(the rotating earth)
clouds raked over the blue sky and
one after one are
spun into fine white threads
(above the strands) a
sun defies the eye
yet is the source of color is
the reason for rain
–we are the light–
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
Maturity
One day, I looked out into sea.
The waves were tossing
As if they were being blown by an almighty wind,
And the sand pulled away from the
Edge of the water as if in fear
Of being swallowed and drowned
By the powerful current.
As I watched, I thought how silly
It was for the sand to run like that
And how foolish the sea was to
Be so angry. I said, “Stop.
Why are you so angry, sea,
And sand, what have you to be
So afraid of? You were
Put here for some glorious
Purpose, to live together as one.
True peace lies in knowing that
You are free and total freedom
Comes from being at peace
With yourself and living in
Harmony with others.”
And the sand, a little embarrassed
by its cowardice, stopped running
And stood still, and waited for the
Sea’s reply, and the sea, realizing
Its folly, stopped its tumultuous
Movement and instead rushed up to the
Shore to embrace the sand.
~ Adriene, 1979
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
i reach in
pull it out
set it on the table
no body armor
no plexiglass
no breastbone
just muscle
and flesh
and words
my heart
presented
displayed
risked
humbled
exulted
demeaned
revealed
it walks
it talks
it breathes
it runs
it plays
it’s sick
it laughs
it loves
it grieves
it dies
personified
it’s arrogant
it’s soft
it’s hard
it’s mine
it’s me
synecdoche
it’s life
a metaphor
a toy
a tool
a scapegoat
an excuse
an example
a ninja
a monster
a virgin
a celibate
a lover
the whore
i pimp
who makes no money
this is my heart
i say
in our manufactured world
please believe
the lie
the truth
the words
the banality
the poetry of it
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
peace before anything.
my ink so hot
it burn though the journal,
walls tremblin’,
rockin’ amazement,
the air simmering.
I wanna tell you
how i feel right now:
the sun is sitting in the treetops
burnin’ the woods,
the focus gettin’ clear
and the light turn sharp–
fly gold, zulu arrangement,
radiating from heaven to pavement
to penetrate beyond
the muscle wall’s inner regions.
love power. slay the hate.
***************************
(This poem is composed entirely of song lyrics written by MC/actor Mos Def [Priority, Umi Says, Mathematics, Quiet Dog Bite Hard, New World Water, Auditorium, Do It Now].)
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
Sidewalk-running heart outpaces control,
rushing fuzzy flashing past all-night minimart,
tomorrow-blinded sweaty-faced stark-eyed kohl,
sidewalk running. Heart
bouncing off the curb, traffic dodging cars–
heavy bus creaking #34 clinking manhole–
up-curb hopping invincible, pulling crowds apart.
No time–the crime of sitting parking weighty on the soul,
no tears, no ticket, thinking, street smart,
dropping coins the passing meters lining the whole
sidewalk, running heart.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
I’m not a year older,
but a year wiser:
a quaint phrase that belongs
to another century,
gone the way of home phones
and desktops.
The world changes,
nothing is safe and
not much can be known.
Maybe there is wisdom
in knowing that,
wisdom in withholding trust,
wisdom in reporting the duffel bag
left alone on a crowded street,
wisdom in recording it,
in searching passing faces.
Tomorrow is not promised:
that’s a wisdom
life taught me young.
It took longer to understand
I’d rather be gutted than lied to.
The depths are as infinite as the sky.
Life is a gas, not a solid.
I can do this.
“This” is everything.
When I figure out who I am,
I’ll know everything.
I’m always changing.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
Your words so clear,
dear heart, dear heart,
your tongue in my ear,
are a sweet deluge
that floods my dreams,
thoughts soaked so completely.
I float in your clarity,
moved by your thunder.
I stand before the lightning strike,
fire red as sunset.
There is nothing to do about that.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
Piet Mondrian. Broadway Boogie-Woogie. 1942-43
Courtesy of Olga’s Gallery
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
(for Geo)
Our mothers, sisters,
bled together in a hospital room
concerning our births, days apart.
Practically twins, we were brothers
in soul, though I was a girl
trying to run as fast as you
and soar with your thoughts flying.
You, the prescient one,
taught me that words are clay
while riding our bikes in the sunshine.
And when we pricked our fingers
with a straight pin from Grandma’s notions,
we pressed them to each other
as if our blood could get any closer.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
winter
in spring
dandelion snow
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013
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