love a pill for grieving after a split-up.
But right now, it feels like we love with all our heart;
and we think ourselves into heartache from unrequited love.
I am many, but not always the fairest to gaze upon,
my smoldering aura embodies the holy, unholy, and human form.
I confess I’ve opened my exalted head and body to Pablo Picasso,
who perceived me in strange and abstract ways,
and there were times when I’ve summoned the evilest,
known as Satan for a few hot unholy days.
Then joined Moses and the Greatest Mother of them all,
until I tired of their perpetual sermons, on the hills,
if I recall, three watery graves called out to me,
Caroline and her sister, lastly with an urge to breed,
I began following John Travolta around,
when his quivering wings reminded me of a night
spent in the arms of the Angel – Michael, I offered
him a Lilac Blossom, plucked from my own bosom…
I laughed and kissed him long and hard, becoming this Poem for you.