GARDEN POLITICS

We orphans are the flowers 

who've wilted and begun to perish 

lifeline energy snipped 

from our physical world 

We astonish our counterparts

who don't know 

how to act around us

if we're gonna make it

if we're even worth 

trying to save

We orphans adopt a new language

others can't understand 

jargon to their ears

yet we still converse 

with them in our native lingo

celebrate fertilized memories 

of parental grounding 

woven thru our tongues' soil

rife with nutrients from their love

watering us with courage 

as we sprouted and blossomed our way

thru this dirty plot

that continued to thicken

amid painful growth spurts

brown-thumbs mishandling us

observers blind to our value 

careless feet

overstepping boundaries 

trampling our good nature

We still hold the knowledge 

of their presence 

sway with our comrades

in the breeze

among dewy grass

musing over the seeds 

that produced our elegance

Until grief Mack-trucks us

we're plowed into code switch

and they're forced 

out of the conversation 

Admirers gawk at us quizzically 

asking our thriving peers 

what's wrong with us

how long have we been this way

is this how it's always gonna be?

They say 

our grim disposition 

and withered leaves  

are devaluing the real estate

Can't someone pluck us already?

Paling colors are concerning 

Is there any way we can 

brighten up?

Have the green-thumbs 

tended to us recently

laid healing hands 

upon our decaying petals

spoken life back into our nuclei? 

Can we be resuscitated?

 

If not

what are the mandates going forward?

Are we still considered part of the bouquet?

Will we be allowed to continue residing here?

Our roots have died

 

What's the policy on our positioning 

if we're kept around?

Shouldn't we be relegated 

to our own section of the patch?

What is anyone supposed to do with us

in this condition?

They label us special needs

question our health-care system

campaign against 

our unpredictable behavior 

vote No on our chances

for survival

But our horticulturist 

assures doubters

even though we're weeping 

souls mollywhopped

by our creators' absence

we're not detrimental to the garden

there's plenty of life

left in our cells

rejuvenation is highly probable 

with deft approach 

lil sugar in their tone

respect that we may now 

be off balance

awkward lean to our stem

lotta patience as they gently

support its posturing 

assist with 

pruning spiritual debris 

prepping us for resurrection 

within this story's fated twist

where 

the sun can reenergize us

chlorophyll ferociously slurping its rays

as we breathe again

steady and sure

make an unexpected comeback

and be beautiful enough 

to turn heads

like never before

©2024 Charlene E. Green

From my upcoming book Check My Documents

ONE THING'S FOR CERTAIN

You will cry

and when tears fall

do not interrupt.

Let them clean house

sloughing mire 

from your spirit.

Let them tell your stories

in whatever tone they want

for however long

speak without censor

be rude and unruly

act out monologues

you've been rehearsing

in your mind for years

quote you in liquefied code

in ways your mouth 

can't find words for.

Whether the time of day

is convenient

or the space you're in

feels safe enough 

to be vulnerable

you will cry

not of your own volition

but because tears 

can only take so much neglect

will only wait so long

for you

to acknowledge them.

Give them license

to be misfits

let them tantrum-splatter 

stigma

secrets

and woe

all up 'n' thru 

grocery stores

knocking down bottles and jars

puncturing packages

clean-up on every aisle

barrel through restaurants

smashing plates 

flipping tables

be runaway slaves

at the gym

stealthily escaping 

among sweat

stampeding from your brow

be handy assistants

at the post office

sealing envelopes 

with the slick of your sorrow.

Let them be chaos

in these streets

explode like firecrackers

across concrete

scream obscenities

rage against Inner-War You

horrify onlookers

as they bungee jump 

from your cheeks

land with fury

like Godzilla's stomp

causing public uproar

same intensity 

as the one inside them

battering their chakras.

Do not shame yourself 

hide your facial wreckage

or let people 

exasperated with their

emotional barrenness 

convince you that

your tears are 

ghastly

unnecessary

let them witness

the storm fleeing your body

purifying your soul

let them marvel 

take notes 

learn how to navigate

tempestuous salty rivers

teach them how to sail

through crisis

remind them that

crying 

is the natural order of things

because

all human life

begins with tears

at birth.

