Kim or Lisa

Man In The Doorway

2012-01-27T10:01:00.000-08:00

He stood in

The doorway,

A mere silhouette,

A story up.

I could not see

In the room beyond him

But I knew

What existed there.

Men standing,

Sitting, leaning on walls,

Beers in hands,

Eyes on women.

Women twisting and turning,

Gyrating and writhing,

Nude and almost nude,

All out in front of

Strange men.

I could not tell if

The man in the doorway

Was looking in

Or looking out.

Was he another zombie

Staring at the flesh

Of innocent women

Trying to make a buck

Who may go so far

As offer a fuck

For said buck?

Or was he staring out

Into the night sky

Where it stretches out

To meet the sea?

Was he staring longingly

At women he could not

Cover and even if he

Got their bodies,

Their hearts, their souls

He could never have.

Or was he looking out,

His spirit seeking out

Another spirit that fits

Perfectly with his,

Trying to escape

The debauchery that lay

Just behind him?

I called out to him,

My curiosity at its zenith,

And he turned to me,

His eyes adjusting to

The darkness that surrounded me.

When he realized that

He knew me not,

That I was fully dressed,

Not an ounce of tender flesh

Exposed, he turned away.

In that moment,

All my questions were answered,

He was a zombie,

Slack jawed with eyes

Boring into the tender flesh

Of women gyrating,

Writhing, trying

To make a buck.

Ring, Ring, Ring

2012-01-25T02:59:00.000-08:00

source

Ring, ring, ring!!

Someone is blowing up

My cell, but I'm busy,

So I decide that

I'll call them back.

Ring, ring, ring!!

That's strange,

Who would be calling me

This fine Sunday morning?

Perhaps that guy

I just started talking to.

Ring, ring, ring!!

He walks in,

A shadow from my past.

"Hey you," I say,

It's been a while,

I think, still looking good.

Ring, ring, ring!!

"What's wrong with my phone?

The phone wasn't ringing.

Oh, you mean my cell."

Ring, ring, ring!!

I give him

The answer to

His work related question.

Next customer.

Ring, ring, ring!!

He's gone,

I'm unsettled

But I try to act

Normal, cool even.

Ring, ring, ring!!

Three missed calls.

It wasn't like

I was going out of my way

To hurt him, but the way

He searched my face

For some semblance

Of malice got me

To thinking.

Thinking of all the times

I would answer.

Did they subconsciously matter

To him? and the three times

I didn't left him unsure.

It's not like

I was in his life

And he was in mine,

Not like we were

Lovers or friends,

More like acquaintances,

Associates, nothing more.

Then it dawns on me,

An epiphany bitch slapping me,

This cell, which I paid for,

Is mine and that means

I decide whose calls

I answer, I decide

Who I let into my consciousness,

My day, my life.

This little device

Is one more way

I can keep unhappiness,

Insecurity at bay,

Just through the simple act

Of pressing the ignore button.

So when my cell goes

Ring, ring, ring,

And I see it's him,

I'll let it

Ring, ring, ring

Because it's time

We both moved on

And I am looking for

A different kind of ring.

Wadadli Pen 2012

2012-01-24T10:33:00.000-08:00

source

Submissions are invited from Antiguans and Barbudans for the Wadadli Pen 2012 Challenge in Partnership with the Best of Books. Get your entries in on or before February 15^th 2012. Lots of opportunities to win; More opportunity to express yourself. See http://wadadlipen.wordpress.com or email wadadlipen@yahoo.com for details.

Untitled

2012-01-23T09:20:00.000-08:00

Day in,

Day out,

The same thing

With no way out.

No place to rest

My head but on

A pillow with

No heart, no soul.

No arm to curl

Around me,

To comfort me,

To tell me to forget

My worries, my sins.

No smile to add

A little more sunshine

Into my day

With promises for my night.

Be strong,

Be unyielding,

Be a modern woman,

They say.

But I am tired,

I am weary,

And there are times

When I want to do nothing

But curl up and cry.

But I never do,

Even when my back

Is to the wall,

And I'm being mauled

By the world.

My face is granite,

My chin is high

And never a tear

Falls from my eyes.

I am strong,

I am resilient,

I am independent,

I say, and still

I pray that

I don't fall apart.

Day in,

Day out,

The same thing

With no way out.

He Found Her

2012-01-20T09:20:00.003-08:00

He found her

Beautiful.

His little bit of

Chocolate

That melted both

In his hands

And his mouth.

He found her

Intelligent.

There were times

He would spark

Debates, simply for

The joy of participating

In verbal warfare.

He found her

Heady.

When she would

Put on that dress,

Wear that perfume,

Walk in those heels,

She left him wanting.

He found her

Engaged

To a man

She swore she loved

And yet she sought

Him out in the dead

Of night.

He found her

Wanting to be

With him, but

Needing to be

With her fiancé.

He found solace in this.

Eventually,

Solace was not enough,

And he slowly released her,

Pushing her to the man

Whose ring she wore,

Forcing himself to forget.

In time,

What he found was

Lost to him, but

He knew it was

A matter of time

Before he found

Someone new.

The Beginning

2012-01-18T07:10:00.000-08:00

I awoke with a start
And in a fog of
Confusion, I assessed
My surroundings.

This was not my room.
This was not my bed.
This was not even a bed,
And what was that sound?

I turned to my left
And found him fast asleep,
And in that moment,
It all came back to me
Like a wave crashing
Against the shore.

We were in his living room,
And the night before
We were lounging
On his couch.

Between the two of us,
We finished a bottle of red wine
And tucked away
A medium sized pizza.

In the background,
John Legend, Adele and Jill Scott sang,
In the foreground,
Our voices shared
Our dreams, our beliefs,
Our lives spilling effortlessly
From our lips.

There were moments when
I wanted to reach across
And kiss him, but
I didn't want to change
What we had into
Something physical,
Going somewhere we could
Never return from.

Yet during the course
Of the night,
I ended up in his arms,
My head resting on his chest,
And I fell asleep
To the lullaby of his
Heart beat.

For once,
I felt safe,
For once,
I felt accepted,
Not hunted down
Like an exotic bird
That was to be caught
But never kept,
Never loved.

I didn't have the urge
To escape from his embrace,
Instead I snuggled in,
Inhaling his existence.

I didn't know
What was going to happen
In the next week,
In the next day or
Even in the next hour,
All I knew was
That I was going to
Savour that moment.

Hopefully,
This was just the beginning.

I Am Who I Am

2012-01-16T15:55:00.000-08:00

source

I am who I am.

Yes, I smoke
And drink and
Have tried every drug
Under the sun at least once,
Some of them,
More than once.

Yes, I have a man,
Or two,
Or half a dozen,
But who is really counting?

Yes, there are nights
When I would cry
Myself to sleep or drown
My sorrows in a bottle
Of Gin, Vodka, if
I've got an extra penny
In my pocket.

At least,
I know myself
And don't need
Some man in the sky
To tell me how to live
My life.

I'm not like you people
Programmed by society
To live your lives in boxes.
You all boxed into your cars,
Your houses, your computers,
In your storage spaces.

You all so busy living
In your boxed in worlds,
Living the "master plan" of
Get an education, get a job,
Get married, have kids,
Get a car, Get a house
And live happily ever after.

But are you really happy?
I know for sure that
Most of you are scared,
Scared of what exists
Beyond your little boxes,
Scared of the unknown,
So you hold on to what you know,
What makes you comfortable.

Well, here is a little secret,
We were not meant to be
Comfortable.

We, as a species,
Did not get to this point
By being comfortable,
We had to struggle
Physically, mentally and spiritually
To become what we are today.

And if you think
That we have arrived,
That there is nothing else
For us to achieve,
For us to work hard for,
To struggle for,
Then we might as well
Lay down and die
Because it is all down hill
From here.

Even the phoenix
Crashes down to earth
When it reaches the sun.

I believe there are two things
That should govern the life
Each and everyone of us lives.

One is that small part in you
That comes alive when
You do the thing you love,
When you be the person
You ought to be. And
Every time you bring it to life,
It gets bigger and stronger
Until you can't tell
The difference between you and it.
It is who you ought to be.

The other is that impossible dream,
That crazy dream that
People say is too out there,
But somehow it makes
Every molecule in your body
Hum with nervous excitement.

It doesn't matter if that dream
Is so far out there,
Surrounded by the moat
Of the unknown,
If you go after it,
You will become
The person you ought to be.

Now you can take
My words as the ranting
Of a person that
Don't know nothing,
Ain't never going to be anything,
But something in you
Knows it's the truth
And the truth can set you
Free.

I am who I am.
I might smoke and drink
And do my fair share of drugs.
I have a man or two,
More like half a dozen,
But I know who I am,
Who are you?

This is more of a performance piece, where the speaker is smoking and drinks from a hip flask. It came to me out of the blue and somehow it feels like a kick in the pants to push myself in all I do. Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse.

New Beginnings

2012-01-13T15:42:00.000-08:00

source

When I think of
New beginnings,
I don't think of
New Years or
Birthdays, I think of
A seedling.

I think of
A pair of baby leaves
Emerging from a ruined seed,
Ever so slowly
Until they open up
Completely as though
They are saying
"Here I am world.
Behold my existence."

For me,
That is what
A new beginning is.
Here is something
So small,
So ordinary
And yet capable of
Becoming a grand tree,
Strong and sturdy,
Watching other creatures
Be born and die.

I think of
The potential we all have
To be great.
We are all like that seedling,
Some of us
Are comfortable in that seed,
But we all have it in us
To push out,
Stretch and become
Extraordinary.

So when one makes
A remark about
New beginnings,
I think of the seedling
That will become
A grand oak tree.

This poem was written for the Best of Books open mic, unfortunately, I didn't get to read it because of transportation and communication issues. Submitted to The Poetry Palace and imaginary garden with real toads.

Ms. Matty

2012-01-11T15:19:00.001-08:00

Her name was
Matilda Sinclair.
Her skin was the colour
Of coals, her hair
Was a briar patch
Of gray and silver strands
And life had left
It's mark on her face
Which had hardened
Into a scowl.

The black folk and
The white folk alike
Called her Ms. Matty
And called upon her
They did, although
Proper folk would never
Admit that they sought
Help from the old Negro woman
Who lived in the woods
Behind the Johnson estate.

Black folk had no problem
Saying that Ms. Matty
Was the midwife that helped
Birth all their babies,
But the mayor of
The quiet, little town
Would never admit that
He had summoned
The old Negro woman when
His son was sick with
An illness that Doc Carter
Could not cure.

The fine ladies who sipped tea
At the Beauchamp's spoke
Of everything except how
Ms. Matty helped with
Some illness, some spell
Or some unspeakable act
That will forever go unsaid.

But when the ire of
The ill advised white folk
Rose up like some great wave
And the idea of lynching
Came to many a mind,
Not one man dared
To seek out Ms. Matty,
Blaming her for his problems
And finding reason to
Lynch the "nigger witch".

The good folk, both
Black and white
Would have none of that
And would rather kill
Said man than have him
Kill Ms. Matty.
And if a fool did try
To tie a noose in her presence,
Ms. Matty was prepared
To introduce him to
The Devil himself.

Her name was
Matilda Sinclair.
Her skin was the colour
Of coals, her hair
Was a briar patch
Of gray and silver strands
And she was the keeper
Of secrets.

The Poet Must Live

2012-01-09T11:21:00.000-08:00

The poet in me died
Last night.

She was shot in the head
With a high caliber hand gun
And left to bleed out.

I found her curled up
In the farthest corner of my mind,
Tears leaking from unseeing eyes.

I pulled her into my arms,
And as I rocked her,
Whispering nonsensical words
Of apologies and promises,
She roused.

She stared at me
As though I was a stranger,
An unknown entity touching
Her person.

I wept soundlessly.

She refused to speak,
Instead she wrote
On the ground
With her index finger,
With her blood.

"For me to live,
You must write."

She then pointed
At a desk upon which
Sat a note pad and a pen.

That last gesture
Was too much for her,
And she fainted away.

I made my way to the desk.
As I sat, I felt a sense of
Peace, of coming home.

With pen in hand,
My mind filled with words
Fighting to be released,
To be written.

With each stroke of the pen,
The poet grew stronger.
The bullet popped out,
The wound healed,
The blood disappeared
And the poet came to.

I was so focused
On what I was writing
That I didn't notice
That the poet had approached
The desk.

It was only
When I felt her hands
On my shoulder that
I noticed that the poet was there,
And she whispered in my ear.

"When you don't write,
I die and when you write,
I live."

She placed the gun
On the desk next to the note pad
And walked away, fading away.

And so I write
So that the poet may live.

Submitted to Poets United and imaginary garden with real toads.

Run

2012-01-04T10:56:00.000-08:00

source

Every now and then,
I would want to run
Away from the person
I am, I was.

Run swiftly away
Leaving her in the past
And run to a place
Quite unknown
To her or me.

Run till the memory
Of her and her life
Fade until they become
Fine stranded cobwebs
In the corners of my mind.

I wish I could run
'Til my muscles strained,
My breath was all but gone,
And every ounce,
Every fiber of my body
Demanded I stop.

But I would only stop
When all I was,
All I was destined to be
Became shadows
As I stood bravely
In the light.

In that light,
I was not
What others thought of me,
What I believed of myself,
What society, family, friends
Thought I should be.

In that light,
I would be as pure
As that light,
Unencumbered with
False notions and realities
Taught to me since
I was a babe,
I would be more….

