To Maya Angelou, With Love

My Dearest Maya,

I’m writing this blog post to you because of the catalyst of change you have been in my heart, mind, and life. You allowed me to realize all the love that goes into rage and how to express it. Your words are powerful, your peace is transcendent. Although I never met you in person I feel a bond of familiarity, love, respect, and trust. You lived the struggle with loving rage, your words of healing and life entering and restoring the lives of those who were about to take their own! Here are only a few pieces of yours that sustain me through my struggle:

The Detached

We Die,

Welcoming Bluebirds to our darkening closets,

Stranglers to our outstretched necks,

Stranglers, who neither care nor

care to know that

DEATH IS INTERNAL.

We pray,

Savoring sweet the teethed lies,

Bellying the grounds before alien gods,

Gods, who neither know nor

Wish to know that

HELL IS INTERNAL.

We love,

Rubbing the nakednesses with gloved hands,

Inverting our mouths in tongued kisses,

Kisses that neither touch nor

Care to touch if 

LOVE IS INTERNAL.

This really touched my heart and aligned it with all the rage inside of me. This continues to be something I keep in my heart especially when I think I can no longer be loving in my rage against systematic violence and subjugation.

Alone

Lying, thinking

Last night

How to find my soul a home

Where water is not thirsty

And bread loaf is not stone

I came up with one thing

And I don’t believe I’m wrong

that nobody,

But nobody

Can make it out here alone.

 

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

 

There are some millionaires

With money they can’t use

Their wives run around like banshees

Their children sing the blues

They’ve got expensive doctors

To cure their hearts of stone.

But nobody

No, nobody

Can make it out here alone.

 

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

 

Now if you listen closely

I’ll tell you what I know

Storm clouds are gathering

The wind is gonna blow

The race of man is suffering

And I can hear the moan,

‘Cause nobody,

But nobody

Can make it out here alone.

 

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

This is so inspiring to me, as it reminds me that I am NOT alone in this struggle. I am not alone in my loving rage and radical thoughts. 

A Conceit

Give me your hand

 

Make room for me

to lead and follow

you

beyond this rage of poetry.

 

Let others have 

the privacy of 

touching words

and love of loss

of love.

 

For me

Give me your hand.

This is one that I will think of every time I am insecure about my writing, every time my nerves seem to get the best of me before a talk or presentation. I’m sharing this final piece in memoriam. 

Refusal

Beloved,

In what other lives or lands

Have I known your lips

Your Hands

Your Laughter brave

Irreverent.

Those sweet excesses that

I do adore.

What surety is there

That we will meet again,

On other worlds some

Future time undated.

I defy my body’s haste.

Without the promise

Of one more sweet encounter

I will not deign to die.

Your words I’ve just shared does not even scrape the surface of your impact and contributions to the struggle and to life in all its complexities! You give us life even in death! In your passing please know that your life was not lived in vain, you have been a catalyst to so many in more ways than I can imagine. May you rest in peace Maya, and may your loving rage transcend! 

Lovingly,

-D

 

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About thepsych1

I am a natural progression. As I learn and grow, so does this blog as a reflection of myself. Poetry Art Videos Critique Let's collaborate. Bring your friends.
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