Friday, November 9, 2012

my people's music

my people's music,
be jammin
it's sacrilegious in it's form
sin sittin' next to gospel
guitar rocking next to tambourines
humming hymns
on beats of blues
set on strings of jazz
and that piano...well, bang on brotha...
you can hear the porch jive
and liquored lyrics
on high falsettos
and the drums?
go back to Africa
and Brazil
and them islands
pick one
because it's all us
all shades of brown
getting down
with sounds emanating
from a thump off of a circle of souls
dating BC...
"before cd's"
i hit play
and my emotions sway
i weep,
at how deep
music has me
how could it not though?
doesn't it make you wanna lay in it?
bathe in it?
take a deep breath
immerse yourself underneath
the clicks of cymbals
that tick with toe taps
my people's music
has healing properties
moving through muscles
revving hearts
and purifying minds
a placebo from peabo...
a shot from chaka...
a pill from jill...
a flow from freddie...
and everything is alright.
my people's music...
it's a soul thing.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

10 Word Thursday: Perfect Agony

It's 10 Word Thursday again...time for poetry. I decided to do it in the style of a succession of haikus. Just to make it interesting, I suppose. lol

Ms. Bebe gave me these words:

salacious, prototype, fire, bawdy, dandelion, atlas, museum, explosion, tea, petal

a salacious fire
takes up residence in me
the explosion...great

the impetus, him
the fuel, his body perfect
sculpted from dark wood

far from bawdy and store cheap
...atlas-like and strong

i imagine him
a tasty tea of sweet dreams
dripping onto me

cascading like rain
beading upon my soft petal
me soaking him in

i become spoiled
my prototype paramount
supreme over all

where do i go now?
like a fiend i chase the high
embers of a fire

whisked away like wind
dandelion spores adrift
me...changed forever

Thursday, October 18, 2012

10 Word Thursday: The Missing Muse

Back when I was on Multiply.Com, a friend Ms. Bebe used to commission a Ten Word Thursday. She popped up on my wall today on Facebook after months of me not doing this challenge. (Also, timely because though I haven't been writing poetry...I've been wanting to) So here are the 10 words she gave me and the poem I came up with.

10 Words: bemused, judicial, countenance, abyss, adrift, pimpmobile, obedience, enormity, membership, visage

somewhere out on the sea of sonnets
ADRIFT on driftwood
feeling no more good...
my muse,
lies listless
staring up at the stars
wishing for whimsical wisdom
on dying suns
for one...just one line
to buoy out of the ABYSS
its artful assent
rising in OBEDIENCE
aware of how essential
my bard's MEMBERSHIP is.
or maybe,
she lies BEMUSED...
a VISAGE of blankness
that pale COUNTENANCE,
a reflection of the gaping chasm
that's taken resistant residence
all up in my heart...
all through my fingers...
my lips,
a silent dryness
where my golden gift
once dripped with hunger...
i don't know,
perhaps she feels left alone
my time,
meted out between too many loves
or just not enough love for her
and her obstinate stance
is a somewhat JUDICIAL
and heartless eyeing
for allowing her to lie here dying
and leave the both of us crying...
[i'm sorry]

back there...
afar on land
parked ashore
her poetic PIMPMOBILE
sits abandoned,
driven no more...
no music,
no Keys,
no packed bags filled with stanzas and creative acquiesce
just she...
floating in a breeze
in a pool of thought,
i can't seem to seize
too far...for me to write with ease
and though,
i can't swim
i fully intend,
to sing her back to shore
promise to be her whore
if only she'll remember
that i her
slightly psychotic
equally hypnotic
poetic ass!

Friday, July 27, 2012

finding lines

i gotsta find
some divine lines...
...for somewhere,
deep down
is a reservoir
of dammed lines
squiggly lines
straight lines
jagged lines
wavy lines,
that flow against
my denial
and challenge my idle mind
i know they're there
lost in the bustle
raked into the corner
disguised as cinders
but amid the rubble
lie my poetic troubles
and all i wanna do is
gather them up
and splay them neatly...
i gotsta find
some divine lines
silver lines
punch lines
hooks and lines
fine and shined,
gleaming against
my shadowed
self portrait...
distressed and hard
drawn from short pencils
leaving my hands
and thoughts cluttered...
i gotsta find
some divine lines
amid these here lines
i'm digging
down deep for...
the kinda lines
that climb
and swing
from mind to mind
like zip lines...
i gotsta find
some divine lines
clearly defined...
that leads to a bottom line,
so i can breathe
and recline
... and be blessed that i...
am still able to find
literary gold mines
through rough times
right now...
i'm finding lines.

