Monthly Archives: June 2014

Flushin’ a Fit

I be in the middle of sorting what all
be fillin’ my livin’ space backpack,
decidin’ what I don’t need t’ be haul-
in’ from here to the next shack –
there at my next livin’ space else-where.
Seem like I been on a down-sizin’ tear
since the home-in’ market crash –
you know, 2008’s moment o’ brash
mortgage’ meltdown causin’ so many t’ split
open who we becomin’ in a move o’ rash
reactin’ n’ flushin’ whatever gonna give us a better fit

Dang subprime crisis. It done give me the gift of Stall!
You heard me.  If’n that whole dollar-crack-
bunch o’ wall streeters hadn’t cast a pall
over a dependable income fact
I probably still be blinded by the glare
of earnin’ somethin’ to pass on to my heir
n’ suffering reams o’ untold whiplash
resultin’ from toxic tasks ‘n constant thrash
o’ my earning value vs. livin’ my values’ snit
starrin’ me ‘n the almighty-dictatin’ cash
tellin me’ what I gotta flush to get a better fit

Them last six years done hold half a dozen big ‘n small
moves, so I’s had a chance to stack
what to take forward against what sprawl
past into use-less-stress n’ need to be given the sack.
Now, I’s can tell my mind’s extraordinaire
recycle bin be chewin’ on this repeatin’ questionnaire
I reviewin’ while touchin’ what all be in my stash
wonderin’ if it be what I need or should it be just smash
it into some Good Will huntin’ box  I be submit-
in’ while relievin myself  it gone in a grateful splash-
knowin’ I done flushed somethin’ to have a better fit

I know my mind be digestin’, cause a technicolorin’ dream-ball
happenin’ every night was bein’ just full o’ crazy set back
scenarios where I discover I had the gall
to forget my ID ‘n files ‘n purse in a toe-crack
at the last stop. I be all wonderin’ what prayer
I gotta pray that’ll re-unite it all where
I gonna live next.  Then, just as I sufferin’ a rash
o’ panic, I git off at my stop and there be a beautiful Ash
tree and my backpack just awaitin’ to transmit
how silly I be generatin’ such a worry-crash
bein’ as I done flushed somethin’ but didn’t get a better fit

That there night-movie done enthrall
me with some ease-o’-knowin’ power-pack,
remindin’ me if I just left it all
n’ rode outta’ here with a banana snack
mis-matched socks and 1992’s underwear,
the moment I arrive there
any need I got for some pink  polka dot satin sash
or those IRS records from before the crash
they be appearin’ exactly when I desirin’ their benefit
cause the All knows I get direction by closin’ my eye-lash
n’ dreamin’ on what I gotta flush to get a better fit

Now, I know that be a strange thing, using a dream-stash
to inform what comfort picture I intend to rehash
with myself every time I get transition-twizzle-grit.
But I tell you, that dream done heal my suffering relocatin-whiplash
So now’s I feelin’ flush, cause I got a better fit

© Lori Fleming, 2014


Ain’t No Brain Synapse Should Ever Overcome a Heart’s Knowin’


I been walkin’ through a week o’ blarin’ talk
aimed at teachin’ me ‘n you who the enemy is
‘n ensurin’ how many years of wrong-doin’ crock
won’t never be fixed.  Sayin’ we gots to do this
or that, or something else ‘n what really just mean
some politic-type want to conquer my mind clean
so’s I get on endorsin’ somethin’ be done in my name
so they can get on w’ conquerin’ some game
they originally say be all ’bout WMD-stowin’
n’ democracy, AKA ‘resource we just killin’ ‘n dyin’ t’ claim’
Ain’t no brain synapse should ever overcome a heart’s knowin’

