There is a grace to be found
In the difficulty of each day
For without the struggle
There will never be
Victory
Page 55 of 274
Solace
My soul seeks solace
In the gentle flowing river
Of my thoughts
To find a comfort
In a world of pain
My soul seeks solace
In the quiet gentle
Heart of me
A Dream
I have a dream
To write until
My fingers are scratched
Until my eyes have cried
The last of my tears
To write until
My face aches with the
Smile of achievement
Until my words fly
From the source into
The world
Into hearts
Into minds
I have a dream
To touch
To love
To empower
To write
InYour Sight
I turned to catch you
Watching me
I smiled
Nightmare
An opaque night lures me
Into its clutches
So there is company
For the nightmares that
Haunt
A Dance
I met him
Under a snowing sky
And he challenged me
To a dance in his home town
A dance in Hungary
A dance in Budapest
I found my way to
His home town
To Hungary
To Budapest
I breathed it in
The paprika chicken
And the steaming spas
And public baths
I saw the river
And the trams
Buildings so old and
Gracious and
Hand-crafted
Hand-painted
Breathtaking
He took me dancing
In his hometown
Where locals played their
folk music
And locals danced
To their own private song
He was the
Biggest man
So light of foot
Comfortable
In his hometown
He led
And I simply
Followed
Keepsake
I fell in love with a
Preacher man
In his eyes I saw lust
And love and devotion and
Infatuation
He said
Visit me
I pondered his words
Through the day and every
Night
And so I moved myself to board
A flight with my folded
Clothes and flew
To a foreign land, a land of the
Smoke
That Thunders
Where lions roar and
Wild dogs roam
Where the sun beats on the
Naked earth
And hungry people greet with
Smiles
I kissed the ground, the warm
African soil
And allowed myself a kiss
From
Him
A kiss so sweet and tender
A single moment in a frozen time
He gave me a
Red woven cloth
Rich of fabric
And texture
And image
A keepsake
To remember him by
Showcase
A voice identifies
A voice is unique
A voice gives life
A voice to speak
A voice has power
It has a strength
A voice can sing
It can praise and hum
It is a bridge
To our inmost thoughts
It shows the world
Who we are inside
Without our voice
We’d be trapped for good
So use your voice
To be understood
Bittersweet
There is much to be said about
Birthdays
For every year without fail
They knock on the door
To take and to give
Taking babies away
And giving children in return
Taking children away
Leaving teenagers in their place
Birthdays are for balloons
And cake and gifts and
Parties and
Celebrations
Birthdays are for
Memories
And birthdays will always be
Bittersweet
Africa
I was born in Africa
A day in April.
I’m not sure which day it was.
It could have been the 24th, or it might have been
The 25th.
I cannot say.
I grew up in Africa,
In a land of toil and strife
Against itself and the world,
Uncertainty running as deep
As the uncertainty of my birth.
I lived through history—
A history that denied my best friend and I
Shared coffee at a café,
My face was too pale, her skin too dark.
Our friendship was forbidden
Yet we were bound together.
Forced separation could never deny
A childhood friendship.
I was blessed by Africa—
The soul, the air, the electricity
Brought about by a summer
Thunderstorm, dark clouds hanging
Heavy, threatening destruction.
I voted in Africa
As the clock ticked over to Wednesday
27th of April 1994.
From out of the snaking queue,
A fusion of people and race,
The land once tied up in chains
Was brought to liberty.
Poems and Petals 