Mama

I want to be good,
Mama,
Have lots of friends,
Lots of beaus
And such.

I want to make
The world accept me
As it has everyone else,
Mama.

I want to laugh
Like a fool
And smile
Like a clown,
Mama.

I want to be
Everything
Everyone want me
To be,
Mama.

But we can't
Have all
That we want.
I'm sorry,
Mama.

Untitled

Laughter
Falls around
Like broken glass.
Mind it cuts you,
Mind it stabs you.

But when the shower ends,
Don't pick up
A shard
And do what the rain could not do.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Untitled

Un paraseuse
Ne trouve jamais
Son facon.

Sun Dappled Ground

Sun dappled ground
Upon which to walk
Far away from
The existence procured
By connections forced,
Not allowed to grow
Like a sapling
Which will be
A grand tree.

Walk away,
To be free
To be.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Forever Me

Do see me
As I am,
Human, soft, alive.

Do hear me
As I speak,
Intelligence, poetic, me.

Do not expect me
To live like you do,
Forever together,
Forever apart.
Forever me.

A Nice Day

Isn't it
A nice day,
To go skiing
Off a cliff.
Into the lush,
Green foliage.
Emerging
From said foliage
In a bathing suit
In which
To dive
Into the waiting
Ocean.
Swimming
In said ocean
To a water plane
That goes up
Above a field.
Over which
To jump out the plane.
Falling till
The parachute
Prolongs life
By one more day.
Said day
Spent lying
In said field
Till the sun says goodnight
And the sky
Is beaded with stars.
Isn't it
A nice day.

Call Me

Call me
The melancholy princess
And I shall take a nice
Deep bow.

Call me
The anti-diva
And I shall accepts
Your compliments.

Call me
The girl who never gets chosen,
But don't you dear
Pity me.

Call me
Everything
And nothing.

Is Me

In a school building,
Long time ago,
Two girls,
5,6 or 7,
Skins white
And the colour
Of a ripe butternut,
Put down another girl
Because her skin
Was the colour
Of the earth.
Her hair,
Thick with small tight curls.
Her hands,
Full of dark lines
Like a badly planned map.

The little girl
Wished her skin
Was lighter.
Her hair straighter
But her hands
Were hers to keep.

Time passed,
The girl grew,
She travelled,
She read
And soon,
The once little girl
Realised,
That her hair,
Her skin,
Her hands
Were just parts of her,
And the most important part
Was her mind.

That girl
Was,
Is Me.

I Will Be With Me

I could go to the moon,
And it would be the same,
The world full of deception
Is what I will see.

No one to trust,
No one but me,
Must see your soul
Before I show you mine.

Everywhere lies a trap,
Everywhere lies an obstacle,
Every step made with care,
Every dream comes with fear.

Must do everything right,
Must never do wrong.
Passion runs deep
Under the fear.

But wherever I go,
Wherever I stay,
I will be with me

I'm Me

I'm me,
Do you like
What you see?

Black as dark chocolate,
I'm me,
No lighter,
No darker.

Twisted
Like a gnarled branch,
I'm me.
Do you think
You can handle me.

Not too tall,
Not too short.
Just me,
I'm me.
Believe in what
You see.

10/12/91

Do you remember,
What you did
On the 10th
Of December,
1991?

Were you born?
Were you conscious?
Were you sad?
Were you happy?

Do you remember
Who you were with?
How you felt?
Do you?

I do,
I was on a table
Under a blade.
I remember
The 10th
Of December,
1991.

You Told Me

You told me
Not to be creative,
It doesn't make one rich,
So I shut down
My imagination.

You told me
Not to love,
I would be wasting my time,
So I cut
My heart out.

You told me
Not to think,
I will always be wrong,
So I threw away
My mind.

You told me
Not to be with my friends,
They're not good for you,
So I stopped
Seeing them,
Making them.

I've honoured
Your requests,
I threw away
Almost everything,
Then....

Then you told me
Not to dream,
Why dream, you said,
Most definitely a waste of time,
So I walked away
From you.

SCREAM

SCREAM!!
Let me scream!
Please,
I beg you,
Let me release
My anguish,
My rage,
My passion,
My being.

But you won't
Let Me.
So I remain
SILENT.
I keep everything
I hold back
But you won't
Like what
I will become....

Coconut

Coconuts
Fall from the tree.
Some lay
Where they fell,
Some rolled
To the sea.

The sea
Takes them
To a different shore.
All stay,
Except one.
It floats away.

One nut
On the sea,
All alone,
Drifting
Hopefully
To somewhere
To call home.

Kiss Me

Kiss me
Under stars
Polished by the
Velvet sky.
Raising me
Higher onto
My cloud nine
Where everything
Is soft and warm,
Scented with vanilla.
Leaving me drunk
On the fine wine
That is you.

(pic: David Shields)

Hunters

Deep in the jungle,
The hunt.
Hunting down
Their prey of choice,
Green, leafy, hard.

Some working hard
Making it come
To them.
Some creating it.
And some stealing it
From others.

These hunters
Are ever evolving,
But their prey
Remains the same.
Hard, cold cash!

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Underground

Throbbing.
Uptown.
Downtown.
Cross town.
Into Manhattan.
Out of Manhattan.
Rumbling
On tracks
Under the city.

My drug of choice,
Taking me away,
Taking me underground
Where I belong,
Where I am at home.
Don't tell me
Your fears,
Nor your warnings.
This is my drug of choice.
Underground.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Perfect

Got to be everything,
Got to be perfect
In the eyes of perfection.
Got to be sane,
In the face of insanity.

Then what?
When I'm perfect
And sane
In my perfect,
Sane world.

What if I want
To revel in imperfection?
Everything of mine flawed,
A pearl smudged
With a drop of crude oil.

What if I lost sanity?
Hearing voices,
Seeing things
That are not there,
Just in my twisted mind.

Then what!?!
Then I'll be happy!

Then Forgotten

A din,
A constant din,
Rising and falling
With the breaths
Of it's creators.

Many voices going
At different speeds
Till they pause at one moment,
Like waiting for the answer
To a math problem.

Then forgotten.

urban cat

Urban cat,
Prowling the streets,
Looking,
Living,
Existing
In the urban jungle.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Here

I am here
Not there.
When I was there,
I wanted to be here,
But when I got here,
I wanted to be back there.

Before I thought
Here was better than there,
But I found that
Here was no better than there
Nor there better than here.
Equal.

So here I am.
Here

I Don't Know How

When you come,
I run away,
When you go
I run after you.

I want you
But I evade you.
I want to experience you,
But I don't know how.

I don't know how...
How to attract you,
How to accept you,
How to keep you.

I don't know how!
(pic: http://ymeanemary.deviantart.com/

Another

Dressed in
My gown,
I sit among
My peers who are
Dressed like myself.

They call my name,
I rise
And walk
To the front
Of the hall.

I am given
A sheet of paper,
Rolled,
With nothing on it.
Bulbs flash around me.

I take
Said sheet
To my seat
Where I watch
The end of the rite.

I walk out,
Being hugged by
My family.
Another graduation,
Another end,
Another beginning.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Open Up

Day 68 | Open Up
Originally uploaded by hannabear

Open up
Your mind
And let me in.

Open up
Your soul
And tell me how you feel.

Open up
Your arms
And take me in.

Open up
Your heart
And keep me till.....

Declaration of Hate

I hate you!
I hate you!!
I hate you!!!
I love you.

I try to convince
Myself,
But it's a loosing
Battle.

But I will win
One day
And I will
Declare to you that
I HATE YOU!!!!

(pic: vi.sualize.us

Hold Myself Tight

Rain tortures
The city,
But I don't notice.

I'm wrapped
In a blanket
Holding myself.

I feel you,
Your presence,
Warm and safe.

I smell you,
Your scent
Bringing me home.

A tear flows
Down my cheek,
One of many.

You are gone,
Always six feet
Away from me.