Every now and then,
I would want to run
Away from the person
I am, I was,
And every time
I would stay.

Submitted to dVerse OpenLinkNight

An Exceptional Year

2011-12-30T04:25:00.000-08:00

source

Midnight came

Devoid of pomp

And circumstance,

Of fireworks

And joyous voices,

And I released a

Sigh….

It was as though

I had finished

A good book and

I was content

With the end

And that it had

Ended.

The new year

Had begun and

The old year

Had already started

To fade from my

Memory.

The new year

Has so much

Potential, so much

Opportunities ready

To be grabbed and

Taken advantage of.

So I toss aside

The fears, the sadness,

The confusion, the frustrations

Of the dead year

And walk confidently

Into the future

Along the path

I created.

This is going to be

An exceptional year.

Inspired by Theme Thursday.

What Matters

2011-12-28T08:41:00.000-08:00

It was Sunday again,
The week before was a blur,
But it didn’t bother me,
The here and now
Is what matters.

What matters
Is the soft jazz tune
That floated out from
Hidden speakers.

What matters
Is the lemonade
With a hint of a secret
That sat on the side table.

What matters
Is the light breeze
That cooled my brow
And elicited a melody
From the wind chimes.

What matters
Is the loyal canine
Who slept at my feet
Barking occasionally
At some dream prey.

What matters
Is the sunset.
The grand show
Orchestrated by Mother Nature,
Changing the sky from
Shades of pinks and purples
To pure darkness
Set with points of light.

What matters
Is the man
Who sits beside me,
Sharing this moment with me.
His fingers intertwined with mine
As we cuddle close
Within the blanket of
Comfortable silence.

What matters
Are moments like this.

This poem was submitted to dVerse.

Also check out my other blog, Kimolisa Was Here.

Question - Haiku

2011-12-27T05:42:00.000-08:00

source

The owl landed on the tombstone
And asked who had passed,
"Who you?"

Haiku inspired by The Purple Treehouse

This is my first real attempt at Haiku, see here for more information. This is also a sneak peak into the future of Kim or Lisa. In the past, I have done self imposed challenges based on series of pictures found on the Internet, in 2012, I will be taking on the challenges from other poetry blogs. The plan is to grow as a poet and go beyond my boundaries, wish me luck!!!

P.S. I would like to thank Bajanpoet for introducing me to Dverse which pretty much opened up a whole new world for me. It's like finding the secret doorway that you have been looking for.

I Will Conquer

2011-12-22T08:24:00.000-08:00

source

I looked into his eyes
And I saw nothing.
It was as though
He was incapable of
Human emotion,
He was empty,
Soulless……

I looked away,
Mama always said that
It was impolite to stare,
So I looked out the window
To his right, I watched
The blackness that
Inhabited the bowels
Of the city.

How did I get here?
I would ask myself
As I made my way to work.
Another worker
Surrounded by workers
On my way to a job
I hated but needed
To live in this city.

The electric eel
Stopped at my stop,
Regurgitating the masses
Who spewed up onto the streets
And melted into the towers
That tried to touch the skies.

As I rode on the elevator
To my office on the 42nd floor,
I brushed away my reservations
Like crumbs from my morning toast
And donned my mask
Of professional proficiency.

In the next 8-10 hours,
I will be a cog
On the forever grinding machine
That is Metropolis,
That is Gotham,
That is New York.

In time,
I will become a bigger cog,
A more important cog
And when that time comes,
I will celebrate the fact
That I conquered the city
That crushed so many souls,
I will conquer Gotham.

Speak To Me

2011-12-20T08:28:00.000-08:00

“Speak to me.”

I held her
In my arms,
Her blood soaking my clothes,
Her breath laboured,
Her pulse grew faint
With each passing second.

“Speak to me.”

I was speechless.
What should I say?
My mind was a blank,
All my thoughts had vacated
My brain, but I tried
To find a hint, a trace
Of helpful rhetoric.

“Speak to me.”

“Don’t worry,
The ambulance is on its way,
Help is on the way.”
Please don’t die,
I thought. Please
Don’t cease to breathe,
Don’t cease to be. Please,
Hold on.

“Speak to me.”

Her eyelids fluttered.
I could barely feel
Her pulse,
Her breathing,
Her warmth.
Why was she so cold?
I held her closer, trying
To transfer my warmth to her,
To her body growing colder
In my arms.

“Speak to me.”

“I love you,
I loved you
When we first met,
I loved you
When you made me smile,
I loved you
When you made me mad.
I love the taste of you.
I love everything about you,
And I love the way
You make me feel.
You make me feel complete.
I love you.”

I closed my eyes
And willed her back,
Willed her to stay
Until help came.
I prayed,
I begged
For her life,
For her to live.

When I opened my eyes,
EMS personnel were around us,
They pulled me away
And began to work on her.
I curled up in a corner
And watched strangers try
To save the woman I love.

Just when everything looked lost,
The tension melted away,
The EMS agreed that
She was stable and
The proceeded to put her
On a gurney.
She will live
And I released the breath
I didn’t know I was holding.

“Speak to me.”

I traveled with her
In the ambulance
And on the ride to the hospital,
I vowed to speak to her,
To let her know
How I feel about her.
I will speak to her.

Delicious Torture

2011-12-16T11:59:00.000-08:00

source

His breath
Tickled the back
Of my neck
And I sighed.

He was here,
Lover was here
And the festivities
Shall begin.

Without warning,
I whipped around
And climbed on top
Straddling him,
Conquering him.

Tonight was my night
To do whatever
I pleased with this
Magnificent specimen
Of a man.

With the handcuffs
I hid under my pillow,
I cuffed him to the bed,
The twinkle in my eye
Let him know that
He was not in danger.

When I was sure
His limbs were secure,
I began my delicious torture.

I started at the top,
Kissing, nipping, licking
His eyelids, his nose,
His lips, his ears,
Then ventured lower.

I bathed his body
With kisses that
Varied in intensity
With each body part
I encountered.

His body hummed
Under my ministrations,
And when I knew
He could take no more,
I gave him what he wanted.

I sank down on
His erect manhood,
Letting it fill me
Completely.

Like a seasoned cowgirl,
I rode my lover, and
In a matter of seconds,
I found the right rhythm
To guarantee
Optimum pleasure.

And just as the heavens
Began to open
And the God of Orgasms
Was about to in part
His blessing,
I stood up and
Left the room.

This will teach him
For being a selfish lover
And denying me
The same quality of pleasure
I bestow upon him.

This, my friends, is
Delicious torture.

Falling

2011-12-14T12:16:00.000-08:00

Falling.

I opened my eyes
And found myself
Falling.

A free fall
Through time and space
And some how,
I felt no fear.

I knew not when
My descent began
And I had no desire
To know how or when
It will come to an end.

I closed my eyes,
Not wishing to see
But feel my descent
Into despair.

The abyss
Grew thick with
My fears,
My frustrations,
My self pity,
All trying to extinguish
My small bit of hope.

Just as all
Began to feel dark,
That hope slipped
From my person,
And although
I reached out for it,
It fell out of my grasp.

I turned to watch
My hope disappear
Into the darkness, but,
To my surprise,
It grew.

It grew
Until it filled the void
And stopped fall.
I fell onto my hope
And immediately bounced up.

Instead of falling,
I rose and
The higher I rose,
The lighter I became,
The more I was filled
With hope.

Once again,
I felt no fear,
Because in that moment,
I rose above all my fears.

Spoken Word

2011-12-13T05:07:00.000-08:00

The Best Gift

2011-12-12T08:58:00.000-08:00

source

The best gift
Is not store bought
With pieces of paper
Printed with pictures
Of the queen, or
Dead heads of states.

The best gift
Is not the latest
Piece of gadgetry
That soon loses
Its coolness when
A later version
Hits the market.

The best gift
Is not play things
Of plastic and meta
That are easily broken,
That are easily forgotten.

The best gift
Is not baubles
That glitter in the moonlight
As though they are stars
Trying to return
To the night sky.

The best gift
Can not be bought
On the high streets,
The main streets,
In the malls or
In the shopping centres.
The best gift
Is priceless.

Although I have not
Named this gift,
This best gift,
I know we all
Have felt itm
Given it and
Received it,
In the smiles,
In the hugs
We share with
Friends and family,
Associates and strangers.

A gift that has
So many versions,
Be it maternal,
Fraternal,
Platonic or
Romantic.

In this season
Of giving and
Into the new year,
I hope we all
Don't forget to give
The best gift of all,
The gift of love.

Across A Table

2011-12-08T09:26:00.000-08:00

I honestly forgot to post a poem yesterday, and as tomorrow is a holiday here in Antigua, I decided to post this today. Hope you like it and feel free to comment.

source

Across a table,
Strewn with the remnants
Of a late night dinner,
He sat.

With a glass of Port
In one hand
And a lit cigarette
In the other,
He spoke of his philosophy,
Underlining a word or phrase
With the reckless gestures
Of his already occupied hands.

I sat back
As his words
Washed over me.
A word here,
A sentence there would
Recapture the attention
That would slip away
Without my permission.

I interrupted his monologue
About the thesis of
Some long dead theologian
And suggested we move
To the couch, as
I was sure it would be
More comfortable, and
To this, he agreed
In his distracted fashion.

As I curled up
In one corner
Of the plush hand me down,
He sat at the other end
And continued to speak.

I heard nothing
As my mind
Became quite preoccupied
With thoughts
I dared not share with him.

Thoughts of
Removing the cigarette
And the glass of port
From his hands,
Stubbing out the former
And setting the latter
Some distance away.

Thoughts of
Planting butterfly kisses
On his neck,
On his closed eyes,
On his nose,
Then on his mouth.

Thoughts of
His mouth.
I know what it looked like,
But I yearned to be
Well versed on how
It felt and tasted.
Would my tongue
Find a delightful playground
In the cavern that is
His mouth.

As my eyes became heavy,
They slipped down his body,
And I fantasized
Licking my way down his body,
Making pit stops
At his nipples,
Nipping at each,
Not wanting either
To be jealous
Of the attention
I was sure to give the other.

My eyes
At last closed shut
And I imagined
His manhood at attention,
Filling me with anticipation,
Then satisfaction,
Then bringing me to
The most pleasant release.

I moaned.

It was only when
He shook me lightly
That I realized
That I had nodded off,
That I had moaned out loud
And not any moan,
But one that was heavy
With arousal.

I apologized.
I gave a lame excuse.
I told him it was late
And that we should
Call it a night.
At the door,
I told him goodnight.

Without words,
He leaned in
And softly kissed me.
It grew in intensity
Until we were left
Breathless.
I looked into his eyes,
And they mirrored
The passion I felt.

Without words,
Without conversation,
Without unnecessary rhetoric,
I pulled him back in,
And with the closing of the door,
My fantasy became a reality.

Untitled

2011-12-05T12:28:00.000-08:00

source

She sat on a bench
In a park.

She had found
A little area
That was a little pocket
Of nature and tranquility.
A place she could
Sit in silence
And just be.

She tilted her head back,
Letting the sunlight
Trickle down between
The leaves and branches
Of ancient trees
Onto her face,
Baptizing her in
Pure light.

In this place,
Her reality melted away
And she ceased to be
All the roles
She gave herself,
All the roles
She was given.

She was not
A mother, a daughter,
A wife, a good worker,
A friend, a neighbour,
A graduate, a woman,
A race, a citizen.

She was nothing,
But a human being
Breathing in the soft scents
Of nature.
Breathing it all in
With all her senses.

In being nothing,
She became something.
Something more wonderful
Than all her roles.
Something that was full
Of untapped potential.
Something that knew its place
In the universe
And was content with it.

And as she was tapping
Into her spiritual orgasm,
Her cell phone rang,
And she was tugged,
Pulled back to her reality.

There were reports
To be prepared.
Dinner to be made.
PTA meetings to attend.
Emails to write and
Calls to be made.

A goddess crashing
To the terra firma,
Immortality stripped away,
Body and spirit, vulnerable,
Mind occupied by
The tasks of “living”.

One day,
She promised herself
As she left her pocket
Of nature and tranquility,
She will turn off her cell,
Untethering herself from life
And she will reach
That climax,
That point of concentrated
Peace and enlightenment,
And somehow,
She will return with it,
Even if it is a thimbleful.

It is the one promise,
She vowed to keep.

My Chocolate Kryptonite

2011-12-02T12:04:00.000-08:00

source

He laid next to me
With the comforter
Sprawled across his nudity,
Hiding a body, I swear
Was molded by God
For the sole purpose
Of giving pleasure.

Sleep now claimed him
And I took the opportunity
To devour him with my eyes,
Tattooing his whole being
Into my consciousness,
Into my unconsciousness
So that when he was gone,
I would still remember him
In detail.

From the curl
Of his eyelashes
To the plumpness
Of his lips.
From the deep chocolate
Of his skin
To the length and girth
Of his pride.

I wanted to remember everything
When he was long gone.

And go he shall because
This man that laid beside me
Was my chocolate Kryptonite.
The man that I craved
Like a perfect chunk
Of pure chocolate
Was the same man
That left me weak.

The man that drove me
To the heights of pleasure,
The heights of ecstasy,
Where butterflies of light
Flutter over gardens indescribable,
Was the same man
That sank me like the Titanic,
Leaving me cold and disorientated.

I eventually slipped out of the bed,
A part of me yearning to remain,
To slip back into his arms.
I fought my urges
And placed a note
Where my head had rested.