So I’s thinkin’, Girl, you’s got to get off this clock
tickin’ that kind o’ background steam-hiss!
I be knowing my insides shreddin’ every tickety-toc-
in’ minute, windin’ up to some perfect swiss-
miss countdown to the in-evit-able blow-up scene
guaranteed to shrapnel-tear my heart-spleen.
It be a kind o’ self-sufferin’ I set off a-flame-
in’ when spinnin’ my ‘I-gotta-conquer-my-guv-ment aim
‘cause they doin’ somethin’ I think just be more strategic’ stu-poorin’.
Dang, I jus’ see how I be knittin’ their same color-me-conquerin’ yarn-skein!
Ain’t no brain synapse should ever overcome a heart’s knowin’

I’s start focusin’ my eye-sight t’ takin’ stock
of what be aroun’ me I could use t’ help dismiss
my pre-occu-pie with the metronone-clickin’knock-
in’ on my we’s gonna war again’ gut churn abyss-
diggin’ – when the bold seal on the vanilla-bean
yogurt lid sayin’ “Live n’ Active Cultures” done gleam
a picture of some bacteria-types in spandex ‘n overcame
my spinnin’ self. I get grinning, seein’ Live Cultures’ dancin’ like on Fame,
that 80’s show ’bout a bunch o’ kids livin’ forever ‘n schoolin’
them selves to dance so everyone remember their name.
Ain’t no brain synapse should ever overcome a heart’s knowin’

My notice-what-you-notice sees there be a Note-aphor I gawk-
in’ at.  It jus’ be beggin’ some kind o’ metaphor bliss
be ground out by my over-active logic-brain still squawk-
in’ its same ol’ conquer-them-jerks-beat that need dismiss-
in in favor of a heart-knowin’ goin’ beyond that tired old scene
my left brain keep repeatin’ like a stuck needle preen-
in a scratched record. Dang, that outgrown tune be maim-
in’ the well-bein’ of self ‘n everything it spin untame-
like. So, I interview the spandex-clad livin ‘n foolin’
bacteria – like they got a message-for-me in a note-aphor frame
Ain’t no brain synapse should ever overcome a heart’s knowin’

Those dancin’ fools tell me they representin’ the flock
o’ live action I got in me wantin’ to help digest some remiss
belief formin’ my ‘these-idiots-warrin’-be-a-cycle’ll-never-end’ block-
that  be makin’ me such a cranky-tank.  My new-shine awareness
get right on ending my own tired-ol’ cyclin’ thought scheme
n’ replacin’ it with a NEW thought to channel my emotin’stream.
Now I’s be readin’ off a new script.  It be dissolvin’ blam-
in’ shamin’ tendencies, and fillin’ space with somethin’sane,
like how what I want begin with me dancin-in-wiser ways n’ flowin’
with bigger-than-me insights I discoverin’ on every windowpane.
Ain’t no brain synapse should ever overcome a heart’s knowin’

Bottom-line, when I be tempted to shout-out warrin’ con-game
facts ‘n stats, I be remindin’ myself that episode of Fame
done airing now.  I done got me better thought makin’ me super-glowin’
like the song says, I gonna live forever, light up the sky like a flame.
Ain’t no brain synapse should ever overcome a heart’s known

© Lori Fleming, 2014

We Each Powerin’ a Loop, Formin’ Whatever Got Our Vote


Sittin’ here thinkin’ on how I done just had the joy
of cheerin’ another mother’s high school son
durin’ a weekend of crewin’ fiends testin’ their real McCoy
skill while the hot sun toastin’ head and bun
o’ all the rowers, cheerleadin’ and birdy-duck
types present. We all’s feelin’ like more than luck
brought us to be pourin’ sweat n’ emotion into whatever role
we occupyin’. For three days we all together align-
in’ heart ‘n mind to be or see a sleek crew boat
powerin’ some talent we nurturin’ all careful-like across a line.
We each powerin’ a loop, formin’ whatever got our vote