Gone,
Never to come back,
But I feel you,
I smell you,
I hold myself tight.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Set Me Free

Obeah man,
Witch doctor,
Daughters of Earth Mother,
Come to me,
In mind
In soul,
And set my chained soul
Free.

Free from morality,
The man built
Fortress of fear
And lies.

Set me free!!

Never

Honesty.
Honestly?
Reality.
Really?
Truth.
Truly?
No.
Never!

Exquisite Blood

Exquisite blood,
Drip,
Drop
On the black and white
Tiles
Of the room.

Red,
Crimson,
Scarlet blood,
Mine own
Departs me.

Then what?
Then what shall I do?
The floor,
Red, white and black,
Mine own colours.

Close the wound
With my mind,
With my soul,
With my ......
Exquisite blood.

Be

All it takes
Is a pen
And a sheet
Of paper
To tap
My reservoir
Of humanity,
Of philosophy,
Of reality,
Of logic,
Of hope.

Let my words
Be read,
Be heard,
Be felt,
Be understood.

Poked Pizza

Poked crust of Pizza
With my green pen,
Then realized
The stupidity of it all.

An Oddity

An oddity
All on it's own.
The simple fact
That I was a familiar face.
A familiar face.
That is
Why I appropriated
A human
To share my meal
Of cold cheese pizza
And orange soda.
An oddity,
Indeed.

Numb

Huuuu ha
Vocalizing
Everything I ever wanted
To say,
But was too afraid to say
Because the world would hate me.

But why do I care?
Can their thoughts rip me apart?
My limbs pulled from
Their sockets
By the ferocity
Of their thoughts.

What has become of me?
What has become of my
Looking at other people's lives
And wanting it?
Why
Does it make them happy
And leaves me numb?

I'm now numb.
My brain a vacuum.
The image of empty space
Between my ears
Comes to mind.
Where is my passion?

Where Are The Words

Where are the words?
The words that were with me
When I hunched over my desk
In classrooms within which
I learned to stand alone.

Where are the words
That flowed through my mind
At the speed of thought,
Stimulating said mind
Into a state of imagination?

I can't seem to find
Those words
That said I was sad
Or mad
Or justifiably confused
By..
By...
By everything.

Where are the words.

Reality Has No Colour

Faces carved from
Rock granite.

Rats as big
As a man's hand
With feet so nimble
The can pick locks
In seconds.

Mosaics,
Once the colour of life
At birth
Filled with hope
And anticipation for the unknown,
But now,
They look grimly out,
Reflecting the faces it sees.
Faces gray
With fatigue,
With nothingness,
Except the program
That they have chosen
To follow.

Colours, man,
Where are the colours?
Right, left, straight ahead,
Blue, black and other somber colours
Swallow me whole.
But wait,
Could it be
That it is my eyes
That dare to deceive me?

Could it be that
Somewhere between
My eyes and brain,
The colours of life
Have seeped away?
Or is it just that
Reality has no colour?

I Ponder

I ponder
On days
When the wind blows
Cooling me,
Giving me relief
From the loving sun.

I ponder
Over life,
What life is meant to be,
What it has in store for me.
And I ponder,
And I ponder,
And I ponder.

Then nothing.
All I can think of
Is not to ponder about it.
Let it happen,
Let it wash over me
Like a blue and white wave.

A wave that crashes
Over me
Knocking loose
All the doubt and fear
Leaving me with childish glee.

A glee
Stored away
In the tomb
Of my childhood.
A childhood to be remembered,
Cherished,
And forgotten once more.

So what
Is the meaning of life?
The all important question.
Frankly, it's a question
I will eventually answer.

The Singer

The room is dark,
As dark as a moonless night,
Then the saxophone plays.
The sound is soft, sweet
Entering one ear
And touches the soul
Leaving through the next ear.

The sax's notes touch
The four walls of the room.
Nothing else can be heard.
Then a woman sings,
Her voice intertwined with the sax
Weaving a tale that relates to me
Then the woman stops,
The lights are turned on,
The drums start,
The guitar plays
And the rhythm flows through the room.

Everyone rises
And dances
As the singer half sings
And half yells the song.
All the sorrow of before
Is left behind.
A new feeling takes over
The feeling of happiness
Portrayed in the song.
My song.

If Mom Was Here

The door of the apartment opens,
A girl enters,
Lisa her name,
Sixteen, her age.

She throws her bag on the couch,
Another day was coming to an end,
Her shirt has a stain
From Herbert spilling orange juice on her.

She switches on the TV.
Oh, her favourite soap.
Will Jessie marry Carla?
the phone rings.

It's Shanece.
She wants to talk about her boyfriend,
As usual,
Lisa told her she had homework.

It's four o'clock,
Got to fix dinner,
Macaroni and cheese with grilled chicken,
Maybe a salad.

It's now nine o'clock.
Her dad comes home.
Drunk.
Angry.

He does not like the dinner.
He slaps her
And punches her.
He turns to go to the den
To drink some more.

Things were different,
Her father was different
When her mother was alive.
Now the blows reign.

Things would have been
Different
If mom was here.

An Alien In Her Home

Her skin is chocolate brown,
Her hair is short,
Her style is eccentric.
She was born in a world
Of two people,
The wannabes
And the worldlies.

The wannabes,
People who want to be.
They want to be hip,
They want to be chic,
But have never succeeded.

The worldlies,
People who have seen more
Than the wannabes,
Experienced more
But that was all they did.

She is not a part of these people.
She is of a different race,
The other people do not understand her,
Her clothes,
Her taste,
Her moods,
So they put her down.

One day,
She left her world
To visit another
There she found people
Of different races.

There she found a part of her race
This is her world
In this world,
There are the worldlies
But they were just in the background.

Now she cares not for these people
In her world
Because she will always be part
Of a world
Greater than her own.

Fridays

Don't you wish Friday would come
Instead of Monday.
Before the weekend,
The end of the school week.

Don't you wish when you woke up
It was Friday,
Instead of Tuesday
With three days still to come.

Don't you wish that yesterday
And tomorrow
Were Fridays
Instead of Wednesday
Surrounded by Tuesday and Thursday.

Don't you wish
That Friday would be here
In minutes instead of hours,
So that Thursday would end
Taking with it my misery.

Aren't you glad Friday is here,
The week has ended
And it's just hours
Before the end of school.

All I have to say is
Thank God It's Friday!

The Invitation

Eric Aguilar Poetry Reading
Originally uploaded by paulinebalba

This morning, while I was at work I got a call on my cell. I didn't recognize the number and as I was preoccupied I didn't catch the lady's name who was speaking to me. A request was made to have me read a poem at an opening ceremony. Although the timing was dodgy, I said yes I would do it. So on Monday I will be reading or reciting a poem I still have to write. Holy crap I have to write a poem!! The topic should be about culture or unity. I'm picking unity, I have the bones of the poem in my head but I have to flesh it out and memorize it and practice it. Thank God I took that public speaking class.

The organizer of Poetry in Motion is performing as well so hopefully I can get the video from one of the poetry nights. Wish me luck, I've got a lot of work to do.

Desperation, Frustration, Confusion

Desperation, Frustration, Confusion.
Three feelings that sends the human being looney.
Twisting their judgment of the world
Into a little scrap of paper,
Thrown into the waste paper basket of never never land.

Desperation when all things
Look hopeless
And the only way out
Is to do something
You would never do.

Frustration breaks you
When the chips are down.
Nothing will ever go right
In the once thought to be perfect life
Which only exist in the mind.

Confusion is confusing
So we try to understand
Something we do not understand
And soon we are lost
In an ocean of confusion.

Then we can not take it anymore,
We slowly do things that seem so different.
Talk to people
Our minds only see.
The long walks on the sides of highways.
Then the name crazy is tagged.
Every move made is analyzed
To death.
No longer human,
But crazy.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Missing Soul

Have you ever felt
Like your soul,
That so-called essence
Which makes you different,
Had left you?
Like a vacuum
Sucked it out
Leaving an empty vessel
Called your body.
Empty.
Vacant.
Well, have you?
Does it feel
Light headed,
Dead.
Cause if you did,
What do you call it,
Cause I feel it to.