The further I walked,
The stronger I got.
The longer I stayed away,
The less the urges came.
Eventually,
I was free.

Free of my desires for him,
Free of him,
Free and strong,
But once in a while,
I will pull out
The memory of
My chocolate kryptonite.

I Can't

2011-11-30T06:18:00.000-08:00

source

" I can't."
A phrase
Drummed into
The consciousness,
The unconsciousness
Of man by
Those who’s sole
Intention was
To protect,
But in reality
They robbed.

In children,
They rob them
Of the desire
To explore
Both themselves
And their world.
A world filled
With secrets
To be discovered
By young
And eager minds.

In teens,
The words,
“I can’t,”
Rob then of
Life’s skills like
Interacting with peers,
Understanding their bodies,
Learning what they want,
What they need
From relationships
With the opposite sex.
Even though they
Rebel, in their minds
What they “can’t” do
Is still wrong,
Still taboo.

By the time,
They become adults,
“I can’t”
Are not words spoken
By others, they are
Words spoken
By themselves
To themselves.

By the time,
They become adults,
They don’t see
The differences
Between the things
That will hurt them
And the things
That will liberate them.

So hardwired
Are they, the adults,
That they continue
The cycle of saying
“Can’t” to a new
Generation of people.

“I can’t
Deal with you right now.”

“You can’t
Go there or there with them.”

“We can’t…..”
“You can’t….”
“I can’t….”

But truly,
My friends,
Can’t we?

In The Jewel Box

2011-11-28T11:40:00.000-08:00

source

I found whispers
In an old jewel box.

They were paper thin
And ever so soft
As I touched them
To my cheek.

I wondered to myself
Who they belonged to,
Who had hidden them
In this old jewel box.

I took them to the attic,
The whispers
And the jewel box,
And closed all the doors
And all the windows.

Sitting quietly,
In that dusty attic,
I tried to hear
The whispers
As they laid in
The old jewel box.

Twas two hours later
When my mind was empty,
My heart was open,
And my soul was set free
That I heard the whispers.

"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Will you come back?"
"I will always come back."
"I will miss you."
"And I will miss you."

Then silence,
And in that moment,
A lone tear crept
Down my cheek.
He never came back.

I rose and walked
To a window.
With the jewel box
In one hand,
I opened it
And everyday life
crashed around me
Like a wave.

I heard the kids
Down the street,
I smelt the roses
In the garden,
And I felt and saw
The sun setting
In the distance.

Without thought
Or hesitation,
I threw the whispers
Out the window,
Into the world.

I watched it
Sail away in
The late summer breeze.
Such pain should not be
Locked away in gilded boxes,
But made to dissolve away
And from what is left
May something new
And joyous be made.

Submitted to The Poetry Palace

She Became.......

2011-11-25T05:08:00.000-08:00

source

Day 13.
She reached the summit,
Her breath escaping
From her lips
In a puff of smoke,
The last part of
The person she was.

A person she had began to leave
Four days ago
On the path up this mountain.
The person who
Didn’t want to go
A step farther,
Who gave excuses
Why she should not on.

Excuses such as
Her body could not endure
This any more.
The air is too thin.
The pack is too heavy.
The incline is to steep.
The temperature is too low.

The person tried
To rationalize with her.
“So what if you never
Reach the summit.
You won’t be the first
Not to make it,”
The person would say.

The guide sat quietly
At the camp, pretending not to
Notice the internal battle
Of the most unusual
Of his clients. And
He simply nodded
The next day when
She said that she will continue.

It was in that moment
That the person began to leave,
Through the first puff of breath
She exhaled.

She pushed harder
That she ever pushed
Her body,
Her mind,
Her spirit.

Even when they demanded,
They begged
For her to stop,
She pushed on.

On Day 13,
She took the last steps
To the summit.
She took a deep breath
From her oxygen tank
And removed the mask.

She slowly turned around
Absorbing the view,
Releasing the breath.
She knelt down and
The guide stepped away,
Giving her privacy.

On bended knees,
She spoke to God,
Not the God of Jesus,
Not the God of Mohammed,
Not the Hindu Gods,
Not the Voodoo Gods,
She spoke to her God.

The God that brought her here.
The God that pushed her
Into her greatness.
The God that demands
Nothing but her best
And for her to live fully.

The God that is more real
Than any God created by man.
The God that simply was and is
Around us.
Within us,
In the deepest ocean,
On the highest mountain,
Everywhere.

To this God,
She gave thanks.

On the way down,
She thought the person
Would return,
But she never did.
She now resides
On this mountain.

The person she became
On this mountain
Is worth ten times
That person, and
She willingly sacrificed
That person to the mountain.

On this mountain,
She became…

His Words

2011-11-23T10:29:00.000-08:00

source

His words used to be
Sweetness and light.

They were at times
Beautiful sonnets
That would have left
Shakespeare green with envy.

They were at times
Naughty whispers
That would have made
Seasoned porn stars blush.

His words would
Lightly rain down on me
Leaving me feeling
Loved, cherished,
Wanted and desired.

Now, his words are
Thunderclouds and bitterness.

His words are the same
That would be found
On battlefields instead
Of bedrooms.

They would pummel me,
Striking me down
When I tried to rise,
Clawing at me and
Ripping out my confidence,
My self worth,
My self esteem
From my wreaked body.

He would look at me
And say that my face
Was the face of a liar.

Behind my eyes
Were secrets
I refuse to share,
He would say.

My ears were
The receivers
Of another man's words,
He extolled.

My lips spewed
Nothing but lies,
Ceaseless lies,
He admonished.

Yet the only person
I have ever lied to
Was the one who tried
To help me.

The one who saw the pain
Beyond my eyelashes
And extended a helping hand,
A sturdy shoulder,
But I waved away both.

I turned away from the help
Because I believed
That one day,
One beautiful day,
He will return to the man
Who spoke words
That were sweetness and light.

Was Written On Paper

2011-11-21T08:14:00.000-08:00

source

The poem
Was written on paper.

The pen kissed it,
Planting at first
Butterfly kisses.

Then it began
To make love
To the paper.

Stroking,
Probing,
Tapping away
At the paper.

Until something
Quite beautiful,
Quite divine
Was made as both
Pen and paper came
Quietly, savagely.

What was conceived
When the two
Consummated under the command
Of a singular thought
Was awesome.

The poem
Was written on paper.

Welcome To The Freak Show

2011-11-18T07:24:00.000-08:00

source

“Welcome to the Freak Show!!”
She said with much pomp.

She being an average size woman,
With average features
And an average tone of voice.

Far from a freak,
I thought to myself,
In fact, not a freak at all.

I held my tongue,
And followed her
Down the modest hallway.

We stopped in front
Of a large window,
Inside sat a woman
Reading a book.

I looked at the description
Of the “specimen”
That was posted beside the window.

“A nymphomaniac,
Known for her desire for sex
And has a large list of men
With whom she has been intimate.”

The tour guide moved on
To the next window.
Beyond this window
Sat a portly man wiping his hands.

His description,
“A man suffering from
Obsessive Disorder,
Requires cleanliness,
Abhors dirt, spends his time
Cleaning.”

On and on,
We walked from
Window to window,
Until I had seen
All the freaks.

At last,
I could not hold my tongue
Any longer.

“What type of Freak Show is this?
These people are regular people
With quirks, here or there.
They are not freaks.”

To this my tour guide replied,
“Of course, they are freaks.
To at least one person,
Each one of them is a freak,
Their behaviour freakish.”

“If they are freaks,
Then so am I,”
These were my last words
Before I felt a sharp pain
To the back of my head
And darkness swallowed me whole.

I woke up behind a large window.
I awoke to the words,
“Welcome to the Freak Show!!”

Untitled

2011-11-16T12:19:00.000-08:00

source

I drank in his presence,
Like I would savour
A cool glass of lemonade
On a hot, dry day.
It was refreshing and cool
And it hit the spot.

As he sat across from me,
I could not help to think
Of a calm lake,
Still on the surface
But filled with life
Just below.

I should day something,
Be it a polite hello,
A witty comment
About the city
We were about to leave,
Instead, I hide behind my novel.

I wish nothing more
Than to engage this man
In conversation, but instead
I imagine reasons
Why he would not be interested
In conversation,
In me.

Perhaps, he was involved,
Perhaps, he was married,
Perhaps, he was a Catholic priest,
Perhaps, he was gay.
That’s it! He’s gay,
He is too good looking to be otherwise.

With that settled,
I comfortably settle
Into the novel
I had purchased at a gift shop.
I had no chance with him.

“Excuse me, miss.”

What?
Oh my, he’s talking to me,
Probably wants to know
Where I got my scarf.

“Oh. Hi. Yes,”
Was my not so savvy reply.

He asked a trivial question,
One I have long forgotten,
And before I knew it,
We had spent
The whole three hours talking.

My stop came first,
And we said our goodbyes,
He asked for my number
And I gave it to him,
Just as the train pulled away.

I waved good bye,
And he waved back.
What a lovely man,
I hope to God,
He’s not gay,
Or at least not taken.

I Give Thanks

2011-11-14T10:05:00.000-08:00

When I was little,
I had the oddest desire
To stick my finger
Into outlets.
Lucky for me,
I never died of
Electrocution and for that,
I give thanks.

Growing up,
I would do many things,
Like running across a road
Seconds away from getting struck,
Or crossing ravines
On narrow walkways
And not once had
I been hurt and for that,
I give thanks.

At the age of eleven,
I was diagnosed
Wish Scoliosis,
And after much deliberation,
It was decided that
I should have surgery.
With surgery, there are risks,
The risk of not being able to walk,
The risk of death.
I survived two surgeries,
Or was it three? For that,
I give thanks.

Less than ten years later,
I was studying at a college
Based in Manhattan.
As two planes crashed
Into the World Trade Center,
I was learning how to say
How are you in Italian
In Florence Italy, for that,
I give thanks.

There are so many things
In life to give thanks for.
Being able to see,
To hear, to walk,
For family, for friends,
For that perfect piece
Of chocolate at the end
Of a trying day.

But there is one thing,
I always give thanks for.
I give thanks for life.

Water Man

2011-11-11T05:26:00.000-08:00

source

Water Man,
Deep below the horizon,
Walking among the fishes.

He never felt
Air against his skin.
Ozone, Atmosphere,
Foreign terminology.

As I sat on the pier,
I saw him,
He saw me
So I reached out
And he reached out.

We touched the surface,
I touched the surface of the water,
He touched the surface of the air,
We touched each other.

Time passed,
Babies were born,
People died
And we touched.

As though we agreed
On a plane
Beyond consciousness
And unconsciousness,
Our hands retreated,
Smiles lit our faces.

I looked out at the sunset,
He disappeared into the seaweed.
Moments come,
Moments go,
It’s just for us
To remember them.

She Walked

2011-11-09T08:14:00.000-08:00

One day,
She started walking.

It was not something
She had planned on doing,
She just kept walking
Down the street,
Along the side of the road.

Behind she left her home,
Her possessions,
Her relations,
Both close and distance.

All she had was
The clothes on her back,
The cash in her pocket,
The shoes on her feet
And a heart that was weary.

She walked up hills,
Down into valleys,
Across plains and
Around lakes.

She walked
Until her stride grew slow,
Blisters covered her feet
And her eyelids grew heavy.
She only stopped
When her body would go
No more, and when it was
Well rested, she continued to walk.

The only home she knew,
The only home she claimed
Was her body,
The home of her relentless spirit.
A spirit that urged her body
To walk.

Soon borders melted away,
Mother tongues changed
From melodic to harsh
And painful to hear,
Still she walked.

She didn’t know
The answers to life,
But she knew that
The life she was living
Was not the answer,
So she released the reins
And let her spirit
Take her to a better life.

A month later,
She found herself
In a small town
Where they spoke a language
She couldn’t speak,
And it was here,
She was meant to be.
She stopped walking.

A year later,
She had a job
Working in a little tavern,
She lived in a little cottage
At the edge of the town,
Dating the son of
The town’s butcher,
She now spoke the language
Fluently and effortlessly
And the urge to walk
Never returned.

I Won!!!! Twice!

2011-11-07T07:22:00.000-08:00

November 1st is Antigua's Independence Day and there is usually a few events to celebrate the nation's independence from Great Britain. One of the events was the Literary Arts Competition. I never competited before, in part because I'm a bit of a chicken, because I never saw myself as a great poet and I never pushed myself to my limits.

For the last year and a half, I've been taking part in the Wadadli Pen Open Mic which is put on by Best of Books and through that association with the great people at Best of Books, I was able to build up the courage to submit a piece. The piece was This Is Not A Good Time and it was a dynamic piece for me as I had not written it down before I performed it. It was something that formed in my mind and I had a rough idea of how it should be told. The first time I did it, I got positive feedback so I typed it up and submitted it, correction, I typed it up, then edited it as it had more words than was allowed.

I will be honest, I forgot about it until my mom told me they were promoting it on the radio and asked if I was invited. I hadn't but it didn't bother me, but the next day I saw one of the people from Best of Books and the day after I had an invite to attend the award ceremony. I then got a call from a young man reminding me about the event and that I should bring a copy of the poem. At that time, I thought there was a possibility that I would have to read, but it was when I was asked if I was prepared to read the piece by the Chairperson of the committee that I realised that I better practice.

The night came and I was instructed to sit close to the stage so that I could go up the stage easily. In attendence was the Governor General and the head of the Senate. The evening was really nice, those who participated in the competition got a certificate (the first pic). My group, 18+ Poetry, was near the end and I was the second person out of the three finalist to read. We were made to sit on the stage and were called up to collect our prizes from the Governor General. After hearing the last finalist read, I started to wonder who would win.