I gotta say here, there be a knowin’ no one cheer a girl or boy
like a parent does. Even if be you a guest cheerin’ one
you love, you compare like tofu, or that there soy-
bean chicken stuff they be feedin’ vege-arians – or a nun
wearin’ her black-white habit at a Grammy Award muckity-muck.
An let me tell you, our kids, they knows what cheerleadin’ duct
carry the full power of a father or mother’s love n’ soul.
Don’t you ever worry someone else be taking up a sign
n’ cheerin’ your Bobby could put on a coat
n’ take your place when he scanning a crowded finish line.
We each powerin’ a loop, formin’ whatever got our vote

This whole eventin’ weekend bring up somethin’ all coy
n’ unexpected that had me do such an emotin’ twist-on
n’ off it required a sit down ‘n anna-bittical look usin’ a ploy
to untangle somethin’ I didn’t even know be feedin’ me un-fun
feelin’s. I be reverse-engineerin’ why I feel like somethin’ just suck
when it come to me I done spent a whole lot a ‘sittin-duck
time at my man-child’s history-finish-lines bein’ his single-mom-whole
cheerin’ team. N’ as I excavatin’ why on earth I of a mind
to be to be all teary n’ swallowin’ on some peanutbutter throat
I’s shock myself discoverin’ I believe somethin’ unfit for even a swine!
We each powerin’ a loop, formin’ whatever got our vote

Now, I know I not alone when I say I be a parent employ-
in’ some funny practices on my way to bein’ the parent-sun
my man-child gotta rely on to rise him up to his full god-son-boy-
to-man I KNOW he meant to be since countin’ his toes for fun.
When mine was little ‘n runnin’ track, I be in the stands plucked
hangnail gnawin’ while he standin’ at the start block, little body tucked
ready to fire off ‘roun’ his lane. I’s stand there n’ imagine coal
firein’ up to power his heart sittin’ in a skinny body’s bony ribcage line.
It was me spendin’ each race closin’ my eyes, breathin deep n’ slow, float-
in’ all my mother-power straight into his 10-year-old heartline.
We each powerin’ a loop, formin’ whatever got our vote

I do that breathin’ n’ imagining my big heart feedin’ his hard-run-
in’ body pure oxygen while he runnin’ n’ breathin’ his gun-
shot initiated heart-mind-body like he a baby giraffe, done
intendin’ to breathe up a world o’ air before he finally stuck
his feet to the finish line. N’ when he get there and we’s conduct-
ed our awesome race like the team we are, we be at the goal
but I be standin’ by myself. N’ what I discover yesterday was all mis-align
is my belief I will always be standing all alone-goat
at finish lines. That done make me cry like someone shredded me fine.
We each powerin’ a loop, formin’ whatever got our vote

So I’s be turnin’ around that limitin’ belief right now, ’cause I got spine
n’ it deserve my chosin’ a better thought powerin’ my future’s thought-shrine.
My man-child tell me yesterday t’ never forget I always be the Queen-promote
he happy to know powerin’ n’ rulin’ a world cheerin’ ALL his future finish-lines.
We each powerin’ a loop, formin’ whatever got our vote

© Lori Fleming, 2014



This piece went to Meeting the Bar at dVerse, to connect with a gentleman named Tony who served up the prompt— “Repetition”.  Click the link to read entries, and have a shot.

You Keep Pedaling, n’ I Promise Those Gears’ll Shift

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”   ~ Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities




This morning I got me two disparate things rollin’ ‘roun’ my head.
One be the words at the end o’ that openin’ paragraph that man Dickens gave
all us in his story The Tale o’ Two Cities. The second be a funny thread
that I be sparkin’ a re-run on time after time ’cause I a giggle-slave
to a picture that be generatin’ anytime I recollect how once I was ridin’ in a car
got a bicycle strapped to the top. It was bein’ driven by a man who played scar and star
in my storybook. He be the most common-sensed filled celebrity
I think I ever known. Which be why when we be havin’ some kind o’ angry
words ‘n he drive that car right into the garage all swift
n’ the bicycle scrap off the roof ‘n clatter to ground – I go all helpless n’ snort-giggly!
Sweetie, you keep pedaling, n’ I promise those gears’ll shift