Spit the Words

Spit the words
Out of my mouth
Like venom
From a snake bite.
Never caring
Of the consequences
That may ensue.
I wait.
I wait
To hear the response.
I wait
To see the reaction.
Hoping.
Praying to God
That it is what I want
To hear,
To see.
You come close,
You look deep
Into the abyss
Of my dark eyes
And you respond.
God has smiled at me,
My hopes have become reality.
I am happy
And the world
Doesn't feel so lonely.

What is Love

What is love?
If I looked it up in a dictionary,
I would get something
Like "a sincere feeling towards someone,"
But to be honest
I have never experience
The thing called love.

What is this thing?
Is it the feeling
Of eternal happiness?
That someone cares deeply for you.
Is it when you call that person
Just to say the words,
I love you?

Well,
I guess
I haven't felt it,
But when I do
I will love that person
With all my heart,
With all my soul
And he would be my love.

Different

I was born again
This morning.
I was born again.
I was not the same person
Yesterday,
Nor will I be the same person
Tomorrow.
I have the essence
Of yesterday
And the promise
Of tomorrow,
But I am different.
I was different.
I will be different.

Swim

Sitting under
My palm tree
Of serenity,
I would look
Onto the sea
Of the unknown.

Next to my palm tree
Are others
Sitting under
Their trees
Of serenity.

The elders,
The told me
Not to swim in this sea,
I will be swept under
By the currents
And become overwhelmed
Like others before me.

One night,
While the others slept,
I went to the sea
And began to swim.
The under currents held me
And took me under,
But I did not feel overwhelmed
And soon I swam up to the surface.
I understood the unknown.

I walked out of the sea
And sat under my palm tree
And slept.
The next day,
I longed to swim.
The next,
I yearned.
The next,
I went crazy,
And I went to swim
And I never came back.

Sadistic

Sadistic.
He kidnaps
A little girl.

Horrific.
He kills
The little girl.

Monstrous.
He does
It again.

Goodness.
He is caught
And shall be tried.

Unfairness.
He is set free,
Not enough evidence.

Sadistic.
He kidnaps
A little girl.

I'm Human

Bones jotting out,
Skin wrapped
Tightly around
The small amount
Of muscle
And bone.
Hoards of makeup
brushed and applied
To the face.
Hair placed in
Awkward styles
As smoke
Drifts up
And twists and coils
From the perfect lips
Of the perfect person.

Is that what you want
Me to be?
Afraid to enjoy
Having an ounce
Of fat?
Am I suppose to look
Like that perfect person
Who spends forever
To look like that?

Well, honey,
If you want me
To look like that,
You don't expect me
To be able to do calculus
And generally me.
I'm human
And proud of it.

* At the time I was very good at calculus.

Friday Night

Sitting in a coffee shop,
Alone,
Rain falling outside,
A sip of espresso,
Warms my shivering body.

In walks a stranger,
Wet and cold,
He takes a seat
At the table next to mine
And orders a cappuccino.

I take out my books,
And start my work,
Deep in my study
Of psychology,
I sip my espresso now and then.

A stir before me
Forces me to look up,
Eyes of an angel
Look into mine,
An angel who drinks cappuccino.

He apologizes
For pulling me from my studies,
But to talk to this angel,
I could miss an exam.
So I converse with the angel.

An hour later,
I'm studying again,
I'm sipping my espresso now and then,
Alone,
Until Friday night.

Creation Of A Smile

Pull
The corners
Of thine lips
Till they reach thine ears
Or till they crease.
To continue,
Open thine lips
So thine teeth
Are exposed
To the world.
Squint thine eyes
To a cheery crinkle
Which in time
Will become a permanent wrinkle.
Then, my friend,
Thee shall be smiling
And I in turn shall
Smile back at thee.

Perpetual Motion

Perpetual motion,
Spinning,
Twirling
Through clouds
Which were emitted
Through the outlets
Of humongous,
Metallic beasts
Who contain
No hearts,
No souls.
Coughing,
Hacking
As the clouds
Enter the lungs,
Stinging,
Burning,
Till death
Overcomes,
Life departs.
Falling
Into the abyss
Of darkness
Known as the other side.
Then nothing.
No longer
Does the heart beat,
Nor the body move.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead as the corpses
Sleeping in cemeteries.
Goodnight,
Goodnight, cruel world.
Goodnight.
Life has been sweet.
Life has been cruel,
But now I say
Goodnight to all.

Emerge

Light the incense,
Kiss the child,
Dance in a circle,
Till morning breaks.
Emerge stronger,
Emerge calmer,
Emerge.

Twisted

Twisted mind
Begets twisted body.
Twisted emotions
Begets twisted mind.
Twisted soul
Begets twisted emotions.
Twisted,
Abnormal,
Forever.

Mediocre

Mediocre aspirations
Lead to
Mediocre life.

Mediocre,
The colour of ochre,
A distasteful vegetable,
Indeed.

Mediocre,
Like the well worn path,
One I try not
To follow.

Yet as I sit,
Under the mediocre tree,
And look out into it's garden,
I have want for
Such distasteful vegetable,
But not one
Shall pass these lips,
Nor shall I inhale
Robustly,
The scent of
The mediocre flowers.

I shall never be
Mediocre.

*I believe in reality I have fallen into mediocrity, but the first step is to acknowledge it and the next is to decide how to extract myself from it.

My Opinions

My opinions
Are black,
White
And red,
Therefore,
They are fact,
Fantasy
And filled with passion.
My opinions
Are black,
White
And red

Is Life

Is life
Trying to figure out
The exponential factor
Governing the growth
Of the US dollar?

Is life
Holding on
To the belief
That if you dream
It,
It will come?

Is life
The collection
Of memories,
Experiences
And thus such
Paraphernalia?

Then again,
Is life
The simple,
Necessary act
Of living?

Q

Q,
Where are you?
I've been waiting so long,
My feet no longer ache,
But dwell
In a state of acceptance.
Acceptance of the pain
I can not relieve
Until you,
My dear, Q,
Make an appearance
To whisk me away
From the grind
To my room
With a view,
If you were to call it anything,
But still it is my view.
So Q,
Where are you?

* When I lived in Brooklyn, to go to and come from the Manhattan, I took the Q train. This poem was about one of the times I was waiting for the Q train.

All It Takes

All it takes
Is one word,
One thought,
One dream,
One understanding
To create
A new beginning.

11/6/2001

Overnight Train

As I sat
In the train
To some city,
Coming from
Some city,
I look outside.

I see nothing
But black ink
Smeared over
The countryside.
Black and thick.

But I don't
See the ink
That accompanied
Me on my trip.
All I see
Is my life.

Stretching
From some city
To another.
My twisted life
Bringing me
To this point.

I should be sleeping,
But now I look
To my future
Beyond that black ink,
Lost in the ink.

Eventually I wil sleep,
Letting hours
Pass by
Till the morning
Or the city
Wakes me up
On this
Overnight train.

Like Others Treat You

My skin is
The colour
Of dark chocolate.
My eyes,
As dark as
The Saharan night.
My hair,
Black and thick
As the Amazon.
I may not
Look like you.
I may not
Think like you,
But
My blood is
As red as yours.
I'm built like you.

I am as different
As I am similar
To you,
So treat me
Like others treat you.

He Made Her Heart Whole

She presented it to him
On a porcelain platter.

It was something
She protected with all her might.

He took it,
Held it in his hand.

He admired it,
Looking at it from every angle.

The mask of love fell away
And his eyes held an evil glint.

He broke it
With one hand.

The shards fell to the floor
And he picked up one.

It caught the sun
And a gash of red
Crossed her chest.

He spun on his heel
And left with a piece of her heart.

