Wednesday, June 30, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

I Would Journey

The plane dipped down
As my stomach dipped up.
The pilot cursed
In three languages,
None of which was English.
And yet, I continued on.

The seat of the bus
Rudely smacked my rear
As though I was
An unruly child.
Still two more hours
On this bumpy road,
And yet I would not turn back.

The donkey brayed
And once again
My rear learns a new
Pain from a saddle
Attached to said donkey.
I believe the braying
Was him laughing
At his foolish cargo.
I am to close
To even think
Of where I came from.

My body ached
As I took the
Last few steps
To the doorway of the hut
And yet it was
All worth it.

There standing in the doorway
Was my child.
There in my child’s arms
Was my grandchild.

As I took my grandchild
Into my arms
And my child led me
To the chair
Next to a window
That looked out onto the mountains,
The aches of my journey
Melted away.

For my child,
I would journey
To the end of the world.
For my grandchild,
I would journey back.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

Love is Love

Do you believe....
The words escaped
Her lips in a whisper.
Almost as though
She had exhaled
The works like spent air,
Technically, carbon dioxide.

My grandmother
Was not prone
To speaking at length.
Actually, I knew her
Not to talk at all
As she died
Long before I was
A twinkle in my parents' eyes.

And yet here she sat
On the corner of my bed.
This was a dream
Or so I kept
Repeating to myself.
Still, I did not
Pinch myself, thinking
It would be a tad

Then she repeated
Her question,
This time louder.
This time with an object
As well as a subject and verb.

Do you believe in love?
I looked away.
How do you explain
To your grandmother
That you had closed your heart
And chose not to love,
Chose not to seek it,
Chose not to let it in.

Coolness touched my chin
Turning my head
So that I met her gaze.
She waited,
She would have waited
From now to forever.
I had no choice
But to be honest.

She listened
As I emptied my soul
Into the night.
She listened as the moon
Traveled west
And the stars watched .
Then she whispered again.

Love is love.
Love is not a missing pen
That you have to look
High and low for.
Love is out in the open
And if you continue
To look for it in
Nooks and crannies,
You will never find it.

Love is not for one
Who hides their heart
Afraid that it would
Be abused,
That it would
Be broken.
If you do not,
Can not love,
How can you be loved?

This night
As the full, shiny moon
Traversed west,
A dead grandmother
Taught her granddaughter
How to love again.
And as the weight
Of the Sandman’s
Sands closed my eyes,
I felt coolness
On my forehead
Where my grandmother
Kissed me goodnight.

I saw her twice more
In my lifetime.
Once on the eve
Of my wedding day.
She taught me
How to love my husband.
The second time
Was when my newborn child
Slept in the cot beside me.
She taught me
How to love my child.

Every time I saw her
She whispered
Love is love.
Monday, June 28, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

The Personification Of Love

the making of a newborn session by Marta
Originally uploaded by alucco7

You are the personification
Of love.

So small,
So precious,
Our shared creation.

I would stare at you
For hours
In your crib,
In my arms,
In daddy's arms,
In your bath.

I didn't want
To share you
With the world,
But I knew
It was the first stage
Of letting go.

Soon it would be
To preschool,
Then to regular school
Then college or university.
Soon I would have
To let go.

Till then
I will drink in these moments.
The first time you smile,
The first word you speak,
The first step you make.

To me you are the personification
Of love.

Sunday, June 27, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

Another Death on Gina's Head

Her scream
Was ripped
From her chest
And was hurled
Across the room.

It was as if
She was using it
As her defense,
That somehow
It would stop
Him in his tracks.

It didn't.
All it made him do
Was clamp his palm
Over her mouth.
He needed silence.
He needed them
To remain alone.
He didn't need
The police coming along,
Asking questions,
Being suspicious.

He whispered
Into her ear,
His breath warming it,
Blowing against
The fine hairs in it.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm going to remove my hand."
"Don't scream."
"I'm looking for Allan."

Confusion crossed her face,
As his hand moved
From his lips.
He sat back down
In the wing chair.
He was sitting there
When she walked in,
A gun in his lap.
He sat in the dark,
Waiting for Allan.

"Allan doesn't live here!"
"I live alone!"
"This is my apartment!"
He listened as words
Pored out of her mouth.

He pulled out
A slip of paper,
Checking the apartment number.
Gina's handwriting was horrible.
Was it a 9 or a 4?
Obviously, it wasn't a 4.
Another death on Gina's head.

He stood up
And made his way
To the door.
He looked back
At her for the last time.
What a shame,
She was pretty.
She had good taste.
She had her whole life
Before her.
Ten seconds later
He was gone.

The next morning,
The newspapers' headlines
Read "Two Dead
In Apartment Complex!"
It continued to read
That one was a woman in 4B
And the other a man in 9B.
He clipped out the stories
And made copies for Gina.

The copies were
To encourage Gina to write better.
The copies were
To remind him
To confirm all his assignments.
The copies were
To remind Gina
That another unnecessary death
Was on her head.

