Youth, black and white, yes or no, speak or silence
I hold my breath for peace, for calm, for all that is right
Goodness once defined by order, authority, defined, underlined
A shift of consciousness bows to the moment, the breath defines
Who we are, who we were, where we are going
Goodness is a portrait unfinished, a process unleashed
A place where the divine encounters the ordinary, forgiveness
We fall at the feet of our own making, our deeds portray shame
In the darkness we long for what we could have been
We are alone in our fear, Truth is coveted
Goodness does not hesitate nor hinder
For we, the unfinished, the raw form, the model in making
Suffer as we witness grief, despair, incomplete masks
Why seek to better ourselves when around us a dark shadow beckons?
Goodness is a portrait unfinished, a process unleashed
A place where the divine encounters the ordinary, forgiveness
We fall, we seek, we bow, we resonate; are we capable?
The clock hand moves forward, no change is gained
A decade passes, we remain.
About the Creator
ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)
~ American feminist living in Sweden ~ SHE/HER
Admin. Vocal Social Society
Find me: @andreapolla63.bsky.social
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Special
In Momma's arms I was always safe, her blue eyes shining from her freckled face, with my Momma I was free to play, romp around and to be me. Brown from another's genes she said I was the most beautiful child she'd ever seen. In time I'd go off to school, unaware of unspoken rules. Birthday parties I'd heard about, all invited, me left out. On my skateboard in the park, I was called in early before dark. I was called Mowgli, like in Jungle Book, I tried to shake it then gave up. There were lots of names I overheard, I never told Momma for she would've hurt. We went to school for lots of meetings, Momma tried to stop my in school beatings. She fought like a raging bull, finally she took me out of school. She called me in sick for three weeks in a row, refused their pleas to let me go. Underneath her supermom cape, she always found a way to escape. Now I'm grown and everyday, somebody jumps 'cause I'm in their way. Special was what Momma saw, I spared her from my inner wrought. I used to hold my head with pride, have a strut in my stride; once I laughed from ear to ear, rarely seeing Momma's tears. When I met her out to eat, we quickly had a proper seat, served well is how it should be, yet on my own they don't see me. She saw it too, she knew the real, no matter how others feel. Never think 'cause someone's white, they're not aware of your daily plight. Momma said most won't be, aware that is, of the life we lead. I know Momma prayed for me but I don't believe honestly, after all the hassle I go through, I doubt God's arms are really true. Hand in hand we were quite the team, me and Momma pushed the seams, eyeballs rolling as we were strolling; kids would try to touch my hair, her firm hands intervened when there. She told me it would be a fight to stand up for what is right, she told me things I hated to hear, I was well prepared and had no fear. Looking now at the same old park, I see Momma after dark, in the shadows behind the swings, even in death she sees everything. She told me there were angels on my shoulders, I wanted to believe this yet now I'm older. I crush out my cigarette, a habit I started and now regret, I begin to roll as I see the stares, trust me, trust me, I'm aware. Momma told me to stand up, to hold my head high, I want to really, I want to try. I see her smile in the mirror, I wipe my tears to see her clearer; there she is my supermom, some days right and sometimes wrong, she always said what was on her mind, she could be hard, she could be kind. I lean in now seeing something dangle, perhaps it's the mirror or my angle. I feel the bumps rise on my skin, blink twice and then again; on my shoulders I see wings, very tiny fluttering things. I want to shake them off of me but hesitate and let them be. Are these the angels Momma said that would look after me when she was dead? I want to believe in God, I do, but what took Momma was very cruel. Her spiritual quest was all her own, she hoped someday I'd start my own. I slide in bed and close my eyes, Momma, Momma you were wise. Why did you choose me when your life could have been lead so easily? Love my darling, is what I chose, hush my special little rose, it's time to dream with your eyes closed. ~Even in my deepest sleep I know my heart is hers to keep. She is in the heavens above, goodnight Momma, my first true love~
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Comments (9)
So beautiful and poignant, ROCK. I vacillate between thinking humans are capable of excellence and empathy and being not worth a shit. You have eloquently explained how that works. Bravo!
"We fall at the feet of our own making, our deeds portray shame". This was my favourite line! Loved your powerful poem!
Jesus once asked, "Why do you call me good? Only God alone is good." But once upon a time God looked upon all that God had made & called it very good. It might be added that probably goes for all that God is still creating as well.
Enjoyed the poem here, ROCK. I liked the repetition about Goodness, it rings with truth. That last two lines feels so damn frustrating but seems to happen to most of us. Great piece!
The contrast between those binary poles at the start and the evolution of our nuanced, dynamic selves is great.
Goodness is a portrait unfinished, a process unleashed A place where the divine encounters the ordinary, forgiveness — Beautiful and very powerful. Really enjoyed this. Every line is important and needed to be said.
This is beautiful and powerful poetry! ‘Goodness is a portrait unfinished, a process unleashed A place where the divine encounters the ordinary, forgiveness’ Every line, every turn of phrase in this is flawless, but those two lines bear repeating. Incredible.
Nice job!
Deep words, full of meaning , excellent work