Tag: Sadness

At My Feet

I cried tonight
My eyes filled
with tears watching
black history
Son of a bigot
mother and a
prejudiced father
Who never bothered
thinking about color
one way or another
All the same to me
but that blood
That hateful history
is at my white feet
I am deeply sorry

Sunday Doesn’t Care

Sunday doesn’t care

It carries on
callous and indifferent
to the boundless expanse
of sadness eroding the beach
of my soul’s winter abode
Perfectly fine with my
lack of participation
it moves on

Sunny and smiling

As if I don’t even matter


This dark man
head tilted on his hand
with eyes darker still
Deep as the deepest well
neath a black midnight sky
Born to know too much
Cursed to see too much
of cold white lies
but oh could he write!
The soul that was
Langston Hughes

The Weight

Music again inhabits
the room
Clair de Lune
set against a blistering
orange sunset seven days
removed from Yule
Surrounded by trees and
lights red and blue yet
something isn’t right
Such a weight I have
felt this today
Testing my resolve
as the earth tries
to swallow me


She is beautiful
and so very sad
Filled with insight
that I never had
in my preteen years
She followed
me upstairs
to show me her room
and once there
shared with me
so many doubts
so many fears
so much of her life
that was so unclear
in her mind
and in her sweet
brown eyes I
could see the pain
This young girl
grappling with
growing up
Hoping for answers
that I didn’t have
but I gave her
what I had
All of my attention
All of my love

So . . .

I don’t write all that much
due to long intervals of
not giving a fuck
and liquorice black
depression that creeps up –
or maybe not up but in,
or maybe it just sinks
down around me like a
cloud without wind
But there’s profit
to be had from
sadness, a spendable
commodity in poetry
where joy doesn’t
pay as well
as trips
across hell
and see? It
carried me
through this poem
and that’s swell