Another lethal lesson
To be learned
Wednesday, June 23, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

I Am

I am...
I am tall.
I am short.
I am smart.
I am foolish.
I am a designer.
I am an assistant manager.
I am a sister.
I am a daughter.
I am old.
I am young.
I am beautiful.
I am ugly.
I am a dreamer.
I am a realist.
I am happy.
I am sad.
I am an Aquarius.
I am a Sheep.
I am stubborn.
I am witty.
I am sarcastic.
I am bashful.
I am bold.
I am playful.
I am serious.
I am all these things,
And at times, I am none.
But in this moment,
In this space,
In this time,
When you ask
What I am,
I will reply that
I am a poet.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010 1 words I am thankful for

He Isn't My Pimp

The ruby glittered
In the dim light.
It was encased
In 14 karat gold
Ant that was wrapped
Around Leroy's hand.

The same hand
That sent me flying
Across the room.
He would jokingly call it
His pimp back hand.
That, of course, when he
Was jocking.

Leroy isn't my pimp.
He's my boyfriend.
Yes, he has other women.
Yes, he asks me to sleep
With his "friends".
His "friends" pay him,
But no, Leroy is not
My pimp.

So what if he tracked me down
When I went to visit
My nana, dragging me away
By my hair.
He loves me so much,
He can't be without me.
I loved him once,
But, now...
I don't know.

This is the last time
He strikes me
Like this, but he
Doesn't know that yet.
As blood trickles
Down my lip, I whimper
But I laugh inside.

He doesn't know
About the bag packed
Outside the window
In the dumpster.
He doesn't know
About the excessive amount
Of Extasy in his beer.
Leroy doesn't know that
He is not my pimp.
Monday, June 21, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

My Flavour

"I love the way
You taste."
He says this
As though tasting me
Was like tasting
A mango,
A sapodilla,
An exotic fruit
Yet discovered
To his European palate.

I never would
Have compared myself
To a familiar fruit
Anyway. I see myself
Too unique to
Remind my lovers
Of a strawberry,
A cherry,
An apple
Or even a watermelon.

Some thought
I would taste
Like chocolate,
As my skin
Would give them
That impression.
But I haven't
Got any complaints
Of disappointment.
My flavour suits
Them just fine.

The world is full
Of flavours.
Some are unquestionably
Some require a
Trained palate.
Mine is quite divine,
Or so I'm told,
Would you like a taste?
I promise,
You won't be disappointed.
Saturday, June 19, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

Daddy's Little Girl

Daddy bought me
A new dress
Saying this tomboy
Will always be his princess.
I told Momma
That it was a hand me down
From Cousin Sandra.

Daddy took me
To Disney World,
Making me ride
Every ride that caught
My fancy.
We ate till our stomachs
Ached and our eyes
Threatened to close.
I told Momma
That it was a school trip
And I was getting a ride
With a classmate.

Daddy would listen
To my problems,
Especially the boy problems.
I would call him
Every other night,
Sometimes for help
With school work,
Sometimes just to hear
The voice of my Daddy.
Momma thought
I was talking
To Julie, Sam or Luke,
All made up classmates.

Once every six months,
Daddy would come to the apartment.
He would ask Momma
To let him spend time with me.
Every time he asked,
Momma would rant and rave
About how he left her
To raise me.
About him going off to college
And she having to find a job
And how he had
No right to see me.

One day, I asked him
Why he came to the apartment.
He said that he didn’t
Like that I had to lie
To my mother to see him.

I continue to lie
To Momma.
In a couple years
I will be eighteen
And it will no longer
Be Momma’s decision
To make if I saw Daddy.

I love Momma,
I love all that she has
Done to give me
The life I now live,
But it will never stop
The fact that
I am Daddy’s little girl.
Friday, June 18, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

He Never Said

He never said
“I love you.”

It didn’t really matter
To Angie
As this is the way
Her father was
Ever since she was small.

He didn’t
Have to utter
The words
As he spoke
Them through
His actions.

His version
Was the band aid
And ice cream
After a stumble or two
In the backyard.

Or the hugs
That was a second
Or two longer
Than what is expected.

Evenings spent
Staring at the stars,
Talking of the past
And the future
And everything in between.

Angie’s father never said
“ I love you,”
But he showed her
That he did every day.
Thursday, June 17, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

Wadadli Pen & Father's Day

The two poems in the previous posts were written for the topic, The Father I Wished I Had. It was the Topic for the last Wadadli Pen Open Mic. It was my second time taking part in this particular open mic. For more info on Wadadli Pen Open Mic and everything concerning Wadadli Pen, click here.

I pretty much put those poems up because it introduces you to Wadadli Pen as well as the fact that this Sunday coming up is Father's Day. With that said the poems over the following days leading up to Father's Day will be a bit more positive.

It hadn't dawned on me how fortunate I was to have a live in father until I heard the topic and listened to the poems that came from the topic. It's not in my place to gloat about that, but to rejoice that I was given a chance to have my dad in my life. The other day, I fell out of a perfectly good plane 10,000 feet off the ground, of course tandem, and it reminds me of family. No matter how crazy and maddening life is there will always be someone who has your back. Also whenever you try anything crazy, there will always be someone to be your parachute.

