Sheila Stahl

Family Business

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We don't talk about our "Family Business." Not to each other. And, certainly not to you.

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Stay Seated - Part I

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’Twas twelve and one, nineteen fifty-five, Parks stays seated, stayed parked for our lives. Was it weary bones or physical pain? No sir, she tired of playing the game. She’d take her seat in the marked Colored aisles, Then move again when the White Man would smile.

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Come to Jesus Meeting

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"Amen" we prayed, Three times we’ed seek. All day on Sunday, Once mid-week. The deacon prince, Would pass the plate, Accepting pence, Sin’s compensate.

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Passion

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Touch me gently when we walk, Brush against my skin. Caress me slowly with your breath, Whisper once again.

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I Split Inside

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I split inside the day he died, That musty smell, I cried and cried. For forty years, I schemed inside, The perfect death, I fantasized. The Deacon Prince who caught their eye, Intrepid pleasure, how he’d bribe.

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Wounded

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Wounded are we at an early age from left-over love and traces of time dealt out of lips still dripping with wine. With every word and every deed we latch our hearts and souls and plead to hear for once we are enough, we are okay, and still ... silence.

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Hiding

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i cry sometimes. i hurt inside. what did i do? did i do something? it must be me. i made him do... the awful things... he did to me. i want to cry.

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In The Mirror

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It's not the color of golden green well kept within a forest ring

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Standing Tall

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Me standing tall with my head held high, Took a wee bit more than cool spectacled eyes. My life to the norm seems a Picasso mess, Unfinished and messy and harmful at best. What started before I took my first breath, Then beaten and bruised, still I stand to attest.

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Liquid Flight

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Red and yellow, black and white, Are they precious in this sight? On the rocks and in a tumbler, With a twist and splash of thunder. Tangled tongues spin foolish yarns, While others dribble, donning darns. Multi-cultured mind erasers Dial the flight plan: Dim, endangered.

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No Fun in Ten Did

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Jacks and Jills went up a crazy hill To sketch some cannon fodder Jacks threw down and broke a frown And Jills came tumblr-ing after.

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My Dear Americans

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My dear Americans, oh, Why do you hate? All the suffering Africans. Please, contemplate.

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