An Exceptional Year

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Midnight came

Devoid of pomp

And circumstance,

Of fireworks

And joyous voices,

And I released a

Sigh….

It was as though

I had finished

A good book and

I was content

With the end

And that it had

Ended.

The new year

Had begun and

The old year

Had already started

To fade from my

Memory.

The new year

Has so much

Potential, so much

Opportunities ready

To be grabbed and

Taken advantage of.

So I toss aside

The fears, the sadness,

The confusion, the frustrations

Of the dead year

And walk confidently

Into the future

Along the path

I created.

This is going to be

An exceptional year.

Inspired by Theme Thursday.

What Matters

It was Sunday again,
The week before was a blur,
But it didn’t bother me,
The here and now
Is what matters.

What matters
Is the soft jazz tune
That floated out from
Hidden speakers.

What matters
Is the lemonade
With a hint of a secret
That sat on the side table.

What matters
Is the light breeze
That cooled my brow
And elicited a melody
From the wind chimes.

What matters
Is the loyal canine
Who slept at my feet
Barking occasionally
At some dream prey.

What matters
Is the sunset.
The grand show
Orchestrated by Mother Nature,
Changing the sky from
Shades of pinks and purples
To pure darkness
Set with points of light.

What matters
Is the man
Who sits beside me,
Sharing this moment with me.
His fingers intertwined with mine
As we cuddle close
Within the blanket of
Comfortable silence.

What matters
Are moments like this.


This poem was submitted to dVerse.

Also check out my other blog, Kimolisa Was Here.

Question - Haiku

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The owl landed on the tombstone
And asked who had passed,
"Who you?"

Haiku inspired by The Purple Treehouse

This is my first real attempt at Haiku, see here for more information. This is also a sneak peak into the future of Kim or Lisa. In the past, I have done self imposed challenges based on series of pictures found on the Internet, in 2012, I will be taking on the challenges from other poetry blogs. The plan is to grow as a poet and go beyond my boundaries, wish me luck!!!

P.S. I would like to thank Bajanpoet for introducing me to Dverse which pretty much opened up a whole new world for me. It's like finding the secret doorway that you have been looking for.

I Will Conquer

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I looked into his eyes
And I saw nothing.
It was as though
He was incapable of
Human emotion,
He was empty,
Soulless……

I looked away,
Mama always said that
It was impolite to stare,
So I looked out the window
To his right, I watched
The blackness that
Inhabited the bowels
Of the city.

How did I get here?
I would ask myself
As I made my way to work.
Another worker
Surrounded by workers
On my way to a job
I hated but needed
To live in this city.

The electric eel
Stopped at my stop,
Regurgitating the masses
Who spewed up onto the streets
And melted into the towers
That tried to touch the skies.

As I rode on the elevator
To my office on the 42nd floor,
I brushed away my reservations
Like crumbs from my morning toast
And donned my mask
Of professional proficiency.

In the next 8-10 hours,
I will be a cog
On the forever grinding machine
That is Metropolis,
That is Gotham,
That is New York.

In time,
I will become a bigger cog,
A more important cog
And when that time comes,
I will celebrate the fact
That I conquered the city
That crushed so many souls,
I will conquer Gotham.

Speak To Me

“Speak to me.”

I held her
In my arms,
Her blood soaking my clothes,
Her breath laboured,
Her pulse grew faint
With each passing second.

“Speak to me.”

I was speechless.
What should I say?
My mind was a blank,
All my thoughts had vacated
My brain, but I tried
To find a hint, a trace
Of helpful rhetoric.

“Speak to me.”

“Don’t worry,
The ambulance is on its way,
Help is on the way.”
Please don’t die,
I thought. Please
Don’t cease to breathe,
Don’t cease to be. Please,
Hold on.

“Speak to me.”

Her eyelids fluttered.
I could barely feel
Her pulse,
Her breathing,
Her warmth.
Why was she so cold?
I held her closer, trying
To transfer my warmth to her,
To her body growing colder
In my arms.

“Speak to me.”

“I love you,
I loved you
When we first met,
I loved you
When you made me smile,
I loved you
When you made me mad.
I love the taste of you.
I love everything about you,
And I love the way
You make me feel.
You make me feel complete.
I love you.”

I closed my eyes
And willed her back,
Willed her to stay
Until help came.
I prayed,
I begged
For her life,
For her to live.

When I opened my eyes,
EMS personnel were around us,
They pulled me away
And began to work on her.
I curled up in a corner
And watched strangers try
To save the woman I love.

Just when everything looked lost,
The tension melted away,
The EMS agreed that
She was stable and
The proceeded to put her
On a gurney.
She will live
And I released the breath
I didn’t know I was holding.

“Speak to me.”

I traveled with her
In the ambulance
And on the ride to the hospital,
I vowed to speak to her,
To let her know
How I feel about her.
I will speak to her.

Delicious Torture

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His breath
Tickled the back
Of my neck
And I sighed.

He was here,
Lover was here
And the festivities
Shall begin.

Without warning,
I whipped around
And climbed on top
Straddling him,
Conquering him.

Tonight was my night
To do whatever
I pleased with this
Magnificent specimen
Of a man.

With the handcuffs
I hid under my pillow,
I cuffed him to the bed,
The twinkle in my eye
Let him know that
He was not in danger.

When I was sure
His limbs were secure,
I began my delicious torture.

I started at the top,
Kissing, nipping, licking
His eyelids, his nose,
His lips, his ears,
Then ventured lower.

I bathed his body
With kisses that
Varied in intensity
With each body part
I encountered.

His body hummed
Under my ministrations,
And when I knew
He could take no more,
I gave him what he wanted.

I sank down on
His erect manhood,
Letting it fill me
Completely.

Like a seasoned cowgirl,
I rode my lover, and
In a matter of seconds,
I found the right rhythm
To guarantee
Optimum pleasure.

And just as the heavens
Began to open
And the God of Orgasms
Was about to in part
His blessing,
I stood up and
Left the room.

This will teach him
For being a selfish lover
And denying me
The same quality of pleasure
I bestow upon him.

