My First Story!!

A couple nights ago, as I was falling asleep, I started to weave a story in my head. Unfortunately that night I barely got any sleep, because I was fleshing out the story. It's a contemporary, Antiguan version of Little Red Riding Hood and you can check it out up there by the pages. This is my first try at storytelling, but it was a story that insisted on being written. Remember I barely got sleep because of it.

Actually, this is my second time, on Christmas day, my mom told the family that there will be no tv, no internet on Christmas day. While we were waiting to open the gifts in the living room, I started to tell my siblings a funny, Caribbean version of the Three Little Pigs. They were laughing up a storm.

Please keep in mind, I'm a poet and this is my first time putting something like this, so be gentle.

It's Time

It's time.

The two times before
Were tests
To see if she could
Identify the moment
When she should leave.

It's time.

The words
Buzzed in her head
Over and over
As she tucked the last items
In the bag she had prepard.
A bag similar to the one
An expectant mother would have ready,
But she would never
Need that particular bag,
He made sure of that.

It's time.

It was 10am,
He had been gone
The better part of three hours.
The longest three hours of her life.
She waited patiently,
Just in case he came home
For some forgotten tool or document.

It's time.

She slipped out the back door
And scaled two neighbours' fences
Before entering the street.
With her hat pulled down low
She made her way to the bus station.
It was time to leave town.

It's time.

She bought a ticket to California,
Los Angeles to be specific.
She would become a lost angel
In the city of angels.

It's time.

As she waited for the bus,
She heard a car shrieking
To a stop outside.
She shrank into her seat,
But it was for nought,
As cruel hands
Pulled her from her seat.

It's time.

First came a slap,
Then another,
And by the time the ticket agent
Came out to pull him away from her
He was punching her.

It's time.

He shrugged off the agent
And ran to her,
But by that time
She had pulled out
Her grandpappy's Smith & Wesson,
And with shaking hands
She lodged a bullet
In his heart.

It's time.

The gun was a present
From her momma,
And from the day she got it
She practiced on old toys
Behind the abandoned toy factory.
She practice until it was time.
Today, the time came
And it tuly was time.

It's time
For her abusive husband to die.

The Truth Was Spoken

I would sit
In the shadow of the grand mango tree,
Listening to the wind
As it rustled the long grass.

I would close my eyes,
And inhale the cool air,
Smelling hints of the freshly cut grass
Of the neighbour's lawn.

With one exhale,
I released my soul,
Letting it explode out of my body
And rocket into the sky.

Up and up, I went,
Passing clouds and birds
And the odd plane
Until I burst through the atmosphere.

The sunlight soaked into my soul
As I extended my wings,
Wings, the colour of rooster feathers,
Black reflecting a hidden green.

It is here,
I find my solace,
Here I find my peace,
Perched on top of the world,
An escapee from my world.

It is here,
I drink in mightly
Truths as old as time,
Truths painted on a large canvas,
A canvas, I spent most my life
Standing too close to.

The truths,
Whispered in my ears
In babies' murmurs and coos,
In the crash of waves,
In the idle laughter of friends.

And as I wrap my wings around me,
Letting gravity pull me home,
I hear the last truth to be told.

"God is within you,
Seek it out,
And it shall guide you
To your destiny,
To your purpose,
To your happiness."

The truth was spoken.

She Had Settled

vi.sualize.us


She settled,

Like sediment on a river bed.

The urgency to reach the end,

To find the one

Who would make her laugh,

Who would make her cry

If ever he left,

Who would make her whole,

The urgency was gone,

So she settled.

She settled for a man

For whom she cared little.

His only winning quality

Was the fact that he was a man,

So she said yes

To the ring he presented;

She lay there as he made love to her,

She bore his children,

All little versions of him,

The man she settled for.

As time passed,

She found reasons to love the man.

The way he provided for their family,

The way his eyes were always filled with love,

The way he loved their children.

As time passed,

She become accustomed

To the life they lived,

The routines they developed,

The habits they adopted.

And then the day came,

When she met the one

Who made her laugh,

Who made her whole,

But by this time

She was too settled.

She was buried in the sediment

Of her existence.

She had settled.

