Reach out and tell me  how many stars are in the sky. Count 1-2-3-4 and realize you cannot count that high. Reach out and tell me do solar flares gravitate brilliance Squint to see its hues of variation and realize its beyond your resilience. Reach out and tell me can a thousand moons tug a war at beauty Follow its map through orbits and realize it's only God's duty. Reach out and tell me can a blanket of darkness sparkle in such shine? Silently whisper a breathless affirmation and realize you too, can be divine. -b.r.rivera Poem 23 of 30, April 2012 #30in30 

My plants are dying. Some wither by the wayside. Others, destined in their own chlorophyll psychedelic mindfuck reach out to the Heavens and are Hell bent on finding the sustenance of the sun. I wonder if its the soil. Mixed parts with fertilizer and the such but we all know the grass is greener on the other side. Probably sunnier there too. Warm. The kind of weather where women flaunt their parasols and gloved white hands, pearls dancing off the sunglasses of the husbands that mow just near the picket fence. Maybe its too much water. leaves are perkier with just enough bounce, sturdy to the prickly fuzzy knees of bees. At least the lady bugs enjoy them. They seem to surround themselves near waxy goodness polka dots and dance trots to and fro the emptiness of withered hope. Couldn't be the roots. Oh, God...not the roots. Mind as well rip up the entire earth that surrounds them, throw them in the air and let the silken strands fall where they may. invisi...

What is a prayer not genuinely concealed in blackened knees and salty tears Aching backs and quivered voices Hushed secrets and cheeks moistened. What is a prayer not genuinely spoken in shaken hymns and battle scare wounds A thousand hail mary's and jesus-loves-me off tune Seeking light when no one has a candle in sight Finding comfort in dark, hushed corners become fetal positions weakened from a fight. What is prayer not genuinely given in bible proverbs that memories have forgotten new thoughts racing while old history has begotten the sheer will and new testaments made because surely growth endures what life has saved and Jesus take this cross from me cause it seems that it is mighty heavy and I would like a break for a moment a rest in your hand- surely there is nothing like a good old fashioned prayer where you see only one set of footprints in the sand. -b.r.rivera #30in30 9of30 http://beverlyrivera.blogspot.com

just one last breath.    allow me to breathe life into you be the whisper of dust collected in shallow grains excavated from the earth and mineralized into a thousand pieces    of you.    let your chest rise and fall into rhythmic beats reserved for soul deep conversations and intellectual being reservations. to have you speak, just one more time, one more moment, one more second.    just one last breath.    allow me to manually stimulate your aorta and ventricles pulsate the veins filled with cellular blood and genetic DNA that surpasses the scientific human being that walks the earth normalized in crowds and stands apart with your specific individualism. to have you, just one more time. one more minute. one more moment. because I remember. I remember the smile that used to spread eagle across your face, your teeth glaring at the sun, polished to radiate the raging inferno that feeds off the ene...

swirling prolific hues of green envy and passionate reds imprints of individualized thumbprints echo the softness of her chest. her stained clothes, a memorial of shed blood and crusted tears. methodically, each stroke larger than the last. shaded memories dusted with charcoal. empty delights cross-etched in blended fingertips. the room, empty. a hollowed portrait fits in the solace in which the artist lives. systematic soul surrender. does she long to be the hidden message in impressionism, the genius of Rodin the talk of the Louvre, the troubled artist in which tragedy ends fulfilling afterlife in the thief of the night's kiss? brush stroke. pain supersedes heliotropes vision a circumcised catalytic imprison, raw theft of stolen pieces and framed genius lay hung, genius on a white wall. tip. tap. coarse fibers dance in shallow water mixing royal purples and optimistic yellows. her favorite color: black. it begs to be painted upon. desires to be another color, in another life- jea...

