In Birmingham, 1963
By Gwen Russell Green Spines cracking Brittle burned bones Flaming sparkles Ruby racing Down legs and halls Brown singeing in the brightness Green goddesses Singing Sunday songs Skipping sugar free In the morning light Cracking, crackling, crushed Screams, moaning, moving out Fertile flowers forever frozen In memory Forward feeling frantically For Jesus Face forgotten in the fire Gone away, gone away Falling Flying Future forever Stilled |
Making Ways
By Gwen Russell Green September 27, 2016 The door opened a crack We slipped through Harriet led us out with grit and cunning Somehow We got on the courts Singed the nets We got on the tracks Burned the lanes We got on the bars and mats Taught them what they were designed to do Picked up the shot put Hurled it in to another atmosphere We slid into the pool Pushed the water ‘til the medal shined gold Were told we couldn’t Told we wouldn’t Made the dream glisten with our sweat Sparkle with our pride Bore the birthing of new thought About who we are who we could be Redefined greatness With every stroke, every stride, every volley And Harriet looked Fannie Lou clapped Sojourner smiled And we all said, “Ain’t I a woman?” |
September
by Gwen Russell Green
It’s a lazy shimmery September day
The sun is showing off in her special way
There’s a crisp in the air in early morn
It’s that special month when autumn is born
There’s the hint of change that is everywhere
As summer skips away without a care
The leaves start preparing for their masquerade ball
We’re welcoming the color explosion of fall
by Gwen Russell Green
It’s a lazy shimmery September day
The sun is showing off in her special way
There’s a crisp in the air in early morn
It’s that special month when autumn is born
There’s the hint of change that is everywhere
As summer skips away without a care
The leaves start preparing for their masquerade ball
We’re welcoming the color explosion of fall
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Beware
By Gwen Russell Green
September 18, 2013
Beware
beware of women who tell their age
who accept and embrace gray hair and white
as survival medals
strands of courage
beware of women
who kiss and tell regularly
who look you eye to eye
stand toe to toe
these are women who sometimes choose
to walk away
not just scream silently
and stay
who find another’s arms
in hopes of finding true understanding
or complete acceptance
but they rarely do
because insincere words
don’t satisfy
and truly these women
can never be
just another conquest
they are just too free
no one but Jesus
can convince them
willingly, to be otherwise
these women sometimes bear children
realizing that rearing them to be
strong… productive… sane… polite…
is a revolutionary act
and a priceless life contribution
they give more love than they
often can get back
but somehow
they choose to love anyway
they make it known that they
can learn to be unafraid
fearless, as needed
beware, beware
of women who tell their truth
By Gwen Russell Green
September 18, 2013
Beware
beware of women who tell their age
who accept and embrace gray hair and white
as survival medals
strands of courage
beware of women
who kiss and tell regularly
who look you eye to eye
stand toe to toe
these are women who sometimes choose
to walk away
not just scream silently
and stay
who find another’s arms
in hopes of finding true understanding
or complete acceptance
but they rarely do
because insincere words
don’t satisfy
and truly these women
can never be
just another conquest
they are just too free
no one but Jesus
can convince them
willingly, to be otherwise
these women sometimes bear children
realizing that rearing them to be
strong… productive… sane… polite…
is a revolutionary act
and a priceless life contribution
they give more love than they
often can get back
but somehow
they choose to love anyway
they make it known that they
can learn to be unafraid
fearless, as needed
beware, beware
of women who tell their truth
Gwen
By Clarice Green 6/21/19
And there you were
Young at heart
Full of strength and black beauty
Refreshing and full of confidence
and direction
A strong one to me
Who knew we would come close
The odds were against us
But then we were not in control
The Master’s plan was in full effect
A short time grew into a life time
Happy for this
My friend, the passionate one
Black history on display
By Clarice Green 6/21/19
And there you were
Young at heart
Full of strength and black beauty
Refreshing and full of confidence
and direction
A strong one to me
Who knew we would come close
The odds were against us
But then we were not in control
The Master’s plan was in full effect
A short time grew into a life time
Happy for this
My friend, the passionate one
Black history on display
Love for Two
For Clarice and James Green
By Gwen Russell Green
October, 2012
There are times when words escape us despite our efforts to describe, rare and flawless jewels, the depth of oceans, the energy of the greatest waterfalls
The powers of the fullest moon
But this is a poem of superlatives about people who love each other to the core of their beings and deeper
Not flawless people, not fantasy folks who appear in stories and have never lived beyond the printing on the page…
People who have found that perfect symbiosis. who inhale and exhale in synchronicity, without thought or pause
That instinctive primal urge to join seamlessly because it just feels right
No need to pretend and no desire to deceive
As butter melts into golden pools when released from cold and allowed to absorb sun’s glow, so Clarice and James have merged and the two have become one, not separate and distinct, but blended somehow
Like salt and sand, once blended each granule distinct, once merged with others like it, cannot be separated from the rest
Thus these lives, merged together
Continue to work
Somehow
Through Indiana cold and California heat
They work
And thus, I choose to say to them…
Sometimes love works
When man and woman do the work
And God is in the middle and all around and up in them
Each
Keep lovin’, Keep workin’ Keep makin’ your marriage real.