Black Love

angel flores jr

A scream ripped through the silence
In a little village
Illuminated by a full moon.
He sat outside
Of the hut
He built with his own hands
As she gave birth
To their first child.
His back, straight,
His skin, black
As the sky above him,
His love for her
Growing as her screams
Broke the silence.

A hundred and fifty years later,
He lay in the belly of a grand vessel.
Beside him she lay.
He had met her two suns ago,
Or what he thought was two suns ago.
And yet, she was as familiar as
The sun rising over the forest,
His mothers hand on his brow.
Something he couldn't describe
Brought them together,
But will it keep them together.

A hundred years later,
Once again he sat outside his home.
Around him slept children,
Some dark,
Some the colour of sand,
All he claimed as his own.
A husky grunt escaped the shack,
Massa Johnson had come a-visiting.
Tonight, Massa claimed her body,
But he owned something more valuable,
He owned her heart.

A hundred years had passed,
And still he toiled in the fields.
He was a free man,
But he still needed to provide for his family,
So he slaved in the fields,
But don't you dare call him a slave.
At the end of the day,
He made his way home
To her home cooking,
To their children,
To her open arms.

As he say in the amphitheater
With a white man on his left
And she sat on is right,
He watched as his son
Accepted the piece of paper
From a tall black man.
She slipped her hand into his
And he squeezed it,
Refusing to let the tears
Fall from his eyes.
They did good,
They did damn good by that boy.

You see,
Hundreds of years have passed,
Things change for the good
And for the bad,
But one thing remained an anchor
For a people
Who have gone through so much.
One thing was the glue
That kept them together,
Even though everything tried to pull them apart.

Love,
Black love has survived
The test of time,
The test of pain,
The test of hatred.
Let us not let it disappear
Under the myths of infidelity,
Under the lack of self love,
Under the superficial things
We use as excuses.

Let black love reign,
Let love reign.

Great Week

Wooohoooo!!!

50 Followers!!!!!!!

This is extremely awesome for me because most of my followers are not people I know. This means that people follow this blog are genuinely interested in it. It doesn't hurt that today is my birthday so this is a great birthday gift. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for following!!!!!

In other news, the week that just passed was great in terms of poetry. I attended two poetry nights. Expressions: Poetry in the Pub was on Tuesday and Best of Books Wadadli Pen Open Mic was on Saturday. Both nights were awesome, there was a great crowd, the poets were diverse, entertaining and thought provoking. Also there is something to be said about the great energy that flows in these places, honestly, it feels like home. Also, by participating in these events make me a stronger public speaker. I took public speaking as a class in college and there is this great feeling when I have an audience and I have a strong handle on the speech I have to give. Hopefully in the next year or two I will take part in an open mic in NYC.

Also, while getting the links for the poetry nights, I came across a little write up on the Wadadli Pen site where I was listed as an Antigua Author on the Web. Happy Birthday to me!! The blurb is as follows:

http://kimolisa.blogspot.com – This young Antiguan poet has been a hit at August Rush’s Expressions, Wadadli Pen’s Open Mic, and other venues. She definitely rates a read; check her out and I’m sure you’ll agree.

 On a whole, it's been a good week in poetry for me. It really gives me the push to finish my book of poetry. Just a matter of time. Have a great week.

Everytime

source

Everytime,
I run from you,
I end up running into you.
Before long,
I come to realise that
I am you and
You are me.

Pain

vi.sualize.us

The pain came
On a day
That could be described
As any other day,
But the pain
Changed that description
And did the same
For the subsequent days.

It laid into me
Like ocean waves,
Rising and falling
In it's intensity,
Slowly clawing away at
My sanity,
My clarity,
My attention
Like sand on the shore.

I did everything
I could think of
To cure the cause
Of the pain,
But it all felt
Like relief was
A distant cousin
Who was to come a visiting,
But kept on delaying.

I knew,
That in time,
The pain would be gone,
That it would be
An unpleasant memory
An a well learned lesson.

My world
Became the pain,
And the pain,
My world.

Every experience,
Every encounter
Was coloured by
The pain.

And even though
I bit down on
The sharp retort of disdain,
But I could not lessen
The sharpness in my voice.

My sole purpose
Was to lessen the pain,
To exist with
That lessened pain
Until the day comes
When the pain
Ceases to exist.

God Almighty,
Release me from this
Pain.

