Divine Connection Church

DESTINY = Spirit in Word and Deed!

Archive for the month “November, 2013”

I walked and wept

I walked and wept

By Joan Cartwright

20131025_123220Today, I walked and wept

I asked the trees why am I unhappy

I asked the angels to surround me

Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Ariel

Aniel, Zadkiel, and all my guardians

I asked them to protect me

I asked the sky, the clouds

Why the tears are flooding my eyes

I asked the ground on which I walked

Why my heart felt so despised

I wondered why I felt despair

Since blessings I saw everywhere

20130913_083603There, across the lake, I live

A pleasant place with peace to give

But, still I felt as if I knew

With all I have some more was due

Oh, why, I asked am I so blue?

And why should I stop crying, Who

Could see me cry and pass on by

As if my tears meant nothing, Why

Could no one see that I was sad

That I was feeling really bad?

20131112_112819Bikers passed and waved as if

They didn’t care. I wondered if

I was a fool to be so blue

I wondered if my mood was true

I asked the birds, the butterfly

If my poor heart is open why

All I felt was the need to cry

And then, as I stood by the shore

Gazing on a sycamore

20131112_114039The answer came as teardrops poured

Down from my eyes, I saw, I saw

That I was feeling all the pain from

Knowing folks who gave their all

And, even though they stood so tall

Their withered lives most don’t recall

I cried for Billie who died a junky

I cried for Bird whom drugs had killed

I wept for Ella whose eyes were dim

When I was blessed to be in her midst

I wept for Betty whose “manager”

Stole her savings to buy a jet

That crashed, alas, all was misspent

I cried for Freddie whose lip did swell

From smoking crack as he did tell

Me of the horror he saw in Russia

Or was it just a doped up dream?

I wept for Miles who on his break

Outside the Vanguard (not the Gate)

Was beaten by an ig’nant cop

Who had no clue about Bebop

I cried for Clark whose back was sick

From flying cross the pond too much

glorialynne3I cried for Gloria Lynne, the Voice

Whose body made another choice

I wept for Etta, obese, until the day

She slimmed down to become Beyoncé

And both of them, who turned to blonde

To forsake all the Black they’d known

I cried for Whitney, who had it all

Who was a star that slipped to fall

Down from her thrown, as Michael did

I cried for them and God forbid

I kept on counting all the lives

That brought us music and then died

Where’s Donna Summer? Where’s Jimi?

Where’s Judy Garland and Janice Joplin?

Where’s Bessie Smith and Ray Charles?

Where’s Dinah? Where is Phoebe Snow?

Where are they, now?

20131103_081321Why have they flown?

I cried for those

Whose songs I’ve known

Whose lives had blessed the multitudes

I wept for them in my solitude.

On my solitary walk, today,

I cried for saints who went away.

©2013 Joan Cartwright

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Tornado Blues

Tornado Blues

Hundreds of homeless are in shock from the barrage of tornadoes that rained on Central Illinois. This news prompted me to appreciate that I have a room to sleep in tonight.

I appreciate the bed, the light, the window, the home that it is in. I appreciate the weather here, the cool weather in South Florida, where hurricanes have hit before but are not hitting like those Illinois Tornado Blues.

Homeless neighborhoods lay vacant from a one-minute gust of wind and people succumbed to the force of that wind on that day. Whisked away by a breeze the size of a building risen to devastate a century of lifestyles in recovery.

The last wave from a gust of wind that stretched from Illinois to Typhoon Haiyan in Central Philippines where thousands died from a gust of wind. Poof and they are ancestors driven out by a tidal wave that ripped the islands with The Typhoon Blues.

Oh, winds and rain in dark of night arresting all their belongings and kin. We can pray and that says we still have life to make anew all the dreams we thought we had made come true. Oh, Blues. The Tornado and Typhoon Blues. ~ Diva JC

FOOTNOTES

Author Henry Mosquera  said “I find composing (composting?) a worthwhile thought in the span of 140 characters to be a mostly pointless exercise, the writerly equivalent of being sewn into a sleeping bag with a flashlight and the Dummy’s Guide to Semaphore.”

However, I’m sure some people tweeted words and images of what they were experiencing during the Illinois Tornadoes on November 17, 2013.

 

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