For Clarice and James Green
By Gwen Russell Green
October, 2012
There are times when words escape us despite our efforts to describe, rare and flawless jewels, the depth of oceans, the energy of the greatest waterfalls
The powers of the fullest moon
But this is a poem of superlatives about people who love each other to the core of their beings and deeper
Not flawless people, not fantasy folks who appear in stories and have never lived beyond the printing on the page…
People who have found that perfect symbiosis. who inhale and exhale in synchronicity, without thought or pause
That instinctive primal urge to join seamlessly because it just feels right
No need to pretend and no desire to deceive
As butter melts into golden pools when released from cold and allowed to absorb sun’s glow, so Clarice and James have merged and the two have become one, not separate and distinct, but blended somehow
Like salt and sand, once blended each granule distinct, once merged with others like it, cannot be separated from the rest
Thus these lives, merged together
Continue to work
Somehow
Through Indiana cold and California heat
They work
And thus, I choose to say to them…
Sometimes love works
When man and woman do the work
And God is in the middle and all around and up in them
Each
Keep lovin’, Keep workin’ Keep makin’ your marriage real.
For Guy E. Russell
Feelin' Father's Day
Got a song to sing about fathers
Got a story to tell about fathers
Got a feelin' to share about fathers
And I've got some good news to tell...
Thinkin' back in time to my fathers,
Sittin' and thinkin' about a grandfather
One a coffee brown with the prettiest smile
Never talked about workin' in that screamin' mill
long hours breathin' bad air and makin' hot steel
but he smiled on Father's Day
For those seven children that he gave his name
that he gave his life, that he gave his pride
What a very special father
Thinkin' bout another grandfather
Wholesome whole wheat brown
Slim as cattails
and he always wore a cap
Well he worked outside in the fresh air
Clippin' flowers and shrubs for the folks
While he nurtured their gardens, he taught me
about special love
the kind you give and give
and might never get back.
I could feel it and share it with him
Thinkin' bout my honey brown father
on his college graduation day
Got the folks' diploma on that day
Then a job with a broom in his hand
Sent three children through school working three jobs
'Til he finally captured one
where he wore his suit and his starched shirt
never had to work on Mondays
Still he used Jack Daniels with a black label
just to help him feel O.K.
Thinkin' bout my children's father
fudge brown dark night hawk
in those hospital holes
on that shift where folks are fewest
They steal the day and he takes the night
when his wings don't feel so clipped
Works weekends when folks are out catchin' balls
'stead of trying to rip off his
He tells his sons about excellin'
about doing their best and a little bit more
About settin' high goals and then reachin' 'em
When he's not too tired to talk
For each of these my special love
for the roof that covers my soul
for the substance that gives me the strength to be
and to tell you all about fathers
Those who care and share
and triumph
Hope today those fathers are feeling fine
Cause there are so many fine fathers
Feel for them on Father's Day!
Feelin' Father's Day
Got a song to sing about fathers
Got a story to tell about fathers
Got a feelin' to share about fathers
And I've got some good news to tell...
Thinkin' back in time to my fathers,
Sittin' and thinkin' about a grandfather
One a coffee brown with the prettiest smile
Never talked about workin' in that screamin' mill
long hours breathin' bad air and makin' hot steel
but he smiled on Father's Day
For those seven children that he gave his name
that he gave his life, that he gave his pride
What a very special father
Thinkin' bout another grandfather
Wholesome whole wheat brown
Slim as cattails
and he always wore a cap
Well he worked outside in the fresh air
Clippin' flowers and shrubs for the folks
While he nurtured their gardens, he taught me
about special love
the kind you give and give
and might never get back.
I could feel it and share it with him
Thinkin' bout my honey brown father
on his college graduation day
Got the folks' diploma on that day
Then a job with a broom in his hand
Sent three children through school working three jobs
'Til he finally captured one
where he wore his suit and his starched shirt
never had to work on Mondays
Still he used Jack Daniels with a black label
just to help him feel O.K.