That man, he give me so many fun ‘n funny memories that done fed
n’ fueled a whole bunch o’ gear shifts when I catch myself feelin’ all furiatin’ or grave
an needin’ somethin’ powerful t’ help me remodel the mood-bed
I be rollin’ around in from one moment to the next. Now, how that giggle-seed pave
me a path to Mr. Dicken’s Tale can’t rightly be ex-splained ‘cept by how far
this mind be weavin’ an old thread from there and a piece o’ mylar
from here – cause I know it be waiting to fashion itself into something I’d never see
if I didn’t avail myself on how us humans got this fantabulous capacity
to find a pattern ‘n create some special-to-us meanin’ in what all drift-
in’ aroun’ us just waiting to spin some gold-meanin’ value for free.
Sweetie, you keep pedaling, n’ I promise those gears’ll shift

That Dicken’s Tale, it be opening with that word-song done everyone but me read
’bout how it be the best ‘n worse o’ times. That Dickens, he ink a gorgeous name-wave
o’ opposites, like his epochs of belief ‘n incred-uality – dang his pen done led
my pendulum t’ swingin’ an easy rhythm – til it screech like Vic’s Vapor Rub after-shave
when he round out the ink of his openin’ rap by sayin’ how them noisy Czars
o’ authority be insistin’ the noisy comparison of far set opposites be the bar
everyone be drinkin’ around back then and now. First 89 times I read that I be
thinkin’ he sayin’ we shouldn’t be excavatin’ for ourselves why all the same duality
presentin’ all the time. You see, I be pitchy-fit annoyed at how all these opposite rifts
just repeatin’ over ‘n over ‘n I thought Dickens be saying that be okee-dokee.
Sweetie, you keep pedaling, n’ I promise those gears’ll shift

It be botherin’ me enough that I ask someone who know these things an’ they shed
some light that help me see Dicken’s weren’t suggestin’ a wave
of investigatin’ and excavatin’ shouldn’t happen, only that it weren’t led
by those front ‘n center in the story’s time or present-time either. My crave
for insight ‘n meanin’ be somethin’ I know exists, n’ findin’ it be worth big dinar.
That be the tune my very cells know ‘n sing anytime I’ll listen. True tho’, them scars,
they mark us up any time one polarity spins hard against another, makin’ us all road rashy
and wary of takin’ another run at it to see if we can soar above otherin’ polarity
n’ discover a third thing we couldn’t lay eyes on where we cycling below the super-cliff
we be aimin’ to rise up above. Momentum, that there be the key.
Sweetie, you keep pedaling, n’ I promise those gears’ll shift

All this here is to say, I think bicycles, peddlin’ & Dickens all done bled
together into some kind o’ new insight for me. It be ’bout hows people behav-
in’ back then ain’t much different then how we be actin’ now – n’ how I be done dread-
in’ my metaphorical bicyle be strapped to some car drivin’ into the historical cave,
that garage rerun I done seen 89 times before. That scene jus’ end with a bizarre
sound o’ death, devastation ‘n destruction as the bicycle scrapes the car
n’ hits the tar! I done ridin’ that bicycle, Now I be seein’ what personal Palestinian n’ Israeli
conflict I be hostin’ inside, cause it be waitin’ for me to go do some in-sight-see-
in’ and findin’ the self-knowin’ that be waitin’ to fuel me n’ power another run that lift
me up, up – above the garage, the house, the history, the trap – and into clarity.
Sweetie, you keep pedaling, n’ I promise those gears’ll shift

I remember the one time I try riding a bicycle with some star played in my history
I done barely figure out how to move forward while keeping the bike steady –
when he say it be time to take it up hill, and I know he’s about to rise above me all swift
I be wrestlin’ with my gear-changin’ lack-o’-knowin’ n’ he smile all gorgeous sayin’ to me,
Sweetie, you keep pedaling, n’ I promise those gears’ll shift

