I Want Love

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I want....
Love.

I want that Disney Love.
The one when you look
At that special person
And you just know.
It might be instaneous
Or it creeps up on you.
In either case,
You end up just knowing
That the person in front of you

Is the real deal.

I want

Love.

I want that rom com love,

That first love,

That getting to know you love,

Where we are sharing

Our minds,

Our philosophies,

Our spirits,

Our souls

And eventually,

Our bodies.

I want love.

I want that hot, sticky love.

That transition from mental

To physical, but this time

It’s special because we know,

We know that my spot is

The spot on my neck

Below my ear and his spot

Is a secret I’m never giving away.

In this love,

We know to take our time,

And to make sure we both

Are left satisfied.

I want love.

I want that steady love,

That strong love

Where I know his shoulder

Is there to rest my weary head.

And through my hands,

Through my words

I will give him strength

Reserved for the deserving,

Reserved for him.

I want love.

I want that crazy, stupid love

That has me saying things

I never thought I would say,

Like “I love you.”

“I want to see

What our kids will look like.”

“I want to spend forever

With you.”

And the crazy thing is

I would mean it.

I want love.

I want that dynamic love

Where we would argue,

Would hurt each other’s feelings,

Each other’s pride,

Rip into each other’s beliefs.

But despite all of that

We could not imagine living

Without each other.

I want a love.

I want a tireless love

That has no expiration date.

An endless love

That is air for my lungs,

Food for my body,

Thought for my mind.

I would need this love

To survive,

But when it goes,

Yes I will cry,

But I will be comforted

That I knew this love,

And that love was real.

I want love.

I want a love to love.

I want a love

That wants to love

And be loved

By me.

I want

Love.

Drink, Drunk

My Modern Met

Drink
Drink
Drunk
Drunk

Delilah in my arm,
The acrid smell of
Alcohol,
Perfume and
The unmistakable scent of
Body Odor.

All that was missing,
Was the sharp,
Undeniable, so familiar
Scent of cigarette smoke.
The cacaphony of
Filtered,
Unfiltered,
Clove scented,
Havana blended
Smoke.

All of that was shipped
Out of bars,
Left to sit on the curb
Like rotting garbage,
But that did not stop
The few,
The committed,
The addicted,
To perch on said curb,
Like vultures as they inhale
Smoke.

They shipped it out
On the grounds of
The general health of
The patrons,
Those who smoked,
And those who didn't,
But still we find a way
To kill ourselves.

With each glass,
We drink,
Drink,
And get drunk,
Drunk.

Drink
Drink
Drunk
Drunk.

Dear Lover

I have to let you know that this poem is a little on the hot side so you would have to click the whole thing after the jump.

vi.sualize.us

Dear Lover,

A Conversation

A conversation began
Between an old woman
In a black dress
And a young woman
Trying to impress.

The old woman
Pondered the identity
Of this woman
Who stood beyond
Her doorway.

"Are you Raoul's wife?
Snr. Hernandez's girlfriend?
Or the wife of
The missionary who claims
He is here to bring
My girls closer to God?"

"Oh, no, Senora,
No," the woman replied
With a tone of
Respect the old woman
Had grown accustomed to
Hearing from the girls
Who lived in her grand house.

"I am here to
Ask for a job,
To be one of your
Girls," she continued.

"Why?" asked the old woman.
Why would such
A beautiful woman
Want to work
For me? thought
The old woman.

"Love.
I want to be loved,
I want to give love,
I want to make love,"
Stated the young woman.

At this,
The old woman laughed.
It was a long time
Since she had laughed
So fully,
So heartily,
That she savoured
Each Ho,
Each Ha.

"You will never find
Love here," the old woman said
After the laughter had ceased.

"Raoul does not love Gina,
The woman he visits
Every Wednesday at noon.
He loves the softness
Of her flesh,
The tightness of her hold."

"Juan does not love Maria,
He loves the way her
Expansive bosom
Swings like a pendulum
In time with his pace."

"The new Pastor does not love Juanita,
He loves the way her mouth
Gives him pleasure,
The pleasure he would
Never get from his
Good Christian wife."

"No, my dear woman,
Love has never been here.
These men do not love
My girls.
They just come here
To find a release,
Then they go home
To their women.
It is at their homes,
You will find their
Love."

With that said,
The old woman sent
The young woman on her way.
Another woman saved
From this unsavoury profession
That equated a woman
To a squirt of lotion
In a man's hand.
An ends to a means.

She hopped that
With each woman
She turned away,
She would be one
Step closer to getting
Into heaven.

She watched the young
Woman walk down the road,
And it was only
When she could no longer
See her that the old woman
Went back into the grand house
To tally the young pastors bill.

That Is So Rich

My Modern Met

Waiting.

She was supposed
To be here an hour ago.

I thought about leaving,
What?
5, 6 or 7 times
In that hour.

Waiting.

It's not as though
I needed her, in fact,
She asked for my help.