The Older I Get

Face Up To Reality

The older I get,
The more I realize
That life is not
What I thought it was.

As the years pass
I realize that
No, my parents
Didn't have all the answers.
No, the don't know
How to equally divide
An atom to result
In an inconceivable amount of energy
But they were wise
In their own way.

As I grew
To the point
Where I stopped growing,
And I’m suspecting
That I’m shrinking,
I realized that
Half the stuff
I learned in school
Has been long forgotten,
Like how to solve
A differential equation.

As my days,
Filled with adult responsibilities
Tick away,
I question why,
Why, oh, why
Was I in such a hurry
To be an adult.

Bills,
Licenses,
Insurance,
Loans,
Mortgages
And the constant pursuit
Of the life giving dollar.

The older I get,
The more I learn
The rules of engagement.
The rules, I must follow,
The rules, I’m free to break.

The older I get,
The more I learn
That all the answers
To all my questions
Are within,
They are just waiting for
Me to ask those questions.

The older I get,
The more I learn
That happiness is a choice
And can not be found
In the latest gadget
But in the simple act
Of loving.

Loving your neighbour,
Loving your family,
Loving your friends,
Loving your haters,
And most important,
Loving yourself.

The older I get,
The more I learn
To love.

They Knew Differently

Alice's blog on My Modern Met

Tony struck a match 

And lit his cigarette.

"I'll quit next week."

He's been saying that

For the last month,

It was his New Year's resolution.

We were waiting

Outside another dive town

For our contact.

I felt bad

For the people who lived here,

I even felt bad for the animals.

It used to be a prosperous place

But things changed when

The large factory closed down.

Jobs were lost.

Those who could leave, left,

Those who couldn't,

Just withered away into the desert.

It wasn't all bad,

A little niche industry

Blossomed in the barren land,

But instead of a flower,

A poisonous mushroomed grew.

That's why we were here,

To negotiate a shipment

Of a new drug.

It was such a new drug

That it didn't even have a name,

But we were able to sniff out

The manufacturer.

Just as I was looking at my watch

For the umpteenth time,

I noticed a reedy guy

Making his way in our direction.

At first glance,

He looked like another 

Pock marked teenager

But he was wearing the jacket

The contact was supposed to be wearing.

"Jimmy. Tony.

How may I be of service?"

That's all we needed.

Before the smirk

Could reach his eyes,

Tony had knocked him out

And I had him in the trunk

Of our rented car.

In less than an hour,

We were deep in the desert

And had started digging.

Six feet was standard,

But we dug deeper,

And when we were satisfied,

We climbed out.

With a Glock aimed at his head,

The contact had no choice 

But to jump into the hole.

It was only 

As we were throwing dirt in

That we formally introduced

Ourselves to the contact.

My name is James Withfield,

Father of Elizabeth Withfield,

Lizzie, to those who knew her.

My accomplice is Anthony Copper,

Father of Luke Cooper,

Lizzie's boyfriend.

The kids would have been here

For our little party,

But they were dead,

Overdosed on a nameless drug.

By morning,

The contact was buried,

The rented car was aflame

And we were on our way east.

East was home

And home was where our families

Were still mourning the deaths 

Of Lizzie and Luke.

In their minds,

They knew Tony and I were

On a road trip to grieve in our own way,

But in their hearts,

They knew differently.

Mud

Pascagoula River Basin Alliance


James hung his head down,
Taking in the mud
Stuck to the bottom
Of his shoes.

Mud.

It had rained
The night before
When he had to dispose
Of the body.

Mud.

It was not as though
Anyone would notice
That Old Otis was missing
But....

Mud.

James still walked in circles,
Going to and coming from
Otis' final resting place.
No one should make a connection.

Mud.

He changed
The way he walked,
The shoes would be tossed
Into the bayou,
Into the....

Mud.

But in this moment,
James hung his head down
And said a little prayer
For Old Otis,
The man who robbed him
Of his innocence.

Mud.

A prayer
Thanking God for giving him
The strength to stop Otis
From touching another young boy.

Mud.

A prayer
That Otis goes straight to hell
And in some way he would
Get into heaven.

Mud.

In this moment,
James said a prayer
For the old man
He called grandfather
And from now on
Be know to him as
Old man Otis.