Sankofa

He looked at her hands

as if to memorize every line

wanted to etch this moment

into every cell of his body.

Commanding his brain a new groove, a mantra – must remember, must remember

Her hands that had brought him so much pleasure, yet she wondered

Is pain the other side of pleasure not tending to it’s own needs?

Lightly, barely touching her skin – he hovered like a tai chi master grabbing for that honey spot, that sweet chi, yeah, right there, now here, moving, magnetizing

closed eyes, breathe slow, drink it in

breath + vibration = frequency

The body talks, tells the truth…even when we can’t

Hands

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Original Libation

In the ancient African tradition, before a ceremony, ritual, or in some cases even before eating a meal, a libation was poured (usually on the soil if alcohol or a plant if water) which acknowledged all those ancestors who have come before and all those yet born. It is said that the original libation was from the womb of that original woman who brought forth all life, all creation. In the spirit of that tradition, and in honor of my own sacred libations, I wrote this poem “Original Libation” in honor of the sacred waters that nourishes life, love and lovers everywhere~ Tricia

ORIGINAL LIBATION

We wrap ourselves into each other creating some kind of new yoga.

Every curve fitting like pyramids. Thirsty tongues lick wet skin in a moanful prayer of gratitude.

We taste from the inside out.

My sweet to your salty, my Oshun to your Shango.

Your rhythmic tide makes my oceans rise.

My well fills with elements yet to be named as Oshun anoints my rivers of spiritwater.

You drink from my lips my sacred amrita, sweet yet spicy.

Quenching your fire, nourishing your spirit.

Yes, receive me, let me water your fertile ground bringing forth your muse.

My spiritual warrior, weary from the hunt, search no more for you have found your fountain of youth,

and it is ever flowing.

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Flash Fiction Five to 6

He hopscotched across the downtown 
bumper to bumper rush hour traffic
open beer can in one hand, 
bouquet of flowers in the other
 It was 5 minutes to 6
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Purpose + Passion = Perfection

the wind blowing through the trees                                                           

my man’s moan of satisfaction                                                                    

it was a perfect day…still full of possibility

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Snap, crackle and Pop!

Spent the night with an old friend

My memories of him locked away                           gathering dust                                                                      and now I was in joyous reunion anxious to hear what I had long forgotten                                                                   so I turned out the lights, turned up the volume, laid down on the sheep skin rug and let my body sink into its invitation of surrender

As I listened to him, I could hear every tone, every breath, every pause…maybe a bit scratchy from wear and tear, but his unique style could still move me in the silence of the night….the nighttime is the right time as his vibration melded into mine…breathing life into the story of a past serenade, a love lost, found and then lost.  These sounds could only be heard like this…stereophonic chords and rhythms in sens a-around.

But too soon the end had come, the trance broken with the crackle and pop of the needle….time to turn the album over.  I took my headphones off and smiled as the blue light on the turntable reflected back at me.  Who is this mystery man of sound? Two things I don’t do and one of them is share my records.  Buy your own. Vinyl lives!

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Let me stand on my massage table soapbox and say…

Let me stand on my massage table soapbox and say….

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CONFESSION…an open letter to those that say, “we need leaders, not readers”

CONFESSION

An open letter to those that say,“we need leaders, not readers”

Psst…. Hey listen up. They say confession is good for the soul. Ok…here goes.

I’ve been cheating on my book. I know that sounds terrible. Oh, don’t look at me that way, like you haven’t done the same, or thought about it. I know, I know…like right now, I should be writing on my book, but I’m writing this to you. Sometimes…I just need to take a break…you know how it is…get out and see what other writers are writing about, find a little creative inspiration. I can’t say I won’t do it again. You see I’m a poly bibliophile. Right now I’m juggling 5 other books. I can’t help it; I’m a sucker for a hot book cover and a catchy title. Especially those tell-all autobiographies and historical novels! Oh, and I can’t leave out the inspiration and political books either. I’m weak. I admit it. I try to stay away from the ‘em but even the supermarkets carry them now!

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