pamelaconespoetry2.blogspot.com
Without Walls
http://pamelaconespoetry2.blogspot.com/2009/06/inspite-of.html
Friday, June 26, 2009. Bloody men line the streets. Their hands filled with stones. A song fills my heart. The place your finger touched. Deeply rendered, Pam. There is an undying undeniable love here. Thank you. September 28, 2009 at 7:51 PM. October 6, 2009 at 6:49 AM. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). There was an error in this gadget. Without walls we are all the same, Soul and Spirit- Living,. Wandering, Hoping, Praying, Laughing,Crying,Dying- Loving. Sometimes I Talk To Myself. When a Poet Dies.
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: When a Poet Dies
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2014/06/when-poet-dies.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Friday, June 20, 2014. When a Poet Dies. What do you do when a poet dies? When Maya died Oh how I cried. Who will give us the words from the other side. A poet, a scribe, a teacher, a preacher, a prophet, a leader. A woman, a friend, a voice, a gift, a treasure. Who now will be our guide. She stood as a monument. As one heaven sent. Did we learn from the words she did teach? The songs, old and full of the Spirit. The piercing stillness as He spoke.
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: Sun Rising II
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2011/10/sun-rising-ii.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Thursday, October 27, 2011. My soul raised up to meet the sun. The sun bending down to me. This vessel feeling some relief. The Spirit stood still within. The whispers came on the wind. My soul raised up to listen. My flesh moved in subjection. The energy too strong to resist. Searching the mind of the Spirit. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Purpose of Dreams. Ain't I A Woman. There was an error in this gadget. Song Yet Sung by James McBride.
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: Propensity
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2011/11/propensity.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Tuesday, November 29, 2011. The energy in the space feels like home. The way it lands on the skin and the way it makes the mind move. There's musical sounds vibrating off the walls causing the feet to tingle. It's been a long time since the tango has been performed here and the floor remembering relaxes to allow the new dancers leverage falling in sequence with their breathing forgetting the scars of the past. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: At the Gate
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2011/12/at-gate.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Monday, December 5, 2011. The seeds have long since been carried away in the breeze passing along a message which can only be interpreted by those waiting for instructions. They look under rocks or they turn to bushes hunting down words for guidance or sometimes a place to hide. The rocks cleft will provide a refuge like a strong pavilion. A place to bandage their wounds or to fly away to rest. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Ain't I A Woman.
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2012/05/oprah-me.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Wednesday, May 23, 2012. Did I tell you that I went to LifeClass in Chicago! If you're not watching OWN you're not watching television! Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Purpose of Dreams. Ain't I A Woman. I hope you will enjoy reading my work and that it will touch you in some way. There was an error in this gadget. Song Yet Sung by James McBride. Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Tar Baby by Toni Morrison. Culls its oughts,.
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: Strange Fruit
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2011/09/strange-fruit.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Wednesday, September 7, 2011. This space no longer carried the same song- it now bellowed. The hollowed drum walls will have to be dressed again and arrayed with the fragrance of laughter. Lighter days await when the sun will shine through to warm the cold stale air. It will chase away the dark and cause it to hide somewhere else. I can almost see the bastard running down the street- it's tail between it's legs. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: Death
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2011/06/death.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Wednesday, June 29, 2011. Give me words to write away the pain that fills every crack of my broken heart. It's hard to imagine time will heal this ache. And I'm not sure I want it to least I forget. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Purpose of Dreams. Ain't I A Woman. I hope you will enjoy reading my work and that it will touch you in some way. There was an error in this gadget. Song Yet Sung by James McBride. Tar Baby by Toni Morrison.
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: Among the Common
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-your-mind-tells-you-to-turn-around.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Monday, June 4, 2012. When your mind tells you to turn around or when you see the danger signs and still keep walking, the results are equivalent to walking into a snow storm. Your only reason is what you have been searching for has suddenly appeared on the other side of the hill. These sightings are not too common. You have come to realize you weren't meant to walk among the common. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Purpose of Dreams. Invisi...
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Sometimes I Talk To Myself: Muddy Wings
http://pamelaconespoetry.blogspot.com/2011/10/muddy-wings.html
Sometimes I Talk To Myself. The Chippens Every So Often. Saturday, October 15, 2011. Gotta get this mud out my wings. Speaking to me calling me names. Making me stink of fear and shame. Wash me, make me clean. Anger, fear stuck in my wings. Holding me down staying the same. Gotta get this mud out my wings. Marring whatever I touch. Magnifying failure disguising blame. Wash me, make me clean. Faith, hope I can feel. Lifting me above the crimson stains. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Ain't I A Woman.