This, my friends, is
Delicious torture.

Falling

Falling.

I opened my eyes
And found myself
Falling.

A free fall
Through time and space
And some how,
I felt no fear.

I knew not when
My descent began
And I had no desire
To know how or when
It will come to an end.

I closed my eyes,
Not wishing to see
But feel my descent
Into despair.

The abyss
Grew thick with
My fears,
My frustrations,
My self pity,
All trying to extinguish
My small bit of hope.

Just as all
Began to feel dark,
That hope slipped
From my person,
And although
I reached out for it,
It fell out of my grasp.

I turned to watch
My hope disappear
Into the darkness, but,
To my surprise,
It grew.

It grew
Until it filled the void
And stopped fall.
I fell onto my hope
And immediately bounced up.

Instead of falling,
I rose and
The higher I rose,
The lighter I became,
The more I was filled
With hope.

Once again,
I felt no fear,
Because in that moment,
I rose above all my fears.

Spoken Word

The Best Gift

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The best gift
Is not store bought
With pieces of paper
Printed with pictures
Of the queen, or
Dead heads of states.

The best gift
Is not the latest
Piece of gadgetry
That soon loses
Its coolness when
A later version
Hits the market.

The best gift
Is not play things
Of plastic and meta
That are easily broken,
That are easily forgotten.

The best gift
Is not baubles
That glitter in the moonlight
As though they are stars
Trying to return
To the night sky.

The best gift
Can not be bought
On the high streets,
The main streets,
In the malls or
In the shopping centres.
The best gift
Is priceless.

Although I have not
Named this gift,
This best gift,
I know we all
Have felt itm
Given it and
Received it,
In the smiles,
In the hugs
We share with
Friends and family,
Associates and strangers.

A gift that has
So many versions,
Be it maternal,
Fraternal,
Platonic or
Romantic.

In this season
Of giving and
Into the new year,
I hope we all
Don't forget to give
The best gift of all,
The gift of love.

Across A Table

I honestly forgot to post a poem yesterday, and as tomorrow is a holiday here in Antigua, I decided to post this today. Hope you like it and feel free to comment.

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Across a table,
Strewn with the remnants
Of a late night dinner,
He sat.

With a glass of Port
In one hand
And a lit cigarette
In the other,
He spoke of his philosophy,
Underlining a word or phrase
With the reckless gestures
Of his already occupied hands.

I sat back
As his words
Washed over me.
A word here,
A sentence there would
Recapture the attention
That would slip away
Without my permission.

I interrupted his monologue
About the thesis of
Some long dead theologian
And suggested we move
To the couch, as
I was sure it would be
More comfortable, and
To this, he agreed
In his distracted fashion.

As I curled up
In one corner
Of the plush hand me down,
He sat at the other end
And continued to speak.

I heard nothing
As my mind
Became quite preoccupied
With thoughts
I dared not share with him.

Thoughts of
Removing the cigarette
And the glass of port
From his hands,
Stubbing out the former
And setting the latter
Some distance away.

Thoughts of
Planting butterfly kisses
On his neck,
On his closed eyes,
On his nose,
Then on his mouth.

Thoughts of
His mouth.
I know what it looked like,
But I yearned to be
Well versed on how
It felt and tasted.
Would my tongue
Find a delightful playground
In the cavern that is
His mouth.

As my eyes became heavy,
They slipped down his body,
And I fantasized
Licking my way down his body,
Making pit stops
At his nipples,
Nipping at each,
Not wanting either
To be jealous
Of the attention
I was sure to give the other.

My eyes
At last closed shut
And I imagined
His manhood at attention,
Filling me with anticipation,
Then satisfaction,
Then bringing me to
The most pleasant release.

I moaned.

It was only when
He shook me lightly
That I realized
That I had nodded off,
That I had moaned out loud
And not any moan,
But one that was heavy
With arousal.

I apologized.
I gave a lame excuse.
I told him it was late
And that we should
Call it a night.
At the door,
I told him goodnight.

Without words,
He leaned in
And softly kissed me.
It grew in intensity
Until we were left
Breathless.
I looked into his eyes,
And they mirrored
The passion I felt.

Without words,
Without conversation,
Without unnecessary rhetoric,
I pulled him back in,
And with the closing of the door,
My fantasy became a reality.

Untitled

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She sat on a bench
In a park.

She had found
A little area
That was a little pocket
Of nature and tranquility.
A place she could
Sit in silence
And just be.

She tilted her head back,
Letting the sunlight
Trickle down between
The leaves and branches
Of ancient trees
Onto her face,
Baptizing her in
Pure light.

In this place,
Her reality melted away
And she ceased to be
All the roles
She gave herself,
All the roles
She was given.

She was not
A mother, a daughter,
A wife, a good worker,
A friend, a neighbour,
A graduate, a woman,
A race, a citizen.

She was nothing,
But a human being
Breathing in the soft scents
Of nature.
Breathing it all in
With all her senses.

In being nothing,
She became something.
Something more wonderful
Than all her roles.
Something that was full
Of untapped potential.
Something that knew its place
In the universe
And was content with it.

And as she was tapping
Into her spiritual orgasm,
Her cell phone rang,
And she was tugged,
Pulled back to her reality.

There were reports
To be prepared.
Dinner to be made.
PTA meetings to attend.
Emails to write and
Calls to be made.

A goddess crashing
To the terra firma,
Immortality stripped away,
Body and spirit, vulnerable,
Mind occupied by
The tasks of “living”.

One day,
She promised herself
As she left her pocket
Of nature and tranquility,
She will turn off her cell,
Untethering herself from life
And she will reach
That climax,
That point of concentrated
Peace and enlightenment,
And somehow,
She will return with it,
Even if it is a thimbleful.

It is the one promise,
She vowed to keep.

My Chocolate Kryptonite

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He laid next to me
With the comforter
Sprawled across his nudity,
Hiding a body, I swear
Was molded by God
For the sole purpose
Of giving pleasure.

Sleep now claimed him
And I took the opportunity
To devour him with my eyes,
Tattooing his whole being
Into my consciousness,
Into my unconsciousness
So that when he was gone,
I would still remember him
In detail.