Just a couple thoughts.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

He Ain't My Daddy

"He ain't my daddy!!"
"He ain't my daddy!!"
A soft chant rose
From under the sheets
Which hid a precious treasure.

Said treasure,
A little worn
But a diamond
Doesn't come out
Of the ground shiny
And ready to be set in a ring.

This treasure
Has felt the pressure
Of a fist against flesh,
Just like a piece of coal
Feels the pressure of the earth
Against it's sides.

This treasure
Has been hit,
And after all of that,
She would curl up
In her bed and chant
"He ain't my daddy!"
"He ain't my daddy!"

Her real daddy

Would never touch he
With aggressive hands,
Instead he would
Embrace her
With a mixture
Of love and pride.

Her real daddy
Would move mountains
To protect her,
To help her reach
Beyond the heights
He himself had reached.

One day,
she promised herself,
She would find her
Real daddy
And he will treat
Her like the treasure
She was.

But tonight,
As Pearl lay under
The covers,
She chants
"He ain't my daddy!"
"He ain't my daddy!"
Tuesday, June 15, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

She Wished She Knew

At the end
Of the day
When all her homework
Was done,
The dishes
Dripping in the dish tray
And the evening's meal
Tucked away in her stomach,
Angie would sit
On the back step
And dream
With open eyes.

To her mammy
And her grand mammy,
She was thinking
About school
Or drinking in
The magic of
Day turning into night.

The truth is
She was dreaming
About her daddy.
A man she never met,
Not that she knew
If she made his acquaintance
Right after birth.
She didn't even know
If he ever tweaked
Her once full cheeks
Or wiped her backside
As she became
Aware of the world.

All she knew was
He was tall,
As she was tall,
Already towering over her mother.

She knew how
He laughed
And how he smiled.
Jr down at the gas station
Told her as much,
Especially when she laughed
And when she smiled.

She knew better
Than to ask Mammy
Or even grand mammy
About her daddy.
A lesson learned
From the broadside
Of ol' George,
The affectionate name
Give to Mammy's belt.

So every evening
As day took itself
To somewhere else
And night would
Come a-visiting,
Angie would sit
On the back stoop
Dreaming with open eyes
Of the father
She wished she knew.
Monday, June 14, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

It's nice to be noticed

Colour me surprised when I googled myself and found that this blog was listed among the Best Poetry Blogs on the Web. The list was on the website, Guide To Art Schools.

I'm not in the top five, but come on, those listed are more creative than my blog and contain the classics. How can I compete with the likes of Shakespeare? So scroll down in the other fantastic poetry blogs list as it is in alphabetical order.

The odd thing is they think I'm two people, Kim and Lisa. If the compilers of this list is reading this post, my name is Kimolisa. My mother couldn't decide which name to give me, Kim or Lisa. In the end she called me that, well the Spanish version of that, Kim o Lisa, Kimolisa.

I do appreciate the acknowledgment and I hope everyone continues to enjoy my work.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010 1 words I am thankful for

My Face Remains Granite

A fire storm bloomed
On the horizon.
The wind
Brought the screams
To my ears
And yet, my eyes
Darted over the landscape.

I'm sure
They thought
I was looking for
That I could
Feel your energy
Pulsing through
Your body
Miles away.

The watched
My face
As though it
Was a gauge
Of how our men
Were doing
On the battlefield.

My face, though,
Was like granite.
I refused
To smile
Or frown.
I would not
Be the one
That make
These women cry,
Cleaving their children
To their bosoms.

I'm sure
They knew their men
Were dead.
Their bodies
Feeling a loss,
A void
And yet
They ignore it,
Deny it,
Bury it.
Then force
The flower of hope
To grow
In the barren earth.

I want the war mongers
To tell these women
That their men
Now lie on
The fields of battle.
Another inanimate object
Like a rock
Or a felled tree.

Let them hear the shrieks
That pierce the sky
Trying to cut
Into heaven
And be heard
By our fallen warriors.

And still
I train my eyes
On the horizon,
Feeling my other half
As the blood
Flowed our of you
Taking with it
My energy.

As a part of me dies,
As you die,
I refuse to cry,
My face remains granite.
Monday, June 7, 2010 0 words I am thankful for

Golden Girl


Golden Girl
In ivory dress
Caught up
In her own distress.
Sunday, June 6, 2010 1 words I am thankful for







Saturday, June 5, 2010 1 words I am thankful for

One Word

One word
Written on paper.

One soul
Drifting in the atmosphere.

One dream
At one's finger tips.

One step made
And then another.

One love lost,
Another waiting to be found.

One life to live
Never to be squandered.

One word
Written on paper.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010 0 words I am thankful for


He fell,
More like
But he would always
Say he fell.

He would say
It wasn't her fault,
She didn't mean
To do it.
He would say
He fell.

They tried
To lift him up.
They tried to
Make him stand
On his own,
But he preferred
To Be