She fell to the ground
And swept up the pieces
Of her broken heart.

It took months
Before she fit it back together,
But still it was missing
A piece.

She put away
Her patched up heart
Far away.
Swearing never to give it away.

More months had passed
And exactly a year later,
She took out her heart.
It had healed
And no one could tell
That it was broken at all
Until the saw the hole
Where the missing piece should be.

She put away her heart.

Another year had passed
And he came along.
He was more charming
Than the one before.
More loving
Than the one before.
More than the one before.

This one was different
And she really considered
Giving him her heart.

She took it out once more.

Although the hole
Reminded her of past pains,
She placed it on
The porcelain platter
And presented it
As if it was whole.

He took it,
Held it in his hand.

He admired it,
Looking at it from every angle.

He noticed the hole,
Astonishment washed over his face.

He reached into his pocket,
Pulled out a shard,
Popped it in the hole
And made her heart whole.

He made her heart whole.

OMG

OMG!!!
OMG!!!
My BFF & my BF!!!
WTF!!!
Oh well,
They deserve each other.
I'll be ROTFL
When does this to her.
BTW, he has an STD
And BFF doesn't know!
:P

The Flask

It was two days ago
When I left my car.
The last I saw of it
Smoke was spewing
From the bonnet.

It was two hours ago
When I drank the last drop
Of water
From my flask,
The desert sprawling
In front of me.

I would cry
But I would lose water
And already my steps
Have grown shorter
And slower.

Then my steps
Ceased
And I dropped
To the unyielding earth
Only being able to sit up.

I watched as the sun
Crept to the horizon
Then melt into the
Desert floor.
The cool night air
Cooling my sun burned skin.

I heard an animal howl.
Something slithered
Pass my leg.
Then Sean appeared.
My husband sat next to me.

We watched the night sky,
His arm around my shoulder.
We spoke about the kids,
About work,
About the economy,
About life and death.

I fell asleep to the
Buzzing of his voice,
His scent wafting into
The desert air,
His fingers tracing the tattoo
On my arm.

I awoke
To the early sun
Rising inch by inch.
Sean was gone
Unlike the moon
Who still sat in the sky.

It was just me,
The desert
And the empty flask.

I reached for it,
Hoping for at least
A drop or two
That may have congregated
Overnight.

The once light flask
Felt heavy in my hand.
The once empty flask
Was full when I opened it.
Water never tasted so good.

I journeyed two more days.
On the third day
I found an old house
In which an elderly couple resided.
They called for help
And soon I was at the hospital.
Soon I was home.

I didn't tell anyone
About Sean
Or the empty flask.
Instead I went to his grave
And sat for a while.

I thanked him
In whispers
That I knew he would hear.

He may be gone
But he will always
Be my husband.
I love you, Sean.

I Tasted A Rainbow

I tasted
A rainbow today.
It didn't taste
Like Lucky Charms
Or Skittles
Or anything else
Marketing executives
Are trying to sell me.
It tasted like nothing.

I sensed it
Coming up behind me.
Ozone scented the air,
And I heard
Thousands of drops
Fall to the ground.
More like millions,
But who's counting.

I turned
And saw it approaching
So I stuck out my tongue.

The first thing
I tasted was ozone.
Then water,
Then more water.
Then nothing
Just the fresh air.

I tasted
A rainbow today.
It tasted like nothing,
But the experience
Was magic.

Fly

"Where would you fly?"
"Where would you fly
If you could sprout wings
And take off this very moment?"
Lover asked me
As we sat in the tamarind tree,
Legs dangling over
The brown earth.

I looked out
To the horizon,
Imagining all the things
Beyond the shores
Of our island.

I imagined
Drinking coffee
In a little cafe
In a small town
In Italy,
Watching the day
Melt into night,
My choice of drink
Morphing into a fine vino.

I imagined
Standing in a cavern
Overlooking hundreds
Of clay soldiers
Or was it terracotta.
They should be back now
After their world tour.

I imagined
Sitting in a 20th century vehicle
Watching a cheetah
Streak over the plains,
Almost flying
As it took down it's prey.

I looked at Lover
And asked if he woulf be
Flying with me.
He shook his head
And looked at the horizon.

I looked at the horizon.
"That's an easy question,
I would fly to you."

The corners of his lips
Curled up
And his hand found mine,
Fingers intertwined.
"I would fly to you, too."

New Poems

Hey y'all!!!

Of late I've been writing poems. I don't know what happened, maybe it's because I haven't been eating properly, maybe because for half the week I've been listening to NICE FM which has music that fall into the range of 80's to 00's. Anyway, I found it strange because I would sit in front of my empty pad and nothing will come and most times than not I would end up with some sappy love poem. Now it starts with just a seed of an idea and it blossoms into something that has dimension.

Over the next couple days I will be posting the new poems.

Peace
Kim

Black Bird

Black bird,
Black bird
Walking on the roof
Of that building.
How do you like
This fine city?
So loud,
So dirty,
So full of busy people.

Or do you not notice
What lies below your wings.
Living your life,
From minute to minute.
Tell me you secret,
Black bird,
Black bird.

Try

Try laughing
With your mouth full
Of gruel
You have no choice
Of choice.

Try crying
With no sense of sadness,
But the one
That envelops your soul.

Try breathing
When your throat is tight
With rage.

Try being
A human being.

Her, She, Me

She stands before me,
Her hair askew,
In some modern fashion.
Who is she?

I've seen her before,
I've seen her face
So many times,
But still, I know her not....

Her skin, the colour of chocolate,
Her eyes dark,
Her body not short,
Nor long, but who.....

I looked in her eyes,
Then I knew
She had seen
All that I've seen,
She shares all my secrets,
My experiences,
Everything.
She was me.

I'm Not A Child

I'm not a child
Anymore.
My body is not
Small and
Ever growing.

I'm not a child
Anymore.
My mind not
Flitting from one
Thought to another.

I'm not a child
Anymore.
I'm more responsible,
More independent
And more mature.

I'm an adult
Now.
I've lost my
Innocence,
But I hold onto my hope.

I Don't Know

I don't know
What my future holds,
Draped in the shroud
Of the unknown
And mystery.

I don't know
Where my heart lies,
Perhaps in the hands
Of an unknown man
Who may not exist at all.

I don't know
Who I will be
In ten years.
All I know
Is who I am today.

The Routine

Wake up,
Shower,
Eat,
Go to work,
Go to lunch,
Go back to work,
Go home,
Watch TV - Primetime,
Go to sleep.
Repeat four more times.

LOL

Laugh Out Loud,
Till tears
Creep out of your eyes.

Laugh Out Loud,
Till your stomach
Aches.

Laugh Out Loud,
Till you start
To hiccup.

Laugh Out Loud,
'Cause I hate
To see you cry.

(pic: greenoptions.com)

I Walked

I walked,
Papa.
I walked till
My feet begged me
To stop.
I walked till
Exhaustion became
An old comrade
Who walked in step
To your daughter's
Every stride.

Why didn't you stop,
My child?
Why did you
Keep this unmerciful stride?
Why did you come to me
With feet bloody
And exhaustion upon your back,
He, himself, exhausted
And needing you to carry
Him on.

I walked,
Papa,
Because...
Because no one told me
To stop,
Papa.

I Am The Beat Poet

I am a beat poet.
Pen in hand.
Thought in mind.

As I walk
Through the streets
Of Manhattan,
Brooklyn,
Queens,
Antigua,
Words flow through my mind
Like a mountain spring.

As my hear beats,
As my feet tattoo
The concrete
And asphalt,
I spin words
So divine,
The become anew
In my mind.

I am the beat poet.

With Me

Talk with me.
Laugh with me.
Dance with me.
Play with me.
Part with me.

Imperfect

One evening,
I watched the moon rise,
Being born
From a blue horizon.

A silver ball
With blotches on it's face.
Imperfect,
Yet perfect.

