Some icons

are

“World Historic Individuals”

some

battle principalities

some channel muse

some

seek to see

the very face of God

and translate

blessings for

humanity.

I sing

this

ode

like

A father, man, poet and priest because we

can’t bring back this treasure.

Drugs don’t discriminate and

the world is only elevated to what [we] make of it — by God’s grace.

So, we need to love each

other better than before

especially

in hard times.

We need to

heal, even the grandeur of our shadows

reflective

like the moon

the sun’s partner

on inner-troubled-DNA

greater than family

in tired circles.

I sing like

A father, man, poet and priest because

We are just singing, dancing, playing in the

Universe.

May God

heal

souls

now

and the sources of all their pain.

Discourage wrong

Bobby

brown,

Chris

brown plantation “buck-decisions”

restore our

humanity and villages.

Ordain instead

supportive guard-rails

and

exalt prophetically

since there’s only one earth

only one constant

God’s energy railing across

our history

(every people have one)

Place new balm on sun scars with

metaphysical pain because we were all intended to be here

intended to survive with intelligence.

But… our inner wounds are still open

open ended as real as the Atlantic.

As real as the

 Middle Passage.

And it too

beckons and remembers

like unfinished business

magnetic and muse lore-ic to poet kinsmen

 like a parallel universe

pulling music

from

sensitive hearts to the deep

for new arrangements

and

improvisation to

sing to.

As we

are all just

spirit

 in our maturity

we feel the ageless

and indeed touch tongues

in tones

not English

separated by language and words.

We feel

the ageless presence.

We still babble to an

intellect,

spirit,

feeling murmuring

to us like guardian watchmen without faces

who can do but so much

echoing warnings of life’s sharp edges,

telling shipwrecks, curses and cures to slave deals

even when master is finished trades

and we are centuries later

millionaires.

God show your face

Now

instead of

bottoms with no end.

Let Whitney

be the last

taken by this world

and sent like…

a blood/youth

otherwise senseless

sacrifice…

for resolution.

May she be the last we offer

in our lack-of-family-culture.

May  ancestors

too rest in peace

cease

to walk spiritually shore to shore.

Cease to send strong winds, strong concern and trouble waters behind them

across

the oceans filled with sacrifices and their bones lining the ocean with

live-skeletons.

Let us establish anew “why” we are here.

Establish anew that [we the people] will ordain humanity

and not just boundless enterprise.

Let us birth the need

for all women

to live on in peace!

I sing like

A father, man, poet and priest because

Drugs don’t discriminate

and the world is

 elevated to what [we] make of it — by God’s grace.

We want to bury minstrel entertaining

and pain

never allow our girls again

to bed with

predatory bucks

or do business that they

 can’t obviously handle alone.

 Restore community

restore shelter for woman

loved by men

who have been sent from God.

 We need families,

in the physical

discerning of

our sometimes troubled – DNA.

I sing like

A father, man, poet and priest because

Because we are

just singing, dancing,

playing in the

Universe.