Poetry has no respect, and this is a shame. Fine poetry is like fine wine; it grows on you. Poetry condenses experiences that do not shape easily to vision and is made visible to the soul that seeks them. Here is a small taste.

Misguided
Through decay of years
you have seen us
depart from your haven
washing our youthful hands of you

The above is only the first stanza, but can you see the image? How many of us have done this to our parents, in particular our mothers, as we left them to go out on our own. How many of us parents experience the same thing in reverse with our own brood? Four lines of words that express so elegantly that entire moment when the child leaves. The rest is on Page 25. I will let you find it yourself.

Black Souls

courage planted seeds
bruised fingers
sore feet
laid the foundation
of this notable land

This is the last stanza of a three-stanza poem that speaks pointedly why slavery still hangs over all of us. It was long ago and yet it is still with us and will ever be with us. This one is on Page 37. But do not be limited by these two. There are more than fifty pages of poems, essays and delights of words. Sit down with some coffee or tea in a cafe and enjoy them. Even better, speak them out-loud for they warrant respect.

Reviewed By Nancy Louise
©October 2007