People are funny.
When life is sweet, oh what a treat!
Everyone wants a big slice of that.
Lots of laughs, joyous hugs, the festive moods seem to be
unending.
But when the last bite is gone,
Nothing there but a plate full of reality,
The supporters and well-wishers become health conscious.
No one wants a slice of that life.
Your world may have potential,
Humans who never knew you begin to see evolution is
inevitable,
They come forth with a mouth full of smiles
And bearing ostentatious credentials.
They all want to explore that axis until the
Rotations are no more
Life stands still for some but there is the
Luxury of departure for others.
My Moms is an alien, Yo.
She got to be an alien.
I have intentions that are genuine, yet difficult for the
human eye to see.
My role in this life seems to be,
That of a castaway living amongst a lost colony.
An environment where love is a parasite
Foreign to the air we share
But somehow gestates within the breath of a few.
My Moms is an alien Yo.
Does that make me one too?
Nearly deceased at birth,
I was an emergency C-section.
Removed from the ailing womb of an alien
Who refused to leave this space.
Her will to live was passed down to me.
I wonder if her fellow celestial beings can see that.
I wonder if they have record of her newborn
Growing strong enough to take his first steps.
Have they recorded her offspring riding a
Big Wheel with reckless abandon?
Pedal a bike without the aid of training wheels?
Pushed the pedal of a rental car enroots to
His senior prom?
And eventually being condemned to die,
Under her watchful eye,
By the indigenous of this watery planet.
Moms always went against the grain.
From her days of community activism
To the stain on her last names; Mann.
The name at the top of a death certificate
Is the same name given to me.
The pitfalls within life’s terrain didn’t make
Living so easy.
Many humans have tried to discredit Moms
But they could only make her my inspiration.
“I love you to the moon and back.”
Is how she concludes our visits and phone
Conversations.
Is this just some old saying?
Or, is it a reminder that she is not from here?
My Moms is an alien, Yo.
I guess that makes me on E.T.
Dying to get back home.
Happy Birthday
Stingin' Bee!
I love you to the
moon and back Moms.
Mannofstat
Copyright © 2016 by
Leroy Elwood Mann
oh dear Leroy, has your Mum passed away, I don't quite get your msg but I understand pain. My friend is Paul Brown. He seems happy enough now with his lovely French lady. But I always read your writings. Best to you Denise
ReplyDeleteLeroy's mother is very much alive.
DeleteDear Rochelle. I believe in restorative justice. I have no comment on Leroy's case. But the LifeLines project features men that are clearly condemned. That is alfwul in itself to live life out on DR. But the two men I am referring to killed women & kids. They are using writing to keep their lives stimulated. Yet they still do not refer to their victims. They are readiing books, writing poems, prose etc but they do not mention their victims. It seems to me a one sided venture. Maybe it's too hard to dwell upon the crime that put them on DR. But it seems sometning is missing in their quest to be writers.
ReplyDelete