From the curl
Of his eyelashes
To the plumpness
Of his lips.
From the deep chocolate
Of his skin
To the length and girth
Of his pride.

I wanted to remember everything
When he was long gone.

And go he shall because
This man that laid beside me
Was my chocolate Kryptonite.
The man that I craved
Like a perfect chunk
Of pure chocolate
Was the same man
That left me weak.

The man that drove me
To the heights of pleasure,
The heights of ecstasy,
Where butterflies of light
Flutter over gardens indescribable,
Was the same man
That sank me like the Titanic,
Leaving me cold and disorientated.

I eventually slipped out of the bed,
A part of me yearning to remain,
To slip back into his arms.
I fought my urges
And placed a note
Where my head had rested.

The further I walked,
The stronger I got.
The longer I stayed away,
The less the urges came.
Eventually,
I was free.

Free of my desires for him,
Free of him,
Free and strong,
But once in a while,
I will pull out
The memory of
My chocolate kryptonite.

I Can't

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" I can't."
A phrase
Drummed into
The consciousness,
The unconsciousness
Of man by
Those who’s sole
Intention was
To protect,
But in reality
They robbed.

In children,
They rob them
Of the desire
To explore
Both themselves
And their world.
A world filled
With secrets
To be discovered
By young
And eager minds.

In teens,
The words,
“I can’t,”
Rob then of
Life’s skills like
Interacting with peers,
Understanding their bodies,
Learning what they want,
What they need
From relationships
With the opposite sex.
Even though they
Rebel, in their minds
What they “can’t” do
Is still wrong,
Still taboo.

By the time,
They become adults,
“I can’t”
Are not words spoken
By others, they are
Words spoken
By themselves
To themselves.

By the time,
They become adults,
They don’t see
The differences
Between the things
That will hurt them
And the things
That will liberate them.

So hardwired
Are they, the adults,
That they continue
The cycle of saying
“Can’t” to a new
Generation of people.

“I can’t
Deal with you right now.”

“You can’t
Go there or there with them.”

“We can’t…..”
“You can’t….”
“I can’t….”

But truly,
My friends,
Can’t we?

In The Jewel Box

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I found whispers
In an old jewel box.

They were paper thin
And ever so soft
As I touched them
To my cheek.

I wondered to myself
Who they belonged to,
Who had hidden them
In this old jewel box.

I took them to the attic,
The whispers
And the jewel box,
And closed all the doors
And all the windows.

Sitting quietly,
In that dusty attic,
I tried to hear
The whispers
As they laid in
The old jewel box.

Twas two hours later
When my mind was empty,
My heart was open,
And my soul was set free
That I heard the whispers.

"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Will you come back?"
"I will always come back."
"I will miss you."
"And I will miss you."

Then silence,
And in that moment,
A lone tear crept
Down my cheek.
He never came back.

I rose and walked
To a window.
With the jewel box
In one hand,
I opened it
And everyday life
crashed around me
Like a wave.

I heard the kids
Down the street,
I smelt the roses
In the garden,
And I felt and saw
The sun setting
In the distance.

Without thought
Or hesitation,
I threw the whispers
Out the window,
Into the world.

I watched it
Sail away in
The late summer breeze.
Such pain should not be
Locked away in gilded boxes,
But made to dissolve away
And from what is left
May something new
And joyous be made.


Submitted to The Poetry Palace

She Became.......

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Day 13.
She reached the summit,
Her breath escaping
From her lips
In a puff of smoke,
The last part of
The person she was.

A person she had began to leave
Four days ago
On the path up this mountain.
The person who
Didn’t want to go
A step farther,
Who gave excuses
Why she should not on.

Excuses such as
Her body could not endure
This any more.
The air is too thin.
The pack is too heavy.
The incline is to steep.
The temperature is too low.

The person tried
To rationalize with her.
“So what if you never
Reach the summit.
You won’t be the first
Not to make it,”
The person would say.

The guide sat quietly
At the camp, pretending not to
Notice the internal battle
Of the most unusual
Of his clients. And
He simply nodded
The next day when
She said that she will continue.

It was in that moment
That the person began to leave,
Through the first puff of breath
She exhaled.

She pushed harder
That she ever pushed
Her body,
Her mind,
Her spirit.

Even when they demanded,
They begged
For her to stop,
She pushed on.

On Day 13,
She took the last steps
To the summit.
She took a deep breath
From her oxygen tank
And removed the mask.

She slowly turned around
Absorbing the view,
Releasing the breath.
She knelt down and
The guide stepped away,
Giving her privacy.

On bended knees,
She spoke to God,
Not the God of Jesus,
Not the God of Mohammed,
Not the Hindu Gods,
Not the Voodoo Gods,
She spoke to her God.

The God that brought her here.
The God that pushed her
Into her greatness.
The God that demands
Nothing but her best
And for her to live fully.

The God that is more real
Than any God created by man.
The God that simply was and is
Around us.
Within us,
In the deepest ocean,
On the highest mountain,
Everywhere.

To this God,
She gave thanks.

On the way down,
She thought the person
Would return,
But she never did.
She now resides
On this mountain.

The person she became
On this mountain
Is worth ten times
That person, and
She willingly sacrificed
That person to the mountain.

On this mountain,
She became…

His Words

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His words used to be
Sweetness and light.

They were at times
Beautiful sonnets
That would have left
Shakespeare green with envy.

They were at times
Naughty whispers
That would have made
Seasoned porn stars blush.

His words would
Lightly rain down on me
Leaving me feeling
Loved, cherished,
Wanted and desired.

Now, his words are
Thunderclouds and bitterness.

His words are the same
That would be found
On battlefields instead
Of bedrooms.

They would pummel me,
Striking me down
When I tried to rise,
Clawing at me and
Ripping out my confidence,
My self worth,
My self esteem
From my wreaked body.

He would look at me
And say that my face
Was the face of a liar.

Behind my eyes
Were secrets
I refuse to share,
He would say.

My ears were
The receivers
Of another man's words,
He extolled.