I figured that I would be second, so I kinda prepared to get up when they called my name. They called the other lady's name, I was shocked and I am the kind of person whose emotions show on her face so everyone saw that I was shocked. I got the glass award above and felt pretty awesome. There was one last award to be presented, The overall winner.

I got comfy in my seat and waited to find out who would get it. I saw the front of the award as it was being passed to the Committee Chairperson and noticed that the name kinda looks like mine. Yes, although I don't have perfect vision, I know the outline of my name. Guess who won the overall winner?

I am at the least honoured and at the most humbled. I have been writing poetry since I was about 13 and it is what comes naturally. It is one of the ways I express myself. No matter where I am in the world, as long as I have a blank piece of paper, I will draw and I will write a poem. It is in my DNA and it is alway a great thing to be recognized for it.

Thank you everyone associated with the Independence Literary Arts Competition 2011, from the Chairpersons to the Judges. This really means alot to me. Forgive me, I'm not usually this sappy but it is how I feel. Thanks again.

The Elixir of Madness

2011-11-04T08:42:00.000-07:00

cantiknya

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may partake
In the innocuous of act
Of watching a fly
Drink from a cup of milk
‘Til it grew fat
And died.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may dress
In my finest garbs
And walk with much
Pomp and circumstance
Up and down
The High Streets and
Main Streets,
Greeting the populace
In a long dead language.

Dies boni amici.
Quomodo es?
Lorem tempestatem nos habere.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that it may blur
The edges of my existence.
Their sharpness cuts to the quick,
Leaving my ego butchered.
A mere carcass.
Lifeless.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may not
Hear the roar of
Silence, that threatens
To deafen me,
Piercing my eardrums
And leave my world
Soundless.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may fill
The space you left empty
With something that
Looks like you,
Sounds like you,
Feels like you,
Smells like you
And even tastes like you.

Alas,
It would never be you.

I loved you
And you loved me,
But the love lacked
Passion and desire,
So we unraveled
Ourselves from each other
And went our separate ways.

In your absence,
I yearn to drink
From this chalice
The elixir of madness
So that I may learn
To live without you.

This Is Not A Good Time

2011-11-02T12:17:00.000-07:00

source

Ladies and gentlemen,
This moment in time
Is not great,
In fact,
It is awful.

Between wars and famine,
Revolutions and riots,
All taking place
In front of the backdrop
Of an economic downturn.

This, my friends,
Is not a good time.

The hemlines of
Our young women rise,
As the waistbands of
Our young men fall.

This, people,
Is not a good time.

I know it,
You know it,
We all know it,
And yet we are reminded
Over and over
By the media.

Through the television,
Via the radio,
In publications,
On the internet.
We are constantly being
Reminded of how
Bad our situation is.

Forcing us to relive this awful moment
Over and over,
Forcing us to wear the
Grey-coloured shades
Of misery.

Today,
In this moment,
I say enough.

Enough with reminding us
Of the problems,
The debates of what and where
It went wrong,
Looking for someone to blame,
The political puppet shows.
Enough.

Instead
Let us come together
And find a solution
To move forward,
To escape this place
Inhabited by
Fear, hatred,
Anger and uncertainty.

Let us move forward
To a place where
We all prosper,
Big and small,
Rich and not so rich.

A place where happiness is found
In occupation of mind and spirit,
In success from hard work,
In our connections
With each other.

I believe we all
Possess the God element.

The same thing that
Takes a grain of sand
And creates a pearl.

The same thing that
Creates a diamond
From a lump of coal.

We all possess it.
It can be found
In the smallest atom
And it can be found
In the largest galaxy.
We possess it.

The moment we were conceived
We had this little piece of God,
And as we grew,
We were taught to forget it,
But I ask you,
I beg you to remember
How great you are.

They say the world
Is to end in 2012,
I say let it end,
And from the ashes
We will make a newer one,
A better one,
A greater world.

Forward on,
Backward, never.

The Grey Goose

2011-10-31T12:38:00.000-07:00

The grey goose
Flew across the sky
And I could care less.
My rifle sat at my feet,
And a cool breeze blew
Past me. It should have
Chilled me but I felt
Nothing.

I shot him,
Blood was everywhere,
His last breath was long gone,
He was long gone.
I stood my position,
Should I take him home?
Or should I put him
In the bayou?

He shouldn’t have been here,
This was my place,
My escape from life,
Our life,
The life of two gay men
Living in the deep south.

I shot my lover,
I shot my best friend,
I felt like it was
I who was dead,
I who ceased to be
And I did die
In the moment that bullet
Pierced his heart.

I can imagine
What they would say
If I took him home.
Across the headlines,
“Gay man shoots his lover.”
“Lover’s spat ends in death.”
The reality is
We were not arguing.

We were not even talking,
He was sneaking up on me
And I shot out
Thinking he was a gator.
He died and I died.

I died
As his body was swallowed
By the cool waters
Of the bayou.

I died
As I walked in after him
And let the waters take me
Home to my lover,
To my best friend.

I'm Back!!!!

2011-10-27T14:47:00.000-07:00

It was quite tragic actually, I had a terrible case of writer's block which was a product of me focusing on a project I had just launched called Shaken-Not-Stirred.us. You may have noticed the addition to the side which is an etsy store which shows the product which are cocktail recipe cards the size of business cards.

You see a couple years ago, my sister and I visited our brother and we came across a book of sexy shot recipes. Thinking that we would like to try a particular one, we made it a point of ordering it whenever we went out. Unfortunately, only one place out of four had could make it and I think it was because we brought the book. Seriously, though, would you want to walk around with a book of cocktail recipes when you go out? Not fun, trust me.

In the end I made the cards, currently available through etsy are printables as well as laminated versions of the cards. Each set has 10 cards with an accompanying envelope. The series now available are Sexy Cocktails, Cocktails Based on Places, Frozen Cocktails and Pop Culture Cocktails. There is also a free printable you can download from the Shaken-Not-Stirred.us site. Definitely check it out.

There is still a lot of work to do in terms of promoting the business, but I am just happy I've gotten over the writer's block. I'm looking to post poems on the regular once more and I'm looking for a new challenge for Wednesday. Thanks for still following me despite my being missing in action and look forward to some more great poetry.

My Father's Father

2011-10-26T13:53:00.000-07:00

My father's father
Was a hard worker,
Coaxing vegetables and fruits
From the dry earth.

My father's father
Was a hustler,
From the plantation
To his farm,
To his truck,
To his taxi,
He hustled.

My father's father
Was not a good man,
Nor was he a bad man,
He existed in that gray area
Where all flawed men reside.

My father's father
Did not know his father
And still he grew into a man
Under the eyes of his male kin,
Under the eyes of God.

My father's father
Was not an educated man,
He was an intelligent man.
A man who was taught
By the greatest teacher
That ever was.
He was taught by life.

My father's father
Lived the life he wanted,
Never kowtowing to
The oppinions of others.
A self made man, he was.

My father's father
Lived and loved,
He worked hard
And hustled harder.
He spoke proudly of
His accomplishments
And those of his children.
And when he had wrung
All he could out of his life,
He slipped away into death's arms.

My father's father
Now rests in peace
With my father's mother.

I Love You, Too

2011-10-25T13:02:00.000-07:00

I was awaken
By his breath
Against the back of my neck.

From a distance,
I heard the words,
"I love you."

The vibrations
Ran up and down my spine
Setting off synopsis.

My mind was set on fire,
My heart ran away from me,
My body desired him.

It was not the words,
"I love you,"
That garnered these reactions,
But their vibrations.

The vibrations spoke of
His intentions,
His state of mind,
His truth,
His reality.

They were not
Paper thin words uttered
Into the atmosphere
With hopes that I would hear them
And not put meaning to them.

They were not uttered
As he reached forward and
Grasped his big O, or
Released as a reply
To my declaration of love.

His words,
His vibrations
Were whispered
In the dead of night
When slumber and I were one.

I turned to reach for him,
To tell him that I loved him,
To show him that I loved him
But he was not there.
Then I remembered.

I remembered that
He had died.
He had died a year ago.
So I whispered,
"I love you, too."

Story

2011-10-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

I am suffering from a bout of writer's block, and no matter how many times I start to write a poem, it just doesn't flow. So instead of letting the blog go without any posts, I've decided to post a story I had started some months back. It doesn't have a title and it's a work in progress. Show some love by commenting and be on the look out for some long overdue revamping of Little Red Hoodie. Once again, thanks for the support through your following this blog. Hope you like the story.

It was the start of a new semester at Oakland Community College and Martine Carter was on her way to her first class of the new academic year. As a junior professor in the Foreign Language Department, she had the “pleasure” of teaching college students her native tongue, French. Hopefully, this class of students will be as interested in the language as her last class.

Upon entering Room 305, she put on a bright smile and surveyed the room. As expected, there were the jocks taking the mandatory Humanity course. There were the hopeful romantics who were taking the course because the language is supposed to be the language of love. There were also the “regular” students, probably taking the course so they can speak the language when they travel around Europe during the next summer break.

Only one student stuck out to Martine, a young man with a light complexion, but it was his features that caught her attention. They were so familiar, but she never saw this individual before. “Why did he look so familiar,” she asked herself.

Pushing her thoughts aside, Martine went into professor mode and introduced herself to her class.

“Bonjour et bienvenue A Francais Un Cent et Un. Je suis votre professore, Prof. Martine Carter!” she began. “I like my students to be immersed in the French language, so I will be speaking French most of the time. It is my aim for you to become accustomed to hearing the language and in turn speak it. To start, we will be introducing ourselves by answering two questions.”

Martine turned to the black board and wrote the questions. Pointing at the first question, she said, “Comment vous appellez vous? What is you name?” Then she pointed at the second question and said, “D’ou etes vous? Where are you from?”

She turned back to the class and answered the questions, “Je m’appelle Martine Carter. Je suis de l’Avignon, France.” Pointing at the first student in the first row, she asked, “Comment vous appellez vous? D’ou etes vous?”

As the young woman answered her questions, Martine reached for her roster and found the students name, checking it off. One by one, she asked each student the two questions written on the black board and checked off their names off of her roster.

Soon it was the turn of the mystery student. “Je m’appelle Allain Bouvier. Je suis de l’Avignon, France,” he said in an impeccable French accent.

This took Martine aback, yes, he was on the roster, but his last name and his obvious command of the French language made her wonder why he was in her lass. Also she never would have expected a student claiming to be from her small province to be taking her French class.

She stared at him for what would have been too long because the room was very quiet and some of the other students were beginning to fidget nervously. Martine turned to the next student and continued the exercise, trying not to think about Allain and why he was in her class.

Upon completing the introductions, Martine taught the class how to ask someone their age and what they are studying. She then put them into pairs where why would ask their partners what their names were, where whey were from, how old they were and what they were studying.

Unfortunately, the period ended before she got the class back together, so she asked them to remember who their partners were and make a note of their answers for the next class.

As the students exited Room 305, Martine made notes on how the class went and where she had reached in her class plan. When she looked up from her paper work, she noticed that Allain was still in the class, still seated at his desk.

“Is there something wrong Allain?” she asked.

“Non, professore.”

“Is your next class in this room?”

“Non, progessore.”

“So why are you still here, Allain?”

“Parce que de toi,” Allain answered, timidly. Because of you.

This took Martine of guard, forcing her to stand hoping that it would put her in a dominant position. As all his answers were in French, she spoke in her native language.

“Why are you here for me?”

“Because I wanted to meet you,” Allain replied. He looked out the window, but Martine wondered if he was seeing the students and teachers crossing the courtyard. “Doesn’t my last name sound familiar to you? I’m sure you have met my parents at least once, Brigitte and Henri Bouvier.”

At first the names did not sound familiar, but then Martine started to remember. Their faces flashed across her mind and all she saw in her mind’s eye was a young white couple holding a little newborn boy with pale skin but the tips of his ears were dark.

“Why did you give me away, maman?” Allain was now looking at her, a sole tear had streaked down his cheek.

Martine started to walk to him, intending to embrace him, wipe away the tear, to tell him that she thought about him every day of his life, but students started to walk in. The next class was to start in five minutes. This was not the place for an emotional reunion of a mother and son.

She returned to the desk at the front of the room and retrieved a scrap of paper and a pen. She quickly wrote down her address and directions, and then beckoned Allain to the front.

“There is a lot we have to talk about, so come for dinner at my house. This is the address and the directions. Come around 7pm,” Martine said while Allain the scrap of paper.

He nodded and left the classroom while Martine put away her paperwork, her fingers trembling. Throughout the day, her mind returned to the young French man. At times she would space out in the middle of a class exercise. If anything, the students now knew how to say “I’m sorry” in French.

Spinning

2011-10-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

weheartit

Spinning
Around and
Around and
Around
Until the center
Of my mind
Opened up
And swallowed
The world.

I fell in that moment,
Grazing my knees,
Biting my tongue,
Bruising my ego
Even though no one
Was watching.

I rose
To stand on
Unsteady legs,
Refusing to let gravity
Keep me down.
I'm a fighter
When it comes to that.

I touch my face,
My forehead,
Trying to determine
If I had successfully
Swallowed the world,
But all I could feel
Was the coolness of my brow.

I looked up to the sky,
Seeking out the moon.
I whispered to the man
In that moon,
"Will you forgive me
If I don't swallow the world,
If I am but another person
Walking on the Earth?"

