Newpanther | Poetry Vibe
Newpanther
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RUBY

  ruby
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Our Text For Today...

CATEGORY

life

Views: 108

Reflecting
Innocent days of my being the inquisitive
Fearful
PK
A quiet moment
when he was himself
Dropped knowledge like water
Melting from the icicles on the roof of our front porch
in the warmth of early April
 
Not sure what triggered it
but
It came out of nowhere
like the #102 bus
Barreling down Broadway
 
I didn’t ask him
Just came out of him
And he didn’t face me
 
Words
Spoken in the living room in another direction
While watching 
Sandford & Son
Strange time for it
 
He was a
DK
A deacon’s kid
So I thought I was special 
But didn’t tell him so
 
And when I write 
Or choose not write
Remembering
He told me
Preachers are called
They do not call themselves
 
Pretty simple in its context
But 
Deep like daddy
Finally
catching up to the
#102 city bus down the street
Some years later when
He read my poem
Maybe that was the trigger
 
Will never know
Just
Remembering that preachers are like
writers of poems
Called
They do not call themselves
The congregation can tell the difference
Moved
by the Holy Ghost
Or
Moved
to run into the streets
Fists held high
 
Damn it
We ain’t gonna take this no more
 
And the preacher
Looks down at the
writer of poems
Amidst half empty pews
A long 
Knowing glance

Hallelujah!

Saved
And Sanctified

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COMMENTS

Contest Winner  

mlowe5 says:

This touched my heart, Newpanther. Took an 82-year-old PK way back. I was one and a half years old when my Dad died. My family nick-name to date remains "Deac". My great-great-great nieces and nepheds only know me as "Uncle Deac". Thanks for this beautiful write. To God Be The Glory. ONE. Peace and Love.
 

love_supreme says:

Ok, I liked this one. Excellent write.

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