This large body
Looking down at me,
Rose to the heavens
And grew small.

I fell asleep
Under the moonlight.
When morning came,
I could not find it.

But it was there,
Looking down at me.
Perfect,
Yet imperfect.

* I always had an affection for the moon and the night sky. There is a quietness to the world when it's just you and the night sky. The world, the dramas of life melt away when you realize you are like a star, a dot in the night sky. Rambling again.

(pic:Experiment Garden)

Excuse Me

Excuse me
As I take a sip
Of reality.

As I soak in
A sunset and a sunrise
In one day.

As I admire
The existence
Of a gnat
Just being a gnat.

As I stare
At the stars,
At the galaxy,
At the universe.
Excuse me.

New Home

Two days ago,
I took a flight
On a big plane,
Far from what I knew
As home.

Two nights ago,
I landed
In place
That I hoped would accept me,
This was my thought.

The day after,
I walked around,
Trying to be comfortable
Being very successful
And feeling like I belonged.

The next day,
I was enjoying myself,
Learning new things
And being accepted.
This was home.

Today I am going home,
To my birth home,
My legal home,
But I do not feel at home.
I have found a new home,
And it wants me home.

Old Man

Old man,
I see you every time,
Every time I pass the liquor store.
With a bottle nearby,
Half empty,
If not empty.
Why do you do this old man?

Old man,
I always see you
Sprawled on the steps.
Unconscious
Next to the liquor store.
I never believed you had
Dreams to dream.
Why do you do this old man?

Old man,
I never pass the liquor store any more.
I can not stand to see you
Nor men like you,
With your faces wizened
From all the alcohol you drink
Your mind drained of all your dreams.

I don't want to see you
Nor people like you
Because you do not show progress of mind.
Now, old man,
I do not care to ask the question,
"Why do you do this old man?"

(pic: Örlygur Hnefill's photostream)

Black Tear

A black tear falls
Down my cheek.
Where did it come from?
What created this
One black tear
That now makes
A path down my face?

I don't know.

(pic: Krannert Art Museum)

Beats For You

Dagger aimed at my heart
Held by you,
The one I once loved.

You walk towards me,
Ready to attack.
I'm paralyzed,
Deer caught in the headlights.

You stab me in my clavicle,
Dragging the blade down
To my navel.
I feel nothing.

You grip my ribcage,
Pry it open.
My chest cavity exposed.
I stare at you.

Then you rip my heart out,
Yet it still beats.
It will never stop
For it beats for you.

* I've decided to just pull the poems out of the folder and type them in. Whatever the content, I will post it.

(pic: Rosey's Ramblings)

Over

I'm not mad,
Nor am I sad
At the year
That has passed.

Nor am I
Bouncing off the walls
With glee.
I'm just here.

It's over, baby,
A year to remember,
A year to forget,
A year has passed.

Now I leave
This room,
With it's pale yellow walls.
Room 408.
Nice living in you.
Nuff respect.
Big up your chest.

* I will be honest, while typing out this poem I was reading it with new eyes. At first, I thought it was about the room the art class occupied at State College, but as I read I realized it was a dorm room. It's amazing how something that was so important at the time is just a foggy memory long after. It becomes something that isn't important and worth remembering. I guess it is best to savour the moment you are in then let it go because it soon will be forgotten.

Differences

If only we were blind
To our differences,
But, then we would not
Appreciate what makes us
Different.

Untitled

Ain't found
My way
Home.
Only found misery.

Happiness
Cut out
Like a sacrificed
Heart
Still beating,
Pumping,
But nothing.

I want
To scream,
But I'm silent.
Tears fall
Instead.
But they too
Vanish.

And I'm left
Alone.
But I will
Survive.
I have Me,
Myself
And I
By my side.

*Another old poem. I think I had so much sadness in me growing up, not realizing that it was an invention of my mind. All I had to do was embrace life and enjoy it. It will take time to unlearn all of that damage.

Life, Love and...... YouTube

As I was going through my home page on Facebook I came across the first video below and it reminded me of my poetry and the readings I've done and I realized that my most potent poems were about love. That made me pause for a moment and question if that is the only topic I'm passionate about. I know I'm vehement about pro-choice, I believe a child should be brought up with a mother and father present, I've accepted and love the colour of my skin and the features I've been blessed with. Why haven't I written about those? I'll have to sit down and reflect on that. While I do that enjoy the clips below:









I'm going to post this post on my other blog as well.

Tell Me

Tell me
About the singer
Who sang
In the concert hall.

Did she wear a dress
Like liquid,
Shimmering around
Her body?

Does she move
Like a swan
Or like an agile
Cat?

What of voice?
Did it fill the hall
Like a wave
Into an inlet?

Tell me
About the singer
Who sang
In the concert hall.

(pic: TomRoelofs.nl)

Thoughts of a Sales Girl

Oh, how I hate you,
I dislike the way you waste my time.
The fact that you think
I'm your friend,
The fact that you
Come in every damn week.

Oh, how I loathe you,
I can't stand
When you ask my opinion
Then chose the other item,
Making it obvious that
You don't value my opinion.

Oh, how I despise you,
I wish you didn't try everything
Then don't by anything,
Raising my blood pressure
To a dangerous level.

Alas, I can not spout
My long list of faults
I've found in you.
All, I can do
Is smile and say,
"You look great."

*My mom owns a store in town and at one point this is how I felt about a particular customer. After a while people do get to you, but when you are in a service industry you have to swallow your resentment.

(pic: All Things In Their Place)

Apologies

Every now and then I go through a phase where I question why I'm blogging. Then I come to accept that this is more for me than for the people who read this blog. It's all about cataloging all the poems I've written over the years.

So I will keep on posting and sharing with the world my work.

XOXO

Poetry Night Was Postponed

Yes the poetry night was postponed to next week. Unfortunately, I won't be in Antigua to take part, I'll be in St. Thomas visiting my brother. Oh well.

Morning

Why were mornings created?
It's a question that pops
Into my mind
Every morning
When my eyes are forced to open,
Even when they don't have to.
When the sun is in the east
And I wish my windows
Pointed west.

But, alas,
I can't rue
The fact that morning exists.
It being the beginning
Of another day,
Of new things to come.
And soon the night,
When I become more alive.
But I still hate mornings
And I have to live with it.

My Best Friend

She is my everything,
My cheerleader
When I become my own heckler.
My moon,
When the nights
Of my life seem too dark.
My inspiration
When I'm blocked
By the wall
That stops me from creating.

Without her,
I am nothing,
Just an empty shell
On the landscape of life.
Without her,
My sanity is a fond memory,
That is fading fast
Into the dark abyss
Of insanity.

She is you,
You are my friend,
You are my best friend
And I can't think
Of life without you.
Thanks and I love you.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

Mrs. Meyers

As I live this life,
I have met many people,
I will meet many people,
And they will be parts of my life.

One such person
Is you Mrs. Meyers.
You have supported me
In my poetry,
You always seem to have
A smile on your face,
Always ready to help others,
If not at the library,
At CLASP.

Even though
You are missing
From the walls of books
Your aura which will never leave
Flows through each avenue of literature.

I have been given a blessing,
So have others
And so will others.
That blessing was you.

* This poem was written for the former head of the public library. To say that she was a phenomenal woman is an understatement. She helped me go beyond my comfort zone and it was only now that I realized that.

Taking A Little Break

Visit Kimolisa Was Here for an explanation.

Let It Hide My Tears

Let the rain fall,
Let it hide my tears.
Let it hide them from you.

Let the sun shine,
Let it dry my tears.
I can't have you see them.

Let the wind blow,
Let it blow away my tears,
And take them away from your sight.

Let the snow fall,
Let it draw your attention away from me
And my falling tears.

Oh Mother Nature,
Hide my tears from my beloved,
Cause I don't want him to see me cry.

Poetry In Motion - The Finale?