My lips spewed
Nothing but lies,
Ceaseless lies,
He admonished.

Yet the only person
I have ever lied to
Was the one who tried
To help me.

The one who saw the pain
Beyond my eyelashes
And extended a helping hand,
A sturdy shoulder,
But I waved away both.

I turned away from the help
Because I believed
That one day,
One beautiful day,
He will return to the man
Who spoke words
That were sweetness and light.

Was Written On Paper

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The poem
Was written on paper.

The pen kissed it,
Planting at first
Butterfly kisses.

Then it began
To make love
To the paper.

Stroking,
Probing,
Tapping away
At the paper.

Until something
Quite beautiful,
Quite divine
Was made as both
Pen and paper came
Quietly, savagely.

What was conceived
When the two
Consummated under the command
Of a singular thought
Was awesome.

The poem
Was written on paper.

Welcome To The Freak Show

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“Welcome to the Freak Show!!”
She said with much pomp.

She being an average size woman,
With average features
And an average tone of voice.

Far from a freak,
I thought to myself,
In fact, not a freak at all.

I held my tongue,
And followed her
Down the modest hallway.

We stopped in front
Of a large window,
Inside sat a woman
Reading a book.

I looked at the description
Of the “specimen”
That was posted beside the window.

“A nymphomaniac,
Known for her desire for sex
And has a large list of men
With whom she has been intimate.”

The tour guide moved on
To the next window.
Beyond this window
Sat a portly man wiping his hands.

His description,
“A man suffering from
Obsessive Disorder,
Requires cleanliness,
Abhors dirt, spends his time
Cleaning.”

On and on,
We walked from
Window to window,
Until I had seen
All the freaks.

At last,
I could not hold my tongue
Any longer.

“What type of Freak Show is this?
These people are regular people
With quirks, here or there.
They are not freaks.”

To this my tour guide replied,
“Of course, they are freaks.
To at least one person,
Each one of them is a freak,
Their behaviour freakish.”

“If they are freaks,
Then so am I,”
These were my last words
Before I felt a sharp pain
To the back of my head
And darkness swallowed me whole.

I woke up behind a large window.
I awoke to the words,
“Welcome to the Freak Show!!”

Untitled

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I drank in his presence,
Like I would savour
A cool glass of lemonade
On a hot, dry day.
It was refreshing and cool
And it hit the spot.

As he sat across from me,
I could not help to think
Of a calm lake,
Still on the surface
But filled with life
Just below.

I should day something,
Be it a polite hello,
A witty comment
About the city
We were about to leave,
Instead, I hide behind my novel.

I wish nothing more
Than to engage this man
In conversation, but instead
I imagine reasons
Why he would not be interested
In conversation,
In me.

Perhaps, he was involved,
Perhaps, he was married,
Perhaps, he was a Catholic priest,
Perhaps, he was gay.
That’s it! He’s gay,
He is too good looking to be otherwise.

With that settled,
I comfortably settle
Into the novel
I had purchased at a gift shop.
I had no chance with him.

“Excuse me, miss.”

What?
Oh my, he’s talking to me,
Probably wants to know
Where I got my scarf.

“Oh. Hi. Yes,”
Was my not so savvy reply.

He asked a trivial question,
One I have long forgotten,
And before I knew it,
We had spent
The whole three hours talking.

My stop came first,
And we said our goodbyes,
He asked for my number
And I gave it to him,
Just as the train pulled away.

I waved good bye,
And he waved back.
What a lovely man,
I hope to God,
He’s not gay,
Or at least not taken.

I Give Thanks

When I was little,
I had the oddest desire
To stick my finger
Into outlets.
Lucky for me,
I never died of
Electrocution and for that,
I give thanks.

Growing up,
I would do many things,
Like running across a road
Seconds away from getting struck,
Or crossing ravines
On narrow walkways
And not once had
I been hurt and for that,
I give thanks.

At the age of eleven,
I was diagnosed
Wish Scoliosis,
And after much deliberation,
It was decided that
I should have surgery.
With surgery, there are risks,
The risk of not being able to walk,
The risk of death.
I survived two surgeries,
Or was it three? For that,
I give thanks.

Less than ten years later,
I was studying at a college
Based in Manhattan.
As two planes crashed
Into the World Trade Center,
I was learning how to say
How are you in Italian
In Florence Italy, for that,
I give thanks.

There are so many things
In life to give thanks for.
Being able to see,
To hear, to walk,
For family, for friends,
For that perfect piece
Of chocolate at the end
Of a trying day.

But there is one thing,
I always give thanks for.
I give thanks for life.

Water Man

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Water Man,
Deep below the horizon,
Walking among the fishes.

He never felt
Air against his skin.
Ozone, Atmosphere,
Foreign terminology.

As I sat on the pier,
I saw him,
He saw me
So I reached out
And he reached out.

We touched the surface,
I touched the surface of the water,
He touched the surface of the air,
We touched each other.

Time passed,
Babies were born,
People died
And we touched.

As though we agreed
On a plane
Beyond consciousness
And unconsciousness,
Our hands retreated,
Smiles lit our faces.

I looked out at the sunset,
He disappeared into the seaweed.
Moments come,
Moments go,
It’s just for us
To remember them.

She Walked

One day,
She started walking.

It was not something
She had planned on doing,
She just kept walking
Down the street,
Along the side of the road.

Behind she left her home,
Her possessions,
Her relations,
Both close and distance.

All she had was
The clothes on her back,
The cash in her pocket,
The shoes on her feet
And a heart that was weary.

She walked up hills,
Down into valleys,
Across plains and
Around lakes.

She walked
Until her stride grew slow,
Blisters covered her feet
And her eyelids grew heavy.
She only stopped
When her body would go
No more, and when it was
Well rested, she continued to walk.

The only home she knew,
The only home she claimed
Was her body,
The home of her relentless spirit.
A spirit that urged her body
To walk.

Soon borders melted away,
Mother tongues changed
From melodic to harsh
And painful to hear,
Still she walked.

She didn’t know
The answers to life,
But she knew that
The life she was living
Was not the answer,
So she released the reins
And let her spirit
Take her to a better life.