© Lori Fleming, 2014


Sister Special Kay Playin’ Meet ‘n Greet


We be startin’ out here this chant knowin’ I’s got to get a name
cause even in last night’s dream I be in front o’ a bunch o’ people
n’ they wants me to introduce myself ‘n what I do. N’ I know it be the same
question I be gettting everytime I smile at someone new ‘n I give the feeble
fumble ‘n tumble ’bout how I be workin’ with one ‘n sums to learn
their special way o’ catchin’ ‘n listenin’ to theys own dream talk, what be yearn-
in’ to be understood since time began. ‘N those new people, they alls be givin’ me
a bright-eyed head nod ‘n be all question-y, like, ‘I want to like you, but you see,
I have no idea what your talking about.’  N’ that be about when the plateauin’
begin. It be confusin’, givin’ a Type A response when they listenin for somethin’ type Z.
I be Sister Special Kay playin’ meet ‘n greet with all who’s questin’ Knots-N-Knowin’

Now I know that last line gonna take some explainin’ as to how I came
to be Ms. Special Kay. She be rooted in fun-makin’ soil as well as honorin’ a cosmos-full
o’ meanin’ wantin’ awareness in those silent ‘K’s’ frontin’ the Knot ‘n Knowin’s game.
Lets start with the fun-making part – you heard o’ a church-chock-full
o’ E.G. White lovers? That Ms. White she bring a kick tale health message, sayin’ to spurn
all kind o’ things many go ahead ‘n digest. Them there Whiters’ hold a diet o’ stern
boundaries so they minds stay clear – which I say be a perfectly
acceptable reason not to eat whatever meat didn’t come prancin’ preemie
to the table on cloven hooves or scales ‘n fins. And theys CAN eat birds who be sowin’
clean seed, but not ones be cleaning up road kill like eagles or them there vultures be.
I be Sister Special Kay playin’ meet ‘n greet with all who’s questin’ Knots-N-Knowin’

So’s while I long gone from the Whiter shade of believin’, I’s still mostly claim the clean mind diet o’ no caffeine ‘n mini-meat I learnt sittin’ at the church-point steeple
where I grew up. There be no end t’ stuff Whiter believin’ give me that done inflame
my indignation or or make me laugh til tears stream ’cause my heart so full.
Pertinent here is if you ever been in Whiter land, you know the status Special Kay loaf earn
in our home-food cravin’ cells. ‘That mass o’ nuts, eggs ‘n cereal be served at any turn –
where at a non-Whiter gatherin’s people woulda been eatin’ meat. By default decree
Special Kay Loaf be the non-meat Whiters ‘n ex-Whiters identify with amongst debris
we be sortin through while decidin’ which recipes to keep ‘n which to be throwin’
away. Truly we Special Kay Loaf lovers n’ haters got shared history to a certain degree.
I be Sister Special Kay playin’ meet ‘n greet with all who’s questin’ Knots-N-Knowin’

Now the ‘Special Kays’ sitting in the two-word ‘Knot-N-Knowin’ space I be claim
-in as my own – they be demonstratin’ how unseen Kays be a letter-meat critical
to understandin’ a bigger picture ‘n my role in it. Without the Kays, who could blame
one thinkin’ I be hosting play from, or in, a place of Not-N-No’ing? The finepoint needle
I be sewin’ with be the implement sterilizin’ how I gonna be burn-
in’ a brand on the range o’ ways my work be playin’ in the world.
The play I be hostin’ for inspired ‘n interested ones ‘n sums is, for a fee,
teachin’ one ‘n all how to pendulum swing from a Not-n-No-ing expressin’ spree
t’ the land of Knots-n-Knowing where you check your knots and reveal your knowin’
Now that there, swinging a fallen-to-pieces pendulum in a peaceful way, that be key.
I be Sister Special Kay playin’ meet ‘n greet with all who’s questin’ Knots-N-Knowin’