So I got the email and facebook message saying that because of the Summer Season activities, the last Poetry In Motion will be on the 28th of this month (May). Then I got insider info on why it may not continue at the Coast and all I can think is another one bites the dust. Poetry in Antigua would rear it's head up and then die into obscurity. It's making me think that it should not be a weekly or monthly thing, more like every two months or three. Who ever puts it on pump it with energy to pull the poets, who in turn will pump it into the audience.

Unfortunately, I should not be saying all this because if I'm not producing a poetry night, I should not not be saying someone should do things. Plus I don't have the energy right now to do it, nor the time or resources. I'll stick to posting my poems up on this blog.

I think I've been lax, my other blog, Kimolisa Was Here, is catching up in posts and I think I started that a month after this. It's also funny that I said I was going to post only once a week on that one.

Oh, that reminds me I have to call Kush about the video from one of the Poetry Night. I'm going to do that right now.

OXOXo

Blanket

Blackness rolls around us
From the Big Pop
To the Big Suck
Of an imploding sun
Turning into a black hole,
As black as my soul.

I rise in my bed,
Blackness on my left.
My right.
Front and back.
Hugging me like
A favourite blanket.

A blanket, I'm tired of,
Tired of it's touch,
It's warmth in summer,
It's coolness in winter.
Just tired.

In that blackness,
I wish there lay
Another person,
Strong, smart, funny,
Complementing me
Who would be
My new favourite blanket.

But I make do
With this blanket,
This blackness
And hope and pray
It doesn't smother me,
Suffocate me.
In blackness.

Never Been

I've never been kissed,
Cause I never got kissed by you.

I've never been hugged,
Cause I never got hugged by you.

I've never had sweet nothings
Whispered in my ear,
Cause it wasn't done by you.

I've never been loved,
Cause I never been loved by you.

Rose Coloured Glasses

I sat under a tree
On a hill
Above a war ravaged country side.

Below me,
There was destruction
And chaos.

Out of my pocket
I pulled out my rose coloured glasses
And put them on.

The scenery changed,
Where where was destruction,
There was beauty.
Where there was hate,
love resided.
Where there was war,
Peace reigned.

One day,
I thought,
Some day,
I won't need these glasses.
Some day,
One day,
I'll see peace
Without rose coloured glasses.

*To be honest, I can't remember if I posted this before.

Time

It started millions of years ago
At the age of a second.
It had seen Adam and Eve.
It was there when Jesus was born
And there when he died.

Strong and sure it kept it's pace,
It had a name, Time,
But no children,
Then Jesus died
And man gave him a child.

It's first child was called
A Year,
And from him,
Months were borne,
And from them,
Days.
These were measured by how long
There was light.

The years
Gave birth to months or moonths.
Each month having 31, 30 or 28 days.
These days themselves had hours,
Twenty four to be exact.

As time grew old,
The hours gave birth to minutes,
Each having sixty.
Those minutes had seconds,
They also had sixty,

Father time is old,
But he continues,
Never ending
Always continuing .
He shall go on
Even if man dies away,
Because he is time
And Time must go on.

*This poem I had to edit a bit because for one, I couldn't even read my own handwriting, two, at some places it didn't make sense.

(pic: time.com)

A Night To Remember

The night has begun,
They head towards
The old building on 4th.
Friends await them there,
Ready for the night to come.

A plan has formed
To the building on 7th,
The 7-11.
They have guns,
From Big Papa.

In the enemy colours,
The enter,
Looking around,
Checking the scene.
Then they get down to business.

Chi Chi takes out his pistol,
Points it at the keeper
Who reaches for the air.
He knows the routine,
He's been there before.

They rob the place,
It was the biggest haul of the week.
Soon the sirens are heard.
Damn, they got to go.
They rush for the back
Where Leon got the car
And soon they are gone.

They breath a sigh of relief,
They head back to 4th,
But something is wrong.
They turn the bend
And there at the building
Are the Red Jays.
They commence fire,
And soon their job is over.

The night ends,
Chi Chi and the others
Are dead,
But it's all good,
Cause there will be less grief
For the OG's are down.
(pic: silive.com)

Strange

AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!
My mind is in a swirl,
A swirl of confusion,
And frustration.

"Why is my mind
In a state of confusion
And frustration?" they ask.
Well, I'm feeling frustrated and confused.

The cause of my confusion?
Easy question,
Hard answer.

I am strange,
I dwell in my strangeness,
But I am surrounded
By the normal.

I am influenced to think
That strange is wrong,
But that is what they say,
And I know different,
But still can be influenced.

The cause of my frustration,
I am forced to be normal,
I am referred to as
The "wrong" strange
And I am trapped,
For two years.

So to conclude
I am confused and frustrated,
My mind is in a swirl,
Which ironically
Makes me stranger.
AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

*These last two poems I've posted I found in a little book I had and I liked the poems I wrote in the book. For this particular poem, I think I was on the verge of becoming normal. I hated and I'm going to learn to hate that. I want to have fun, I want to do my thing and not care of the ramifications, I want to live and enjoy this one life I have. I lost that along the way when I took on everyone's hang ups. Each one I carried until they were my own and I lost sight of who I was and what I want. Well more of that in my other blog.

(pic:Sopheava de Lumiere)

She

She left the night before
To Shequan's house,
She said.

The next morning,
I woke,
She wasn't in her bed.

I went into the kitchen,
Mama was slouching over the counter,
Her eyes red.

I asked where She was,
Mama looked at me,
Then wept.

I went to school,
Everyone looked at me
With sympathy in their eyes.
Something was wrong.

I came home,
The police were there.
Something was definitely wrong.

Mama took me aside
When I went in,
And took me to my room.

Mama looked me in my eyes,
Then said what was wrong.
She was gone.
She was killed.
She was my sister.

Up Here

I think my favourite part
Of flying
Is the sky.

The sky,
Not above me
But around me.

From it's pale blue
In the distance
To the dark blue above.

Clouds float by,
Some whiter than white,
Some greyer than grey.

Their tops like
A range of hills
Or my hair when uncombed.

There is a sense of peace
When I'm up here.
All the troubles left
On the ground.

I am aware of
How beautiful this world is,
And even if it is
For that moment,
It is a moment worth having
Even if it is just once.

My favourite part of flying
Is the sky.

Je Pense

Je pense que
Je suis trop grande,
Je pense que
Je suis trop jeune,
Je pense que
J'ai trop tort
Pour toi.

Bientot,
J'ai appris que
Je ne suis pas trop grande.
J'ai appris que
Je ne suis pas trop jeune.
Et, mon cher,
J'ai trop raison
Pour toi.

*This was my attempt at a poem in french.

Without Mikhail

As I stood on the hill,
Watching Mikhail make his way down,
I knew it was over.
This time around
I felt numb.
Actually I was happy.

The once stagnant air
Felt light and
Sweetly intoxicating.
The sky now sunny,
No longer overcast
With weightless leviathans.

Mikhail was gone..
I said to no one
In particular.
The sickness
Went with him.
The madness subsided.

My future
Unrolled before me
Like a scroll.
I looked forward
To reading my story.

I looked forward
To the adventures I would have,
The people I would meet,
The food I would eat.
The life I would live
Without Mikhail.

As the sun set,
I made my way down
The path Mikhail took,
Not to find him,
Or to embrace him.
I made my way down
To the life
Of my choosing
Without Mikhail.

Apologies

I have been a total tosser for not posting on a regular basis. There were a few factors for my being behind.

1/ I edit myself too harshly, I have tons of poems and I'm wary of putting them up because they sound juvenile or are not in keeping with who I am now. I promise to put all my poems up. If anything they are reflections of who I was and what made me the person I am today.

2/ I was disappointed in a poetry night that did not happen. Now there is suppose to be a poetry night the second and fourth Thursday of the month. Unfortunately, one of the organizers had an engagement he had to attend and it wasn't really promoted. So a handful of poets went and an even smaller audience was there. I didn't come off. I'm not going to complain because I know how hard one has to work to put on something like that and to keep it going indefinitely. I guess when I square myself away in terms of a career I will look into helping out this poetry night and/or starting my own.

