#BlackLivesMatter

South African poet Willie Kgositsile posited the necessity of putting aside poetry in the face of looming revolution.

“When the moment hatches in time’s womb there will be no art talk,” he wrote. “The only poem you will hear will be the spearpoint pivoted in the punctured marrow of the villain….Therefore we are the last poets of the world.”

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Converge

Photos are visual spaces where shapes and lines, objects, and people come together. The palm of her hand flies up to the sky.

palm of a hand

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/converge/
Along the way, they also force the concrete and the abstract to converge: objects and landscapes are still themselves, yet already a little more (and a little less) than what I’d initially seen in them.

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#NoMoreWar

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Where does peace start?

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In Mahatma Gandhi’s book “The Story of My Experiments With Truth.” Gandhi said: “When every hope is gone, ‘when helpers fail and comforts flee,’ I find that help arrives somehow, from I know not where. Supplication, worship, prayer are no superstition; they are acts more real than the acts of eating, drinking, sitting or walking. It is no exaggeration to say that they alone are real, all else is unreal.”

Fathers From Around the World

My heartfelt thanks to Holistic Wayfarer (on A Holistic Journey)and the amazing writers with whom I share this space to pay tribute to our fathers.

Happy Father’s Day to dads … past, present and future.

A Holistic Journey

When I was not yet three years old, John Richard and Grace Elizabeth Ingram adopted me from an orphanage in southwest London. When I was four, a stroke left Dad paralysed down his left side; he died when I was 18.

I can still hear the cranky squeaks of your wheelchair. And the clicking of the calipers attached to your legs below the knee. There was the incessant wheezing from the asthma that later attended the paralysis. Your body was your burden. Your light relief was watching the BBC news and “being tickled pink,” as you liked to say, by the old classic British comedies. Dad’s Army. The Good Life. Rising Damp. As a child I longed to pick you up and carry you on my back. Far and away from your wheelchair and back to the fleeting memory I had of you as my able-bodied dad…

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Extra, Extra

BUZZ…Buzz_at_workThis week’s WordPress Photo Challenge asks us to share a photograph with something extra; something with unexpected detail that makes that image all the more special.

For me … the unexpected detail is in this man’s expression.

The sadness embedded in his concentration. This is a photograph of my friend “Buzz” writing poetry outside a coffee shop in Brighton, England.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/extra-extra/

Rebirth

rebirth

Treat with care
a still image
that an actor could bring to life.

A black-and-white photograph of a baby
Held at arms-length by a midwife – the girl that nobody wanted –
who had little choice but to re-enact this dream called life.

Is it possible to be born again?
To REBIRTH?

An angel is
brought to Earth
on the wings of her fables
about changing the world.

Begin softly this new rhyme in her body. With the title “Human Parade”.

Her rebirth is the gift of traveling to the corners of the Earth and sharing the news that she’s arrived.