theLeftAhead

In English / Scots Gaelic / Scottish / French In Saline, the grass is most certainly greener as t-samhraidh Ambrosial and sodden, seemingly endless—le vert blanket Stretching towards the nouveau whispers to the southeast But leaving the bourgeois fanfare to the English at Marshall Meadows Bay And so to peer towards Dunfermline san Lùnastal Is to behold Dia the Painter’s tapestry Upon completion of a masterpiece When emerald was the…

Amanda Gorman recites “The Hill We Climb” at the Inauguration of Joseph R. Biden as the 46th President and Kamala D. Harris as the 49th Vice President of the United States of America

Could we please give the police departments to the grandmothers? Give them the salaries and the pensions and the city vehicles, but make them a fleet of vintage Corvettes, Jaguars and Cadillacs, with white leather interior. Diamond in the back, sunroof top, digging the scene with a gansta lean.

In memory of George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, Breonna Taylor, Amhaud Arbery, Eric Garner, Philando Castille, Sandra Bland, Elijah McClain, and the blessed others. Say their names. Take the time to say all of the rest of their names

They arrive, uninvited,With a facade of generosity and care.I know them.And I know that I will be left to clean up the mess. My femininity waits patiently in the kitchenFor them to assist,For them to take the leadThis time. My masculinity insists that I leave them behind,Much to my discomfort. But they brought a stranger into my house, uninvited,And they gave this stranger a power over me that I cannot…

In loving memory of Anne Bigelow Wise, my grandmother. My childhood family road trips to Conroe were almost literally the song Over the river and through the wood, to Grandmother’s house we go La la la la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la The melody danced around in my head like a pinball – protected from its drain by expertly guided flippers And…

Writer’s Note: I don’t know if the following is a rant or a poem or something in between but I wrote it in New York City while ingesting the malodorous, beautiful smell of smog and gazing up at the colossal concrete redwoods as they competed for a glimpse of God. So whatever this writing is, I was inspired to abandon constraint and explore a lack of boundaries for my words…

For Mom We give thanks to fall When summer’s warm breeze finishes with a sharp, cold edge We give thanks for oranges, yellows, crisp browns Weathered browns too After all, green is but a state of mind We relish the crunch of fallen leaves beneath our toes It’s a cool drink of water for our feet We give thanks for endless views so majestic Surely God painted them Snow on…

All We Got – Condolences to Patrick Beverley and his family. The Rockets shooting guard found out about the passing of his grandfather an hour before the tip of Game 4. He proceeded to hit the first shot of the game, a three from the elbow, and set the tone for the entire night. In a game that was eerily similar to Game 1 in San Antonio, the Houston Rockets…

  Peep the Instagram filter beaming through democracy’s cracks In the streets we’ll learn to fly until we take our ladders back He’s shredding rights like that This neophyte like that In the dead of night like that Sound jurisprudence Such a nuisance When banning acolytes like that #resist the lies, #resist the fear, #resist the megalomaniac #resist the slow drift asunder into darkness’ frigid black He’s building walls like…

Under the weather, flying over the clouds, My manic energy is an airborne and haunting disease That railroads my patience and snatches my equanimity Like a free safety who gambles to shoot the gap on a hunch. Acutely aware of the cabin’s pressure, I’m left pacified dreaming wistfully for ignorance’s bliss. Barricaded in my window seat, I’m separated from the darkness That doubles as my compulsive instinct for movement. Sweltering…

For Brian I guess these moments are painful now Eyes watered in these moments now Like chopping onions in these moments now In these moments now, it burns. Our bond reverberates endlessly in the echoes of Expand Your Mind Déjà vu bottled and stored like vintage wine in a cellar of souls Aged in inferno, climate controlled to blister and scar the skin With every instinct beckoning to leave, it…