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Mosaic Musings...interactive poetry reviews _ Free Verse Poetry for Critique -> Seren's Synapse _ Aja Monet at the Women's March

Posted by: RC James Jan 28 17, 07:52


In midnight voice,
at the crossroads
of art and family,
she raises ancients
out of dust.
Her mother,
chants blood music
as she circles
ruins.

Slashing, sinewed
phrases
invoke
freedom fighters,
their strength
found
in shotgun houses
next to picking fields.

She voices
defiance
of shrill taunts
on blistering
sidewalks.

In plantation fields,
bloodroot
and mimosa
sway
to her sounds.

A woman
calls the sky
to hold
these words.







In a midnight voice, arms extended,
she reads blues that lay the soul to dust.

Hands reaching upwards,
a white woman moves her fingers
calling the sky to hold these words.

The poet stands at the crossroads
where her art and family past meet.
Her mother stands in the ruins
holding a bouquet of bloody music
and a spear she carved from her lover’s bones.

Slashing, sinewy phrases celebrate
the first activists. Her mother fought for freedom
with the strength that simmered in shotgun houses
next to the picking fields.

A freight train of rapid fire explosive words,
intellect the weapon, now unconcealed,
she quashes the howling and leers
from blue veined faces in tobacco stained t-shirts.

Bloodroot and mimosa sway
to the sound of her voice.








“My mother was a freedom fighter”
(Aja Monet at the Women’s March)

She read like a blues veteran.
Dressed in a midnight suit,
arms extended, palms out,
displaying the bedraggled truth
of racism toward women.

She gave us her mother, standing in the ruins,
holding a “bouquet of bloody music in her hand,”
after she had carved a spear out of her lover’s bones.

A white woman in the audience, hands extended upwards,
moved her fingers, called the sky to hold these words.

Aja's slashing, sinewy phrases testified to the strength
of the first activists, she could have been standing off
a pack of bullies, who didn’t understand the poetry,
but couldn’t deny the force of the words.

Her mother fought with the strength that came
from shotgun houses next to the picking fields,
grace earned through knowledge and the mission at hand.
She was a freight train of rapid fire explosive words, testimony
unheard with this force and vast audience before; a woman
speaking what has been ignored, distorted,
about the every day battles fought by her family.

Defiant, she attacks with lessons for racists,
the earth spins upside down, awakening.

Her mother, though she had fast friends
together in a consensus of one mind, one action,
was, at her center, lonely, yearning.

Her daughter summons her often for advice,
when the turns of street and field converge.

Posted by: Eisa Jan 30 17, 16:38

This is very topical. Richard - a very strong message. I feel your writing is getting stronger. I really enjoyed this. I found the ending a little abrupt, but that might just be me - and being the 1st read.

I will read again.

Eira

Posted by: RC James Feb 19 18, 01:26

Final revision - for now - RC

Posted by: JustDaniel Apr 6 18, 07:22

Which is the revision, and what is the third piece? I'm quite confused here. Sorry.

Posted by: RC James Apr 12 18, 00:46

It's the normal pattern - orig. at the bottom, 1st rev. next up and latest rev. on top - RC

Posted by: Peterpan Apr 20 18, 09:04



Incredible use of words and vivid imagery!

Thank you for sharing.


Posted by: RC James Apr 24 18, 11:29

Thank you Peterpan - I learned quite a lot about condensing and relevance on this one - RC

Posted by: Peterpan Apr 25 18, 03:03



Well done!

Bev

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