Aretha Died
By Gwen Russell Green
October 29, 2018
Aretha died
And we were sad
Sad like nine family members took a joy ride
and then perished in vicious wind and water
Sad like when we knew that the white house
would again be too white
occupied by a man with no character
no shame,
no morals
no soothing words for us
Sad like when worshippers
Sat at Bible study in a Charleston Church and
welcomed their murderer
with open arms and warm smiles
Sad like when a mother
Left her child with strangers
Or with kin and never came back
To claim what was hers
Sad like hurricane turned my house
into match sticks and left me homeless
with little hope
We were sad
And Aretha songs saturated air waves
Brought back dusty memories of deep, deep love ,
That “Call Me the Minute You Get There love
Cause “Ain’t No Way for Me to Love YOU
If You Won’t Let Me” love
And nobody could sing Aretha but ARETHA
And leave us longing for more
More Christ, more spice and always
More respect
Cause Aretha sang from a deeper place
Where no one else could go
Cause no one else suffered her pain
With that hurt we could not know
So Aretha died and we mourned
And we cried
And we sighed for such a loss
Cause Aretha love, and Aretha fire
left us burning but wanting more
By Gwen Russell Green
October 29, 2018
Aretha died
And we were sad
Sad like nine family members took a joy ride
and then perished in vicious wind and water
Sad like when we knew that the white house
would again be too white
occupied by a man with no character
no shame,
no morals
no soothing words for us
Sad like when worshippers
Sat at Bible study in a Charleston Church and
welcomed their murderer
with open arms and warm smiles
Sad like when a mother
Left her child with strangers
Or with kin and never came back
To claim what was hers
Sad like hurricane turned my house
into match sticks and left me homeless
with little hope
We were sad
And Aretha songs saturated air waves
Brought back dusty memories of deep, deep love ,
That “Call Me the Minute You Get There love
Cause “Ain’t No Way for Me to Love YOU
If You Won’t Let Me” love
And nobody could sing Aretha but ARETHA
And leave us longing for more
More Christ, more spice and always
More respect
Cause Aretha sang from a deeper place
Where no one else could go
Cause no one else suffered her pain
With that hurt we could not know
So Aretha died and we mourned
And we cried
And we sighed for such a loss
Cause Aretha love, and Aretha fire
left us burning but wanting more
Sparkling Toes
For my sister, Gayle Russell Coyle By Gwen Russell Green July 22, 2000 You danced around my life before I knew it Creating a space for me in ways I could not know Your sense of dress up and pretend Made paper dolls on Saturday mornings my delight Though dolls are not my thing I relished those early morning times before our beds had to be changed I learned to massage your back You said my back rubs were the best I practiced them on you with pride We shared new white beds that matched What an adventure it was To watch those shiny gold buttons Planted squarely with permanence above our heads Glow in the morning light Then we got to pick wallpaper for our room From pattern after pattern in the endless book And we agreed at last On bouquets that we could each love separately and together Long before I knew my gift for words, you named it called it to the attention of your teachers in essays of your own you saw the talent in me but I saw all that was YOU as artist, Seamstress, dancer, chef spinning about on sparkling toes smiling with those perfectly straight teeth I learned much as I practiced your list of helping verbs And helped you parlez-vous Francais I wanted to learn all that you knew to catch up and be your equal Useless quest The beauty that is yours is yours alone, and I can see and admire But never be, the one with practical skills and practical thoughts Dreams have their place But the real world require barterers. Ones who demand satisfaction for defective goods And GET IT! Bank accounts that never hover on zero The beauty is that there is space here for us both Strengths and weaknesses intertwined My sister, you are my friend and supporter And I am yours In our family we learned no other option How we have been blessed. My pen is in my hand today to say Dance on my sister Dance on sparkling toes As I write you a rainbow to celebrate your wholeness God’s gifts to you are many And YOU are sufficient. |
That Bronze Beauty
By Gwen Russell Green
August 3, 2021
When Simone took the stage to defy gravity one more time
It was different for her
The fun was gone
The thrill was gone
The sparkle was missing
And FEAR that she had not felt before
Crept in, uninvited
And settled I like an all-encompassing fog around her
It was different because the twists were no longer her friend
The bars no longer beckoned her with glistening strength
And promise of support
She no longer wanted to spin in the air
She no longer could hear the roar of the crowd
The energy of those who loved her
Was missing AND far away
She stumbled from the weight of others' expectations
She felt the confusion of the TWISTIES
A malady unknown to most
Those who do not spin
Those who cannot fly
Those do NOT defy gravity
But power that is God-given
Cannot be stolen, cannot be siphoned off
It WILL continue
It DOES endure
And shiny medals can't, don't, won't
Define it
By Gwen Russell Green
August 3, 2021
When Simone took the stage to defy gravity one more time
