Women with Words - dub insomnia by Amahnee

While checking out Black Girls with Long Hair, I discovered Women with Words. According to it's About Page,

WomenwithWordz is an interactive blog where women of all races, ages and backgrounds can post and share their writings, rhymes, poems, stories, scripts, and words. This virtual space is welcoming of all types of work: a quiet reflexive song, an angry loud poem even silly fun lyrics and stories are accepted and celebrated.

The WomenwithWordz blog was born from the Women with Wordz writing circle held every Wednesday at 1900 Sheppard Ave in Toronto. Supported by Literature for Life, the women are led by their instructor Motion to let go and write freely and openly about what is most important to them.

This blog is an invitation, an extension of the beautiful works that pour out of the writing circle, to all women who stumble upon the blog and have a song to sing, or poem to write, or a story to tell. Please take your time and read (and respect) the words within the blog and feel free to respond or submit your own writing.

I really got into it and even submitted one of my poems. I think it's a great way for writers and poets to share their work. I don't know if it is the same for others, but I've been able to interact with like minded people through blogging and it is always a great way to share one's work beyond one's shores and/or borders.

Below is a poem by Amahnee, one of the Wordsmithz on the blog.

dub insomnia

Night thoughts chase the dawn

As day breaking dreams are born

In the madness of midnight suns

Makeshift cock calls riddle his eardrums

And he presses the snooze button on the alarm clock

Although he hasn’t slept yet

Dressed yet?

He still wears the slacks with the syrup stains

And the crumpled lunch receipt in the back pocket

Can’t remember what he had

But he knows it was awful

Stomach grumbles

As he reaches for another packet of ramen

“Shit, I shoulda never left

Sun rays for snowy landscapes

Coal pots for coffee cups…

And Mama.”

Night thoughts chase the dawn

As day breaking dreams are born

In the madness of midnight suns

The sky’s sparkling black pupils scorn his footsteps

“How dare you disturb this world’s slumber.”

But down under, he’s just another number

On another block, in a far away city

And even he haffu eat

So he stumbles on to the street

Sneakers saddening pavement as baby sleeps

Sweating for dimes

Fingers slipping through time

Souls caked in mud

Does hope die with the settling son?

Night thoughts chase the dawn

Day breaking dreams are born

In the madness

of

midnight

suns

His Name

His name was Jean,
Not John
Or Juan.
His name brought to mind
Images of cute bistros
And passionate love
And cool confidence.

Even if his name
Was your average name,
Paul, Peter or Steven,
He still would have
Brought those images to my mind,
Simply by the way
He walked, talked and existed.

Jean was my first.
My first love,
My first boyfriend,
The man I first made love to.
At the time,
I thought that he was the one
I was holding on to my virginity for.
Jean was my first
And my last.

It was one autumn evening,
As we huddled on the back porch,
Watching day turn to night.
A lone tear
Rolled down Jean’s cheek
And the words,
“I’m sorry,”
Spilled from his mouth.

He didn’t look at me,
He just spoke
About how much
He loved me,
About how he wish
He could undo it all,
About how he didn’t know
Until it was too late.

When it was all said,
I didn’t know if
I wanted to hug him
Or hurt him.
Neither of those things
Would have meant anything,
I buried Jean that winter.
I only hope I will see the next.

Every now and then,
I would see the woman
Who infected Jean.
I never made a scene
By calling her a whore
Or letting people know
That she had AIDS.
Her time will come soon enough.

Although Jean left that winter,
A part of him
Was born the next summer.
Thankfully, he was born
Without the virus.
There are days when
I want to give up,
But I would look into
Our little boys face
And am reminded
That I have to keep going
For him.

His name is Pierre,
Not Peter
Or Pedro.
His name reminds me
Of the first man I ever love.
He reminds me of Jean.

Love Jones

I debated if I should post this on this blog or my other blog, Kimolisa Was Here and this blog ended up with it because of the poetry.

To begin, I've been wanting to watch this for a long time and it wasn't on the website on which I would watch movies. So here I was thinking, I'm going to have to go hunting for it on Ebay or something. Then by chance I thought I want to at least see a scene from it, and badabing, there is the whole thing on YouTube. Of course, I sat down and watched it at last.

It got me to thinking too, why is it so hard to say "I like you, I love you, I want you in my life,"? Have we become so tenderhearted to give our all? Anywho, it's nice to see this movie at long last. Below is the movie, enjoy.

It Was Fun

weheartit

It was fun
While it lasted.
These were the last words
I said to Henri.

Our whirlwind romance
Was winding to an end
Like a tired hurricane
Somewhere over Canada.

It wasn't as though
We expected forever
From each other.
It was more like a season,
Maybe two.

We experienced
An intense sense of like
Which took us on long walks
On beaches as the sun dropped
Into azure waters.

Our time together included
Visiting perfumeries
Spritzing each other with divine scents
And taking the opportunity
To be closer to each other than usual.