lost art

i've never felt this helpless
lost to the art
and afar from the center
so estranged from inspiration
...i don't want
every poem to be a non-poem
of poetic pain
a plea to the god of bards
to lift the weight
off of my pen...
i can't tell if it's due
to lack of paramour
or presence of apathy
either way,
i've never been here so long
it just doesn't feel like me

not only are poems stilled
and erotica chilled...
books won't bind
stories won't end
things begin...
and end again against my will
when i see works
of fellow quills
i burn with envy
for my own passions
to be fulfilled
...i can barely read
the scribes of others
while my own muse's heat
is snuffed and smothered

i feel as if this helplessness
can't be helped
...and just when,
i think i've missed it
i shrug with indifference
and nestle comfortably in it
i wallow in silence
i slop in muddled thoughts
an eerie acceptance
of aimlessness and loss

i count the pieces of me
that have broken and been cast away
all of the events remembered
like white noise on repeated play
and i know
that somewhere adrift
are the words
that escaped to be free
traipsing hand in hand
overjoyed and over me

maybe they're in Tahiti
on my dream escapade
tanning, swimming and floating
basking in French Polynesian rays
i might be able to locate
a few in the family i never made
or took up with another poet,
spoken words on a stage
it's possible,
they grew wings
and became angels
with "mi abuela"
all fitted with little halos
some stuffed in a box
interlaced around a ring
or maybe they've become lyrics...
waiting for me to sing

i just wish i didn't feel strange
a stranger to it all
i want to find my place again
i want to do it all
i want poetry
and novels
and erotica
and blogs
i want it easy
like it once was
before this overcast of fog
find me...
return to me,
i miss my inner bard
i want words, stanzas and depth again...
i want to find my heart

Thursday, June 21, 2012

the look of summer

i feel summer,
in beads of liquid crystal
refracting the light of a beaming sun
off the surface of tanned
smooth and soft skin
cool cotton cascading
tied prettily
over exposed shoulders...
slight breezes
teasing the hem of a billowing
peeks of thighs
that wink hi on the sly
i feel summer,
in wild, tameless hair
sun-kissed by streaks
of ultra violet rays
given lift by bouncy struts
smiles behind shades
and shades over blinded eyes
from the sun's glare...
the summer,
is seductively hovering over me
invitations of abandon...

a yearning to lie still
while clouds pass over
and gales of wind
lead branches by the limb
in a dance of waving leaves
i feel summer...
in children's chuckles in the morning
robins and cardinals
chirping atop cable lines
bike tires screeching
garden hoses leaking
lawn mowers revving
chains on porch swings squeaking
wading pools filling
hydrants bursting
ice cream melting through fingers
fireflies in jars
and citronella burning
...the anticipation of coals on grills
smoke wafting over fences
sending subliminal cravings
of charred meat and
iced tea so sweet
but, i feel summer most...
in that sundress
in my favorite color
sandals on polished toes
a kweenly flow,
beckoning the turning of heads
to summer's hot ways
bringing heat to bodies
and flush to faces
the free feeling
of a dress' sway
just makes me know
that summer is here.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

open book

i've been flipped through
used for my content,
poorly kept
and left to be picked up
and dropped by the next
what's my story?
where's the story in my heart?
how do i know
that anyone has ever understood
me front to back?
why has no one considered,
treasuring my leafs
protecting my spine
reading me again?
...why has my story
been only momentarily piquing...
only once explored?
where's the story in my heart
and do my pages
reflect my depth?
does my memoir
bespeak my soul
and speak a piece...
my peace?
i never wanted to be
a library's keep...
openly shelved
and passed over...
i never wanted to be
borrowed and returned...
i wanted to be discovered
and cherished,
my beholder
afraid to share me,
but willing to recount my
imprinted confessions
with far off eyes
remembering the adventures
of my tale
i've been left
bare to the exposure of air
aging my words
turning my narrative faded
and shriveled
...but my story was in my heart
plainly penned
to be read
to be loved
to be traversed
with open mind and heart
no matter if my cover is compromised
if my title is smudged
if my bind is broken
and the gild is gone
if i'm never read again
and no one ever remembers my voice story was still written
my story is still here.

Friday, April 20, 2012

i await you

i heart you
i flower you
i cloud you
i space you
i rain you
i cake you
i book you
i lei you
i drizzle you
i butterfly you
i pen you
i write you
i lace you
i drink you
i scent you
i film you
i pour you
i lyric you
i flame you
i mani you
i pedi you
i massage you
i sorbet you
i browse you
i dawn you
i sunrise you
i day you
i sunset you
i night you
i twilight you
i open you
i picture you
i stir you
i house you
i blog you
i fondle you
i poem you
i comb you
i dance you
i shower you
i inhale you
i nap you
i giggle you
i draw you
i fluff you
i dream you
i swim you
i light you
i duvet you
i save you

do i have to say,
that every day
in every way
in every thing
that is beautiful,
been or will be...
you are there?
the one, i will love...
baby, already in progress.
...i await you

in the butterfly net...

i ink...i flow...i pen,
my soul, my words, my zen