3. I hit a slight blogging wall. When I say that I mean, I never got around to posting one day and before I knew it 4 days passed. When I sat to post a blog, I got lazy and watched Jem on YouTube (yes, I am pitiful at times).

Thank you for bearing with me as there are a few more factors, but I don't want to bore you.

The next post will be a poem.

40

Four Decades
Have come and gone,
Filled with Joy, Love
And Happiness.

To some,
It's a milestone,
To others,
It's another year.
To me,
It's a promise
For more years to come.

I hope you enjoyed
This year
As well as the years to follow,
For each day is a gift,
Enjoy them.

Happy Birthday.

*This poem was written back in 1998, unfortunately I still have to remember who turned 40 that year.

I Am Here

I was not there
When the earth was made.
I was not there
When all the colours of the world
Swizzled and Swazzled
Like a kaleidoscope
Before the set under the bright yellow sun.

I was not there
When man was made.
I was not there
When his bones were made,
Then clamped together
And grew flesh,
Which was then covered
With a carpet of
Skin and hair
With no particular colour
To take note of.

I was not there
When history was made,
I was not on the slave ship
Bound for the New World.
My bare body draped
Upon another person's body
While white men dined above.

I was not there
When history was made.
I was not marching
With Martin Luther King Jr.
My head held high,
The blackness of my skin
Beaming like a gold medal
That would soon be respected.

I am here.
I am here to chart
My own destiny,
To create my own history.
I am here.

*All but the last verse was written some 10, 11 years ago. Here I change my focus. Check out my other blog to see what I'm talking about.

Of My Father

As I sat on your knee,
My every being idle
With new mobility,
You spoke to me.

You thought
I didn't hear you,
You thought
I didn't understand you.

But what I understood,
More important that the words,
Was the smile
That knew no end.
The twinkle in your eyes,
A mix of love and pride.
The hug
That was strong,
But gentle.

As I grew,
Till I feared
I grew to heavy
To sit on your knee,
You would call me over,
And upon your knee I sat.
And there was the smile,
There was the twinkle,
There was the love and pride
Of my father.

Thank you,
Love you,
Always.

We were friends

When we were young,
We would sit
Under the tamarind tree
Upon the roots
Who grew tired
Of the earth
And wanted to see the sky.

We would talk
Of dreams,
Or our futures
Together and apart.
We did not know
That our paths
Would part
And only cross
Once or twice
In our lifetimes.

In that time
And space,
We were sisters,
Bound by friendship,
Bound by trust,
Bound by mutual appreciation.

In that time
And space,
We were friends.

*The last poetry night was on the theme of friendship, and I didn't have any poems on friendship so I wrote this. I also started one and composed one in my head. That night I started with The Poet's Call, went into the one composed in my head, Roots, this poem, then Daddy-o. The last one seems to be a favourite.

My Alien Man

My alien man,
You escort me
And my keys
To all my classes.

You have my picture
Near you,
My dear alien man,
Everywhere you go.

Yo see me,
For who I am,
My alien man,
For that we shall stay together
For the rest of our time.

* When I was in college, I had a green alien key ring that glowed in the dark and it was attached to my student ID. It is funny how such little things can give you pleasure. I don't know where he is but I just looked at my old ID and realized that a lot of time has flown by since I was in college. I will make sure I accomplish more in the next 6 years than I have in the last.

Poetry in motion

Well, last night was another session of Poetry in Motion at the Coast Nightclub and Restaurant. I did not make it the last time because to be honest, I was not feeling very strong and the topic was "Strength of a Woman". See my problem. Also the last poetry night I did I was not proud of it. I promised myself that I would do better the next night which was last night.

Well first the mike started to act up, first there was feedback and then it stopped. I was almost going to go without it when Vivian, my poetry buddy acted like a mike stand. Then there was the times I messed up the words to my own poems. In the end it came out pretty good. There were a couple guys in front that was always talking through people's sets and I heard people shushing them!! And at the end I recited Daddy-o, which garnered applause, at that time I was encouraged to hold the mike. I guess that poem is my signature poem.

Last night was filmed so I'm hoping to get a copy so I can put it up on the blog. I hope the have a still camera photographer so I can have some stills for the blog. Oh well, I might have to figure out something.

Twisted Ink Splatter

I think it looks
Like a man dying.
What do you think
Of that, shrink?

Can you psycho-
Analyze that?
What does that
Statement mean to you?

Does your degree
Tell you what is in my
Mind, my oh so
Twisted mind?

Yes my twisted mind.
Isn't this why
I'm here, isn't it
For you to study me?

To give some reason
For why I'm here
Looking at
Twisted Ink Splatters.


*The funny thing is that is the end of the poem. Normally I would add to it, but for some strange reason I feel it is complete. Go figure.

(pic: xeno.no)

Unbearable

Hold me,
Don't touch me!
Love me,
Loathe me,
Find me unbearable.

I want to hold you,
Want to touch you
But I can't,
I can't,
I'm unbearable.

Bear with me,
No, don't,
I'm not you problem.
Don't forget me,
Don't remember me.
I'm unbearable.

I'm too difficult,
No, I'm too easy.
What am I?
Please forgive me,
I'm unbearable.

Plantation Love Pt 1

House Slave Margaret
Never thought she would love a field slave.
Her kin were above that,
Dressed like Massa.

Then she met Toby,
As big as a tree,
Black as night,
Strong as the bull
Massa sold to Missa Weekes.

She would watch him
Come in from the fields,
Sweat coursing down his body,
Pooling in the indentations of his skin
Making her want to lick it to it's source.

But she never did anything.
God forbid momma was to know.
God forbid Massa was to know
That Massa's bastard child in love
With a field nigger.
Lord help us all.

Then one day,
Toby caught her watching him.
He looked deep into her eyes,
And she swore he saw her soul.
He licked his lips
And Margaret wished
She had licked them for him.

Then he looked away,
And never looked at her again.
He never looked at the house slave.
Toby never looked at Massa's bastard.
He never saw Margaret again.
Massa made sure of that.

Missa Weekes got another bull.

Pretty Boxes

Screenagers.
That's what we're called,
Our faces stuck to the screens
Of the pretty boxes
Which flash pictures.

Our minds,
Sponges,
Absorbing what is placed before us
On the pretty boxes
Which flash pictures.

Damn!!
I'm trapped in my oh so comfortable seat.
When will I be removed from it's comfort?
Why is this pretty box so damn addictive?
What will get me away
And drop this habit.

I think
I have to get up
And turn off the pretty box,
Leave it's room behind.

Oh, if it was so easy,
I must be determined.
I got up today
And turned off the pretty box,
But something stopped me.

I think I'll be successful tomorrow,
I just have to be somewhere,
I just have to do something,
I just have to be with someone,
Until then,
I sit before the pretty box,
Transfixed in my oh so comfortable chair
With snacks on hand,
Bathroom nearby,
Phone in good distance.

Oh look,
Here's the new music video
From Keith Kelly,
And he traps me.
Please save me from the box,
The pretty box.

I'm Lost

I think
I've lost my soul,
Somewhere in the
Middle of
The past
And the future.

Where is it?
Where is my jaded soul,
My been there,
Done that soul?
What has replaced it?

I am lost.

*An old poem.

Enjoying The View

The sand
Is the colour
Of file folders,
And I'm sweating
Like the day
The air con was on the fritz.
I don't care though
Because here is
Where I want to be.
Uncomfortably happy.

Sure,
I'm not getting the high salary
And my corporate car
Is an old Jeep
That every now and then
Decides he doesn't
Feel like working.
At least it's all mine.

Now
I can pay attention to my needs,
Like needing to take an hour
To figure out what I'm doing
With the rest of my life,
Needing to spend time
With those who are dear to me,
Needing happiness not toys.