There were times when
We would lounge around his place,
Listening to his collection of cds.
I would tease him about his Britney Spears cd
Which he swore belonged to an old girlfriend.

In cages,
Over cups of strong brew,
We would share serious conversations,
Plato, Aristotle, Socrates,
And other philosophies,
As well as who was the better super hero,
Batman or Superman.

Somewhere between our first hello
And our final goodbye,
We kissed.
It was like a fine piece of music,
Starting slow and gentle,
Building in intensity
Till it hit a crescendo,
Leaving us satisfied and wanting more.

But like all good things,
It came to an end.
We both knew we weren’t the ones,
The ones who caught our breaths
At the first glances.
The ones who made us want
To commit ourselves to them.

We always spoke of todays
Never broaching the topic of tomorrow.
We understood that each moment
Was precious and would be remembered fondly,
So we never wasted our time
On arguments,
Agreeing to disagree.

Our time together
Was like a rose,
Starting as a tiny bud.
Then day by day it grows,
And one fine day,
It blossoms in all its grandeur.
Then a few days later,
It slowly dies away
And is nothing but a beautiful memory.

I sometimes miss Henri,
But I stand behind my last words,
It was fun while it lasted.

Sinnerman - Nina Simone

The Tree of Wishes

weheartit

Nora sat on the precipice
Overlooking her existence
Under the tree of wishes.

It took her many moons
To find this tree
And many more moons
To learn that she had to look for it.

With soul tired
And spirit weary,
She sat and listened
To the wind blowing through the leaves.

Strangely enough,
The sound started to make sense
And she was able to make out something.
She could understand.

“What do you wish?
What do you desire, child?”
The tree speaks,
How wonderful.

After A While

©1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman,
not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn... 

I just wanted to share this, it is worth reading.

Have I Made It?

As I was going through my emails this morning, I came across a FaceBook message from someone I didn't know. Seeing it was in my Inbox and wasn't automatically kicked into my Spam box, I figured it was safe. I opened it and found this:

Dear (Kimolisa),


My name is XXXXX XXXXX, i am doing an assignment on poets. My teacher has given my group your name as a local poet i would please like to know more about you to complete my assignment.

yours respectfully,

XXXXX XXXXX.

Her name was removed as she is obviously a minor.

I was honestly blown away, more because I have yet to easily label myself as a Poet. Yes, I write poetry. Yes, I've done my share of poetry nights, open mics and I think I have a few pieces published in a newspaper. Yes, I'm 85% done in writing my first book of poetry. But do I see myself as a local poet and am recognized by others? Nope.

You know what though, I feel like I'm flattered by it and I know as time passes, I'll move on. I'll go back to writing my poetry, sewing my clothes and living. My poetry is my voice, when I couldn't vocalize how I felt, I could always express myself through my poems. Once again, I appreciate all my followers and I thank you for following.

XOXO

I Found It Hard

weheartit

I found it hard
To let go,
Pulling back the vines
Of my conscious
That curl around
The idea of you.

I found it hard
Not to pick up the phone
And dial the number
That is as familiar
To me as my own.

I found it hard
To not sit and remember
The good times we shared
Or what I believed
To be good times.

I found it hard
Not to remember
Your voice,
Your smile,
Your touch,
Your taste.

I found it hard
But not impossible
As I knew it was time
To let go,
To move on.

Soon,
Hours will fade into days,
And days will melt into weeks,
Then weeks to months,
Then years
And by then, you will be
A Whisper of a memory.

So right now,
I will struggle
To forget you,
But I promise you,
It is a struggle
I will overcome.

You have already begun
To fade.

Goodbye

My Modern Met


Goodbye.
I never thought
I would say that word.
It would be a word
That would represent
A temporary state,
Always holding the promise
Of another meeting.

I took this day
To escape from my death,
The ending of my life.
Just before my body
Ceased to listen to my commands,
Just before I become dependent
On others for even
The most basic of things,
I took my bike
And rode away.

I rode to the fields
Beyond the city limits
Filled with wild flowers
That scented the air
Leaving me heady.
I pick a few
Till my basket said
No more
Letting some spill on the ground.

I rode to the seaside,
And looked out
To the horizon.
The sea was a reflection
Of the overcast sky.
I didn’t care.
There is something heavenly
About the sunlight breaking
Through the clouds.

Somehow the sight
Made me feel safe,
Ready, even for when
I take my last breath.

I no longer hope for cures
Or treatments that will
Make me live a little bit longer.
Today, I got the chance
To say Goodbye
To the world
That mesmerized me,
That accommodated me,
That I loved.

Not a tear will fall,
Not a sob will escape my lips.
Simply,
Only,
Goodbye.

This is my last poem inspired by Sator Arepo's photography. I hope you liked them and if you want to read them again just click on the Sator Arepo tag in the tag clout to the right. So what replace my Wednesday Sator Arepo poems? Well, I'm thinking of posting videos of my reading or reciting some of my poetry. I have to figure out how I'm going to do that. It should be interesting.