In my thoughts
He replied,
"Will you forgive yourself
If you don't swallow the world,
If you remain a regular person?"

On unsteady legs,
I spin
Around and
Around and
Around
Until one day
I swallowed the world.

He Sat At The Bar

2011-10-03T11:43:00.000-07:00

weheartit

He sat at the bar,
She had just left
To use the restroom,
And he pondered
His situation.

Yes,
She was beautiful,
Curves in the right places,
Weave perfectly done,
Not a track in sight,
Outfit exhibiting all
That God had blessed her with,
But.....

But she spent more time
In the hairdresser's chair
Than she spent in bookstores.
Philosophical conversations
Left him confused and
He was a philosophy major.

Yes,
She was pretty,
But she was like
A beautiful vase,
Pretty on the outside,
Empty on the inside.

He sat at the bar,
Trying to put words together
Kind enough
Not to damage her ego,
Strong enough
To let her know
That they were over.

Words pulled him
From his thoughts,
They came from somewhere
Behind him,
They were a mix of
Male and female,
Peppered with a rhetoric
His mind hungered for.

Slowly, he turned around,
Searching the bar
For a couple
In deep conversation.
They sat two yards away,
Two book ends,
Brother and sister.

He sipped his whiskey,
Pretending to be taking in
The whole bar scene,
But he was really
Fixated on her,
Fixated on the dialogue.

She was no stunner
By society's standards,
But the more she spoke,
The more he was enamored.
She glance his way
And smiled, not knowing
That in that gesture
She stole his heart.

Just as he was about
To stand,
To join them,
To introduce himself,
To join this battle of words,
His woman appeared.

She whispered naughty things,
Delicious, seductive things,
Things that would have made
Him forget himself.

Not this time,
Or any time in the future.
He spread out the
Roughly sewn patchwork
Of words he had planned to tell her,
Then he bid her goodbye,
Slipping out of her grasp.

He didn't join
The brother and sister,
He just walked out of the bar.
He was not that kind of guy,
The kind that would
Break up with one woman
And pursue another
In the space of five minutes.

It was two weeks later
When he saw the sister again,
This time, he joined her,
This time, he introduced himself,
This time, he planned to be with
A woman that stimulated him
Mind, body and soul.

A Little Break

2011-09-23T06:06:00.000-07:00

Of late I have been running on empty and yet juggling so many things. I'm going to take a little break to recharge, doing a little hibernation. While I'm gone, feel free to check out my past poems, the stories at the top or give my second blog a gander. You can also check out my tumblr which is pretty much dedicated to things that inspire me.

The idea is to come back stronger, wiser and with more awesome poems and stories. Thanks for following and I'll be back in two shakes of a cheetah's tale.

XOXO

Signs

2011-09-21T11:14:00.000-07:00

source

The sky had no clouds,
A pristine blue dome
Was created for my wedding day.
Every thing was perfect,
My dress,
My schedule,
My wedding party,
My fiance.
But before I walked down
That aisle, before I say
My vows to the man
I love, I want to see the world
With the eyes of a single woman.

Out I walked into the open space
Between the two buildings.
At the other end of the space
Was where the wedding was
To take place.

I looked up,
Looking for a sign,
Any sign and more than one came.

The wind blew from behind me
Pushing me to that space,
The geometric shapes on the buildings
Pointed to that space,
And when I closed my eyes
A quiet voice said
"Walk boldly into your destiny."

I was filled with
A sense of completion,
Of surety and without
Hesitation, I returned to
My wedding party and
Prepared to walk down
The aisle.

In less than an hour
I was united for life
To the one man
I loved completely
And I knew the universe
Was happy with the union.

Dream

2011-09-14T11:12:00.000-07:00

source

They slept,
Nikki and Daemon
Tucked away in their
Respective dream worlds.

I wondered if Nikki
Was dreaming about
Dolls and friends
Or of boys who
Caught her eye
Under their hooded eyes.

I wondered if Daemon
Dreamt of action figures
And karate class
Or he wished he was out
Fishing with Grandpa James
Instead of taking part
In Aunt Joan's wedding.

I watched my babies sleep,
The wedding is to start in
An hours time, but I'll let
Them sleep another
Half an hour, I'll let
My babies dream.

Spoken Words

2011-09-13T08:56:00.000-07:00

Gemineye

2011-09-11T08:49:00.000-07:00

This is such a beautiful piece. Hope you like.

The Interrogation

2011-09-09T11:57:00.000-07:00

Huzfan

He held my face,

Puckering his lips

And instead of a loving kiss,

He blew cigar smoke

Into my face.

I tried to pull away,

Tried to not breathe in

The acrid air tinged

With his breath,

But he held my face still.

Tears rolled down my cheeks,

They came on their own,

A result of my physical pain,

Not my emotional pain.

He smirked.

A yellow smile

Blossomed across the lower half

Of his wrinkled face.

If you didn’t look closely

You would not have noticed

His gold tooth.

I spat in his face,

My phlegm washed

His smile away.

His back slap

Wiped mine away.

He had grown tired

Of our little game.

I was not giving him

The information he wanted.

He turned to retrieve his whip.

My hands remained bound,

But I was free of the chair,

Free of his watchful eyes.

I tucked my legs in

And swung my arms forward.

Seeing my new freedom,

He released his hip,

I dodged it and grabbed it,

Yanking it and pulling him to me.

With two deft movements,

I had the whip around his neck,

Twisting it until

His body stopped thrashing.

I freed my wrists

With his pocket knife.

I collected the money

On the bedside table,

Five Hundred Dollars.

As he slept on the floor

Of the motel room,

I let myself out.

Another pervert satisfied.

I should be more careful,

I nearly killed him that time.

River Goddess

2011-09-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

source

Cigarette butts

Lay in the gutter,

The world took on

A grey cast,

As though all life

Had been drained,

Leaving behind

The hard edges of things

Man made.

I didn’t care,

All that mattered

Was that this was

My day,

My wedding day.

On this day,

I was a river goddess

Who lived among

The rapids. My dress

Reflected this.

My body was embraced

By a frothy lace

That gave way to a flowing

Skirt that spilled between

My fingers where I grabbed it.

No,

I was not going to be

A princess,

A queen,

A supermodel,

Or some uber feminine mystique

Associated with brides.

I chose to be

A river goddess.

And today, I will marry

The one man I can refer to

As my rock.

The one who stands by me,

Strong and resolute.

I know in time,

I will wear him down,

But in that time,

He will have calmed me down.

So the world can be

Stark and ugly,

With cigarette butts

And cracked walls,

But today this river goddess

Marries her rock.

Grow Up

2011-09-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

Why don't you grow up,
Old man sitting across from me
Says, spit spraying at me
Like a faulty sprinkler.

The wrinkles in his face
Casting sharper shadows
As his mouth contorts
To rigid bow ready to
Fire endless arrows into my ego.

Grow up?
Did I want to do that?
Did I want to don pretty little dressess
And speak of the weather and
The state affairs of the Euro
Against the US dollar, while
Thinking up new and intriguing ways
I can impress instead of Express.

Express myself,
My spirit,
My soul,
My dreams,
Express me.

Would I,
Could I like the grown up
Version of me?
Would the responsibilities of
Living, functioning, pursuing
My dreams with endless tenacity
Rob me of my creativity,
Rob me of my joie de vivre
And leave me a brittle shell
Of a human being like
This old man sitting across from me.

I roll my eyes,
Move my pawn,
Check his mate, and
Win the game.

Why should I grow up
If I can still win the game.

Falling

2011-08-31T15:15:00.000-07:00

His words dropped heavy
From his lips,
Golden anvils
Smashing through
The glass planes of
My consciousness,
My beliefs,
My existence.

My existence?
What is that?
What am I?
Who am I?
Do I even know?
Do I even care?

I'm left bottomless,
Falling through the abyss,
Reaching out for something,
Anything, and somehow
I knew there was nothing
To stop my decent into....
Into.......

Somehow,
I was a soul
Without a purpose
And until I found that
I would fall.

I am so tired of
Falling.

I Love Them Both

2011-08-31T06:49:00.000-07:00

source

I love them both.

Their curves captivated me,
I would trace my fingers
Over them, enraptured
By how different they were.

She was soft and yielding,
I would hold her in my arms,
Squeezing never crushing.
She would whisper in my ear
Words that tickled my senses,
Touched my soul.

It was hard and unrelenting,
Each part designed to perfection.
Through city streets, country lanes
And never ending highways
It would take me.
Instead of whispers, it roars,
A primal roar that urge me on
To live on the edge of my
Existence.

She never asked me
To let it go, and
It can never ask me
To let her go, and
Together we live in
A comfortable arrangement.
Man, woman, car.

I love them both.

Thank You For Listening

2011-08-24T08:09:00.000-07:00

source

Dear God,
It's me,
I hope you can hear me
Through all the cries
Of sorrow,
Of pain,
Of anger,
Of quiet desperation.

Can you hear me,
God,
I just want to take
A moment,
This one scrap of time
And thank you.

Thank you for my life,
Although at times,
It felt so hard,
So pointless,
So full of tribulations,
But somewhere in there,
I've felt love, joy, peace
And, once and a while,
Happiness.

Thank you for my family,
My friends, my co-workers,
Even my enemies,
Without them
I would not remember
How special I am
And through our encounters,
We all grow to be better people.

God,
Are you still listening?

Thank you for my husband,
For bringing him into my life
At the right time.
A time when we were both ready
To love and cherish each other.
In him I have a best friend,
A trusted confidant,
A lover and a partner in crime.

God,
I know you're busy
Looking after this and that,
But I thought you would
Like to hear a genuine
"Thank You".
Let it be a flicker of light
In the darkness of
Humanity's sorrow.

And one more thing,
God,
Thank you for listening.

Hiya!!

2011-08-22T13:51:00.000-07:00

Just saying hi to all the followers and to thank you for following. I also want to give you all the heads up that I might not be posting as many poems as usual although I really want to stick to what I have been doing so far which is pretty good. Truth be told, the economic downturn has really hit my regular job hard and I'm going to be working extra hard to keep us going until we see a positive change globally. I'm sure as you can see that change is not coming soon.

Oh and one more thing, I've just started writing a story and it is starting look like a novel sized story. The concept just developed over the course of a couple days and like Little Red Hoodie above, I felt compelled to write. The thing is I'm not used to writing such a long story, in fact I'm not used to writing beyond verses, but this feels natural. I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting parts of it as posts as I write it or if I'm going to make it available as an eBook. I should be able to tell you for sure by the end of the year.

Anyway, thanks again for following and let me give a shout out to ReaderWriter, what you are doing is awesome and it's programs like yours that give people a voice and you should be commended. People might think the arts is for rich people or cultured people, and when I say arts I mean from visual to performance to literary, but I see it as a form of expressing oneself, a reflection of the human soul. It is through these forms we see individuals in their true lights. And it's great that you give women a chance to express themselves, their true selves.

I'm sorry if I'm rambling.

XOXO

On Every Face

2011-08-17T12:26:00.000-07:00

source

On every face,
A smile.

What better way
To start a new chapter,
A new life than to be
Surrounded by the
Smiling faces of those
We love, we respect,
We hold dearly.

On every face,
A smile.

It's My Thing

2011-08-15T13:40:00.000-07:00

vi.sualize.us

Years ago,
I would enter a room
And a corner would
Beckon me.

Once situated,
I would put
Pen to paper,
Paper to pen
And let it flow.

And like a flood heavy
River, my thoughts,
My words would erupt
Onto the pages,
Leaving them soaked.

Soaked with ideas
And concepts
That had no rhyme
Nor reason in my head,
On my tongue,
But on paper,
They would make sense.

In time,
These words stretched
And pulled from the confines
Of verses and stanzas
And morphed into paragraphs
That told stories
That wanted to be known,
To be told,
To be heard,
To be read.

I’ve been doing this
For years, never claiming it
As my own,
As what I do,
As what I am,
But now I own it.

I own the right
To say that
I am a poet,
That I a writer,
It is what I do,
It’s my thing.

I Found Peace

2011-08-12T13:45:00.000-07:00

vi.sualize.us

Daniel laughed out loud,
And usually it would thrill me,
But in this moment,
It only chilled me.

The gasoline had leaked
From the can
Creating a river of death
That pooled before me,
Becoming a lake tinged with
My fear.

His eyes were wild,
His movements, too quick,
His hatred shone and flickered
Around him as though it lived
In his atmosphere.

Those fingers used to intertwine
With mine, those hands
Used to stroke my cheeks,
But now they struck a match.

Now they tossed the match
Into the river of death.
Flames caught, leaping and
Jumping, following the river
To where I sit bound.

And in one breath,
The flames began to consume me,
But I refused to look away
From my former lover’s face.

As my skin melted,
As the smoke filled my lungs,
I stared at him,
I stared at my killer.

I died,
And in that death,
I cursed him.

I cursed him with
The darkest of magic,
A magic fed by
My rage.

It was that magic
That kept me alive
After my body had died.
And it was that magic
That helped me kill
Daniel.

And it was in his death,
I found peace in
My own death.

The Last Muse

2011-08-10T07:20:00.000-07:00

source

She was the last
Of her kind.
The last of the muses,
Sprite women who whispered
Inspiration into the ears
Of artists and geniuses.

One by one,
Her sisters disappeared
As they were no longer needed,
Their voices drowned out
By the droning of modern life.

