of the original sin
is the second one.
The other day I visited one of the few slave-era cemeteries of African-descent people in Charlotte. Known as the McCoy Slave Cemetery, the site has about 25 plots that date back to the 1840s.
I, like that morning, was still and reverent in that place. This haiku came home with me that day.
one and twenty days
thoughts tick mercilessly
mocking my mind unceasingly
each hour searches increasingly
minutes second-guess me so easily
every trace of time misses you.
Poem, Day 5
What a difference a day makes—for better or for worse. Happenings months ago inspired this piece and since then my emotions have come full circle and are now tilting toward one-eighty. Funny how time does that.
Poem, Day 4
Give it a real go.
Give it everything you got.
And give it some time.
This month, on April 27, I’ll mark nine years since the idea for the Giving Back Project seized upon me while attending a philanthropy conference in Seattle.
If nothing else, this journey of nearly 3285 days has taught me the three points composing the haiku above, which was posted in observance of National Poetry Month. So when you choose to pursue something meaningful, dream big, prepare well, go hard…and hang on tight for the dizzying roller coaster ride! — VF
Today marks the vernal equinox and first day of spring—a beloved time of year. Perhaps because my birthday comes along with the season, the arrival of springtime happenings (greenness, jonquils, morning bird songs, warmer weather, budding trees, brighter days) is a source of supreme delight. Conversely, fall is my least favorite season. This is evidenced in the poem below, written exactly six months ago on the autumnal equinox.
fading daylight hints its approaching
the rustling cues my lament and loathing
hustled, leaves surrender verdant hues
a pall befalls every branch in view.
its cooled breath, a cause to brood
déjà vu dreading of a bluest mood.
never ushered, seemingly flung in
the season liked least of them
alas, here again: autumn.