It was different for her
The fun was gone
The thrill was gone
The sparkle was missing
And FEAR that she had not felt before
Crept in, uninvited
And settled I like an all-encompassing fog around her
It was different because the twists were no longer her friend
The bars no longer beckoned her with glistening strength
And promise of support
She no longer wanted to spin in the air
She no longer could hear the roar of the crowd
The energy of those who loved her
Was missing AND far away
She stumbled from the weight of others' expectations
She felt the confusion of the TWISTIES
A malady unknown to most
Those who do not spin
Those who cannot fly
Those do NOT defy gravity
But power that is God-given
Cannot be stolen, cannot be siphoned off
It WILL continue
It DOES endure
And shiny medals can't, don't, won't
Define it
Kobe in the Sky
By Gwen Russell Green February 3, 2020
By Gwen Russell Green February 3, 2020
When Kobe played
a swish symphony reverberated from the netting You could not hear it for the roar of the crowd
Each player is alone in the team
But the man who practiced daily
With compulsion, with 1000 basket days
Was singular in a different way
His purpose, his dream
Was to be KOBE BEST
Not Michael best
Not Magic best
Not Shaq best
Not Kareem best
Not Dr. J best
Not Larry Bird best
but the KOBE BEST
Driving down the court was his passion
Firing up the court was his life blood
And he bled sweat and he bled with focus
Moved from boy to man
With that basketball in his hand
Not by millions motivated but by sport
The game was first love
Mamba Kobe rich in his blackness
Not just fame or fortune
But always first
The orange round mistress
waiting hungrily for his touch
listening carefully for his ecstatic scream
Kobe 10, Kobe 20, Kobe 30, Kobe 40, Kobe 50, Kobe 60 and still one point more
But the game was the point
And Kobe ate the game
Hungrily devouring
Each laced shoe stride, each Gatorade swallow
For the game, always the GAME
No lover let loose on the shiny tan floor like Kobe Who rose and fell there with equal passion
Striving to be unbridled, unfettered,
That Kobe BEST there could be
And then to give it some more
The haters fueled him, made him hungrier
For that touch of the orange mistress who wooed him Sometimes obeyed him
ever calling him
ever creating that fierce flame
from her promise
Kobe with cold blooded fury
finding fast breaks and 3 point shots
blood sweat dripping from every pore
looking for that orange lady
Her leaping leather leaving his fingers
and that Kobe, Mamba Kobe
left his starlight on the courtside
in the bleachers
in the sky box
in our hearts
Until God above the skies
called his cosmic vibration
Home
a swish symphony reverberated from the netting You could not hear it for the roar of the crowd
Each player is alone in the team
But the man who practiced daily
With compulsion, with 1000 basket days
Was singular in a different way
His purpose, his dream
Was to be KOBE BEST
Not Michael best
Not Magic best
Not Shaq best
Not Kareem best
Not Dr. J best
Not Larry Bird best
but the KOBE BEST
Driving down the court was his passion
Firing up the court was his life blood
And he bled sweat and he bled with focus
Moved from boy to man
With that basketball in his hand
Not by millions motivated but by sport
The game was first love
Mamba Kobe rich in his blackness
Not just fame or fortune
But always first
The orange round mistress
waiting hungrily for his touch
listening carefully for his ecstatic scream
Kobe 10, Kobe 20, Kobe 30, Kobe 40, Kobe 50, Kobe 60 and still one point more
But the game was the point
And Kobe ate the game
Hungrily devouring
Each laced shoe stride, each Gatorade swallow
For the game, always the GAME
No lover let loose on the shiny tan floor like Kobe Who rose and fell there with equal passion
Striving to be unbridled, unfettered,
That Kobe BEST there could be
And then to give it some more
The haters fueled him, made him hungrier
For that touch of the orange mistress who wooed him Sometimes obeyed him
ever calling him
ever creating that fierce flame
from her promise
Kobe with cold blooded fury
finding fast breaks and 3 point shots
blood sweat dripping from every pore
looking for that orange lady
Her leaping leather leaving his fingers
and that Kobe, Mamba Kobe
left his starlight on the courtside
in the bleachers
in the sky box
in our hearts
Until God above the skies
called his cosmic vibration
Home
Georgia Flag Tribute
by
Gwen Russell Green
Click HERE for the audio version
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?”
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?”
For Helen
On the Occasion of the 20th Anniversary of the DeKalb County Helen Ruffin Reading Bowl
By Gwen Russell Green
January 26, 2019
On the Occasion of the 20th Anniversary of the DeKalb County Helen Ruffin Reading Bowl
By Gwen Russell Green
January 26, 2019
Gentle, genteel lady
Quiet spirit
Molding masses of children
Making reading matter
Passion focused librarian
Moving younger ones forward
Toward reading
and mind travel
Making marvelous magic for young people
Allowing them to see
To live in other worlds
Wife, mother, dog lover
A woman of purpose
A woman of grace
Leaving a lasting legacy in children’s minds
That will not be erased
Iconic mind molder,
Determined dream holder
Moving us all forward,
One page at a time
Helen Ruffin remains.
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
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