She was now gaunt
And she knew her days
Were numbered, so
She donned her best dress
And got her favourite parasol,
Then waited for her fate.

It came four days later,
She was frozen in her steps
And slowly her body
Turned into gold dust
And in the breath
Of the digital world,
She blew away.

The last of the muses
Disappeared and
No one was there to
Mourne her loss.

Oh, Beautifully Savage Mind

2011-08-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

On February 11, 2010, two days before my birthday, Lee Alexander McQueen died. Over the years, he has always been my favourite designers and I must say I was sad to hear that he had died. The thing is I don't react the same way to death as others, it is something to be respected and accepted as part of life. Anyway, The Metropolitan Museum had put on an exhibition of his work called Alexander McQueen - Savage Beauty which ran from May 4, 2011 to August 7, 2011 and I never got to see it in person. When I read that it was ending on Garance Dore's blog and saw the pictures she took, I was inspired to write this poem. I hope you like it.

The Met

Oh,
Beautifully savage mind
Wrapped in your neuroses,
Your madness,
Your genius.
I was never sure
Where one began
And the other ended.
All of them residing in
You.

Oh,
Beautifully savage mind,
You inspired me
To see beyond
The parameters of fashion,
Beyond fabric and string,
Fiber and skin,
To a place where
Wood, feathers, horns
And butterflies
Adorn the bodies of nymphs.

Oh,
Beautifully savage mind,
I knew not of your tears,
Your pain, your loss,
The little monsters
That whispered sadness
Into your ears.
I only saw the beauty
That spilled from your mind
By way of your fingers.

Oh,
Beautifully savage mind,
If only we knew,
We would have been
Angels whispering love,
Encouragement, peace
Into your ears.
Our words becoming
Fingers, hands, arms
Reaching across the chasm
Of your pain,
Embracing you,
Warming you
As you pass through
The wintertime called grief.

Oh,
Beautifully savage mind,
We did not know
And you slipped away
Into the great unknown,
And all we can do
Is hold on.
Hold on to the beauty
You left behind,
Hold on to name
We promise never to forget.

Oh,
Beautifully savage mind,
We promise to never forget
That you name was
Alexander McQueen.

To see more of his work from the exhibition, click here.

In This Dream

2011-08-05T07:35:00.000-07:00

source

If I could
Dream the undreamt
Dream, it would be
Of you draped in
The lace spun by
Spiders that kept
Their special work
For themselves,
But found you deserving
Of such wondrous things.

In this dream,
Instead of wrapping themselves,
Silk worms wrap you
In their luxurious strings,
Believing you are
The one who needs
The transformation,
From beautiful
To divine.

In this dream,
Sheep offer their wool
And fox their fur,
But to the latter you say no,
Accepting only their friendship
That would span the ages.
Woman and animal
Wanting nothing but
Love and understanding.

In this dream,
You are whole,
Existing in the eternal circle,
360°. Understanding that
One action begets another
Which begets the original action.

Love and you will be
Loved and in turn you will
Love.

Believe and it will
Come to pass,
Making you believe.

In this dream,
I become you,
Deserving,
Loving,
Believing,
Being whole.

And in time
The dream will cease
To be a dream,
The dream will become
My reality.

Untitled

2011-08-03T08:26:00.000-07:00

source

Wrapped in lace and tulle

And the most exquisite of silk,

I contemplated this next step,

This next stage of my life.

No longer is my life

Solely my own,

No longer will my decisions

Be left unchecked,

Unquestioned,

Unchallenged.

I will no longer be a leaf

Floating in the breeze of life,

Going here and there,

Without thought or consideration.

In a few hours,

I will be bound to another,

Tied to another with silken ties

That covered metal chains.

A little bit of my freedom

Traded in for a ring

And a promise.

And yet,

I walk willingly into my fate,

I embrace it open eyes,

An open mind and an open heart.

I shed my singular nature,

And as I wrapped myself

With lace and tulle

And the most exquisite of silk,

I embark on a new beginning,

A beginning with you.

Jonathon

2011-08-01T05:53:00.000-07:00

source

Jonathon walked along the coastline,
Every now and then,
He would look out
Into the brine
As though he was looking for
Something.

Something that was lost at see,
Or in some far off land
That lay beyond
The horizon,
Beyond our existence.

I would watch him
From a bedroom window
Wanting to reach out to him,
Wanting to wrap him in my arms
And till him that it’s alright
That the pain will subside
From piercing jabs
To a subdued ache.

All I can do is watch him,
Watch the grief devour him,
Consume him thoroughly,
Leaving a shadow of the man
I loved, I cherished,
That I vowed to love
Till Death do us part.

The reality is those vows
Were not accurate.
You see even though
I died,
Our love never died,
It bound us over
The chasm of life and death.

It kept me here and
Although I can’t talk to him,
Touch him,
Kiss him,
I can still love him,
And in some strange way
I think he can feel my love.

In time,
I will fade away
Into the great unknown.
In time,
His grief will fade
Into acceptance and gratitude
That we did share our lives,
But the one thing
That will never fade
Is our love for each other.

I love you, Jonathon
And I know you love me too.

Another Year

2011-07-29T05:38:00.000-07:00

source

Another year has passed,
And it is only fair to ask
Very important questions,
Like…..

Have I laughed enough?
Laughed till I cried,
Till no sound came,
Till my stomach and cheeks
Ached.

Did I cry only enough?
Only when I was truly sad,
When I needed to release
The stress, the tension,
The frustrations
That come with life.

Did I love unapologetically
Without rhyme or reason?
Did I love myself,
My loved ones,
Those who have hurt me
And those who I have hurt?

Did I live?
Did I do the things I love?
The things that mattered,
That made my life richer,
That inspired me
To do great and wondrous things.

Did I learn the lessons
That are hidden in life’s hardships?
The stumbling blocks
That trip me up when
Things are going so well.
If I look close enough,
Beyond the dusty surface,
I will find a diamond in the rough.

Another year has passed,
And a new one has begun,
And with some work,
It will be better, sweeter,
More fun, more informative
Than the last.

So today,
Celebrate the year that passed,
And prepare for the year
That has just begun.

Happy Birthday.

Waiting

2011-07-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

source

Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Grandpa Mosely sat
On the velvet armchair,
His favourite hat perched
On his head,
Waiting.

Bianca sat beside him,
On the matching love seat.
She was the mini bride,
Just as I was the mini bride
When Aunty Judy got married,
When I was the one
Waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting.

Charlotte had slipped off
The love seat, her right shoe
Sat to her left,
The shoe of my flower girl.
A flower girl becoming more
And more antsy as she
Waited.

In twenty minutes,
The waiting would have ended,
All the characters would
Fall effortlessly into their roles.
First Bianca as the mini bride,
Then Charlotte throwing petals
And then Grandpa Mosely
As he walks me down the aisle.

But till that moment,
They all wait for me,
To complete my transformation,
They wait for me
To become your bride.

When

2011-07-25T13:11:00.000-07:00

source

I fell into his arms,
I had grown so tired
Of being everything
And feeling like nothing,
And I waited.

I waited for his arms
To encircle me,
Cutting me off from
The rest of the world
And letting me exist in his.

In his world,
I would breathe him in,
I would be warmed by his heat
And I would be soothed by
The beating of his heart.

I waited and
Nothing happened.
I looked up
Into his eyes
And I went cold.

In his eyes, I found
Indifference,
As though I was
Some strange cat
That rubbed against his leg.

He just stood there,
Patiently waiting for me
To realize that
I won’t find affection here,
I didn’t belong here.

When did this happen?
When did I slip away
Form his affection?

Slowly, I eased away,
Slowly, I stepped back,
My eyes locked with his.
With a nod of his head,
He packed his stuff
In a bag, I hadn’t noticed.

Just like that,
He was the center of my world,
Then he was gone,
And all I can think is
“When did I slip away
From his affection?”

His Name Was Marcus

2011-07-22T07:23:00.000-07:00

source

His name was Marcus.
It smelt of heavy musk
That crept into the room
And pulled me away
From whom ever I was
Talking to.
Marcus.

It tasted sweet
As I said it,
Some of it dripping
Down the side of my chin
Before I wiped it
Away with my tongue.

When she spoke it,
A dizzying array of
Colours shot across
The field of my vision,
As she spoke of their
Union. Man and wife.

His name smelt acrid,
It burnt my nostrils
And still sent a shiver
Down my spine
That permeated through my body,
Leaving me cold.

I should have looked away,
Cowered under her unrelenting stare.
I was wrong and I knew that
I was wrong, but somewhere
Deep in the forest of my logic,
I knew I was innocent.

I did not ignore the ring
That trumpeted their union,
He never wore that ring.

I did not know that he was
Someone’s husband and
Still pursued him unapologetically,
I believed him when he said
He was single.

I did not fight for him,
I did not claim him as mine,
I simply released him
From my existence,
From my life,
From my heart.

His name was Marcus,
And I loved him,
But he had married her.

Untitled

2011-07-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

source

The white of her dress
Contrasted against the dark browns
Of the stair case.
To me she appeared
To be gliding up the stairs,
An exquisite ghost
That enthralled me
Instead of scaring me.

This was my bride,
The woman who I gave
My heart to and who
I will be giving my life.

I should not be seeing her
Before the ceremony,
Bad luck, they say,
But I could not look away.
I could not slip back
Into my room
And finish getting read.
I stood at the rail
And stared.

Unexpectedly, she looked back,
Catching me gawking at her.
A wave of irritation crossed her face
And before it froze in place,
It melted away
As she registered the love
That was plastered across my face.

I wanted to run down the stairs
And kiss her hungrily.

I wanted to steal her
Into my room and make
Passionate, sweet love.

I wanted to hold on to her
And never let go.

A warm smile blossomed
On her face and she mouthed
“After the ceremony,
Go and get ready.”

With that promise,
I slipped back in my room
And got ready
To start a new life
With the woman
Who kept her promises.

A Little Spice

2011-07-19T09:48:00.000-07:00

weheartit

I started a poem, not knowing where it was going to take me, basically letting it flow. Unfortunately, it flowed into the (e)rotic side. There was no way I could make it go unpublished, because to me it's one of my stronger pieces and I am one of those people who embrace her sexuality. The thing is others might find it a bit intense so I've back posted it here. So if you are not afraid of a little kink, check it and don't for get to comment and show some love.

XOXO
Kimolisa

We Are Not Angels

2011-07-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

We are not angels,
We aren't the types
That people would point at
And tell their kids
To be just like us.

We are the types
That asked too many questions,
That did things anyway
Because we wanted to,
Because we were curious,
Because....
Just because!

We are the types
That bucked the rules
And turned up our noses
At the ordinary,
The normal,
And while everyone
Walked the straight and narrow,
We ran recklessly
Into the unknown.

We are the types
That laughed too loudly
And cried apologetically.
The owners of a gamut of emotions
That we showed without
Fear of judgement,
A fear we never possessed.

We are the types
That stood behind of
Causes we believed in
Even if they were the unpopular ones.
We are the sentries
Of our beliefs,
Defenders of our values.

We never apologise
For who we are,
We just ask you to accept up
For who we are.

So we walk this earth,
Heads held high,
Stride confident and unwavering,
We are the type
That change the world.

It Was Like

2011-07-18T06:42:00.000-07:00

It was like when
A violin player,
A fiddler,
A Ukulele player
Plucked that one string,
That one note
Over and over and
Over,
Rising you higher
To some unknown plane.

Then stops,
Leaving you suspended
And just as you fall,
The orchestra,
The band,
The social gathering
Starts playing
And it doesn’t matter
If it is a whole new melody
Or the same melody
They were playing before.

In that moment
The melody is beautiful,
Extraordinary,
Divine.
And when the song ends,
There is no sadness,
Remorse,
Unhappiness,
Just the sweet sense of
Contentment
Because you have been moved,
Touched,
Left sated.

Being with you
Was like that.

Onyx

2011-07-15T06:36:00.000-07:00

source

The sun rose
Melting the darkness away
And exposing the world
For all to see.
I dug deeper
Under the covers
Trying to coax
A few more minutes of sleep.

Onyx had other plans,
As he jumped onto the bed
And proceeded to dig me out
Of my comfy grave.

Upon finding my hand,
He started to lick it
With his sandpapery tongue,
Stopping only to mew
In that high pitch tone
That drove me crazy
On a good day.

I tumbled out of bed
And stumbled into the kitchen
Where I tossed cat food
Into Onyx’s dish
And refreshed his water bowl,
All the while wondering
Who was the owner
And who was the pet.

As I was up,
I figured I might as well have breakfast,
I opened the fridge and winced,
Letting out a curse word or two.
I forgot to go to the supermarket,
I ended up with a black coffee
And a nuked muffin from two days ago.

It was still too early
To go out and meet up with Sofie,
So I settled into my lumpy sofa
And caught a rom com
On a movie channel.

Onyx trotted over from the kitchen,
Curled up beside me
And promptly went to sleep.
It was in that moment
I remembered why
I had adopted him.

He was the one thing
That got me up
On the weekends
To enjoy them,
Instead of sleeping them away
And waking up to another week
Of work I hated and questions of
What I was doing with my life.

Onyx kept me sane.

Soul Mate

2011-07-14T06:35:00.000-07:00

I once found my
Soul mate.

He was about my height
With jet black hair
That flopped down
Over one eye
And his smile
Was the biggest
I ever saw
Making me want to smile too.

I met him years ago
In a class
And we were drawn
To each other.
Two island folk
In the big city,
He was Hawaiian
And I was Caribbean.