As I stretched out
On the lawn chair
I nicked from the hotel
On the beach,
I don't regret
Leaving the rat race
To the others.
Instead I lay back
And enjoy the view
Of the life stretching
Ahead of me.

After Dinner

I raised my face
To the grey sky
As the rain drops
Drip dropped on me
And the city.

The precipitation
Wetting my bruised lips.
Bruised the night before,
After dinner,
Before sleep.

After dinner,
Before sleep
Where everything is sensual
And nothing is mental.
You and me.

T'was 3 or 4
This morning
When I stole out
Of your building,
Lips bruised.

You were asleep
Under the covers.
I took a mental picture
Before I left,
Quietly closing
The door behind me.

Would I call you?
I make no promises.
I touched you.
I loved you,
Then,
After dinner,
Before sleep.

But now,
I dance/walk
In the rain,
On my way home.
Lips bruised.

*I did this poem in college, I must say I was not quite versed in the subject of sex and yes this does sound like a one night stand. At this point in my life, I am on the fence on the matter of one night stands, if you can detach sex from emotion and are safe, sure, but there will be a time when you want the person you sleep with to be around a little longer than that one night. Once again I'm drifting, for more of my random thoughts, check out Kimolisa Was Here)

My Rage

Everybody step back!!!
Take cover
Behind a desk,
A door,
Something.
I'm about to explode.

I'm a volcano,
And I must warn you,
What I emit will hurt you,
Because I've saved up
All the hurt you caused me.

The lava is forcing
It's way out.
I've bloody well had it,
I've had it
With your bleeding demands,
And all the shit
You've shoveled my way.

Then there is an explosion.
You know what?
You can find someone else
To deal with your shit
'Cause, baby,
I don't need this.

Lava starts to flow.
Remember last year?
I should have spoken up.
And last week,
That's not going to happen again.

And flows and flows,
Till it dries
And clogs the mouth
Of the volcano.
Now all that's left
Is putting things back
To how it was.

(pic: PLAZA of the MIND)

Solitude

If only to be left alone,
For the world
To shut up
Just for one minute.

I wish
That everyone
Would go away,
So I could sit
And listen to the nothingness.

But always
Stands someone,
Waiting for me to talk,
To be with them,
When all I want,
All I need,
Is Solitude.

*I actually found this poem when I googled my name. When I was, say, 14 or 15, I submitted my poem to an american poetry thing and they published it and put it on tape. They have huge get togethers but I never went. It was through them this poem got on the internet, copywritten to me.

Basically this poem is about needing a bit of alone time.

(Pic: Diff'rent Strokes)

Best Friend

She is my everything,
My cheerleader
When I become my own heckler.
My moon
When the nights
Of my life seem too dark.
My inspiration
When I'm blocked
By the wall
That stops me from creating.

Without her,
I am nothing,
Just an empty shell
On the landscape of life.
Without her,
My sanity is a fond memory
That is fading fast
Into the dark abyss
Of insanity.

She is you,
You are my friend,
You are my best friend
And I can't think
Of life without you.
Thanks and I love you.

What They Did

Last Month,
He punched her.

Two Weeks Ago,
He threw a vase at her.

Last Week,
He gave her a black eye.

Three Days Ago,
He slapped her.

Yesterday,
He shoved her.

Last Night,
He kicked her.

Today,
She shot him.

The Bath

(pic: Bath 747)

I like it
When it's one notch
Lower than hot.

I would slip
One foot in
And wince,
But still the rest of me
Would follow.

Every muscle melting.
Every knot a distant memory
As water soothes
Every inch of my naked being.

The cinnamon candles
Burning in each corner
Of the small bathroom.
The radio set on the station
Playing soothing rhythms.

I let go.
I let go of every stress,
Every heartache,
Every drama,
Every thing.

I fall.
I fall into self reflection,
Dreams yet to be achieved,
Dreams ye to be dreamt.
I fall in love with me.
I fall into faith,
Hope and happiness.
I fall asleep.

When I awake,
The water is tepid,
The candles are
Dry pools of wax,
My soul is renewed.

I am whole again,
Those who have stripped
Me down
Can keep what they took,
I don't need it anyway.
It can be replaced.
It is replaced.
I am whole.

Extremes

Black.
White.
And all the colours in between.
Living.
Unliving
Interacting to exist.
Good.
Evil.
Can't have one
Without the other.

Close your eyes,
Take a breath
And let the extremities
Take over,
Cause this is life.

A Poet Died In Brooklyn

A poet died in Brooklyn today,
Her body found in an alley.
A single gunshot round
To the heart.
Her purse still clenched
To her side.

In the news,
The said a woman died,
Not mentioning
How her words
Flowed on the lines
Of her steno pad
Or how those same words
Would curl and twist
Into the audience,
Bringing them into her world.
All they said was
A woman died in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn,
New York City and yet not NYC,
Urban yet suburban,
Long Island and yet not LI.
Safe and yet unsafe.
Brooklyn was just right for her.

A poet died in Brooklyn,
A bullet to her heart,
A lover not to be found.
A lover not wanting to be found.

He had a history,
A history of splitting lips
Of black eyes
And broken ribs,
All of which were
Found on the poet.

The poet was not made
Of the stock
That allowed this abuse.
Without a paragraph,
A sentence,
A word,
She left him in Los Angeles.

From there she found homes
In Las Vegas, Chicago
And every city
She could could lose herself.
Every time he would find her.

That day in Brooklyn,
He found the poet.
He shot the poet.
He left the poet
In an alley to die.

Days passed,
Her words were found,
Her story told.
He was found,
A noose tied tightly
Around his neck.
An abuser died in Brooklyn.
The final word was written.

(Pic: Soul Spectrum)

Dear Grim Reaper

Do I greet you,
Dear Grim Reaper
With your implement in hand?

Do I offer you
A drink
As well as my life?

Do I explain
To you aplenty
Why I have beckoned you here?

Nay,
My dear,
Grim Reaper,
I apologize profusely,
I've wasted your time,
I've wasted your energy.
I bid you farewell
Till my final day,
No sooner,
No later.
Goodbye,
My dear friend.

I'll be honest with you since I was a child, I had a fascination with death. Halloween is still one of my favourite "holidays". What was different with me is I actually sat down and thought about it (I do a lot of thinking) and I was not content with the prospect of dying and living forever in this perfect heaven. What would I do, so I thought I would be better suited to be the Grim Reaper's assistant. Of course my thinking on life and death has changed over the years, but if I had to choose how to spend eternity, I would be the assistant.

Modern Day Innocence

In denial
Over unknown facts
That may or may not
Exist.

But in the minds
Of unsuspecting innocents,
The truth is waiting
To be known.

Who are these
Common day innocents
If in fact
They exist.

But aren't we all
Considered not innocent
Because we exist
In this time.
A time that has
No innocence.

Then we must
Redefine "innocence"
For the sake
Of our "modern day innocents"
Who thread the earth,
Unknowing
That in their minds
Is the truth.

Another old poem, sometimes I wonder where it all comes from. There was a time when they flowed like a stream and I just wrote. Thank goodness I can use this blog as a place to post all these poems. Also check out Kimolisa Was Here.

New York

The Big Apple, another name for New York,
One of the tri-states,
Home of the Mets and the Knicks
And the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State.

People around the world
Come to see the sights
Of New York City,
The city of lights.

On Broadway where great hits are shown
And enjoyed by the public.
Wall Street is exciting
If you know about bonds and stocks.

There are rough neighbourhoods,
Hand the suburbs other known as the burbs,
Which are a thief's dream,
That are full of expensive things.

But I like New York for the shopping
In Toys 'R' Us and Conways,
And window shopping is not so bad,
Looking in Sears and Macys.


This was my first poem, it was written the 4th of April 1993. Wow, that means I've been writing over 15 years. It kind of put things in perspective, don't worry I'll go into that on the other blog. You can already see I loved NYC for a long time.