It is not a punk move

it's checkmate.

Show them they can cry

should cry

now

lock eyes with them

hold strong

don't blink

let tears flood your rims

feel them quake pre-descent

deep breath in

through nose

let the muscles

in that lump in your throat 

relax

delicate exhale

through lips

nod gently at your student

as if to say

"It's time," 

and like green light

signal them to wail

louder than the hellion

voices in their head

aggressively 

for optimal toxin release 

proudly

like they know

they finally squared up

with their gaslighting demons

invite them to accompany you 

in overdue riddance

of internal grotesque.

Tell them

to tell a friend 

to join the movement 

each one teach one

cuz cry 

is first responder

urgent care

purge

self-preservation 

gift

mental health restored

fresh start

it is 

revolution

evolution

punctuation.

You will

prepared or not

lose control

and cry 

for love

apology

grief

lack of justice

relief

for the life you want

the one you had

for delayed prayers

wisdom and answers

to excavate hate

accept whys

say good-bye

to reclaim peace.

©2024 Charlene E. Green

 

PORTRAIT

Love 

is a perplexed newborn

fresh from the womb

afterbirth clinging to eyes

jiggling on twitching limbs

ejecting first scream

startled by its own pitch

yearning to meet the woman

whose canal it swam 

into a world of uncertainty

searching the frosty room

for directions 

back to her warmth

Love 

is 93 years old

on deathbed

best life lived

all goals accomplished

regret and debt free

unbothered by its

dwindling bodily functions

ready to fly

nothing left to do here

had all the peace

it prayed and worked for

left its healing

across the globe

so as last breath

crawls through cracked lips

they melt serenely

into a smile 

shaped like contentment

Love 

wears skirts and three-piece suits

smells good

speaks a pretty language

gives hope

does dishes without being asked

remembers birthdays

anniversaries 

says please and thanks

lemme get that for you

shows up for everyone

with bells on

even itself

Love 

is also covered 

in skull-and-bone tattoos

wears durags and bandanas

sports a mouth full of gold

drinks too much sometimes

gets into arguments

cusses a little

or a lot

depending on the day

and who pushed the envelope

too far

serves an unnerving side-eye

misses the mark 

of righteousness weekly

but always

opens wife's doors

never pulls off

with her in the passenger seat

of the vintage Impala

without ensuring her sundress

is properly draped

across her thighs

touches her like

its job is to guarantee

she never breaks

kisses her sweetly 

on the nose 

every night before bed 

is introspective 

remorseful

and willing 

to do better next time

After bullies

took new kid's lunch

Love 

broke its turkey sandwich

and the last double-fudge brownie

it fought its brother for

that morning

in half

with post-playground hands

and shared

On a day that felt like

the sun needed anger management 

Love

dashed into the street

commanded erratic traffic

like a salaried crossing guard

scooped up a near-slain bird

from the scalding pavement

bare-handed

and sprinted its limp 

bloody body

two miles to the vet

Occasionally

Love 

sleeps through the alarm

wakes up groggy

and takes half the day off

cuz it ain't always

runnin' on a full tank

but

never lets itself deplete

Somebody shoulda told you

Love and Exhaustion

are on a first-name basis 

In the real world

Love 

goes to prison

for losing its temper

deep in 

the barrel of a gun

the thrust of a blade

for losing control

behind the wheel of a car

CNN will fill you in

on Monday's "Things got out of hand"

Thursday's "It wasn't supposed

to happen like that"

Sunday's "But...it was an accident"

Last week

Love 

stole four-figure meds 

for Gran-Gran

diapers and food for the twins

and lied on the job application

Somebody shoulda told you

Love 

does whatever 

it thinks is necessary 

to survive and save lives

Judge if you want

but until you've hobbled

Forrest Gump miles

in this Love's oppressive shoes

fearing the worst

for people you adore the best

just smile

wave

and look the other way

Today

Love 

didn't brush its teeth

comb its hair

or shower

cuz Love 

don't always feel 

a hundred percent

but that don't mean

it won't try to give it

So it crunched

a handful of Altoids

across plaqued teeth

put on its most appropriate hat:

the Nike beanie

prayed it wouldn't smell

like what it had been through

the day before 

and went

where it was needed most

Love 

is good at being

where it's needed most

and known 

for being tightly tucked

in places 

it's hard to recognize

How many faces of Love

have you seen?