My help to get away,
To run away
From her husband,
Her kids,
Her little house with picket fence
In a nice neighbourhood.

That was the problem.

Here was a woman
Who had the perfect life,
The good life and she wanted
To leave it all behind.

I guess some people
Can't help being bad.
She's so good at being bad.

Well,
She better be here
By the time I finish this
Cigarette, or I will be
Making the long drive
To Chicago and she'll be
Stuck in Squaresville.

That would be funny, though.

Her punishment for being bad
Is to be surrounded by good.
That is rich.
That is so rich.

Fooling Around

Back in the day,
Everybody was fooling around
With everybody.

Janice was fooling around with Paul,
Paul was fooling around with Amanda,
Amanda was fooling around with Joseph
Who swore that
He only fooled around with Angela.
And everybody knew
Angela was only fooling around
With Joseph.
Angela was a good
Christian girl.

As for me,
I was fooling around with Leroy,
And I knew for a fact
That he wasn’t fooling around
With anyone else,
He barely wanted to fool around
With me.

We would be walking in town,
And a beautiful woman
Would be walking our way.
By beautiful,
I mean pretty face,
A body that would
Put a coke bottle to shame
And cute feet.
My man, Leroy,
Would walk right by,
As though he hadn’t seen her.

So here I was.
Thinking I was something
Special, having a man
Who wasn’t fooling around
With Janice, Amanda or Diane.
A man that was content
With just fooling around with me.

That all came to an end
When I found out
That my man, Leroy,
Was fooling around.
He was fooling around with
Peter, Luther, John,
Paul and Pastor Simon.
I felt no way, really,
Because I was fooling around with
Malcolm.

Yes sir, back in the day,
Everybody was fooling around
With everybody,
Even those who you thought
Weren’t fooling around with anybody,
They were fooling around with
Somebody.

Well, with the exception of Angela,
She was only fooling around with Joseph,
She was a good Christian girl.

New Story

If you look at the pages bar you will notice there is a new page. It's a short story was inspired by a chicken at my dad's farm. It was one of those stories that grew in my mind and insisted that it be written and then shared. I hope you like it and don't worry I see myself more as a poet than a writer, so there will be more poems.

Dreams Worth Dreaming

When I was
But a child,
With lanky legs
And rebellious hair,
I used to dream.

I used to dream
Of Bengal tigers
That roared fiercely
And liked strawberry ice cream.

I used to dream
Of going out to sea
And leaving all my troubles
On land.

I used to dream
Of swimming
In far off oceans,
Catching fish with nothing
But a knife
And my quick thinking.

I used to dream
Large, fantastic dreams
That were bigger than life,
But smaller than
The universe.

I don’t dream
Those dreams anymore.
Instead I dream
Of work and bills,
Of deadlines and responsibilities.

The dreams of my childhood
Have faded away.

Set a drift
In an unknown body of water,
In an unknown body of consciousness
Are my dreams of
Bengal tigers,
Boat trips,
And being a bare hand fisherman.

Hopefully,
One day,
They will return
And I will once more
Dream of
Dreams worth dreaming.

The Challenge Rebooted

Earlier this year, I had started a challenge where I would write poems based on a series of pictures. Unfortunately, I got a bit stuck on one pic and I'll be honest this one just wasn't coming. This is the pic:

Anyway I am going to beat this challenge!! As usual a new poem every Wednesday based on the pictures mentioned in the challenge. Wish me luck,

My Body

vi.sualize.us


My body
Was made to dance.
This is a fact,
Not a truth
That could be manipulated
Like a piece of rope
Being made into a knot.

My body
Was made to sway
And flow,
To dip low
And reach high
To the rhythms
Of the universe.

The rhythms
Of a beating heart,
Of wings beating the air,
Of the crashing waves,
Of everything
I am fortunate to hear
And translate into motion.

Oh no,
I am not a trained dancer,
Who practices and practices
To get the technique,
Develop the form,
And in the end,
Add the passion,
If it wasn’t there before.

I won’t be found
On stages dancing
To Mozart, Miles or Eminem,
Nor will I be found
On dance floors
With a number on
My oh so erect back.

I will be found
On crowded dance floors,
In my bedroom,
In my living room,
Under the moonlight,
On beaches,
Letting the rhythms of the universe
Possess me.

You would find me
Dancing,
Be it to a sassy salsa beat,
A fun Bollywood tune,
A little soca,
Some reggae,
Or a soulful piece of jazz.

Be it to a rhumba,
A fast pace techno,
An irresistible house jam,
A fusion of west meets east,
A pop tune I can’t
Get out of my head,
You would find me
Dancing.

And even though,
My mind says no,
“You’ll make a fool of yourself,”
“You don’t know how to dance to that,”
My body ignores it,
And taps a foot,
Sways a hip,
And before long,
My body is in motion.

My body
Was made to dance.
This is a fact,
Not a truth.

In Happyness

vi.sualize.us

Let me fall
Into a bed
Created by fallen
Cherry blossoms,
And there I shall dwell
In happyness.