A month later,
She found herself
In a small town
Where they spoke a language
She couldn’t speak,
And it was here,
She was meant to be.
She stopped walking.

A year later,
She had a job
Working in a little tavern,
She lived in a little cottage
At the edge of the town,
Dating the son of
The town’s butcher,
She now spoke the language
Fluently and effortlessly
And the urge to walk
Never returned.

I Won!!!! Twice!

November 1st is Antigua's Independence Day and there is usually a few events to celebrate the nation's independence from Great Britain. One of the events was the Literary Arts Competition. I never competited before, in part because I'm a bit of a chicken, because I never saw myself as a great poet and I never pushed myself to my limits.

For the last year and a half, I've been taking part in the Wadadli Pen Open Mic which is put on by Best of Books and through that association with the great people at Best of Books, I was able to build up the courage to submit a piece. The piece was This Is Not A Good Time and it was a dynamic piece for me as I had not written it down before I performed it. It was something that formed in my mind and I had a rough idea of how it should be told. The first time I did it, I got positive feedback so I typed it up and submitted it, correction, I typed it up, then edited it as it had more words than was allowed.

I will be honest, I forgot about it until my mom told me they were promoting it on the radio and asked if I was invited. I hadn't but it didn't bother me, but the next day I saw one of the people from Best of Books and the day after I had an invite to attend the award ceremony. I then got a call from a young man reminding me about the event and that I should bring a copy of the poem. At that time, I thought there was a possibility that I would have to read, but it was when I was asked if I was prepared to read the piece by the Chairperson of the committee that I realised that I better practice.

The night came and I was instructed to sit close to the stage so that I could go up the stage easily. In attendence was the Governor General and the head of the Senate. The evening was really nice, those who participated in the competition got a certificate (the first pic). My group, 18+ Poetry, was near the end and I was the second person out of the three finalist to read. We were made to sit on the stage and were called up to collect our prizes from the Governor General. After hearing the last finalist read, I started to wonder who would win.

I figured that I would be second, so I kinda prepared to get up when they called my name. They called the other lady's name, I was shocked and I am the kind of person whose emotions show on her face so everyone saw that I was shocked. I got the glass award above and felt pretty awesome. There was one last award to be presented, The overall winner.

I got comfy in my seat and waited to find out who would get it. I saw the front of the award as it was being passed to the Committee Chairperson and noticed that the name kinda looks like mine. Yes, although I don't have perfect vision, I know the outline of my name. Guess who won the overall winner?

I am at the least honoured and at the most humbled. I have been writing poetry since I was about 13 and it is what comes naturally. It is one of the ways I express myself. No matter where I am in the world, as long as I have a blank piece of paper, I will draw and I will write a poem. It is in my DNA and it is alway a great thing to be recognized for it.

Thank you everyone associated with the Independence Literary Arts Competition 2011, from the Chairpersons to the Judges. This really means alot to me. Forgive me, I'm not usually this sappy but it is how I feel. Thanks again.

The Elixir of Madness

cantiknya

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may partake
In the innocuous of act
Of watching a fly
Drink from a cup of milk
‘Til it grew fat
And died.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may dress
In my finest garbs
And walk with much
Pomp and circumstance
Up and down
The High Streets and
Main Streets,
Greeting the populace
In a long dead language.

Dies boni amici.
Quomodo es?
Lorem tempestatem nos habere.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that it may blur
The edges of my existence.
Their sharpness cuts to the quick,
Leaving my ego butchered.
A mere carcass.
Lifeless.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may not
Hear the roar of
Silence, that threatens
To deafen me,
Piercing my eardrums
And leave my world
Soundless.

May I sip
The elixir of madness
So that I may fill
The space you left empty
With something that
Looks like you,
Sounds like you,
Feels like you,
Smells like you
And even tastes like you.

Alas,
It would never be you.

I loved you
And you loved me,
But the love lacked
Passion and desire,
So we unraveled
Ourselves from each other
And went our separate ways.

In your absence,
I yearn to drink
From this chalice
The elixir of madness
So that I may learn
To live without you.

This Is Not A Good Time

source

Ladies and gentlemen,
This moment in time
Is not great,
In fact,
It is awful.

Between wars and famine,
Revolutions and riots,
All taking place
In front of the backdrop
Of an economic downturn.

This, my friends,
Is not a good time.

The hemlines of
Our young women rise,
As the waistbands of
Our young men fall.

This, people,
Is not a good time.

I know it,
You know it,
We all know it,
And yet we are reminded
Over and over
By the media.

Through the television,
Via the radio,
In publications,
On the internet.
We are constantly being
Reminded of how
Bad our situation is.

Forcing us to relive this awful moment
Over and over,
Forcing us to wear the
Grey-coloured shades
Of misery.

Today,
In this moment,
I say enough.

Enough with reminding us
Of the problems,
The debates of what and where
It went wrong,
Looking for someone to blame,
The political puppet shows.
Enough.

Instead
Let us come together
And find a solution
To move forward,
To escape this place
Inhabited by
Fear, hatred,
Anger and uncertainty.

Let us move forward
To a place where
We all prosper,
Big and small,
Rich and not so rich.

A place where happiness is found
In occupation of mind and spirit,
In success from hard work,
In our connections
With each other.

I believe we all
Possess the God element.

The same thing that
Takes a grain of sand
And creates a pearl.

The same thing that
Creates a diamond
From a lump of coal.

We all possess it.
It can be found
In the smallest atom
And it can be found
In the largest galaxy.
We possess it.

The moment we were conceived
We had this little piece of God,
And as we grew,
We were taught to forget it,
But I ask you,
I beg you to remember
How great you are.

They say the world
Is to end in 2012,
I say let it end,
And from the ashes
We will make a newer one,
A better one,
A greater world.

Forward on,
Backward, never.

The Grey Goose

The grey goose
Flew across the sky
And I could care less.
My rifle sat at my feet,
And a cool breeze blew
Past me. It should have
Chilled me but I felt
Nothing.

I shot him,
Blood was everywhere,
His last breath was long gone,
He was long gone.
I stood my position,
Should I take him home?
Or should I put him
In the bayou?