How many faces of Love

have you worn?

©2024 Charlene E. Green

CLIMATE CHANGE

Rain

be a deep spring cleaning

for Earth's infiltration

by polluted prayers

of sabotage and death

from heinous minds

deceit slithering between 

prayer-hand fingers

feigning ignorance of its aim

flood this slum

let fairweather-friend tendencies

float to the surface

so the targeted 

can steer their vessels clear

of the eye 

of their enemy's storm

 

Thunder

be a buffer across 

the atmosphere's foundation

David Copperfield the scuff marks

of their unremorseful missteps

sand them so vanished 

that those who dared

break the laws of life

and the souls of mankind

may have two left feet

unable to revisit the path

or start anew

halting their calamitous journey

 

Lightning

be an electrical fence

warden the element

sizzle their defiled thoughts

shock them into compassion

let them lay down 

the weapons in their hearts

so they'll have no desire 

to brandish them in the flesh

Wind

like Jesus

take the wheel

spin it robustly

like this world's safety

relies on the strength of your grasp

the precision of your rotation 

typhoon their acrimony

out of reach

category-five separation

sweep this unholy sphere 

till it sparkles with love

Hail

pelt their fear of failure

so heavy it outweighs their courage

to nurture dreams deferred

intercepting purpose

and legacy

disfigure it 

so Elephant Man that they may

construct a new belief system

confidence 

retrofitted to withstand

all precipitation

 

Snow

freeze the hell in their spirits

require them 

to dig themselves free of it

do not supply them with shovels

let them use their hands

so they can experience 

the frigid bite

of their negativity 

severing their fingertips

let them then vow 

to soften their touch

refrain from squeezing the life

out of love they've been gifted

by those they mistreat

Sun

shine so brightly 

that they can no longer see

justification for their malice

let them warm up to each other

to the idea that

there is enough space 

for every kind in this world

that everyone who is here

belongs

let them fashion a society 

where understanding 

acceptance

and allyship

are normalized

illuminated at every turn 

let them detect their contribution 

to connections' decline

do their part to rectify

let beauty be unmistakable

everywhere

and let me always be

at the forefront 

of the transformation crusade

demonstrating

inspiring

Rainbow

lend us your colors

let our pristine invocations

be flung like crayon confetti

into the ravenous belly

of the freshly washed sky

in commitment to

and celebration of

the new world order

Listen to audio here:

CLIMATE CHANGE

©2024 Charlene E. Green

ARSON

Your temper 

blow-torch Fahrenheit  

smoldering among your cells

disintegrating your lungs

each exhale carcinogenic

Your breath smells like

unresolved generational trauma

a putrid fusion

of blame, excuses

and all the smoke

you stay ready 

to serve the world.

No one is safe 

including you.

 

One day 

the internal holocaust 

charring your core 

roasting your bodily fluids

and blackening your heart 

will be too rebellious

for you to survive.

 

Swear I keep smellin' fire 

and sure enough

every time I look around 

it's you

lit

cracklin' and poppin', 

rockets launching from your tongue

a run-for-cover spectacle

short-circuiting people's tolerance 

incinerating vital bonds

from your support system 

snuffing out your prosperity.

Hell hath no fury 

like you

scorned.

You're not the warm refuge folks seek

to escape life's blistering chill

you're the reason the block is hot

carbon-monoxide mobile

mortal spirit

clearing the path

with one searing gaze

no need to speak

we all know

you don't require words

to kill the peace.

And I would call the fire department

but judging by 

the grandeur of your rage

your flame is too trick candle

for their hoses

you're not thirsty for healing

you wanna burn bridges

every day you add more tinder

to the widespread toxins 

engulfing humanity.

It's clear that your violent flare 

is premeditated

which means

this 

is an inferno 

that can only be extinguished

by you. 

©2024 Charlene E. Green