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Selected Poems of Terry a. O'Neal

selected published and unpublished work

my backyard

in my backyard

green grass grows

and flowers bloom in spring

and little black girls sing

freedom ring…freedom ring…

 

in my backyard

tip toe to full blown

the mind’s eye wanders

to places unknown

and little black girls sing

freedom ring…freedom ring…

 

in my backyard

fluffy dandelions blow

linger in the air

then fall like snow

and little black girls sing

freedom ring, freedom ring

in my backyard

weeds sprout year ‘round

golden strands sway like hips

to the Moroccan drum sound

and little black girls sing

freedom ring, freedom ring

in my backyard

long thorns shoot

from berry bushes closing in

with poison at the root

and little black girls sing

freedom ring, freedom ring

in my backyard

stretching tall i stand

in search of the promise land

(i peek through cracks; stare through holes

beyond the fence where nobody knows i exist)

and little black girls sing

freedom ring, freedom ring

Blue Flowers

the impatient reader

she wasn't the prettiest story

fear and bitterness pushed her through the climax

 

peeking ahead, she knew what awaited her on the other side

 

though the road ahead would be thorny

 

the promise was well worth her pain and suffering

 

and, so, the pages turned

 

as she journeyed down the falling action

 

toward the horizon

Doormat

birds sing to the wind chimes

hanging from the limbs of a tree

while the neighbor's dog cries wolf

through gaps between the pickets.

it's that time again.

sweetness is filling the air.

I stared from an open window

through tiny holes in the screen

as she rough-handled it like a disobedient child--

shaking vigorously,

she battered it with the handle of a feeble broom;

to chase away pesky dust mites

that gathered last fall.

after hours playing tug of war

they had enough,

to a truce, they came.

both lose, again.

and so, she hung it out on the line to rest;

absorbing the freshness of outdoors

and the energy from the sun.

well-worn with smudges and soiled boot prints,

the stench of fried fish

and the soot of drunken tales

slowly ripped away,

floating in the wind by pollen

drifting from one shrub to another

to the next--

only to reproduce a brand-new crop

next spring.

Stellenbosch Cape Town South Africa

tomorrow is

made for those to discover what yesterday 

held close to her bosom beneath a blue cloth 

wailing chants flutter on moth wings to the moon 

 

a mystery left unsolved to bygone days 

and unpaved shallow roads bearing the raw truth 

masked dance on dormant dreams

weep a lowly croon 

 

a folktale adorned with obscure reflections   

in murky waters at the edge of a creek 

wailing chants flutter on moth wings to the moon 

 

blind to the twisting, turning, spiraling storm 

ripping through the heartbeats of promise unseen 

masked dance on dormant dreams

weep a lowly croon 

 

awakened and wandering in pitch blackness of day 

balancing a tightrope wearing lofty hope 

wailing chants flutter on moth wings to the moon 

 

a thief out to satisfy his thirsty soul 

bearing no mercy for what is destined near 

he basks in contentment and reverie while 

wailing chants flutter on moth wings to the moon 

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