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)