Thinkin' bout my children's father
fudge brown dark night hawk
in those hospital holes
on that shift where folks are fewest
They steal the day and he takes the night
when his wings don't feel so clipped
Works weekends when folks are out catchin' balls
'stead of trying to rip off his
He tells his sons about excellin'
about doing their best and a little bit more
About settin' high goals and then reachin' 'em
When he's not too tired to talk
For each of these my special love
for the roof that covers my soul
for the substance that gives me the strength to be
and to tell you all about fathers
Those who care and share
and triumph
Hope today those fathers are feeling fine
Cause there are so many fine fathers
Feel for them on Father's Day!
"I Write"
By Gwen Russell Green
In my poet’s world
There is no TV
Cause TV makes me hurt
There is no newspaper
Cause newspapers make me bleed
There are books and papers
Unread magazines
A smile in my pocket
Sometimes
Or in my pen
My pencil glides across a page
Uniting my spirit with some eternity
I write to soothe my soul
And maybe yours
Creation is divine
And shared with the artist
Allows us sometimes
To skip sleeping pill dinners
Or razor slit wrists
Serves as comfort food
For a starving soul
A shot of Vodka
For a t-totaled spirit
They are only words
you say
with hopeless anguish
they are all of life
I say
And I just keep writing
In the sand
By Gwen Russell Green
In my poet’s world
There is no TV
Cause TV makes me hurt
There is no newspaper
Cause newspapers make me bleed
There are books and papers
Unread magazines
A smile in my pocket
Sometimes
Or in my pen
My pencil glides across a page
Uniting my spirit with some eternity
I write to soothe my soul
And maybe yours
Creation is divine
And shared with the artist
Allows us sometimes
To skip sleeping pill dinners
Or razor slit wrists
Serves as comfort food
For a starving soul
A shot of Vodka
For a t-totaled spirit
They are only words
you say
with hopeless anguish
they are all of life
I say
And I just keep writing
In the sand
Perfection
In search of perfection…
Like the perfectly fitted shoe
For feet that make flat as a pancake my reality
My quest, the perfect mate
Like right and left shoes perfectly share the box,
Tissue paper, stuffing and cover
Remove the tissue paper and see
The pair come apart finding too much space
In which to roam
Boxed but no longer snuggled
Our lives are cubes of multi-faceted dimensions
They can also appear flat
When one places oneself above
Looking down on another
Never seeing the height and depth that other possesses
We seek positions of superiority
Yet, like the Rubik’s cube,
Variations of color work together
Each side distinct
Constantly seeking colors
Like themselves
With whom they can readily relate
And yet each colored side,
Even when connected with likeness,
Is only a piece of the greater whole
We turn many corners in our lives
Sometimes veering in unfamiliar directions
While constantly seeking
Our whole, clearly defined, selves
Some days we settle in places
That don’t quite fit
Exerting energy to meet the needs of others
While leaving our own selves behind
We try to alter our colors, assigned
And God given
To met human expectations
It seldom works at all
And if at all, not for long
We chafe and squirm
Beneath the visible surface of ourselves
Realizing that despite our best efforts,
We just can’t fill another’s mold
In fact, the cube its sides of sameness
Become a prison cell
There is no place for the periwinkle hue
We so long to be
And so, conformity to the human designed, rigid pattern,
imposes restraint
Acceptance often comes
At too high a price
In search of perfection…
Like the perfectly fitted shoe
For feet that make flat as a pancake my reality
My quest, the perfect mate
Like right and left shoes perfectly share the box,
Tissue paper, stuffing and cover
Remove the tissue paper and see
The pair come apart finding too much space
In which to roam
Boxed but no longer snuggled
Our lives are cubes of multi-faceted dimensions
They can also appear flat
When one places oneself above
Looking down on another
Never seeing the height and depth that other possesses
We seek positions of superiority
Yet, like the Rubik’s cube,
Variations of color work together
Each side distinct
Constantly seeking colors
Like themselves
With whom they can readily relate
And yet each colored side,
Even when connected with likeness,
Is only a piece of the greater whole
We turn many corners in our lives
Sometimes veering in unfamiliar directions
While constantly seeking
Our whole, clearly defined, selves
Some days we settle in places
That don’t quite fit
Exerting energy to meet the needs of others
While leaving our own selves behind
We try to alter our colors, assigned
And God given
To met human expectations
It seldom works at all
And if at all, not for long
We chafe and squirm
Beneath the visible surface of ourselves
Realizing that despite our best efforts,
We just can’t fill another’s mold
In fact, the cube its sides of sameness
Become a prison cell
There is no place for the periwinkle hue
We so long to be
And so, conformity to the human designed, rigid pattern,
imposes restraint
Acceptance often comes
At too high a price