The Most Beautiful Bird

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The most beautiful bird
in the whole, wide world-
for beauty is in the heart of the beholder,
the bravest of them all,
powerhouse behind the scenes,
the one with the largest role
and the greatest burden,
whose praises are too many,
too heavy for my lips,
is the vulture.

They put the unwanted in their bodies,
decaying, dying carcasses,
the excruciatingly repulsive,
with odours so bad they sting-
pinching the nose, mouth and throat;
they take the defenceless unburied,
and make them theirs forever,
desiring them,
keeping them,

crowning the untouchables in themselves.

They prevent the spread of diseases,
cleaners and healers,
eating the painful past away
as we welcome the future,
the keepers of the flame

when the fire is long gone,
proving again and again
that no one and no thing is a waste,
even in their lowest states.

Vultures give the purest love
but they never receive the same,
seldom appreciated,
as they constantly save the living
and quietly serve the dead.

Oh, to be half as graceful and strong as the vulture!
Oh, to be as willing!
Oh, to be as brave!
Oh, to be as good!

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_______________________

Vulture Spirit

“What seems hideous has its own beauty, and the recycling and repurposing the vulture does is as important as any other activity in nature that supports the cycle of life. Vulture Spirit’s message is that nothing is to be wasted, for Nature sees value in everything that exists. What seems rotten and ugly has the potential to be transmuted into something beneficial, and you are reminded that any suffering you have experienced has not gone to waste. Wisdom and understanding that arose from the experience are talismans that will serve you on your journey wherever you go. What is decaying is only changing form and will fertilize seeds you wish to plant, turning that which has passed away into the substance that will support new growth. All that you might wish to deny or discard has value and can be repurposed and reintegrated into the new you that you are becoming and the new life that you are dreaming into being. No pain was in vain and no experience was wasted, for you have the power to use it to co-create something far better. This is the miracle in your partnership with Spirit.”
– Colette Baron-Reid

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Murderers Should Eat Fish

Fish

Those who commit murder
and throw dead bodies
into the Third Mainland Bridge
should eat a lot of fish.

As soon as the body reaches
the depths of the water,
a delicious, fat feast,
doesn’t it become the food of fishes?

One fish will eat till she is full,
and go about her day.
The fish-killer will set a trap to murder her
in the early hours of the next day,
and she will be taken away.
Her children will become orphans,
very vulnerable to prey.

The man-killer will come along to buy her
from the fish-killer who,
whether he knows it or otherwise,
is also a fisher of men,
a fisher of late men, women, and children.

The man-killer’s wife will set the fish before him,
after it has been deliciously cooked,
along with some lobsters and crabs,
and of course,
since he contributed to the fish’s growth,
will he not taste so bloody good?

We Can Only Stan 😁

Michael

We are but lowly humans before the king,
and our king has left us not one choice but the stan,
and for this,
we do-
we stan

Still Feeling Good

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Birds flying high
and pooping on me,
sun in the sky
and burning my skin,
breeze winding on by
and coming at me,
it’s the same day,
there is no dusk,
it’s the same life for me,
but I’m feeling good.

Repeat That, Please

New

“Yes”, beautiful man.

I am assessing the size of your eyes,
and the magnificence of each,
the crevices of your earlobes,
the shape of your nose,
the way it gorgeously sits on your face,
the curves of your lips,
your beautifully-sculpted cheeks,
the way your tongue dances 
in your mouth as you speak.

“Yes, I’m listening to you.”

Every part of you,
every detail of you,
but I cannot hear a thing. 

Outeraction

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‘Sunflower’ by Krista Hasson

I’m running out of breath;
my sweat is overflowing.

My thighs are widely apart;
he’s in six-feet deep.

I can taste my tears;

I can’t feel my legs.

He’s giving me life but
I know this is deadly.


Whose grave is he digging?

Is it mine or his?

Will I die again 
or is this the good living?

Rebirth

'Longing in Silence by Aricadia

‘Longing in Silence’ by Aricadia

It is always hard-
cutting strong, karmic cords.
It’s like a birth experience;
isn’t it why we sometimes
cry in fetal positions?

In truth,
one is birthing oneself,
and conjoining different pieces
into one self.

Art and music help,
writing included.
Patience and hope are necessary

because the ‘umbilical’ cord
that attaches one to the past,
to the old self,
always fall and seals off by itself,
gradually,
the pain leaves,
maybe even slowly,
and the memories and lessons are left.

Falling and Rising

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‘Sun And Moon Abstract Art’ by Sketchii Studio

The moon was unhappy.
Surrounded by stars,
and as beautiful as she was,
she felt different and alone,
and all of that was not all.

The stars poked fun at her;

they had things to say about her size,
and other bad things, her rise.
They took her light for granted;
it didn’t shine exactly like theirs.

The sun doesn’t trust anyone;
she won’t let you come close to her.
Stars only appear when she’s away now
’cause she’s fierce and very defensive,
but deep, deep, deep inside every sun
is the old half-moon groaning in pain,
and deep, deep inside every big, bright sun
is a full moon wanting to be loved.

Black Girls in Sunlight

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Painted by Nicholle Kobi

In sunlight,
black girls look like precious metals.

Some black girls glow like rich copper,
and some, like brass,
and some, like bronze,
and some, like gold.

I find it all intriguing:
the various styles of their hair,
the haughtiness in their stares,
the colours on their lips,
the excitement in their speech,
the fierceness of their strides,
the way they sit like royal highnesses,
like queens.

The love is requited:
the sun loves the black girl
and the black girl loves the sun.

In sunlight,
black girls are a wonder.

Magic Michael

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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.