Now in church this be where the music would swell up n’ the Pastor be exclaim-
in’ from his heart how you gots to listen to yo’ heart and walk yo’ shame-full
self to the place it can be forgiven. Yeah, my needle just freakin’ SCRATCH that frame-
n spin ’cause that ain’t be the brand o’ Knot checkin’ we be pull-
in’ with Sister Special Kay’s Knots-n’-Knowin’ work-play. Our play be generatin’ return
that make sure any tears get shed be in the service o’ uncurlin’ your smile’s fern.
If you be the one who says ‘I know I be full of good things though my marquee
got letterin’ on it I can’t quit read, or it be the wrong damn letter-scree
altogether’ – well let’s get together and sort out those knots ‘n whatever slowin’
your spiral’s spin that be wantin’ to power your special brand of gutsy n’ happy.
I be Sister Special Kay playin’ meet ‘n greet with all who’s questin’ Knots-N-Knowin’

This here chant be all started explainin’ she who be havin’ some I’s to dot and T’s
to cross on namin’ herself ‘n her work-play, n’ she be about t’ go celebrate with decaf tea
how she gone eight hours from not-a-clue nothin’, to all kind o’ somethin flowin’
’cause Sister Kay’s knots been checked n’ her knowing revealed – perfectly.
I be Sister Special Kay playin’ meet ‘n greet with all who’s questin’ Knots-N-Knowin’

© Lori Fleming, 2014.

Show Yo’self Now, ‘Cause We DoNE Playin’ Hide ‘n Seek

Cuba Gooding Jr.

Cuba Gooding Jr., who starred with Tom Cruise in the 1996 Movie ‘Jerry Maguire’











See/Hear this Spoken Word piece read by the author.

You all be rememberin’ Cuba Gooding? ‘Member his crazy talented self align-
ing his power packin’ energy t’ Tom Cruise, the one be playin’ his agent, Jerry
Maguire? Cuba be all channelin’ the power o’ his heart ‘n beat, ‘n that fine
tight-bodied self he be sportin’ this time aroun’. Now that movie weren’t all new-age airy,
Cuba be playin’ with all he got to inspire what he be desirin’ t’ MAKE IT-SELF SEEN.
I’s be doin’ own my version o’ focusin’ energy the size of Cuba minus the caffeine
this mornin’. ‘What the hec that look like’, be what I hear wingin’ and ringin’
around every last one of yous belfry. Well you just stick around for this here chantin’
an’ at the very least you be shakin’ yo’ head at the nutty idea I be speak-
in’, ‘n at best you be sneaking t’ the mirror to see what’s there ‘sides a little laughin’.
Show yo’self now, ’cause we DoNE playin’ hide ‘n seek

I done woke up this mornin’ knowin’ this be th’ day t’ get me seein’ ‘n feelin’ clearer
’bout a topic runnin’ high as outerspace ‘n as deep as the core o’ this here Earth I be refin-
in’ roun’ the truth-show my life be livin’ in. So’s I hop on over to the mirror ‘n laugh in sheer
helplessness at th’ funny I be looking at 4:30am with my hair all crazy n’ eye-lines
deep-etched n’ those bags I be carryin’ groceries in ‘neath my eyeballs. Now I aint demean-
in’ me, that how everyone look at that time o’ the morning – ‘n we all be interven-
in’ quite nicely so we’s look our best selves by the time we step out. Now, speakin’
’bout steppin’ out – it be takin’ some kind o’ fundin’ to be steppin’ out all life-livin’
that create ‘n bake what all be sittin’ in your DNA code jus’ waiting to peak –
whether tulips ‘n turnips or some damn weebles gone all wobblin’ ‘n gobblin’
Show yo’self now, ’cause we DoNE playin’ hide ‘n seek

Now me ‘n Money gonna play ‘n conversate in the mirror n’ see what appear
So I’s stand in front o’ the mirror and say ‘I AM Money’, then I be feelin’ for a sign
o’ what words Money be wantin to describe itself with. Quickity tick my ear
connect w’ my voice and Money say ‘I am valuable. I am here. I be sendin’ you a line
n’ playin’ hide ‘n seek.’ Then my whole body dart behind the mirror, an what Money I seen
be gone! …Til it creep round’ the mirror edge and shout, ‘PEEK-A-BOO!’ like a fiend.
I be all laughin’ at ‘n with Money. We be doin’ that a few more times afore I be thinkin’,
Ok, it ain’t takin’ an Einstein to tell me this be representin’ my relationshipin’
challenge gone all opportune-ity with the plenty-potential I got beyond jus’ a peek
at Money. So’s I go look in the mirror ‘n I look Money in the eye and be sayin’
Show yo’self now, ’cause we DoNE playin’ hide ‘n seek!