He shouldn’t have been here,
This was my place,
My escape from life,
Our life,
The life of two gay men
Living in the deep south.

I shot my lover,
I shot my best friend,
I felt like it was
I who was dead,
I who ceased to be
And I did die
In the moment that bullet
Pierced his heart.

I can imagine
What they would say
If I took him home.
Across the headlines,
“Gay man shoots his lover.”
“Lover’s spat ends in death.”
The reality is
We were not arguing.

We were not even talking,
He was sneaking up on me
And I shot out
Thinking he was a gator.
He died and I died.

I died
As his body was swallowed
By the cool waters
Of the bayou.

I died
As I walked in after him
And let the waters take me
Home to my lover,
To my best friend.

I'm Back!!!!

It was quite tragic actually, I had a terrible case of writer's block which was a product of me focusing on a project I had just launched called Shaken-Not-Stirred.us. You may have noticed the addition to the side which is an etsy store which shows the product which are cocktail recipe cards the size of business cards.

You see a couple years ago, my sister and I visited our brother and we came across a book of sexy shot recipes. Thinking that we would like to try a particular one, we made it a point of ordering it whenever we went out. Unfortunately, only one place out of four had could make it and I think it was because we brought the book. Seriously, though, would you want to walk around with a book of cocktail recipes when you go out? Not fun, trust me.

In the end I made the cards, currently available through etsy are printables as well as laminated versions of the cards. Each set has 10 cards with an accompanying envelope. The series now available are Sexy Cocktails, Cocktails Based on Places, Frozen Cocktails and Pop Culture Cocktails. There is also a free printable you can download from the Shaken-Not-Stirred.us site. Definitely check it out.

There is still a lot of work to do in terms of promoting the business, but I am just happy I've gotten over the writer's block. I'm looking to post poems on the regular once more and I'm looking for a new challenge for Wednesday. Thanks for still following me despite my being missing in action and look forward to some more great poetry.

My Father's Father

My father's father
Was a hard worker,
Coaxing vegetables and fruits
From the dry earth.

My father's father
Was a hustler,
From the plantation
To his farm,
To his truck,
To his taxi,
He hustled.

My father's father
Was not a good man,
Nor was he a bad man,
He existed in that gray area
Where all flawed men reside.

My father's father
Did not know his father
And still he grew into a man
Under the eyes of his male kin,
Under the eyes of God.

My father's father
Was not an educated man,
He was an intelligent man.
A man who was taught
By the greatest teacher
That ever was.
He was taught by life.

My father's father
Lived the life he wanted,
Never kowtowing to
The oppinions of others.
A self made man, he was.

My father's father
Lived and loved,
He worked hard
And hustled harder.
He spoke proudly of
His accomplishments
And those of his children.
And when he had wrung
All he could out of his life,
He slipped away into death's arms.

My father's father
Now rests in peace
With my father's mother.

I Love You, Too

I was awaken
By his breath
Against the back of my neck.

From a distance,
I heard the words,
"I love you."

The vibrations
Ran up and down my spine
Setting off synopsis.

My mind was set on fire,
My heart ran away from me,
My body desired him.

It was not the words,
"I love you,"
That garnered these reactions,
But their vibrations.

The vibrations spoke of
His intentions,
His state of mind,
His truth,
His reality.

They were not
Paper thin words uttered
Into the atmosphere
With hopes that I would hear them
And not put meaning to them.

They were not uttered
As he reached forward and
Grasped his big O, or
Released as a reply
To my declaration of love.

His words,
His vibrations
Were whispered
In the dead of night
When slumber and I were one.

I turned to reach for him,
To tell him that I loved him,
To show him that I loved him
But he was not there.
Then I remembered.

I remembered that
He had died.
He had died a year ago.
So I whispered,
"I love you, too."

Story

I am suffering from a bout of writer's block, and no matter how many times I start to write a poem, it just doesn't flow. So instead of letting the blog go without any posts, I've decided to post a story I had started some months back. It doesn't have a title and it's a work in progress. Show some love by commenting and be on the look out for some long overdue revamping of Little Red Hoodie. Once again, thanks for the support through your following this blog. Hope you like the story.

It was the start of a new semester at Oakland Community College and Martine Carter was on her way to her first class of the new academic year. As a junior professor in the Foreign Language Department, she had the “pleasure” of teaching college students her native tongue, French. Hopefully, this class of students will be as interested in the language as her last class.

Upon entering Room 305, she put on a bright smile and surveyed the room. As expected, there were the jocks taking the mandatory Humanity course. There were the hopeful romantics who were taking the course because the language is supposed to be the language of love. There were also the “regular” students, probably taking the course so they can speak the language when they travel around Europe during the next summer break.

Only one student stuck out to Martine, a young man with a light complexion, but it was his features that caught her attention. They were so familiar, but she never saw this individual before. “Why did he look so familiar,” she asked herself.

Spinning

weheartit

 Spinning
Around and
Around and
Around
Until the center
Of my mind
Opened up
And swallowed
The world.

I fell in that moment,
Grazing my knees,
Biting my tongue,
Bruising my ego
Even though no one
Was watching.

I rose
To stand on
Unsteady legs,
Refusing to let gravity
Keep me down.
I'm a fighter
When it comes to that.

I touch my face,
My forehead,
Trying to determine
If I had successfully
Swallowed the world,
But all I could feel
Was the coolness of my brow.

I looked up to the sky,
Seeking out the moon.
I whispered to the man
In that moon,
"Will you forgive me
If I don't swallow the world,
If I am but another person
Walking on the Earth?"

In my thoughts
He replied,
"Will you forgive yourself
If you don't swallow the world,
If you remain a regular person?"

On unsteady legs,
I spin
Around and
Around and
Around
Until one day
I swallowed the world.

He Sat At The Bar

weheartit

He sat at the bar,
She had just left
To use the restroom,
And he pondered
His situation.

Yes,
She was beautiful,
Curves in the right places,
Weave perfectly done,
Not a track in sight,
Outfit exhibiting all
That God had blessed her with,
But.....

