Jus rockin'

Don't want no knock,
don't want no phone.
Wanna rock my baby
'fore my baby is grown.

Don't bring the news,
I just wanna muse
on Baby's amazing, gazing blues.

Say, Old Mister Clock,
can you float me a loan?
I need more time--
All I had is flown.

Don't knock my door,
don't ring my phone.
I'm rockin' my baby
'fore my baby is grown.

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer © 2006
Freelance Writer
Poetry

Pesky Brothers

I'm proud to share this poem by a special guest author, 10 year old Samantha Swantek. Sam earned Top Honors for Pesky Brothers in Florida's Spring 2005 A Celebration of Young Poets Competition. This is Samantha's first published work, and I look forward to reading more from this talented young writer.

Pesky Brothers
Pesky Brothers, like no others,
sometimes they can make me shudder.
Grubby, shouting,
lots of pouting.
Little brothers climb the stairs,
they make my mom glare and glare.
Greasy cups and grimy bowls,
my dad says they were raised by wolves.
Murky bath water,
bloody toes.
Don't come near me with that runny nose!
They even share dirty clothes!
Then again, they can be cute.
Even when they burp and toot.
They can really make me smile.
Their hugs are longer than the Nile.
Loveable, snuggable and oh so huggable.
Meet Nick and Jack, they're 6 and 3.
They make life real interesting for me.
Pesky brothers some of the time,
I'm their big sister and I'm glad they're mine!

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer © 2005
Freelance Writer
Poetry

When I Am Dust

When I am dust,
I will settle on the first green leaves of the highest branch of the tallest tree
I will quiver on the dewy tips of young daffodils, freshly sprung
I will float from the rafters of a falling-down barn, and I will be summer

When I am dust,
I will curl in the sleepy smoke of a spent flame
I will tickle the nose of a sun-toasted lion
I will dodge the hoof-and-muscle thunder of a thoroughbred on the track,
tossing in the split second between all and nothing

When I am dust,
I will drift like an old mind, random and unaccountable
I will mingle with the spray of an inbound wave, misting the footprint shore
I will wander through stone-cool Cathedrals and musty lofts, and I will be unhurried

When I am dust,
I will soar in the wake of a child on a swing,
free of time and need and expectation,
and I will warm myself in some small, glad corner of a quiet room.

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer © 2005
Freelance Writer
Poetry

I Hope I Never Forget

First seeing you
you seeing me
feeling that I had come home,

Your face when you dance
your morning voice
the time I saw you cry,

Your faith in God
your faith in me
the safety of your lap,

Your baseball mitt
your summer skin
the sound of you saying my name,

The first time you called
your hand on my back
hearing you say “my wife”,

The curve of your mouth
your step on the stairs
holding my hand in your sleep.

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer © 2005
Freelance Writer
Poetry

Day of Days

On a day not today,
up and over a breathless hill
as beyond as pedal legs can go

you and I will wander with the skitter clouds
above the weaving green,

and clamberclimb a maple tree
and danglefeet the stream,

and I shall butterlick your kisses in the pelting sun

Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer 2004

Solstice

Nature soaks our senses
as her summer spree commences,
scaling all our fences —
sights and sounds and scents galore!

Butterflies in full bloom,
reeling from the perfume,
touch and go the nectar plume
like bubbles bobbing by.

Quiver in a fern curl —
sneak a peek — a gray squirrel
emerges with a tail twirl
and business on his mind.

Chatter brings a blue jay
screaming down the runway,
mantis folds himself to pray
and bumble hums along.

Sally Bacchetta 2004

I Never Stood

I never lived in Africa.
I never led a tribe.
I never poached a man and sold him to a trader.

I never owned a plantation.
I never wore a hood.
I never dragged a negro out of bed with a flashlight and a shotgun.

I don’t care if you sit in the front.
I don’t care if you vote.
I don’t care where you eat, drink, live, learn, shop,
or how you pray.

Never in my life did I spit at anyone,
refuse them service,
or call them nigger.

I never thought you were less.
I never thought you were more.
I never thought I knew Your Kind.

I don’t laugh at the jokes.
I don’t cross the street.
I don’t lower my voice when I say Black,
and I am not afraid of Strong Black Women.

I never kept you from wanting more.
I never told you to take less.
I never stopped you from going to work.

I didn’t give up your virginity when you were twelve.
I didn’t drop you out of school.
I didn’t shoot your father,
beat your mother,
shake your baby,
or pimp your sister.
I never jabbed a needle in your arm.

I’m a Cracker bitch because I don’t give you a hand up?

Sister, I never stood on your fingers.

Sally Bacchetta 2005