Now Money get all pouty ‘n say, ‘but I be likin’ this game! This here
be the only way I get any kind o’ laughin’ attent-in’ from you.’ That there be some icy line
Money jus’ said to me, n’ strike my heart like I be listening to some Shakes-peerin’ Lear
tellin’ somethin’ I don’t want t’ be the truth, but just shinin’ my knowin’ on a fork tine
done just pierced my smart. I’s think for a quick minute back to when my sweet bean
boy be little. He be jumpin’ t’ play hide ‘n seek when I been workin’ like a machine
to pay mortgage ‘n insurance ‘n heat ‘n fuel and just be feelin’ heavy ‘n tire-in’.
He be bouncin’ on th’ couch ‘n tellin’ me to hide my eyes, ‘n when I open ’em he be hidin’
behind the curtains where I can’t help but be seein’ his tiny little nike shoes pique-
in’ my laughin’ energetic self into sayin’
Show yo’self now, ’cause we DoNE playin’ hide ‘n seek

I’s look back in the mirror at Money ‘n put on my smilin’ face n’ say’, ‘sweetie come ‘ere!’
Money not movin’, it just crossin its arms ‘n sayin’ ‘SHOW ME some kind a’ sign
we gonna have fun or I gonna play jus’ outta your reach til you disappear
that boring work-to-live-so’s-you-can-pay for the funeral at the end grind.’
My eyes got all big at Money bein’ all so articulate ‘n demandy, but I seen
if I want somethin’ to show me the money I better script Money a scene
that magnetize and charm the pants of’a it ‘n anythin’ in its radiatin’
radius. So I’s click my iPOD into the little speaker thingy and start dancin’
an’ Money dance along with me! I plumb forgot we even had a dance, a unique
way o’ movin’ our selves around the space toward whatever we both be desirin’
Show yo’self now, ’cause we DoNE playin’ hide ‘n seek

So I says to Money, we gonna write a script together! How ’bout you be the Lion roarin’
an I’ll be the one ridin’ on your back like we starrin’ in Lion King. Our movie be showin’
how playin’ ‘n laughin’ n’ awe-in’ and even singin’ be the show of a hot technique
done outfit all what we dreamed havin’ while we be livin’ in this here new hot-spot Eden.
Show yo’self now, ’cause we DoNE playin’ hide ‘n seek!

© Lori Fleming, 2014


The Word-Seed Be Sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain













Below is a video/recording of the author reading this Spoken Word piece.


Ok, you just cool out ’cause we about t’ talk somethin’ controversial here.
I gonna jus’ lay it down from my heart, right here on the dang line.
All that waxing the world’s ear canals to the brim with fear
’bout how Monsanto be doing ‘n sellin’ ‘n causing’ Earth t’ decline
is exactly what kind o’ negative crap be feedin’ the sphere the kind o’ generation
givin’ us exPOnentially more of the same damn miseration
that be Monsanto’s earth-killing self. When we gonna learn our react to the shit they’s doin’
be the power-packed fertilizer we need to be plantin’ the Monsanto we been desirin’?
You walk with me here. There be a lot o’ screaming ‘evil!’ that be firing a hot emotin’ fountain
with a crazy sun-like-heat power we could strap ‘n tap if we just move where we be focusin’
You heard? Monsanto’s word-seed be sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain.

