Sha'ron Anderson
Bio
This is not poetry; this is purpose.
This is Rites of Passage
As a Narrator, Orator & Translator of the Black, Healing & Literary Arts.
We have the Right of Way to
Know our Right to life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness.
Stories (6/0)
Don't Shoot The Messenger
What a time to be alive. The present is certainly a gift to behold knowing that our personal freedoms are influenced by the culmination and manifestations of the words spoken and delivered by luminary, visionary, and missionary, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. since the inception of his monumental speech delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on August 28, 1963. The further we venture into the future, the more Dr.King’s metaphorical phrases ring true through to the core of the Nation and it's ever diversifying state of nationality. By exercising the Power of the Spoken Word and holding the founding fathers, and their successors, accountable to stand and deliver on the promises of the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, and the National Anthem, all of which were drafted by the Power of the Written Word, Dr. King challenged the American nation to, for the lack of a better phrase, “say what you mean and mean what you say’. His speech is one of the most noble orations of all time because of its ability to transcend time, space and circumstance yet regard the rights, freedoms and inclusivity of all mankind. Without going through Dr. King’s speech with a fine-tooth comb or dissecting it into its many moving parts, we will instead expand on the qualities of his character, explore the evolution of his followers and celebrate the liberties associated with exercising the freedom of speech. We are at a critical point in the evolutionary process where we must relinquish the self-limiting beliefs that give rise to prejudices, stereotypes and discriminations before we can access our own true potential. It is high time we transcend this human conditional by exploring and occupying the options lain before us to ascend past our individual and collective traumas, tragedies and transgressions by honoring our natural nature of compassion, grace, patience and kindness hence our collective title as ‘mankind’.
By Sha'ron Anderson2 years ago in The Swamp
Rest Assured
Alas, the stakes are the highest they have ever been as taxes, inflation, and the cost of living compete for what remains of our stimulus package resources, streams of income and monetary wages as we, here, in the Western World battle the undying pandemic of the 21st century. As the American household dynamic and family structure, socioeconomic climate and immune system suffers the brunt of the compounding stress and strain from the unwarranted circumstance of trivial protocols, mandates, and vaccinations: we are in dire need of rest, rejuvenation and relaxation to combat these budding challenges. During the early stages of this unnatural disaster, the average American was bound to the confines of their home and considered a ‘homebody’ beyond his or her consent and furthermore deemed a ‘bedhead’ by default. To our benefit, frequent lockdowns have spearheaded sleep campaigns and highlighted the benefits of abiding by the ‘5 more minute’ rule to the effect of enforcing a sleep schedule whether it be: rituals before bed, effective practices throughout the night & during waking hours, naps for longevity, or realizing that simply doing nothing is something. This is a how-to guide for the insomniac and a tell-all treatment for the sleeping beauty who knows the power of pause as we affirm why the bedroom is the most the important vicinity in the home, why the most important part of the day is spent sleeping and why the most potent form of productivity is inactivity.
By Sha'ron Anderson2 years ago in Lifehack
Hueman Nature
In a parallel multiverse and neighboring galaxy exists the paradigm of Canvys. There is no grey area, no global warming and there is no popular opinion or debate as to the shape of their world. It is consistent in its measure of degrees, cycles, and postulations as the paradigm itself is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent in balancing every imbalance, normalizing any abnormality, and neutralizing all unnatural forces by self-correcting the slightest nuisance of dysfunction before it has the chance to manifest in their physical world. Canvys is geometric in shape and shifts from one sacred geometric shape to another every cyth, almost equivalent to an eon, with intricate protrusions of angles acting as mountains while oil occupies the valleys of indentures and crevices between the 3D fixtures of the elaborate geometric structure. Their paradigm yields a pair of orbiting Moons that dictate the brightest and darkest degree of a cite, a typical revolution and overarching moment during a cycle where these Moons, not only meet in the visible heavens, but reflect one another, shining an iridescent dawn-like haze over all creation and marveling the colour variation of its inhabitants. The Moons of Canvys are silver in nature and metallic through to the core, one moon is pure metal in appearance and, like a mirror, reflects the surrounding environment while the other moon sparkles as much as it shines since the precious metal, within and throughout, has been wildly dispersed into specs of silver portraying a glittering effect that powders their world of colour with a glistening finish. The inhabitants measure their time in degrees until the two Moons eclipse again into their Phraim, noting 360° as the brightest degree of a cite and 180° as the darkest degree of a cite whilst these same Moons make their routine debut on the opposite side of the world for distant relatives and natives.
By Sha'ron Anderson2 years ago in Fiction
The Golden Thread
It was the middle of March in North Carolina and pine cones were tightly wound with expectation that the spring equinox would usher in some much needed Sun to aggregate the flora and fauna that grace the landscape with complexions of green only the inhabitants could fathom. The local species, both existing and emerging, await the spillage of colour onto the ground, and thusly overhead, and so forth all around as the lush nature will have added warmth to the woods by the time spring spirals into summer. Like spring cleaning, this rolling out of the leaves make it a chore to celebrate the simultaneous endings and new beginnings happening during the juxtaposition of this season, even if it were the pre-existing notions of Solace's 13th birthday. It was Wednesday and all seemed the same when the Matriarch of Solace's immediate family descended the spiral staircase of their mystical home with a gift in one hand and cigarette in the other, she typically did not practice but the thought of falling behind on the bills, a missed menstrual and only being able to afford to give her son the gift she swore to her father that she would give to Solace on his 13th birthday made for a haphazard display of emotions that could only be met with silence. There he was, fully dressed and awaiting breakfast followed by a sequence of events that would commemorate yet another revolution around the Sun. He was astute in nature, gifted for his age and well read to be an only child, due in part because he was homeschooled by the scholars in his family and spent summers being mentored by the family linguist, the family florist, the family neurologist and this summer he was due to meet his Aunt Carole, she was the family member most fluent in bookkeeping. Although, aside from beekeeping, it was uncertain how he would keep busy an entire season until summer vacation reconvened. His mother sat this matte black box with gold trim in front of him and wished him well on this day where his pubescence as a young man has made her so proud yet she cannot spare the showcase of emotions. She leaves him with the box and heads for the outdoor gazebo, a new routine she has picked up since the holidays. His eyes would follow her anytime she maneuvered out of his presence without a word from him. He seemingly manages to redirect his attention back to this box, daunting the lack of presentation to wonder what could be inside. There was no cake, no candles, only the resounding silence right before making a wish, no flame to extinguish and no smell of cooling candle wax mingling with icing. One of his hands managed to slip from his knee to initiate contact with the box; the other hand naturally meeting the box with curiosity. He would remove the one-time golden seal that ensured the box was securely fastened and opened only by the recipient to find a card made of pure gold implanted into the velvet fabric. Now that the card was dislodged from the cardholder of a box, it read: 'Freeman Library' but what would he do with a library card when he has the liberty to read from his expansive home library in which he has made a successful dent, purchase books online, or at the very least, anticipate any of the many books sent in the mail year-round at the expense of generous relatives that "want nothing but the best" for him? Solace had an idea. He would fully immerse himself in apiology and ecology to curb, and account for, the lack of bees that did not make it to their farm last year to produce enough hives for harvesting the honey that would financially cushion their family until his mother's divorce from his father were final. He had become observatory throughout the legal process but, nonetheless, aware of the legal concept of marriage, or divorce for that matter.
By Sha'ron Anderson3 years ago in Education
