Magic Michael

mike2

Born during the phase of the full moon,
for all of the world to see,
in the late evening on August 29, 1958,
around 7:33.

Mother Nature rejoiced!
The waters waved and danced in delight!
The birds flapped their wings in excitement.
The world was showered with new light that night.

The wolves stood on rocks and howled.
The stars and the sky gathered in celebration.
He was here to sing, dance, and heal.
Unborn babies kicked in anticipation.

He was the moon;
an enigma, mystery in the flesh.
He was as the moon;
adored from France to Bangladesh.

He was a man as a child,
and he was a child as a man.
It was in the way that he sat and spoke,
and in the way that he jumped and ran.

He was the Earth Angel Michael;
the friend and guardian of children.
Kids knew it and they loved him,
protective and doting, mother hen.

We miss him.

The earth stood still on June 25, 2009;
we had a nightmare while our eyes were wide open.
We shivered as sweat ran down our foreheads.
We took long and deep breaths in,
quickly running out,
dying.

Where is our Michael?

When we think of him,
we are filled with happiness and strength,
but we miss him,
and the thought of it makes us weak.
We miss his hypnotic, gorgeous eyes,
the beauty of and in his smile,
the charisma and gaiety in his dance,

the sweet softness of his voice,
that voice, the sound of freshwaters.

We miss the way he made us feel
when he lifted us up as he bent to kneel.
Mother Earth weeps as She curls her toes.

Elephants trumpet,
birds sing of our woes.

We are nostalgic about carrying him,
as he carried us,

as we play and replay his shows.
We are lovesick.

He is here.

Mamase, mamasa, mamakusa.
Mama, say,
mama, sir,
mama, cool sir.
He will always be with us.

Yes, he will, our king of pop,
our king of love.
His body will always be in our soil,

swaddled in Gaia’s arms,
and that is not all.

His spirit will always be with us.
He will always be here,
via his songs,
via his dance,
via his teaching,
via his charity,
via his silent cries and loud wailings,
via his musical screams.
We will rock him back and forth;

we will never drop him.
We will remember him fondly,
loving and cherishing him,
for decades and generations to come.

 

The Cycle

GetAttachment

She holds the key to your heart,
after you hand it over to her,
and when things don’t work out between you,
she throws the key at you.
You pick the key up,
turn it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tell yourself that she has locked it for good,
as if she has the power to.

When you hold the key
to the heart of a new “she”,
after she hands it over to you,
you delightfully throw the key at her
when things don’t work out between you.
She picks the key up,
turns it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tells herself that you have locked it for good,
as if you have the power to.

Each person nurses their pain
and doctors their true feelings,
dwelling on past pain,
staying away from true healing,
until something or someone
shows up to show them

that the heart does not,
the heart does not need,
the heart does not need a key, anyway.

Healing Bound

African Dancer- Ayodeji Ayeola

“African Dancer” by Ayodeji Ayeola

The foot feels the foot
when the foot feels the ground.
Reality sets in;
the pain is profound.
Foot one before foot two
and a quickly twirl around.
Step one and then step two;
healing bound.

Thing 1 & Thing 2

Osun (Giseli Magalhães)

Thing 1 was not thirsty,
but I offered him a drink.
He drank till my cup was empty,
and threw me in me to sink.

I struggled back to shore,
you can bet that I was sore,
but Thing 2 grabbed my finger,
and told me his heart was pure.

The river of love is full again,
the river of love is me,
but Thing 2 is still famished,
’cause my cup was smashed at sea.

So tell me, ìyá mi ‘Kojú,
help me make my strength from you. 
How do I tell me that Thing 1
is all but nothing like Thing 2?

Chiron-ke

Yusuf Grillo

I want love,
I ask for love,
but when Mother Earth offers it to me,
I shake my head from side to side.

Think of me as a child;
think of me as a pregnant woman.

I am in pain;
I am pregnant.
I bear and carry my hurt
like an unborn child
in my heart’s womb.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
can deliver me from my self,
but I don’t know how to,

or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t.  

I’m a pregnant midwife
who delivers people’s pain-children
but walks around with her own
still-born still in her.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
deliver me from my self,
but I don’t know how to,

or is it that I don’t want to?

Can I?

Think of me as a child;
think of me as a pregnant woman.
I’d prefer it if you do

not think of me at all. 

Stages of Life

Arodan Image

Things do not end
because they weren’t meant to be,
but because they were.
Predestined,
planned,
timed,
like a stage play,
to be seen,
to be experienced,
to be felt,
to be learnt from.

As soon as the play is done,
and the end begins,
actors should take front-row seats
and watch their own work-
what they could have done better,
what they should do and not do
in the next play,
as opposed to regretting
that they took part in it
in the first place,
as awkward as it may seem,
as much as it may hurt.

You Make Wings Fly

Freedom

“Freedom” by Tabetha Landt

Wings don’t make you fly;
they’re useless without the mind.
Wings need you to fly.
maxresdefault

JHR

Love: Wings and Legs

Collete Miller.png

Painted by Collete Miller

Love gives you wings, 
but when the wings are abruptly taken away, 
your legs are yanked off too.

Love, after it is withdrawn,
leaves you somewhat paralyzed.

So,
first,
you have to grow a new pair of legs-
the process hurts like death. 

Then you develop an irrational fear of wings,
which is funny,
but also sad.

Grand Illusion

CHOC.jpg

Love is simply a
chocolate-covered almond-
a grand illusion.

I Don’t Make Law-ve

D6

I don’t want wings
that’ll just look good on me;
I’ll only wear wings
if they let me fly.

I don’t want wings
that’ll just put eyes on me;
I’d rather die twice
than live a lie.