Over the short time
We had together
We developed a friendship
That was uniquely ours.
A friendship that had us
Spending evenings watching
Aunty Mame,
Or eating in the cafeteria,
Or talking about his boyfriend.

Oh yes,
My soul mate was gay.
A deliciously, happy gay man
Whose spirit and soul
Was what I needed in my life.

Everyone believes a soul mate
Is relegated to romantic entanglements,
But sometimes a soul mate
Is a good friend
Who makes your world
That much better,
That much brighter.

Unfortunately,
I didn’t see
How important he was
To me, and we parted
And disappeared from
Each others’ lives.

Of all the people,
I’ve met since,
His memory still shines
The brightest,
He was one of the few people
With whom I was truly me
And for that
I thank him

He was my soul mate.

Lydia

2011-07-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

source

Lydia was not known
For doing great things.
She lived in a little house
On the outskirts of a little town.

Every Wednesday,
The townspeople would greet her
As she ran her errands
At the bank and the post office.

“Good day, Lydia, lovely weather we’re having,”
They would say,
“Where does she work?”
They would think to themselves.

Every Saturday morning,
The townspeople would meet Lydia
At the farmers’ market.
Her basket full of fresh vegetables,
A pound of beef, a pound of pork
And a fine piece of cheese
From Farmer Grant.

As for the rest of the week,
The townspeople had no clue
What kept Lydia occupied
Which suited her just fine.

Lydia thought it best
That they did not know
About the married politician
That visited her twice a week.
One visit was for talking,
The other for not talking.

What would the townspeople think
Of the preacher man from
Two towns over
Who sought to find
The promise land between
Lydia’s doughy thighs.

Not to mention the three others
Who sought her unique brand of counsel
At various times of the day.
All looking for experiences
They would never find at home,
All valuing the privacy
Of Lydia’s humble abode.

No,
Lydia was not known
For doing great things,
Only special things.

Time Out

2011-07-03T08:38:00.000-07:00

source

For the next week I will be taking a break from the internet. I've deactivated my FaceBook account, I'm not checking my email, not reading blogs, not watching YouTube videos, not going on Tumblr. Basically, I am cutting out internet use. I've noticed that I can end up spending countless hours online and most of that is unproductive. I also realized that I've been absorbing massive amounts of information but hadn't taken the time to incorporate what I've learned into my life. Yes, I'm excited about trying out a new exercise routine, but I haven't figured out what my go-for-broke goals are for my body. There are so many things I want to try and I haven't put the necessary thought and action into executing them. So I'm taking the time to disconnect from the world out there and reconnect with the world in here.

Plus, this terrible case of writer's block isn't helping.

Rudy Francisco

2011-06-28T07:11:00.000-07:00

My sis shared this and I just had to, it was so good.

June Too Soon

2011-06-27T13:18:00.000-07:00

Source

It was a brisk
January morning
Where the sun was
Warming the air still cool
From the night before,
But still it did not
Warm the chill in me.

I sat across from
The doctor in his office.
The fourth doctor,
As I was not satisfied
With the opinions of
The three doctors before him.

The expression on his face
Was grave,
The appropriate term for
What he was about to tell me.
With a voice devoid of any emotion
But sympathy, he told me
That my cancer was in
The advance stages,
And I have up to June
To live.

I suppose I was in shock
Or some zombie like state
Of acceptance which allowed me
To act normal and make my way home.

At home,
I cried and cried and cried
Until all my tears were spent,
And all that was left was
The silent, dry, body wracking sobs.
They too were spent
And were replaced by a deep slumber.

The next morning,
I awoke embraced in a sense
Of calm, that was equal
To the stillness of the surface
Of a quiet lake.
In that calm, I was resolute,
In that calm, I chose to live.
I chose to live.

In the weeks that followed,
I forgave my enemies,
And asked for their forgiveness.
I told my friends and family
How much I loved and appreciated them,
That even when I pass on,
My love for them will remain.

In the months that followed,
I lived!
I climbed mountains,
I dove in oceans,
I fell from the sky
Like a fallen angel.

In the months that followed,
I ran with the bulls,
I danced the samba
In the Brazilian Carnival,
I saw the Northern Lights
And a polar bear.

In the months that followed,
I ate good food,
Drank good wine
In the company of good people.

In the months that followed,
I laughed.
I laughed till I cried.
I laughed till no more sound came.
And my face held a constant
Smile.

Soon June came,
Then July,
Then August,
Then the other months,
But I didn't care because
I was living.

By August, two years later,
I had lived my life
Completely.
I did all I wanted to do,
I saw all I wanted to see,
And it was only
When I was done living
That I allowed myself to die.

On the last day of August,
Two years later,
I died.

June was too soon,
But August, two years later
Was far enough for me.

Moments

2011-06-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

The rain fell
At a 45º angle
And I watched it
As I lay under my covers.
My bed was right
By the window.

There was no where else
I wanted to be,
This place, right here
Is where I'm supposed to be.

Feeling the coolness
As I touched the window pane,
And relishing the warmth
That embraced my body.

The rifts of some melody
By Duke Ellington
Plays lazily through
My room and I savoured it
Like a glass of Pinot Grigio.

Just at that moment,
A ray of sun cuts through
The clouds creating
A mini rainbow, I exhale
Completely.

How sweet it is,
Moments like this
Are meant to be experienced
In their entirety,
Uninterrupted.

Moments like this
Are like a glass of fine wine,
A chunk of perfectly aged cheese,
A dish made with love,
And a hug,
You hope never ends.

The thing about moments like this
Is they have to end.

If they lasted forever,
You will never appreciate them.
The moment passes,
Becoming a sweet memory
To be savoured over and over,
And to serve as a reminder
That moments like this
Exists.

So this moment ends
With Mi Amour rousing
From his slumber and
With that end,
A new moment begins.

New Challenge

2011-06-22T12:29:00.000-07:00

I'll be honest, I've been missing my weekly challenge, so I returned to my source, Alice's blog on My Modern Met and went searching. It was not my first time, but nothing was hitting me as a series I would have wanted to do until Monday I saw this and I had to do it. Here is the info from the blog post

Call it daring, dark, dramatic and even haunting. Just don't call it unoriginal. This is the work of Rocco Ancora.

Popular Photography just released its list of their Top 10 Wedding Photographers of 2011 and it included the talented Melbourne, Australia-based photographer. Pop Photo calls the ten the "best in the business," chosen for their art of creativity, adventure and individualism. "For decades, wedding photography was stilted and conventional," says Aimee Baldridge, editor of Pop Photo. "But recently, an adventurous spirit rising in both couples and photographers has shifted the rules. Individuality is now key, whether that means bringing in landscape photography techniques, photojournalism or hipster style. No matter how edgy they may be, though, wedding photogs still need to get a shot of Nana dancing with her 7-year-old grandson."

Out of the ten, what drew us to Rocco Ancora's work was that his photos looked like paintings. This is, of course, on purpose. “I draw a lot from Renaissance art and Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and from Rembrandt and Vermeer,” he explains. “I’m fascinated by the way they used light.”

Ancora's distinct style has been called classical and romantic. In addition to paintings, his photography is also inspired by old films from the '40s and '50s (like in the film noir genre).

Here are a few pics:

Why do I want to write poetry to these images? To me they are beautiful, I love the rich colours, I love how the photographer made the imagery look like it was painted. I love the drama and how it creates a story and I have a soft spot in my heart for film noir. I truly look forward to this challenge and I hope you enjoy the poems I come up with.

Spoken Word - PorKae

2011-06-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

Give Me A Break

2011-06-17T09:26:00.000-07:00

source

"Give me a break!!"
That was the last thing
He said before going
Into a diatribe of
How incompetent I was,
How useless a person I was,
How I was a waste of space,
A waste of flesh and bone.

Me!?!
I was a waste?!?!
Was I waste of when
I took his kids to the movies,
Made sure his wife got flowers
On her birthday,
Valentines, Mother's Day
And their anniversary?

If it wasn't for me,
That same wife would have
Found out about Gina,
Amanda, Doris, Svetlana
And that one drag queen
He thought I didn't know about.

I practically ran this office
While he's out playing golf,
Or having 3 hour lunches
That turn into drinks
And then "business dinners".
If there wasn't a picture of him
In the office, the staff would
Have forgotten what he looked like.

All of that was forgotten
Because I forgot that
On Wednesday, he liked
Frappuccinos instead of
Cappuccinos, his drink of choice.

Give him a break?!?
No problem!

In the middle of
His diatribe,
I placed the paperwork
He had to review and sign
On his desk,
Did an about turn
And left his mausoleum of an office.

At my desk,
I removed every piece
Of my personal effects,
And backed up all my personal files,
Then made my way to the elevators.

It was there
The boss found me.
"And were do you think you are going?"
He asked, a volcano ready to explode.

The elevator doors opened
And I stepped in,
Staring him in the eyes,
With a polite smile, I said,
"Why, sir, you said,
And I quote,
'Give me a break.'
Well, sir, enjoy your break."
The elevator doors closed.

Be careful what you ask for,
You just might get it.

Passion by Joekenneth Museau

2011-06-15T12:19:00.000-07:00

'Passion' (Spoken Word) from abstractElements on Vimeo.
'Passion’ the spoken word piece by Joekenneth Museau. Also check out The Passion Project.

Honestly speaking, I don't have anything to say, I'm speechless.

My Madness

2011-06-13T09:38:00.000-07:00

wehearit

May I introduce you
To my madness?

It sits over here
By the phantom piano
That plays and plays
Some lost composition
Of Bach, or is it Mozart?
I forget.

Right here,
Sitting like an obedient child
Who waits patiently
For a turned back,
A distracted guardian,
To run crazily through
The rooms of my mind,
Tipping and tossing
Precious memories,
Fragile relations
Till Nothing is left but
Ruins.

I should scold it,
Lock it away
Deep in the reptile brain
With a pill and a tablet
As locks.

And yet,
This same madness
Had brought me closer
To the creative,
It has been the gatekeeper
To the land of words aplenty,
Concept joined together
To create something bordering
On beautiful and genius.

No, this madness is not
Some wayward virus
That steals my health
And sobriety like some
Dastardly cat burglar,
This madness is as much
A part of me as my leg,
My arm, my head, my heart.
This madness makes me
The person who stands before you.

So, come now, sir and madam,
Allow me to introduce you to
My madness.

Oh, Release Me

2011-06-10T11:56:00.000-07:00

Oh, release me,
Father of shadow and light
Into the quiet dream
That beckons me.

Release me,
So that I may fly
Towards the sun.

Do not hold me back,
Do not tell me stories
Of those who have
Taken flight, long before
I was a shadow in the mind.

I care not that they
Had fallen,
Had burnt,
Had died,
Had never returned.

That was their story,
And this is mine.

In my story,
I flew up and up
Till I touched the sun.
It did not burn me,
Nor did it kill me,
Letting me fall from the sky.

It embraced me,
It welcomed me to its home
And taught me all it knew,
It taught me how to shine.

In my story,
I fly to the sun
And learn to shine.

Oh, release me,
Father of shadow and light,
Release me
So that I may fly to the sun,
So that I may shine.

You Inspire Me

2011-06-08T09:41:00.000-07:00

You inspire me.

You inspire me to dance,
Swaying my hips
From side to side,
Absorbing the rhythms
Of my heart,
Of the drums,
Of the oceans,
Of the beating of the wings
Of flies,
Of life.

You inspire me to laugh,
Not the dainty giggle,
Or the titter of gentlewomen,
But the large honking laugh,
Followed by snorts and
Silent heaves where sound
Has been exhausted
And all is left is the sweet silence
And the expression of mirth.

You inspire me to love,
Not the love between
A man and a woman,
A parent and a child,
A friend and a friend,
But the love that is universal,
That embraces you like
A lost friend, and whispers
Words of acceptance,
Of worth, of value, of importance.
A love that is unique because
It comes from within.

You inspire me to think,
To accept that my thoughts
Are weighty like anvils
And that is truly the strong
Who are willing to think and
Carry the weights of their thoughts
When others would toss
Them aside and choose to
Not think at all. Still I choose
To think.

"Who is this you?" they would ask.
This you who I give all this praise.
Is it God?
Is he a prophet?
Is it a saint?
Is it some entity that has yet
To have a name?

Truth be told,
The you I speak of is man,
Not one man or one woman,
But all men and women,
As a species we have come so far,
Done so much,
Been so far,
Be it out to space,
To the depths of the earth,
To the depths of our imagination,
Mankind has inspired me
To be more human.

I Find

2011-06-06T09:29:00.000-07:00

Sometimes,
In the space of time,
In a room
Cooled by the artificial,
I yearn to write.

To put pen to paper,
To stroke the keys
Of a keyboard
And let words
Stretch from my mind
Into the ether.

Oh,
Heavy heart that believes
Itself incapable of linking
Words together and release
Ideas as poignant and relevant
As speeches of kings and presidents.

Still it is capable,
Capable of transmitting passion
To my mind, or is it
My mind transmitting passion
To my body.

A passion that allows me
To write tomes upon tomes
Of thought, original thought,
My thought.....

A passion that drives me
To scale large mountains
And fall from the heavens.

A fallen angel, I am not,
A good devil, I may be,
Better to be bad and choose
To be good, than be good
And crave to be bad.

With great effort,
I pull from my soul,
These words and
In their existence
I find beauty....
I find release .....
I find me!

