Globe Goat

We are not the voice that many want to sing out.  We are loud in our delivery and sound in our straight and arrow find or not, chew it and never spit it out.

Mothers be.  Mothers be of foster grow-loose-seek-and-be.  But more important is the feeling that life is the "yes"where we see and deal.  Deal with the "poop shoe incident,"  and the "i'm not hungry," and the "i'm of citizen and cool."

We are guiders of what we see as right.

Right is the first bloom of waiting for life's eternal boom.

We are not of anything more than what is of corners and bound.

Bound be swift bound be solid for the earth's candle we lick.  Lick for purpose, lick for community small.  Lick for one and definitely all.  We are the voice that is nibble and true, we are of our children so soft and warm blooded few.

What we cud chewing mamas have been yearning for is pure kindness and might, even when it provokes a sense of yellow-eyed fright.  

Glory be done.  Glory be of sight and seen and plenty.  This is the guide that is centered and self-true: be of what make and be of what make you.

Permission

Permission to be that parent we yearn to create...
Quiet, calm, accept all.

Yet there are Human Times stronger than "yes" that call to our children:
Please give space so I may make self grounded and not make an earth mess!

Seek the comforts of feeling your you.  You are never alone, even when those sleepless nights creep stronger virus like.

No matter the age of your children live or not, community is key.  For we forge to new oceans broad yet limited on what we individuals can see.

We are parents of live most, some not.  And that is a gift for whatever you choose to knot.

The gift is giving.  What we can in silly anecdotes, eye welled contact or just a gentle lend of how our grandma did her dare.  It is all there.  Solid and fair.

We are parents.
Permission to be humbled by the new.
Offering gratitude to our amazingly serious. sassy, spirited few.

Dear Ms SistaMama Badu

You guide
You have felt that ice cube freeze form.  When hurt hurts too but bad.  Too but bad.

I have felt your voice since first heard Billy Holiday channel battle boo.

I am Mama too of Three.

Two Red-Headed craze/run/crawl/fall/be what of Tall Man cool.

One Red Spirit Surround Us All.
She our Nora Born
too soon for our tender hearts
born of what a story should be told.

Ours is what?
What?
Something that feels different than what our friends live.
Different.  But.  Not Different.  NOT Different because grief is grief, no matter what we loose.  Loose is Loose.  Loose is Loose.  Loss is Loss.  Loss is Loss.

But Nora Teach us of blood life, spirit choose life.

I native/prairie roots in a voice not yet understood.

I feel you sista.
I feel you good.
My vibration of life force seems equal in the mirrored hood.

Write me.

I am here.
Constant and legit, I am no fuss or make
Just sista soul touch.

I am just, just.  That Mama we Make.

Ms Lily Lioness

Hear our Sista/Mama Guide

E. Badu.

She is that voice you hear at night mixed with those spirit babes.

Real Sista.

Come visit me.  Come visit me This spring when our tears blend with the night Ellisport air.
Shed, write, sing,
will Guide.  Will guide.  Will Guide.

Sista do.
Sista do.
Sista do in grief grow, we hold responsibility of those tears not yet understood.

We do.
She Do.
We Do.
WE DO, YOU KNOW--YOU KNOW soul aching know.