But she spent more time
In the hairdresser's chair
Than she spent in bookstores.
Philosophical conversations
Left him confused and
He was a philosophy major.

Yes,
She was pretty,
But she was like
A beautiful vase,
Pretty on the outside,
Empty on the inside.

He sat at the bar,
Trying to put words together
Kind enough
Not to damage her ego,
Strong enough
To let her know
That they were over.

Words pulled him
From his thoughts,
They came from somewhere
Behind him,
They were a mix of
Male and female,
Peppered with a rhetoric
His mind hungered for.

Slowly, he turned around,
Searching the bar
For a couple
In deep conversation.
They sat two yards away,
Two book ends,
Brother and sister.

He sipped his whiskey,
Pretending to be taking in
The whole bar scene,
But he was really
Fixated on her,
Fixated on the dialogue.

She was no stunner
By society's standards,
But the more she spoke,
The more he was enamored.
She glance his way
And smiled, not knowing
That in that gesture
She stole his heart.

Just as he was about
To stand,
To join them,
To introduce himself,
To join this battle of words,
His woman appeared.

She whispered naughty things,
Delicious, seductive things,
Things that would have made
Him forget himself.

Not this time,
Or any time in the future.
He spread out the
Roughly sewn patchwork
Of words he had planned to tell her,
Then he bid her goodbye,
Slipping out of her grasp.

He didn't join
The brother and sister,
He just walked out of the bar.
He was not that kind of guy,
The kind that would
Break up with one woman
And pursue another
In the space of five minutes.

It was two weeks later
When he saw the sister again,
This time, he joined her,
This time, he introduced himself,
This time, he planned to be with
A woman that stimulated him
Mind, body and soul.

A Little Break

Of late I have been running on empty and yet juggling so many things. I'm going to take a little break to recharge, doing a little hibernation. While I'm gone, feel free to check out my past poems, the stories at the top or give my second blog a gander. You can also check out my tumblr which is pretty much dedicated to things that inspire me.

The idea is to come back stronger, wiser and with more awesome poems and stories. Thanks for following and I'll be back in two shakes of a cheetah's tale.

XOXO

Signs

source

The sky had no clouds,
A pristine blue dome
Was created for my wedding day.
Every thing was perfect,
My dress,
My schedule,
My wedding party,
My fiance.
But before I walked down
That aisle, before I say
My vows to the man
I love, I want to see the world
With the eyes of a single woman.

Out I walked into the open space
Between the two buildings.
At the other end of the space
Was where the wedding was
To take place.

I looked up,
Looking for a sign,
Any sign and more than one came.

The wind blew from behind me
Pushing me to that space,
The geometric shapes on the buildings
Pointed to that space,
And when I closed my eyes
A quiet voice said
"Walk boldly into your destiny."

I was filled with
A sense of completion,
Of surety and without
Hesitation, I returned to
My wedding party and
Prepared to walk down
The aisle.

In less than an hour
I was united for life
To the one man
I loved completely
And I knew the universe
Was happy with the union.

Dream

source

They slept,
Nikki and Daemon
Tucked away in their
Respective dream worlds.

I wondered if Nikki
Was dreaming about
Dolls and friends
Or of boys who
Caught her eye
Under their hooded eyes.

I wondered if Daemon
Dreamt of action figures
And karate class
Or he wished he was out
Fishing with Grandpa James
Instead of taking part
In Aunt Joan's wedding.

I watched my babies sleep,
The wedding is to start in
An hours time, but I'll let
Them sleep another
Half an hour, I'll let
My babies dream.

Spoken Words

More from Def Poetry Jam

Gemineye

This is such a beautiful piece. Hope you like.

The Interrogation

Huzfan

He held my face,

Puckering his lips

And instead of a loving kiss,

He blew cigar smoke

Into my face.

I tried to pull away,

Tried to not breathe in

The acrid air tinged

With his breath,

But he held my face still.

Tears rolled down my cheeks,

They came on their own,

A result of my physical pain,

Not my emotional pain.

He smirked.

A yellow smile

Blossomed across the lower half

Of his wrinkled face.

If you didn’t look closely

You would not have noticed

His gold tooth.

I spat in his face,

My phlegm washed

His smile away.

His back slap

Wiped mine away.

He had grown tired

Of our little game.

I was not giving him

The information he wanted.

He turned to retrieve his whip.

My hands remained bound,

But I was free of the chair,

Free of his watchful eyes.

I tucked my legs in

And swung my arms forward.

Seeing my new freedom,

He released his hip,

I dodged it and grabbed it,

Yanking it and pulling him to me.

With two deft movements,

I had the whip around his neck,

Twisting it until

His body stopped thrashing.

I freed my wrists

With his pocket knife.

I collected the money

On the bedside table,

Five Hundred Dollars.

As he slept on the floor

Of the motel room,

I let myself out.

Another pervert satisfied.

I should be more careful,

I nearly killed him that time.

River Goddess



source



Cigarette butts

Lay in the gutter,

The world took on

A grey cast,

As though all life

Had been drained,

Leaving behind

The hard edges of things

Man made.

I didn’t care,

All that mattered

Was that this was

My day,

My wedding day.

On this day,

I was a river goddess

Who lived among

The rapids. My dress

Reflected this.

My body was embraced

By a frothy lace

That gave way to a flowing

Skirt that spilled between

My fingers where I grabbed it.

No,

I was not going to be

A princess,

A queen,

A supermodel,

Or some uber feminine mystique

Associated with brides.

I chose to be

A river goddess.

And today, I will marry

The one man I can refer to

As my rock.

The one who stands by me,

Strong and resolute.

I know in time,

I will wear him down,

But in that time,

He will have calmed me down.

So the world can be

Stark and ugly,

With cigarette butts

And cracked walls,

But today this river goddess

Marries her rock.

Grow Up

Why don't you grow up,
Old man sitting across from me
Says, spit spraying at me
Like a faulty sprinkler.

The wrinkles in his face
Casting sharper shadows
As his mouth contorts
To rigid bow ready to
Fire endless arrows into my ego.

