Legacy of the Future (Ted A. Richard

Legacy of the Future (Ted A. Richard - Church Point, LA)

One day, a very large owl appeared in my dream.

Its rainbow colored feathers showed

Only the wealth of wisdom that had been

Amassed throughout its lifetime.

And then it spoke to me

“Legacy of the Future”

And then flew away.

It’s strange to me how a dream can be

So distant yet so relative,

So blurry, yet so vivid;

So imaginative, yet so real.

I spent many of the next years

Wandering and wondering.

Wandering through my childhood,

Wondering where life would take me.

Wandering through my adolescence,

Wondering which path to choose.

And wandering in my young adulthood

Wondering if the choices I made would ever mean something.

And then I remembered the dream.

“Legacy of the Future”

And I knew exactly what the owl meant.

From that day forward,

Each day I dwell on each moment

As a way to become the person I envision myself to be:

Honest, Strong and Proud.

I am honest about my successes and honest about my failures.

My failures become opportunities, and leads to more focused direction.

I am strong in my beliefs and strong in my opinion,

But I have learned to not let my opinion stand in the way of the truth.

Most of all, I am proud.

I am proud of the man that I have become and

Proud of the man that I still becoming.

I acknowledge my faults and challenge myself daily

To be better each day than the day before.

Because people are depending on me.

No longer am I a young child with a vivid imagination.

I am now a young man with hopes and aspirations

And dreams that I can take into reality.

I live each day hoping that, in some way

I have nurtured and mentored someone to become someone

Better than they thought they could be.

I live each day aspiring to be the friend a friend wants,

And the friend a friend needs.

And I live each day dreaming

That I can spend the rest of my life

Wandering and wondering !!

Wandering through the imagination of my newborn child’s mind, and

Wondering when she’ll have this same dream.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

The Peculiar New Room (Nick Perere - Baton Rouge, LA)

A peculiar fourth room has appeared in my three bedroom abode. High ceilings Higher than any ceiling in the house Perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls The largest window one can imagine Stretching from floor to ceiling Wide as an ocean’s horizon Revealing the lushest greenery and the bluest skies. I am meant to show masterpieces here. But in one of the corners o f the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls i s an ugly patch of dirt. Dirt darker than charred coal. And the dirt is crawling And multiplying. With their spindly legs and dangly antennae Vermin covered in filth and willingly ready to spread their germs Scuffing the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls. But I have to move on, I have a gallery to exhibit. Smile and act as if nothing is wrong. Come. Enjoy the show. Enjoy the artwork hanging Upon the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls.

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