I only saw his shine once it was too late to feel it

In the dream, he comes back to me, whole and young.

He was always young in my eyes. When I used to ask him at each birthday how old he was, Daddy would answer, 45.

He was always 45 in all the years I knew him. All the years I was living, he was dying.

In the replaying of images, I play it differently.

I keep my distance until he asks for me to bring his slippers or newspaper. I offer them with bowed head. I don’t throw them at him as I used to. Escaping his rage, escaping the beats.

I keep my distance, but I want to be close to him. To hold him. To feel his love for me. Then and now, still needed after so many years gone.

To serve, he brought me up, to serve. Instead of getting the vacuum clearer out, he had us on the floor picking up the bits of fluff and crumbs. To hear his pride at a job well done was enough.

When I enter the chapel of rest, it’s like I’m floating on air, light as the flowing curtains concealing a prize. I see him now, as then …

he‘a surrounded by gold satin, his mahogany black skin shines, relaxed and unlined, sea-black lips wave-curled and still.

He looks younger than 45. Even though the plaque on the coffin lid reads 1920 -1981 – he was 61. And the time he was dying. I was living.

End of week gratitude

The Earthcraft Oracle

When life throws you curve balls to knock you off your feet and forces you to reassess everything in your life, this is when you lean into the practices which have seen you right.

Those practices which keep you buoyed when it appears you’re drowning or about to go down.

Those practice which you practice everyday but really come into their own when the chips our down.

One of those practices is keeping a gratitude journal. And it doesn’t have to be something major or time consuming.

Thinking on one simple thing is enough to switch my thinking, to get me to count my blessings and step up again. Renewed, restored and ready.

This week has been a week of happenings and announcements and shit hit the fan moments. But I’m alive and here to live another day. So all is not bad.

I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason. Maybe to test us. Maybe to move us into a better situation. To gain clarity and perspective. To live a better life on my own terms.

This card ‘thunderstorm’ signifies tremendous upheaval and change, happening or about to. And it is out of my control. But I must keep the faith, trust in Mother Nature that these things are happening for the best.

Things are out of my control. But how I respond to this period of upheaval is within my control.

I’m choosing to count my blessings, lean into my practices and give thanks. Give thanks for all that is going right or is good in my life right now. Here and now.

I’m grateful for the light. I’m grateful for rest. I’m grateful for a warm comfortable bed. I’m grateful for morning coffee. I’m grateful for time spent with the people I love. I’m grateful for my health. I’m grateful for my creativity. I’m grateful for all the opportunities which have and are coming my way. I’m grateful for food in the cupboards. I’m grateful for the roof above my head. I’m grateful for the air I breathe. I’m grateful for the earth between my toes. And I’m grateful for the water that holds me.

PAD/ 027 – Taking a risk

When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?

being an archive

oh it’s so sad/ she said/ when reading about slavery

oh it’s so wrong/ she said/ to anyone who’d listen

I listened/ to her going through the motions/ performing

they say peonies are showy flowers/ blousy bursting blooms/ for the show

at least peonies sense when it’s their time/ chance/nature to keep shut and wilt

PAD/012 – what was once feared as an invasion is now embraced as progress

The Guardian, 26 November, 1981
The Brixton Disorders, 10-12 April, 1982, Lord Scarman

I wish I could see my dad before 

he was busted up by Britain

before the harsh grey invaded like a as cancer 

Sometimes I conjure him up as a child on his mother’s lap, 

held at a distance,  

this bastard outside child, rejected as soon as he could crawl run

running through the hills of Laventille, my 16 year old dad, 

I imagine his charms as he takes his first love

soon his yellow-palmed, mahogany-black hands

hold his first son on the veranda made for limin’

with upheaval to England, he tried to repeat  the begetting  siring 

5 daughters with two different wives

 one white, one mixed, who could pass


1972, The Harder They Come, and I’m the baby held close

 and my dad is already dying, 

flux and renewal for another 9 years then his wicket fell 

and I wasn’t in the room

to conjure you back.

and that I had to leave you to save myself, abandon you

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most

Undoing

with each word

i write

i am undoing

you from

my heart

i am undoing

your lips

from mine

your hand

from mine

i am undoing

your power

over me

Other

she is a sad

replacement

for the woman

you lost

the woman

you allowed

to leave

because

you were

never

man enough

to hold

Shine

i had too much

shine

for you not

to want

to take

a piece

it’s a shame

you continue

to take it

once you

are gone