THE ORPHANS OF ADDIS ABABA

“Allah, Allah,”
comes the morning chant
from the Grand Mosque
and, in their huddled blankets,
stir the orphans of Addis Ababa.

The dispossessed of the earth
make their cooking fires
as the sun comes up
across the shanty rooftops.
Donkey hoofbeats clop
along the pathway.
Rooster cries pierce the air,
as children stir,
their hungry eyes remembering
those they love
who are no longer here.

What will this continent
of orphans eat today?
As we go about
our placid, well-fed weekday,
our second cups of coffee,
our comfortable knowledge
that we will eat later
this same day,
little Mintesinot,
prince of the street,
leaves the marked off
square of earth where he was lying,
where he has lain in blankets
the four years since he was born,
where his mother died
and his father now lies
dying.

With tears, he is moving
to a two room shack
where 60 other orphans
are being cared for
by a tired but indomitable
Grandmother,
who keeps on keeping on
because someone has to
feed the children,
so she is trying.

Little Mintesinot,
young prince of the roadway,
has become the 13 millionth
AIDS orphan,
a number so large the mind shuts down,
unable to process what this means:
one small child 13 million times,
alone and hungry,
with no parents and no dreams.

“Allah, Allah,” the chant continues,
prayers rising on the wafting smoke
into the atmosphere.
Hopefully, they will
find their way
straight to
Allah’s ear.

I wrote this poem in 2010, inspired by Melissa Fay Greene's There Is No Me Without You. This book tells the tale of Haregewoin Teferra's heroic efforts to save children orphaned by AIDS. Inspiring us to do what or large things we can, in the corners where we are, to make this world a better place. 

posted (early) for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where there are always wonderful offerings on Sunday morning.

The Lady

Aung San Suu Kyi, "The Lady", 

one of the world's most prominent political prisoners

"Aung San Suu Kyi! Aung San Suu Kyi!" 

her people called.

As she walked towards them, 

slim, delicate as the flower

behind her ear,

the soldiers raised their guns.

She looked straight into their eyes, 

walking steadily forward,

unwavering.

Not one could fire.

Such bravery! Such strength!

Her personal life sacrificed

through duty to her people,

whom she could not abandon.

She smiles, hands clasped, bows, respectful,
then lifts the flower from her hair
and sails it aloft,
an offering to her people,
symbol of hope, of peace, 
of a living flame of freedom
the oppressive regime
is unable to suppress.

The Lady, showing her captors,

showing the world,

just how strong

a woman can be.

Determined, she can become

a mountain, immovable.

I have long admired Aung Sang Suu Kyi, held under house arrest by the military for fifteen out of twenty-one years, finally released in 2010.  

Posted for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Let your poem show how a woman is special, to celebrate International Women's Day on March 8th.

Wielding Pen Instead of Sword

BBC photo

When one such as he is silenced,

a thousand voices rise up in response.

Rest well, my brother.

Your message still dwells in our hearts.

Darkness at times overwhelms,

till one candle, and then two, 

and then ten, then a hundred

are held up by ones

who will never surrender

our dream of social justice,

of acceptance, inclusion and peace.

Rest well, brother dreamer.

Your light, that shone against darkness,

is held up by ten thousand more,

in your name.

Light one candle, hold it high,

against the darkness.

With every cell of our being,

let us focus all our might

to shift

shift

the transformation of consciousness,

transform the chilling darkness

into light.

For dVerse, where Abhra has asked us to raise our voices against darkness, in response to the savage killing of blogger Avijit Roy, 42, in Bangladesh. Mr Roy's blog celebrated free thinkers and humanists; he was a critic of religious intolerance. His alleged attacker is  a fundamentalist blogger who opposed his beliefs. 

This speaks to all of us who wield pen instead of sword. 

facebook photo

When the Going Gets Weird......

net.newsment.com

When the going gets weird,

the weird turn pro,

my Sis told me,

with pride

and sisterhood,

acknowledging

my excellence

at weirdness.

Weird has always

felt familiar.

Weird comes with

its own

built-in laughter.

Weird makes

the ordinary

stretch its wings

and try a little harder.

Weird puts a shine on

and does a little tap-dance

just to entertain you.

Weird turns a world of

Anybodies

into

Somebody Specials

with their

amazing, 

totally unbelievable

stories.

If Weird could speak,

it would tell you:

Come sit by me,

sweetheart,

and let me tell you

a few good tales.

for the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Someone Special

Back then, they called him "simple,"
small town, sometimes small minds.
"A doctor's son," the old women whispered,
arched brows, gaze deeply significant.
"Such a shame! Oh, my!"

I dont know who dressed him in a clown suit
and stood him on the median,
smiling his big clown-grin,
waving at all the passing cars.
But he was proud. He knew that he was
giving joy, creating smiles, adding color and beauty
and lightness to the day.
He gave it freely,
the return of smiles and waves
all that he needed to make his day complete.

We thought him beautiful,
pulled over, had him proudly pose 
with his gay balloons.

Sometimes the simplest things
are the most special.

for Poetry Jam where Brian is asking us  to write about local characters. This fellow is one I remember from my hometown, years ago. A happy and loving soul. A simply beautiful heart. He used to ride a three wheel bike around town, just spreading the love.

The Land of Bones

allaboutbirds.org

Through gates of wisdom we, 
most hopefully, step.
It is time for the dream of our life 
to be coming true,
for the being of all that we truly are
to flower.
Why wait?
Time is fleeting, faster 
by the hour.

I passed through the valley of elm and ash,
their branches entwined to form a protected path.
At the end of this path is the portal
to the land of bones.
I have the feeling
I am not alone.

Internally, I am shown,
where my journey lies.
I must cross this littered landscape,
with a seer's eyes,
find and pick up 
a backbone, a wishbone, 
a funny bone and
a hollow little bone*-
only the ones that are my very own.

Perched on a quaking limb,
a single prodigious egg sits in a nest.
I hear it crack, and then my quest
is blessed.
A thousand cranes lift up, into the sky.
I am granted the gift of Wonder,
and put it in my pack.

There be spirits here,
and there is no turning back.

Raven sits before me, huddled on the path.
She speaks a single gobble-cry to me,
then turns herself into Flight
without another sound.
Her flight path has teachings in it
for who we are:
citizens of earth,
grounded, yet sky-bound.

When she lands on a topmost scrag,
she points her wing into the forest dark.
I quake, but have no choice,
my inner guide informs.
When I pass through that dark Night,
I emerge into the morning light
transformed.
It is frightening:
Nothing will ever be the same again.
It is liberating:
Nothing will ever be the same again.

When Raven calls to you, 
and points her feathery wing,
listen closely for the
message she will bring.


*Indigenous people believe these are the foundations of our being: backbone for strength, wishbone for dreams, funny bone for essential humor and a hollow little bone, for trust and faith in the Great Mystery.

It is also believed that all women came from the elm, all men from the ash.

In Dream You Came

Mount Arrowsmith, Port Alberni,

seen from the Quay

In dream, I am a dark-haired girl, 
a long plait hanging down my back,
snapping black laughing eyes,
impish smile.
and you? you are smitten, 
small half-smile, appraising eyes
that say you like what you see.
In dream your arms 
close around me from behind
and I am held all night long, 
till I wake,
wondering, since we were so real,
was that past-life memory? 
Did you find me only in dream
this lifetime,
as you once found me before?
You must have known
how badly
I needed
a hug.
And so, in dream, you came.