An Ode to Women’s Month

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We give daily
Our bodies nourish
Like the Earth
We give life
We strive to sustain
Our successes are few
The crowds don’t cheer
Our heroines leave
Often go unnoticed
Still we strive hard
With quiet laughter
Our hearts on brim
Love fills our chores
As we join together
One month a year
To give us credit
Our own praises
In the month of March
Just because it is spring
Once again we dance
As we are allowed to

 

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Camille Elaine Thomas
March 19, 2021

 

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An Asian American Blues

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We used to listen to a song
From the Isley Brothers
Singing about soldiers
The four dead in Ohio
Now another tune is playing
Eight killed in Atlanta
Attacked, harassed, scapegoated
Murdered for being Asian
Blamed for a virus
Women shot in March
Sacrificed for Women's Month
Can’t you hear the drummers
Sounding like machine guns
Hear the mothers sighing
The little children crying
The world watches and moans

 

[email protected] All rights reserved
Camille Elaine Thomas
March 18, 2021

 

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Hope

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Away from the dark cold blood of hate,
away from the evil eyes of racism,
away from the horrific path of xenophobia,
rests the promise land of our pledges,
where the roots of fraternity, sown with the clipped wings of the missing souls,
will grow into the hearts of hope,
to engrave in our building stones the calling beats of love.

 

Carlos Colao

 

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Our Asian Soulmates

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You have been our gracious Japanese landlords.
Our Vietnam war zone protectors, friends and co-workers.
My Korean IT professional associate.
My Korean graphic illustrator for my poems.
You have been my former interned Japanese associate.

And we have trod with a host of acquaintances from Asian
Nations of Japan, Korea, Philippines, Vietnam, China, India,
Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Hong Kong.

All of which have been with the greatest respect towards us
And our family and our friends.

To have a vile deed doer martyr some of our Soulmates is
Sad and the work of the evil one who chose a weaker brainwashed
One to do his deed.

May their Memories be Eternal

 

© 2021-Paul S Hickman-All Rights Reserved

 

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The Reunion

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As the rays of the sun, eclipsed the night.
The journeys to a distant place starts.

And we came, some by car, some by plane,
Some by train, and some thought to walk.

Drifting in from the North, the South, the
East and the West. We are not strangers
Among strangers.

Gathering to share the wisdom, experiences
And the knowledge of thousands of years.

Guided by teachers of the ages, dedicated
To prepare and enlightening us for these
Times.

Oh, wise ones of the past. We struggle to
Meet your yesteryear's challenges. As they
Fade from our minds, and we fight to recover
Them. But are still misty, dim, and physically
Untouchable.

Our hearts, feeling faint as you slip away.
Regretfully, even the scolding and your words
Of wisdom are much needed - now.

But your spirits, still guides us through the
Unknown wilderness. Even though everything is
Changed, and not the way you left it or taught
Us.

Your voices will continue to guide and console
Us. As we stretch to reach the epitome of our
Essence.

With your desires in our minds and souls. We
Come closer to each other. And even though you
Are not here, we can feel your presence. As we
Depart once more to the cosmos.

As the time passes ... and you our ancestors cry
In the distance -with open arms.

 

Copyright (C) 1994 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

 

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Nuestro Día

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Nuestro Día
El día en que la libertad pueda quedar reflejada en los dictados de la Vida,
en el que las personas no se sientan amarradas por las raíces del pasado,
en el que el astro sol ilumine el sendero,
en el que el oscuro pasado escarmiente el futuro,
en el que un cielo azul brillante resguarde nuestros sueños,
en el que las sonrisas del destino endulcen el camino de la vida,
en el que la grandilocuente vida retruene su sonoro resplandor en el interior de cada uno.
Para saber lo que seremos, querer lo que querremos, amar lo que trasciende más allá de nuestra conciencia,
más allá incluso de las dulces y frescas sensaciones de libertad.

Ese día, será un DÍA, como aquél que nunca fue, como aquél que podrá ser, pero, eso sí, que ¡DEBERÁ PERMANECER!

Carlos Colao


Our day
The day that freedom can be reflected in Life's commandments,
in which people do not feel bounded by the roots of the past,
in which the sunshine of our supreme Star clears the burden paths,
in which the dark black side of the past removes the thorns of future,
in which the intense blue sky shelters our dreams,
in which the smiles of destiny enriches our bold life road,
in which the magic of life grandiosely plays the beat sounds of love inside each one of us.
To know what we will be, to want what we will want, to love what goes beyond our consciousness,
beyond even the sweet, fresh feeling of freedom.

That day, will be a DAY, like the one that never was, like the one that could one day be, but, yes, that it will have to REMAIN!

Carlos Colao

 

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Ebony Tears

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She walks in stride, quickly with head
Held high. The glistening, of her face
As beautiful as the black night.

Her smile, as bright as the African
Diamond. Deep into her heart, love
and compasion.

The world, will not get to know her.
She glides, along the walkway. Deep
In thoughts, of other worlds' conception of her
Beauty.

Often times, misunderstood for a fault,
The native world clamors from the ancient
Lands of her birth.

Not knowing, she wonders past. The beckoning
Of the motherland. The cry of the mother-
Land. The pride of her existence and essence.

The bearer of her fruits. The caresses of her
Soul and life.

The possessor of the peace and tranquility
Of her dreams.

Her ebony beauty, the essence of her true
World. The gift of her future. The soul of
Her existence.
The life of her spirit... The ebony tears.

 

Copyright (c) 1996 Paul S Hickman All Rights Reserved

 

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Another Way to Think

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They say.

Women shouldn’t express themselves that way.
There’s a correct way to disagree with people.
She shouldn’t travel there alone.
Why are you being so emotional?
What will people think?

Are you sure you should make such a big decision alone?
Who’s the man in the relationship?
Do your parents approve of your choices?
Can I speak to your husband?
What will people think?

Why are you so aggressive?
You think you’re too good for him?
Isn’t that a man’s job?
When are you going to have children?
What will people think?

Don’t leave your drink unattended.
You could stand to loose a few pounds.
You can’t talk about your sex life.
Is that what you’re wearing?
What will people think?

What will people think?

I say.

We live half lives as revivals.
Being a distraction for the masses.
So that someone else can control us.
Because we’re too concerned.
With what people would think.

We could be teammates in this battle.
Allies in the struggle for equality.
We could be friends supporting each other.
If we would choose to consider.
What we would think.

If we can stop hating each other for thinking differently.
Listen to the wisdom we’ve gathered.
And respect our individual voices.
We will be a force to be reckoned with-
Because we will create an example.
Of another way to think.

I want every little girl to know.
She was meant for something greater.
She does not have to live in anyone's shadow.
That no matter what people tell her.
Because one day she will be a woman.
And she can decide what she wants to think.

 

By: Alexandra Smith

 

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Tis You (Obamas)

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Tis You – who stood like a rock
Of Granite.

Unswayed, by the constant pounding,
Of the Winds of Humanity, the Chill
Souls. And the fire of dragons.

Now, unweathering streaking into the
Deeds of tomorrow.

As we -the left behind- strive to
Place our footsteps on the soil
Left by you for us to fill in...

 

Copyright (c) 2018 “Tis You”, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

 

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The Voices

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The naughtiness, of the voices.
Destined, not to hear, nor see.

Unknown, the different worlds,
Their world, our world, my world.

Worlds filled, with a cornucopia
Of ideas, dovetailing, towards
The thin thread.

That binds man into a common bond,
Of trust, tolerance, and compassion.

The haughtiness of the voices.

They destined, not to hear, nor see
The world...

 

Copyrighted (c) 1996, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

 

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