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Black Reversal

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Black Reversal

Black as midnight. Black as coal.
Black as a remorseless soul.
Who dares face this shade of night?
This shade of death, color of fright.
Villains surround their back and nape
with a satin coal black cape.

Sirens slash their eyes with it,
then lower lids into a slit
to vanquish men and draw them in
to a life of sex and gin.
Shades of ebony and slate
do not grace the pearly gate.

Hear my warning. Hear it well—
black marks the entry gates to hell.
So turn your back to shades of night.
Save yourself. Turn on the light.
Black Jack, Black Sabbath, Black as sin?
These time-aged phrases have worn thin.

So do bigots fill our head
when we should realize instead
that black is not where evil starts.
There is no shade or hue to hearts.
Black is not the shade of sin,
and black is beautiful on skin!

For dVerse Poetics Shades of Black.

To see other poems on the subject of “Black” go HERE.

Dear Diary, Aug 20, 1958

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I recently found my old diary, pictured above. I was eleven years old when I wrote the entry below.

Dear Diary

August 20, 1958

Dear Diary,

After I got up I started to clean up living room and finished after dinner*. Then I read, played cards and watched t.v. Patti and I just had a fight. She wanted to listen to her radio and I was listening to t.v. or I should say watching it. Anyway, it causes a little static when the t.v. is on too so Patti turned off the t.v. I kept turning it on and she off. Well, finally I shut if off for a while and went up to listen to her radio. She didn’t like that either because I was humming, so she told me to read a book.  I wanted to watch one of my favorite programs so I turned on the t.v. She started crying and I can’t bear to see a woman cry so I turned it off and told her for a girl of 15 who thinks she’s a lot older, she sure was a baby sometimes. For that, she hit me with a book hard.

P.S I’m writing the part about our fight outside.

………….

*We called lunch dinner back then.

Love the last line. Ha!!! Sorry, Patti, but this was too funny not to share. She now lets me watch TV whenever I want to plus she pays my land taxes and signs my income taxes for me and performs all sorts of other generous sisterly duties.  xooxox

Racing for a Hundred Dollar Bill

Day of Flowers: DOD 2019

Day of Flowers: Day of the Dead, Ajijic, Mexico

 

Click on first photo to enlarge all

On Friday, I went to decorate the burial plot that I adopted three years ago. Earlier, Oscar and Pablo had cleared out the weeds for me and  Yolanda and I went Friday with flowers and to clean off the grave stones as well as to shovel out dirt that had fallen down from ground level onto the grave on the right. When we arrived, there were three young Mexican girls looking at our plot. They were very curious about who the people were who were buried there, since they had Anglo names, so I told them as much as forgottenman and I have been able to discover about the three people. Then a man from Guadalajara came and asked more questions.

When I started to go down to see about removing the dirt, (this plot of three graves is actually sunk down below ground level about four feet) one young girl said to wait and came back with a young man with a shovel who said he would clear out the dirt slide for me. He did hard labor in the sun for over a half hour, even removing stones and rocks that seemed impossible to dig up. When he left and I tried to pay him, he refused, even though I offered the money the traditional three times. It seems the boys from his school had come in a group to help out anyone who needed it. What a heartwarming experience.

The gravestones cleaned, the marigolds placed, we left and I returned the next day with Leslie, who had strung the papel picado for me that morning. We strung it around the fence surrounding the graves, then lit candles and arranged the dead bread, wine coolers for the women and a bottle of beer for the man, chocolate and more sprays of cloth flowers. Four musicians played very near by us the entire time. People came strolling by to talk. Scorching in the sun, we climbed up and sought the cooler shade. We walked around a bit and as you can see, there was no lack of flowers wherever we looked.

For Cee’s FOTD

Fallen to Earth: Flower of the Day, Nov 4, 2019

IMG_7015When I got back from decorating the graves in the Pantheon, this lone artificial flower was lying by my kitchen door, having fallen off the bunch as we carried them to the car. The marigold I found in the street as I left the Dia de los Muertos art show that I had pieces in. Flowers abound during this time of the year.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt.

Rude Awakening: Morning Ritual

 

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“The duende, then, is a power, not a work. It is a struggle, not a thought. I have heard an old maestro of the guitar say, ‘The duende is not in the throat; the duende climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet.’ Meaning this: it is not a question of ability, but of true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation … everything that has black sounds in it, has duende.”

Rude Awakening: Morning Ritual

The duende of the old cat’s wail jars me from a dream.
Her volume grows with every piercing, throaty, grating scream.
And though it seems her hunger cannot wait for light,
when I spoon out her victuals, she does not take a bite.

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I rub her ears and skull and chin now that I’m awake
as the first muted rays of light soak into the lake.
The dogs detect my movement and paw their haven’s door,
scraping their metal dishes across the tile floor.

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Outside the far-off kitchen, the young cats voice their wail,
calling me too early to my day’s travail.

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Reluctantly I slog out to fulfill their rude request,
as the old cat circles and sinks to her warm nest.

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Since her breakfast, still untouched, sits crusting in her bowl,
it seems that desayuno never was her goal.
She’s merely been the chanticleer who has done her best
to arouse the world before returning to her rest.

Prompt words today are victuals, duende, volume, awake.

The Art of Nature: Palm Art

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I don’t know what creates these incredible patterns on this palm tree, but I am fascinated by them. I think this one looks like a Chinese scene of people passing. (Click on photos to enlarge.) I’d be interested to hear what figures you see in the tree.

For the Sunday Trees Challenge.

A Halloween Primer

A Halloween Primer

Bloodcurdling screams of banshees and the moans of other specters
are signals to skirt graveyards and other creepy sectors.
Do not go close to water. La Llorona* lingers there.
Hobgoblins roam on Halloween. Please take extra care
that you aren’t impeded by your costume’s girth and weight
so just in case, you can maintain the proper speed and gait
to insure escaping witches, vampires, ghosts and ghouls
who inhabit Halloween and make up all the rules.
Heed well my past instructions of where you should not go.
Get home before the witching hour. These warnings you should know
lest you become another statistic of the night
set aside for horrors, for hauntings and for fright.
Halloween is filled with fun: the costumes, pumpkins, candy,
and if you heed my warnings, everything should turn out dandy.
Just stay away from witches of the authentic sort—
the kind with real black three-inch nails and a genuine wart.
Make sure the vampire’s fangs aren’t real, that ghost is in a sheet.
Assure the authenticity of every friend you meet.
It does not do to make new friends. Be guided by your fear
and do not talk to strangers on this one night of the year.

*In Latin American folklore, La Llorona (pronounced [la ʝo.ˈɾo.na], “The Weeping Woman”) is a ghost of a woman who lost her children and now cries while looking for them in the river, often causing misfortune to those who are near, or who hear her.

Go HERE to read more spooky poems.

For the dVerse Poet’s Pub scary poem prompt.

Castaways: FOTD Nov 3, 2019

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For Cee’s FOTD

Dog Days

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