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Suspended here in the waters
of the womb of the mind
listening to the beats
of wayward words germinating
and rhythmically flowing
in living spirit, I can feel
their veiled cosmic imageries
waiting to mould themselves
in the quest to retrieve
seemingly lost creativity
but I have yet to glimpse
the scattered sparks of their light
into the cosmic imagery they carry.
Here I am, and there they lay
like crystals of gleaming grains
of sand upon the vast shore of
lexical creativity;
yet none suggesting themselves
to be the seminal seed-roots
to burst into mosaic messages
to fill empty sacks of senses
waiting to bulged into branched
stems of leaves and flowering
lexical gardens of coloring
sounds and feelings—
infusing reality with that cosmic
itching sweetness
that the starving heart’s mind, soul
and spirits forever crave.
To return to the valley of lost words
is one thing; to reap the glorious crops
of its field is another; for in the scores
of life’s symphony, poetic resurrection
is not starting anew, for old trials
and tribulations remain but are revealed
in the greater perspective that only being
renewed in the word can bring and reveal
in greater dimensions, as the muse of time
coalesces all into the igneous space
of the sedimentary layers of our cosmic,
metamorphic rendering of life.
In the circadian rhythms of time
the water of the creative geyser
breaks, releasing a pool of creative words
flowing down the loins of the creative mind
imaging love like a bleeding rose
with sweet petals of peace and the thorn
stem-reality of the life we are yet blessed to
have in our journeying purpose.
In the midst of the acrid winds
let us yet taste the sweetness that only
peace and love can give as we feel,
receive, and give the gift of forgiveness
as our once silent ringing ears are now filled
with joyous echoes filling the scented spirit
with that glowing ebony essence of beauty
that only the imaging muse of God can give.
Let us remain steadfast, we Griots of now;
that our passing this way may leave
a purpose-filled path of our journeying here
that coming generations may likewise
stand before the mountain and say: “I got this!”
