Courage

Courage

Courage is a small thing
like going to work every day
when one is brown
and ICE is all around

Courage is a small thing
like standing near schools
with whistles to blow to warn
if ICE comes to call.

Courage is a small thing
like writing/speaking the truth
when so many bend the knee
rather than exposing lies.

Courage is being a survivor
and standing up proudly
demanding files be released
seeking justice.

Courage is six veterans
in Congress making a video 
explaining that service people
should not follow illegal orders.

Courage is doing something
either big or small 
even if only inside one's mind
which says I resist.

*******

Written for Susan's prompt at What's Going On:  Words of Fearlessness or Courage

Alive

Alive

Sunlight spills through the forest,
Olive trots ahead, ecstatic,
the air full of pine and impending winter.

Red and gold of colorful autumn,
and then a sudden hush of snow,
the earth shifts its colors again.

Alive!

The highway winds ahead of me,
loud music fills my car,
and I sing my favorite songs.

A table  bright with what’s fresh,
tomatoes, berries, melon, bread,
and to drink - turmeric ginger tea.

Alive

A novel captures my mind,
pages turn one after another,
I am immersed in a new world.

An engrossing conversation drifts
from laughter to serious discussion,
the gathering leaves warmth behind.

Alive!

Each small, full moment
reminds me I am here,
breathing, awake, alert ---

ALIVE!

For Sumana's prompt for What's Going On?  -- What Makes You Feel Alive?

Black

Black

At first, it’s only the absence—
then the presence begins to breathe.
Sometimes rage, sometimes sadness,
the darkness of a black hole.

Wind tears the night apart;
sky turns heavy, metallic,
the color of fury before it breaks
as the world fades to dark.

In a room a dress hangs
between celebration and mourning.
the color that expresses everything—
formality, the grief, or perhaps
intentional understatement.

The unnamed man who would be king
keeps it in his chest like a weapon,
the darkness of a narcissistic soul.
He calls it vision,
but it stinks of rancid smoke
and pollutes the atmosphere.

There is sweetness as well --
a strand of licorice pulled between teeth,
melting slowly, coating the tongue,
staining the teeth,
bitterness covered with sugar
delicious.

My dog’s nose—
cool, shining—
presses into my palm,
as if to remind me
with her soulful ebony eyes
that darkness can love, too.

For my prompt at What's Going On? -- "Black or White"

Little Squirrel

source

Little Squirrel

Little squirrel,
you scamper on the pavement
scamper in the yard,
dash through the colorful leaves.

What are you doing, little fella,
in this month of the year
(no longer summer
but not yet winter)?
Are you still burying nuts
or are you finding those
that you already buried?

Perhaps you are just enjoying
a frolic for pleasure
like I do, as I walk my dog
who finds you quite intriguing
and would like to chase you,
as she chases the leaves,
until you are both tired.

I wonder, scampering friend, 
what my dog would do with you
if she caught you--
but worry not, little squirrel.
I will protect you from harm
(and not let her loose)
as you go about your business
of living freely and happily
in this world we all share.

This was written for Sherry's post at What's Going On? -- Kinship