In his eyes, I am pure Goddess. Alcmene, the mother of Hercules strength and beauty designed and redefined to even at the end of life, I am worshipped. Within this biological being launching a thousand ships is comparable to the sway of my hips the verb of love. beyond the hedonistic pleasures of the flesh, I reign supreme- The mighty Aphrodite, adorned with white garments/crown of gold personified by Homer, an ancient tale to be told. I am Neith rage as a war goddess yet a weaver of dreams and silk from the gift of sight ...and as day kisses the sky goodbye As moon Goddess Artemis, I rule the night. Giving birth to crickets humming at summer's heat, dewy mornings and restful sleep- In his eyes, I am pure Goddess. Recognizing my name to be synonymous in the eternal womaness that even fellow Queen Maya internalized to be, "Phenomenal Woman" I am she. and in all fairness, I balance the scales of justice as Astrea blind to false tales, aligned with...

To speak and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks. ~Ben Jonson This is about to get real. If you are not real-if you hate the truth. Stop reading my blog. Seriously. Turn away. Because the truth hurts. It is exceptional when one thinks of a conversation. The magical impact which happens between two people. Think about it: we have a giver and receiver . Hopefully, both with two ears to listen and one mouth that hopefully closes. It is a reason we have two ears. It is a reason which we have one mouth. If that flew right over your head; maybe you need to shut the fuck up. Between the giver and the receiver -there is a dialogue . This dialogue occurs when a monologue happens-a conversion of words, phrases and expressions. Integrated within this monologue is bodily and facial expressions which foretell emotions and subtleties that are not verbally said. This giver and receiver share this monologue that should be-essentially, a dialogue where two minds share...

I open my arms to you Stretched wide and open No air seeps through the crevices to escape from the blanket of security which holds warmth and untold regions. and there, I am a child. cradled in fetus position smelling the sweetness of skin grazed upon the back of my neck as your arms, Those wide arms welcome me with this embrace- I stay. letting continuous moments to become decades, allowing clocks to tic and toc and bouncing off bells and recognizable sounds that I have grown accustomed to. within your subtle movements of embrace i cling tighter. tighter. I hold on to the hem of your garment close my eyes to the blinding aurora which is of you. afraid to move. afraid to look. afraid to see. so you hold me. I am your child nestled within your arms hearing our hearts beat in synchronization- this transcends love. your embrace moves me, yet draws me still to just breathe...simply, freely freely, in your arms I secure myself from outside dangers hidden harmful adverse behaviors and un...

"A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece" ~Ludwig Erhard~ The art of the compromise is exceedingly needed to not only make a relationship thrive, but make a relationship survive. Such advice is needed in the heat of an argument, where both sides do not see eye to eye and declare each other sworn enemies under the heat of angry words. Women as emotional creatures-and I say this to all my ladies of no disrespect-are often epitomized as such this, without seeing fallacies within the human nature of a woman and their effective argument. To give an inch is to take a mile from a woman. And men? Men as egotistical creatures-and I say this with no disrespect to the men-seek to know it all, understand it all and be it all. It is with disrespect that a man seek the advice of directions when assembling a crib for their newborn baby-"I am man, let me put build and know this even without reading" probably isn...

I am now fighting the battle of the bulge. Notice the discontent within my writing. The hatred. The disposition. Hating the word "diet" I have divulged myself to completely rid that word from my vocabulary, and introduce a new term: Lifestyle Change. That's right, folks. I am changing my life from my physical and emotional state. Fuck this. I can't carry around extra pounds and become more depressed only to eat more and then be more depressed about extra pounds gained from depression. Did you keep up with that? That's right; it's a vicious cycle. However, I do notice that I have little problems with the types of foods that I choose to eat. I have a problem with the motivation of exercise. Getting a new Gold's Gym Treadmill has helped a lot. I sweat my pores out into puddles oozing from my skin and glistened with happiness. Finally, I can walk in rain, sleet or snow. No matter what the excuse, I have no excuse. I can exercise entirely within my home when w...