Peggy

red haired

Peggy;

we met

in college

and hung out.

she said

she was going

to be

a doctor

and i

have no doubt

that that is what

she became.

one time she brought 

a slew of vinyl

albums

for me to listen to;

Sergio Mendes,

Gabor Szabo,

Herbie Mann.

a little sub-

urban

for my tastes

but still

good listening.

i had an old large

console stereo

in the bedroom

at my mother’s;

and candles

in Chianti bottles

that my mother abhorred

because of the risk

of fire.

 and Peggy gave me

a date of return

for

when she would

get

her albums

back.

when she came

to get them

of course

they were strewed

around my room

recklessly.

she just collected them

and went

her way.

the last time

i heard

from her

i was living in a studio

on Blue Hill Avenue.

alone,

disheartened

and disappointed…

trying to make

a go of life,

but lost.

she must have gotten

my phone number

from my mother

and she spoke cheerily

of her pursuits

and confirmed

that she

was still working toward

being

a doctor.

i was as polite

as i could be

but i knew that

we would never

speak

again.

she came to mind

today

out of the blue

fog

that i peep through

these days;

Peggy,

young,

red-haired,

vibrant;

certainly now

with the title ‘Doctor’

and certainly

with

memories

of

her

own.
Linda Tauhid

©11/24/20

Cliff

you are still 

beautiful!

maybe

even

more so…

buffed to perfection

coiled locks

beauty parlor perfect;

and peace

and satisfaction

shining on

your face.

i know

it took a lot

to achieve that;

apparently

you have

the help

that

you need

and you

are where

you always

wanted to be.

but

i knew

you would have

exhausted me,

‘wore me out’

in no time

and that

is why

i exited.

not thinking of you,

but of

my

self.

Linda Tauhid

©11/20/20

Tariq

Tariq

bright star.

you were younger

but you ran with us

anyway.

young and committed,

and Juanita

loved you…

i ran into you

a couple of times

in Oakland (CA)

decades later.

still younger,

but a seasoned educator

and professor

still committed to the cause

of freedom through knowledge

and action.

and although you were

always

a gentle spirit

it seemed to me

that you felt

a bit diminished

in power;

and rightfully so;

this country

that was built

by our forced labor

but

was not built

for us.

and we struggle for balance

and reconciliation

in the midst of it.

but i saw

a picture of your

daughter

on line:

poised,

beautiful,

committed.

like the young man

that you were

and like

the elder

you

have

become.

Linda Tauhid

©11/15/20

What Better Sunday?

what better Sunday?

alive!

Bobby Hutcherson radio on

Pandora

with

a sprinkling

of John Coltrane

Miles Davis,

Herbie Hancock “Dolphin Dance”,

Horace Silver,

Lonely Woman—

—all the boys…

and almond milk

herbal coffee

pumpkin spice latte’

on tap;

with chipotle speckled

avocado toast;

and later

a walk on a sunny

70-degree

mid-November

Houston day…

what

better

Sunday?


Linda Tauhid

©️11/15/20

A New Perspective is


the one

that told

me

of this music

is long

gone

(from my life)

except

in memory.

the total

work is a genius

effort

that captures

struggle,

sorrow,

joy

and Grace.

the tracks:

Christor Redentor,

Beast of Burden,

Elijah

have increased

for me

in meaning

and nuance.

and i long

for the time

when commitment to

making good music

was seen as servitude;

and good listenership

was honored.

and what i most

remember

about those times

is that people

were happy to teach

and introduce

new things

to each other

in the spirit

of

love

and growth;

and we had

the time

to see ‘the new’

and to evaluate

what 

came

before.

Linda Tauhid

©11/12/20

Unshed Tears

what

am i
to do

with these

unshed tears?

do they stay in

my eyes,

solidify

in my tear ducts;

tarry around my

heart

like unwanted

guests.

do they walk with me

on every journey,

abide

in my soul

that

has been

cut deep?

do they stick

in my throat

and make it sore

like tiny pebbles

or an unknown

bacteria.

do my pleas:

“Ya Hafiz*

protect me

from becoming

lost!”

and

alleviate

their power

in

my

soul?
Linda Tauhid

11/8/20

London 

i arrived

in the city

in the cold, rainy month

of December.

the taxi took me

’round in circles

before dropping me

at my hotel.

i looked out of

the window and studied 

the crowd;

then donned

a stylized

black wool

light coat,

a felt hat,

and black combat boots.

then

went

exploring;

not three feet

from the front door

some ‘bloke’ queried me:

“do you know where

the social services office is,

‘luv’?”

i knew i had passed

the muster

to appear

as a local.

so i proceeded on

a temporarily “legal alien”

wandering the streets

of overpriced

ethic food 

and pubs 

and Underground stations,

and fascinating

foot traffic.

to Soho

and Piccadilly Circus,

and Harrod’s

being asked

if i knew

where 

a flower shop was;

hopping a red

double decker

tour bus

to see the sights.

it is a fascinating place

of sight

and 

sound

and aroma

and bustle

and English hostility.

all

a whirlwind

of flashes

of memory…

and longing

now

for more

time

and more travels

to come.

 

Linda Tauhid

©11/4/20

Lagos

i wish that

i could have spent 

more time there…

walking

the beach

in Lagos.

smelling

the salt air

and cooking food 

around the city;

the pungent spices

and smells

of West Africa.

the night fires,

lanterns,

and candles

lighting

the shops.

the mysteries

and dangers

of a city

full of awe.

the warmth

of

my host family,

sand in my shoes,

the blessings

of the homeland

traveling 

back

with

me.
Linda Tauhid

©10/9/20

Clee

does any one

remember Clee?

an extraordinary man.

who monitored

and mentored me

through my

transitions

during 

a difficult time.

i had long

been

a poet

when

i met him.

reading around

Boston and Chicago venues.

who has a copy

of his book:

“Thirty Three Stones

In

A

Pond.”?

published

posthumously

by his friends.

where is his son?

does he dream

of his father

and the lives

that

he 

touched.

did the ‘Science

of his

Christianity’

guide him

to a

perfect spot?

does he

flutter

with

the angels

or

remember

the ones here

who are alone

and

in need

of love

and

good counsel?

does any

one

remember

Clee?

For the late Clee Snipe Jr.

Poet, author and friend.

Linda Tauhid

©9/29/20