Grow up?
Did I want to do that?
Did I want to don pretty little dressess
And speak of the weather and
The state affairs of the Euro
Against the US dollar, while
Thinking up new and intriguing ways
I can impress instead of Express.

Express myself,
My spirit,
My soul,
My dreams,
Express me.

Would I,
Could I like the grown up
Version of me?
Would the responsibilities of
Living, functioning, pursuing
My dreams with endless tenacity
Rob me of my creativity,
Rob me of my joie de vivre
And leave me a brittle shell
Of a human being like
This old man sitting across from me.

I roll my eyes,
Move my pawn,
Check his mate, and
Win the game.

Why should I grow up
If I can still win the game.

Falling

His words dropped heavy
From his lips,
Golden anvils
Smashing through
The glass planes of
My consciousness,
My beliefs,
My existence.

My existence?
What is that?
What am I?
Who am I?
Do I even know?
Do I even care?

I'm left bottomless,
Falling through the abyss,
Reaching out for something,
Anything, and somehow
I knew there was nothing
To stop my decent into....
Into.......

Somehow,
I was a soul
Without a purpose
And until I found that
I would fall.

I am so tired of
Falling.

I Love Them Both

source

I love them both.

Their curves captivated me,
I would trace my fingers
Over them, enraptured
By how different they were.

She was soft and yielding,
I would hold her in my arms,
Squeezing never crushing.
She would whisper in my ear
Words that tickled my senses,
Touched my soul.

It was hard and unrelenting,
Each part designed to perfection.
Through city streets, country lanes
And never ending highways
It would take me.
Instead of whispers, it roars,
A primal roar that urge me on
To live on the edge of my
Existence.

She never asked me
To let it go, and
It can never ask me
To let her go, and
Together we live in
A comfortable arrangement.
Man, woman, car.

I love them both.

Thank You For Listening

source

Dear God,
It's me,
I hope you can hear me
Through all the cries
Of sorrow,
Of pain,
Of anger,
Of quiet desperation.

Can you hear me,
God,
I just want to take
A moment,
This one scrap of time
And thank you.

Thank you for my life,
Although at times,
It felt so hard,
So pointless,
So full of tribulations,
But somewhere in there,
I've felt love, joy, peace
And, once and a while,
Happiness.

Thank you for my family,
My friends, my co-workers,
Even my enemies,
Without them
I would not remember
How special I am
And through our encounters,
We all grow to be better people.

God,
Are you still listening?

Thank you for my husband,
For bringing him into my life
At the right time.
A time when we were both ready
To love and cherish each other.
In him I have a best friend,
A trusted confidant,
A lover and a partner in crime.

God,
I know you're busy
Looking after this and that,
But I thought you would
Like to hear a genuine
"Thank You".
Let it be a flicker of light
In the darkness of
Humanity's sorrow.

And one more thing,
God,
Thank you for listening.

Hiya!!

Just saying hi to all the followers and to thank you for following. I also want to give you all the heads up that I might not be posting as many poems as usual although I really want to stick to what I have been doing so far which is pretty good. Truth be told, the economic downturn has really hit my regular job hard and I'm going to be working extra hard to keep us going until we see a positive change globally. I'm sure as you can see that change is not coming soon.

Oh and one more thing, I've just started writing a story and it is starting look like a novel sized story. The concept just developed over the course of a couple days and like Little Red Hoodie above, I felt compelled to write. The thing is I'm not used to writing such a long story, in fact I'm not used to writing beyond verses, but this feels natural. I'm not sure if I'm going to be posting parts of it as posts as I write it or if I'm going to make it available as an eBook. I should be able to tell you for sure by the end of the year.

Anyway, thanks again for following and let me give a shout out to ReaderWriter, what you are doing is awesome and it's programs like yours that give people a voice and you should be commended. People might think the arts is for rich people or cultured people, and when I say arts I mean from visual to performance to literary, but I see it as a form of expressing oneself, a reflection of the human soul. It is through these forms we see individuals in their true lights. And it's great that you give women a chance to express themselves, their true selves.

I'm sorry if I'm rambling.

XOXO

On Every Face



source

 On every face,
A smile.

What better way
To start a new chapter,
A new life than to be
Surrounded by the
Smiling faces of those
We love, we respect,
We hold dearly.

On every face,
A smile.

It's My Thing

vi.sualize.us

Years ago,
I would enter a room
And a corner would
Beckon me.

Once situated,
I would put
Pen to paper,
Paper to pen
And let it flow.

And like a flood heavy
River, my thoughts,
My words would erupt
Onto the pages,
Leaving them soaked.

Soaked with ideas
And concepts
That had no rhyme
Nor reason in my head,
On my tongue,
But on paper,
They would make sense.

In time,
These words stretched
And pulled from the confines
Of verses and stanzas
And morphed into paragraphs
That told stories
That wanted to be known,
To be told,
To be heard,
To be read.

I’ve been doing this
For years, never claiming it
As my own,
As what I do,
As what I am,
But now I own it.

I own the right
To say that
I am a poet,
That I a writer,
It is what I do,
It’s my thing.

I Found Peace

vi.sualize.us

Daniel laughed out loud,
And usually it would thrill me,
But in this moment,
It only chilled me.

The gasoline had leaked
From the can
Creating a river of death
That pooled before me,
Becoming a lake tinged with
My fear.

His eyes were wild,
His movements, too quick,
His hatred shone and flickered
Around him as though it lived
In his atmosphere.

Those fingers used to intertwine
With mine, those hands
Used to stroke my cheeks,
But now they struck a match.

Now they tossed the match
Into the river of death.
Flames caught, leaping and
Jumping, following the river
To where I sit bound.

And in one breath,
The flames began to consume me,
But I refused to look away
From my former lover’s face.

As my skin melted,
As the smoke filled my lungs,
I stared at him,
I stared at my killer.

I died,
And in that death,
I cursed him.

I cursed him with
The darkest of magic,
A magic fed by
My rage.

It was that magic
That kept me alive
After my body had died.
And it was that magic
That helped me kill
Daniel.

And it was in his death,
I found peace in
My own death.