Cotton Candy Flavoured Tears

2011-06-03T09:18:00.000-07:00

I've decided to spice up Fridays. For those under the age of 18, look away. Although, I suspect some of you under 18's know more than I do. All the same, look away.

source

Cotton candy flavoured tears
Fell from his eyes,
And without hesitation,
Without doubt or fear,
I licked them,
Savouring the sweetness
Of his misery.

He was my slave,
I loved the way
That sounded out loud
And in my head.
The thought was sweet
And spicy and it created
A emotion that bordered
On arousing and sinister.

I never let him know this,
That the sight of him
Completely nude except for
The black studded collar,
Waiting eagerly for my command
Made me ever so wet.

If he knew,
Power would have shifted,
I would lose
The other thing that
Excited me,
Power over a man.

I would use this power
To torture him,
To make him yearn for me,
To make his manhood
Stand at attention,
Yearning to be swallowed
By my body,
Completely,
Entirely.

Just when I knew
He was at the edge
Of control,
About to fall into the abyss
Of animal urges,
I would let him
Have my body.

He knew to take his time,
To be gentle.
One wrong move
And I would stop
Him from reaching
His promise land.

With my slave
Deep within,
I found my promise land
And as long as I have him
As my slave,
I will always find it
On the corner of
Power Lane
And Avenue Lust.

Anna

2011-05-30T11:34:00.000-07:00

I stared at the cup of tea
The stewardess had placed before me.

It was one of those exotic herbals
That was supposed to be beneficial
For one thing or another,
But so far it had not done its job.

I was still on edge,
My mind buzzing from one thought
To another like a restless bee,
But it still returned to one thought.

Where is Anna?

The last time I saw her,
We were at the airport
Saying our goodbyes.
She was going to her father
For summer and I hugged her
So tight resisting letting her go.

I should have held on,
I should never have let her go.

Her father is dead,
His home is ransacked
And Anna is gone.

“Are you here on vacation?
Or are you here for business?”
The immigration officer’s words
Cut through the fog in my head.

“I came for my daughter.”

“Is she studying here?
Does she live here?
Is she here on vacation?”

“She was kidnapped here.”

His face was a slideshow of emotions.
Shock.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Comprehension.
Sympathy.

He stamped my passport
And wished me luck.

It was a wasted wish,
Three days later,
I stood over Anna’s body,
Too numb to cry,
Too hurt to speak.

I signed the paperwork,
Arranged the flights
And as quietly as I entered,
I left the small country.

It was only when I was at home,
A week after Anna was buried
That I cried.

I cried until no more tears came,
Until I plotted a way
To kill the man that killed
The only family I had.

Six months later,
An unidentified was found dead
In the small country.

It was obvious that
He had been tortured
And he was missing a molar
That could not be found
At the place where he died.

That said molar
Was buried with a Colt 45
Three feet above the coffin
Of a young woman
Who was called
Anna.

Lips On My Lips

2011-05-27T13:34:00.000-07:00

Another hot one so proceed with caution

vi.sualize.us

I awoke to find
Lips on my lips,
But when I opened
My eyes, I found no face
Hovering over mine.

Instead I felt
A tongue dip between
My lips, savouring
My essences
Before suckling on
The tip of the center of
My universe.

I cooed like a dove
As my kitten purred,
My back arching
As though I was possessed,
But instead of a nasty, evil devil
I was possessed by a pleasure
That stood on the line dividing
Pain and ecstasy.

Just when I was about
To relinquish contol
To something so primal
It scared me to death,
The lips on my lips were gone.

I released a feral scream
And instead of lips
Consuming my lips,
My lips were fed
A delicious morning snack.

Slowly,
Rhythmically,
My lips consumed it's snack.
Just as it sated my hunger,
I lost all control,
My body hummed,
I spoke in tongues foriegn to me.

I.... I..... I.....
I passed out.

I awoke to find
Lips on my lips
And when I opened my eyes
I found the face
Of the man I love
Hover over mine.

Cool

2011-05-25T10:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes,
I want to curl up
Into a bubble of
Coolness.

Not the coolness
Awarded to me
By others,
But a coolness
Of my own making.

A coolness that breeds
Creativity,
Courage,
Confidence
And the full bodied sense of
Awareness.

Other times,
I just possess it,
I just be it,
Cool that is.

Untitled

2011-05-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

istefan

I suspected
I was pregnant
When I was two months
Into the nine months.

A life
Was being created
In me.

In less than a year
I would become
The mother of something
So fragile,
So small,
So unique,
A creation of a love
So pure.

At the eight month mark,
I had accepted
That my little one had
A spirit.

He or she liked
Mozart and Tupac,
Preferred I ate
Ice cream and cake
And passed on burritos and Chinese.

When I wanted to sleep,
He or she wanted to dance,
And not a tame waltz or foxtrot,
My little one was breakdancing
In the little space
Called my womb.

At last,
It was time for our little one
To be born into the bigger world.

After hours and hours
Of contractions,
And a great deal of
Huffing and puffing,
Screaming like a mad woman
And cursing my husband
That he will never touch me again,
Our little one was born.

He was beautiful,
And he had
A name.
We called him Luke.

Luke possessed
A life,
A spirit
And now,
A name,
Luke.

This poem was written for the Best of Books open mic topic, A Life, A Spirit.........A Name.

Better

2011-05-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

mechanicalanimals;
She always said
That she was a clumsy person,
That she was prone to
Walking into doors,
Tripping over her own feet,
But we knew better.

She always said
She had something at home
To do,
That was shy she couldn't
Go out with us,
Be it for drinks,
For a cup of coffee,
For dinner,
But we knew better.

She always had a reason
Why her boyfriend
Was constantly calling her phone
6, 7, 8 times during the times
We did get to hang out,
But we knew better.

She always had
An excuse,
An explanation,
A reason
For things that
Just didn't seem right,
But we knew better.

Now she will never
Say anything,
Have a reason,
An explanation,
An excuse for anything
Because we didn't do
Better by her.

In The Darkness

2011-05-18T09:35:00.000-07:00

source

"Sing!"

The word tore through
The silence.

A silence as thick
As the darkness
That wrapped around us.

A darkness
Inhabited by people
Equally as dark.

"Sing and raise us
From these shackles,
From our misery,
From our fears,
From our reality!"

This command
Was not for me,
But the woman
Who sat in a distant corner.

Her voice rose
Like the sun,
Steady and slow
Warming our souls.

The clarity of her voice
Was like a dew drop
Magnifying the lines on a leaf
Upon which it sat.

Her voice was as beautiful
As an orchid,
And like an orchid
It was a parasite,
But instead of a tree or plant,
It got it's sustenance
From her soul.

And still
It was not enough.

"Stop, stop,
STOP!!!"

"I do not want to hear
A song as sweet as
A ripe mango or
A freshly chopped sugar cane."

"I want to hear a song
That is rich in pain
As well as triumph.
A song drenched
In the tears of brave men
And steeped in the sorrow
Of their women folk."

"I want our song."

The silence stretched
Like a sunset
Under a cloud heavy sky.

Then the song began,
A song we all knew.
A song that had brought
Tears to the eyes of kings.
A song that grew courage
In the hearts of cowards.

The song was infectious,
Leaping from man to woman
And woman to man
Like a great sickness
Found deep in the jungle.

Before long,
Voices rose into the darkness,
Vibrations bouncing off of
Unseen walls crashed against
Or bodies.

In this moment,
We were one.
One voice.
One people.
Bound for one place
And from that moment
We shall remain
One people.

One people
In the darkness.

To be honest, every time I read this poem I get teary eyed which is rare for me. Every now and then, I write a poem that hits a nerve for me. This is one of those poems.

Untitled

2011-05-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

vi.sualize.us

Sinner,
Dressed in black,
Kissed the baby,
Shook his hand.

sinner,
Played her games
Like she played the piano
To perfection,
Always perfection.

Sinner
Smiles at you,
Eyes cold as ice,
Genuine friend for life.

Sinner
Had it all,
Lost it all,
Sinner no more,
God wants her soul.

God wanted her genuine,
God wanted her pure,
Dress in white
And sin no more.

Don't think
A soul can be got
As easily as it is lost,
A battle ensues
Within this soul.

Devil and Angel fight
There in.
Fight till almost nothing is left.
Loser loses the soul,
Winner rebuilds the soul.

The battle continues,
Six years later.
Gray she wears,
Gray they all wear.
Honestly, do you think
Anyone wears white.

He Still Loves Me

2011-05-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

vi.sualize.us

Alejandro did not love me,
He loved the softness of my lips
As they kissed each and every
One of his delectable parts.
I broke his heart in a text message.

Nicolyde did not love me,
He love how my skin
Contrasted his,
My dark naked body
Against his pale.
I left a message on his answer machine.

James did not love me,
He loved the roundness of my ass,
The one he liked to slap,
In and out of bed,
And knead like dough
Every chance he got.
I called him during a business meeting.

Guillame,
Guillame love me,
He loved my lips,
He loved my skin,
He loved my ass,
He loved my heart,
He loved my mind,
He loved my spirit.
I looked him in the eye
And told him
I was afraid to love him,
He still loves me.

I Got High

2011-05-11T06:50:00.000-07:00

My Modern Met

I got high.

Lucas had bought
Charlie's special concoction
Of weed laced with coke,
With a hint of extasy.

In Lucas' basement,
We partook in our
Little bount,

The smoke filled
The little room,
Dissolving the walls,
Leavind us suspended
In a technicolour space.

Just when we thought
We couldn't get any
Higher,
We found ourselves kitted
In astronut gear
Floating in a space
So bright, the air
Looked like clouds.

I got high,
The only problem is
I never got low.
I died in Lucas' basement
In a smoke
That dissolved my existence
To nothing.

This poem is the end of the challenge, hopefully, I will come across another series of images I can use to challenge myself.

I Rise

2011-05-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

Cathedral music played in the background,
It sounded like monks chanting,
As I drank my glass of Merlot.

I was trying to drink
The memories of past lovers away,
Of men who wronged me,
Of men who hurt me,
Of men.

It's a shame
I don't have the taste for women,
Literally and figuratively.

I would be lying
If I said I made it to the bottom
Of the bottle,
I would be lying,
If I said I didn't almost
Lose my lunch and dinner.

An oracle,
The bottle was not,
It didn't show me
Where I went wrong.
It didn't show me
Where I should go now.

All it show me
Was the depth of my self pity.

I stopped the bottle
And crawled into bed,
Where I slept a dreamless sleep.

It was only when I rose
That I realized the bottle held a purpose,
To bring me down
So that I could rise.

Rise above the pain,
Rise above the bittersweet weariness,
Rise above the self pity,
Rise above it all,
And so I rise.

I Sold My Soul

2011-05-06T10:32:00.000-07:00

I sold my soul
For a bag of chips.

I was hungry at the time
And my soul was there,
Waiting till I die
To go somewhere,
Or so they said.

They being the good people
Who come down to the shelter
To give us some food
And go on and on
About how good their
God was.

Their God
Who gave them SUVs
And BETs,
Who put a solid roof
Over their heads
And left me nothing
But this locket my mom gave me.

I still miss her,
She died when I was thirteen,
Shot in the head by
My father, who was coked up
So much he didn't even recognise
The women he vowed to protect,
Love, covet.

He's in jail now.
Coming out tomorrow.
Getting high tomorrow.

I though about all this
While I ate my bag of chips,
Licking the salty goodness off
My fingertips.
Maybe I'll sell my body
For a can of coke,
I ain't got nothing else.

I Have Accepted

2011-05-04T06:26:00.000-07:00

My Modern Met

Night had fallen
Turning everything
Into varying shades of
Blue and black.

The destruction was
Evident, broken blocks,
Steel bent and exposed,
And we all took in
This new existence in different ways.

Some of us
Held on to the everyday
Practices, watching TV
As though there was
No gaping hole in the wall.

Some of us,
Stood stunned
Looking at the destruction,
Trying to understand,
Trying to accept.

Some of us
Tried to deny
That anything had happened,
Crawling back into bed,
Hoping that it was all
A dream, and they would
Wake up and things would
Be they way they were,
The way they should be.

And some of us
Got angry,
Trying to mete out vengence,
On all and any who
Could have created this
Disruption of their
Daily lives.

As for me,
I just accepted it,
I accepted that life
Was not a constant,
That out of the blue
Everything could be turned upside down.
I accepted that
Some people will die
And some will survive
To carry the grief for those
Who have died.

I have accepted,
And I continue to live.

James

2011-05-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

James was his name,
We used to sleep together.
I would not call him my man,
I would not call him anything.
He was my feel good guy,
The guy who would tickle my fancy,
Not to mention my other parts.

One day, I called him,
But the line rang out,
I texted him,
But no reply came.
Time on my hands,
I went by his apartment.
A woman answered the door,
Eyes red, nose raw.

She asked me my name,
Then extracted an envelop
From a stack.
It had James' handwriting on it.
She closed the door on me.

Baby, the letter started,
As I read it in my bed,
Covers to my chin,
But fear still chilling my bones.
You know we been together
More times than I can remember,
How can I write this
And not feel like I'm hurting you.

Baby, I have AIDS,
I've had it for the past
Seven years.
The simple fact that you have
This letter means
I've passed on.

I cried,
Cried tears of fear,
Cried tears of mourning,
Cried tears of relief.
Relief that every damn time,
I played it safe.

You see James
Was a feel good guy,
He knew how to make
A woman feel good.
For a man to know that,
He had to go through
A lot of women.
So you know I was not
Going to take a chances.