You don’t believe me? You got web-access on your cellphone or someplace near?
Look up what the word Monsanto mean, cause I be standing on every life connected to mine.
So quit feedin’ that Monsanto marshmallow ghost-buster terrorizin’ shit our anger ‘n smear
cause it be creatin’ a MarshMallow Man that be shovelin’ all we be into a toxic brine.
Ok,          Breathe.     Let me back it up and be all calm-like for quick tick observation.
Any you all gots kids? I gots jus’ one. The most profound bar-none thing my parent-ation
act undertook was t’ show that kid how when he walk in the room, the light brighten
all perfect for me. I stopped focusin’ on how he not takin’ out the trash, ‘n he be puttin’
beer bottles in the recycle like he musta not had a party while I been gone consultin’
to earn them dollars be payin’ for where he go get his educatin’
You heard? Monsanto’s word-seed be sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain.

My boy, n’ the word-seed planted in his name, Meka, mean Thank you God. And that there
be where I focus every damn time I be thinkin’ for such a smart kid why he not tow the line
n’ do this or that. Now I not sayin’ he Monsanto about to pollute people ‘n water-to-land pier,
but he be the most important thing to me ‘n I still feel the future rests in what he refin-
in’ hisself into – which be the fullness of his name-seed’s meaning. Nurturation
of that tiny name-word-seed his Daddy ‘n I put to his name be what got prioritization
over half my life. An’ I didn’t spend half my life nurturing one perfect word-seedlin’
so I could screw it up by pouring toxic me-chemical energy on an Earth-seedlin’ just waitin’
to bloom into the opposite o’ what fill people with the power of visceral damnation when
they see, hear, or feel Monsanto’s presence.
You heard? Monsanto’s word-seed be sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain.

You think on how much infuriatin’ energy people be generating far n’ near
o’er the bees gone dead, diversities spurned, n’ phosphatey lime
grit poisonin’ water they be infiltratin’ from Tulsa to Tangier
N’ all that sly suckin’ o’ health, safety n’ welfare of the poor ‘n rich so fine
without consultation, hesitation, reservation, but just a whole lot o’ litigation.
See how we got a frickin’ ocean full o’ passion-spirit all splicin’ together a planet’s nations?
Can you hear me now? Cause I’s standing on the top of this here word tower an’
lovin’ every last one of you in the name of whatever be dear ‘n wantin’ tomorrowin’.
I be laughin’ with my arms open, welcomin’ your fury’s power to the future we nurturin’
and together we create what we DO want, by cultivatin’ what be named in the seed’s wordin’
You heard? Monsanto’s word-seed be sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain.

It be said true love save whatever be needin’ savin’. For the love of what’s dear
can we adhere what we truly love to hate to a recognition that the choice be mine,
really mine and yours, on how the seed sittin’ in Monsanto’s name bloom into our sphere?
Here’s be the truth: The Earth, she done always take care of herself – the question wind-
in’ in the mind o’ humans is, ‘are me and my progeny gonna be on that future Earth rotation?
Or, are we gonna righteously indignate ourselves right out the equation?
To power what is truly odious into somethin’ mega-worse or quite melodious be the choicin’
thought to pass one t’ another as a light beaming the way t’ what we want to be doin’.
An’ let me tell you, I want us to do what come next together, and have now  be the ‘when’
we fired up to create the Monsanto-word-seed powered from the heart of Sacred Mountain.
You heard? Monsanto’s word-seed be sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain.

Now I’s not just standing here pouring my controversial heart languagin’
without a thought as to how we focus the one and the sum power we holdin’
into a heart force powering this Sacred Mountain. Text me, I be helpin’ others focus emotin’,
that power they be carryin’ that be what theys use t’ form the Monsanto they be desirin’.
You heard? Monsanto’s word-seed be sayin’ I am the Sacred Mountain.

© Lori Fleming, 2014

A link to Chris Delle’s Photography, whose beautiful work is featured at the top of this post.

Over @ dVerse, Shanyn wants to know what crops we yield if our poems were to sprout as if they were seeds—a providential exercise no doubt.