Saturday, December 24, 2016

What Christmas Means To Me

What Christmas means to me—
                        that somebody loved us enough to care; that somebody stills loves me enough to care. That family is not always about blood. That it’s not about the size of the gift, but the size of the heart of the person who gave the gift.  It means not caring about a particular greeting, but that you took the time to acknowledge the receiver of the greeting, regardless of however you choose to say it. That no one has to feel alone; that no one has to be made to feel guilty if they are not feeling the joy of the season. That said joy should not be dependent on what the calendar says, which might make the season, when it does come, that much more meaningful.

It means we still need light in the darkness. It means “peace on earth and goodwill toward men”, should not be a sentiment on a greeting card, but a dominant concept that we are all striving towards. I wouldn’t have a problem listening to carols or hymns all year long, if it meant that our lives reflected the words that we were singing. It means that we don’t have to believe the same things, but we should see the other as needing of love and recognition of each other’s humanity.

It means that many of us might require ghostly visitations, a la Scrooge; that, like the Grinch, be reminded that “Christmas doesn’t come from a store; that it perhaps means a little bit more”.

It means that for many of us, like George Bailey, we need to be reminded that each of our lives touches so many others; that it would leave an awful hole, if we weren’t around.

It means that the refugee, the homeless family, the hungry child will always have a place to be, even if it’s a dirty and smelly barn.

It means that wherever there are cracks, the light will always get in; that the broken will always be blessed; and the imperfect, holy.

It means love, and if I never give you anything else concrete or tangible, something you can taste, smell, feel; whether you are a stone’s throw away or thousands of miles away;
whether we communicate via Facebook, email, by phone, or if we are fortunate to do so, in person, I sincerely hope, with every fiber of my broken, imperfect, cracked being, that you know that you are loved—

you who’ve recently lost a spouse, or child, or parent;
you who may feel that no one understands you;
you who feel that no one sees you because of the color of your skin, your sexuality, or your religion(or even, lack thereof);
you who may not even have anywhere to go this time of year;
you, who just needs to hear that someone loves you, even if you don’t want to believe it right now.

I hope that what Christmas means to you, if nothing else, is that you are loved, from someone who cares. Peace be with you all.

Sunday, June 12, 2016


Don't ask me anymore,
where I'm going
with that gun in my hand;
it is my right to own it,
it is my right 
to do with it
as I please;
this is America!
The whole country
is the Wild, Wild West,
Where we shoot first,
then ask questions later--

You see someone suspicious?
Shoot them
before they shoot you;
doesn't matter
if they're armed 
or not,
they had it coming.
we've all got it coming, kid.

Someone playing loud music?
Doesn't matter 
if they're driving away,
shoot them down--
it's called
volume control!

Someone looks at you funny,
or talks wrong to your woman?
before you see 
the whites of their eyes;

someone in your way
in a darkened hallway;
or talking back at you
on an elevated platform?
You've got  a gun
(which is your right),
Don't hesitate!
will get you killed.
It's survival 
of the fittest, baby,
and he who owns the gun,
calls the shots
(pun intended).

know what time it is!
Arm yourselves!
You never know
when shit 
is going to go down.
It's best to be ready
to shoot,
then reload,
then shoot,
then reload,
then shoot,

and in answer
to your question
from earlier,
you know
where I'm going.

© 2016 Joseph Powell


Thursday, April 21, 2016

When The Purple Rain Stops Falling

You taught me
that doves cry;
you made your guitar
gently weep,
under a purple rain;
you were sacred
and profane,
all in one song;
and no one
compares to you;

you took funk
to a whole nother level,
just when
we were starting to take notice;
you redefined music,
like true geniuses do;
like those few before you--
like Miles,
like J.B.,
like Michael;

you showed it was possible
to tap into
your feminine side
and still
be a man;
you showed that black folks
know how to rock--
like Jimi,
like Chuck,
like Richard;

there will be tears shed;
there will be a host of tributes
and more words than these
to extol your praises;
there will definitely be those
who will come after
to copy and emulate
and to further build upon
the foundation
that you've laid;

I'll be the guy
in the club,
nodding my head,
and marveling
at what you've just done.

© 2016 Joseph Powell