Him

"I said goodbye to him,"
She said softly,
Her head resting
On my chest,
Her body ever so close
To mine.

Him,
Him was a faceless,
Nameless spectre
That lived on the edge
Of our marriage,
That I only discovered
By chance, haunting
My wife's existence.

When I found out
About him,
I should have left,
I should have fought
With the fervour of
A man who's pride
Had been challenged,
Instead.

Instead, I talked to her,
I asked why
Till the word came automatically,
Till it was tattooed
Into her mind.

Why did she have an affair?
Why did she put our marriage in danger?
Why hurt me?
Why him?
Why now?
Why?

Tears streamed down her face
As answers reluctantly
Left her lips and
Slapped my face,
Punched my stomach
And kicked my groin.

She said she loved me,
She said she was sorry,
She asked for forgiveness,
She asked if we could
Get pass this,
She said she will
Never see him again.

And yet,
She saw him again
To tell him goodbye.
What kind of goodbye?

Was it a quick goodbye?
A goodbye that lasted
The space of several hours?
Was it a goodbye
Over a meal?
Was it a goodbye
After sex?

For some reason,
I couldn't ask those questions,
Instead I laid awake
While she slept,
Her head resting
On her chest,
He body ever so close
To mine.

He was not the first,
Nor was he the fourth,
He was the sixth.
The sixth in ten years.

I saw that number
Everywhere I went,
Everywhere I turned
And now, I was tired
Of being the loving husband,
The compassionate spouse,
The understanding partner.
I was tired.

I slipped out of bed,
Taking care to not wake her.
I packed enough clothes
To last a week,
As well as my toiletry.
I scribbled a note
And placed it on my pillow.

I looked at my sleeping wife
For the last time.
The last time
I will ever saw her sleeping,
The last time
I will ever refer to her
As my wife.

I left wife
The night she told me
That she left her lover.
Life truly is a bitch.


Submitted to dVerse Poets Open Link

Speak To Me

Speak to me,
Say sweet words
To incite a dream
So big that it blocks
Out the sun, the sky,
The world.

Speak to me,
Say sweet words
Upon which dynasties
Are built, kingdoms forged
And nations rise above
The ashes.

Speak to me,
Say sweet words
And hold me tight,
Snuggling under
Your strong arms,
Breathing in your
Earthy scent.

Speak to me,
Speak to me,
Speak to me.....

Alas,
Your brow is cold,
Your breath is faint,
Your pulse is but a purr.

Don't leave me
In this cruel world
With vagabonds and misfits.

Don't leave me,
Speak to me,
I can not go on,
I just can not go on
Without you.

Speak to me
So I know that
You will be here
When I wake up.

Speak to me.

My Story About Clams

One fine June day, My dad and my granddaddy took me fishing. It was during that time between when I was a boy and when I became a man. You, young folk, call it puberty, I call it 11 or 12.

Anyway, we packed up our kits in granddaddy's boat and floated down river till we reached our favourite fishing spot. After the lines were baited and cast, and we had all found a comfortable position, daddy pulled a clam our of his pocket.

"Now son, do you know what this is?" he asked me, turning it over in his hands.

"Why yessir, that be a clam, me and Bobby would go looking for them sometimes," I answered.

"Well, son, in this here world of ours, there are all sorts of clams, but I'm going to tell you about two kinds today," daddy started. I say started because daddy was know to be longwinded especially on fishing trips like this. Not to say I didn't like it, I learned a lot in this same boat from my daddy jawwing.

"The first clam is called an oyster, you usually find those in the ocean or in the sea. Some oysters have pearls in them."

"You mean like the necklace mama wears to church every Sunday?" I butted in.

"Yes, but mama's pearls are fake and the pearls in oysters are real. To get to the pearl in the oyster you have to pry it open with force. Chuck a knife along the edge and work on it till it cracks open. When you ope it up, you find a pearl sitting there." As daddy talked, granddaddy nodded his head in agreement.

"Now, the other clam, we call it a land clam and like the oyster it has a pearl. With this clam you don't use force to open it, and you aren't going after the pearl. Infact you use the pearl to open it." This is where it got confusing but I continued to listen, keeping my questions for later.

"You usually find the pearl along the edge of the clam, near the top. When you find it, you stroke it and pet it like you're scratching behind the ear of the cat. If you do it right and do it long enough, the clam opens up and you get what you want."

"Get what I want?!? What is it do I want from a land clam?" I asked, completely confused.

"Oh you will know when the time comes and a land clam presents itself," granddaddy answered.

"So let me see if I understand, there are two types of clams that have pearls in them, an oyster and a land clam," I started.

"Yup," daddy and granddaddy encouraged me on.

"With the oyster, you use force to open it to get to the pearl."

"Yup."

"With the land clam, you have to stroke the pearl like you pet a pussy cat until the clam opens and when it opens, you get what you want."

"You got it!" granddaddy exclaimed, then he turned to daddy, "I knew he would get it, unlike Beauchamp's kid, all that bible studying ain't good for a growing boy."

"Shush pa, Bobby ain't so bad," daddy said of my cousin, Aunt Ginny's boy.

Although I had more questions, I decided not to ask them as I was sure the answers would confuse me even more. A comfortable silence settled over us as our minds drifted over the idea of the different types of clams.

It was until a few years later that I came across my first land clam. I knew what it was when I saw it and immediately, my daddy's words came back to me.

I found the pearl tucked away along the edge near the top, as daddy said I would find it. I petted and stroked it like I was stroking a kitty cat, but daddy never told me about the purring. I like the purring. And just like that, the clam opened up and I got what I wanted, oh boy, did I get what I wanted.

Since that first experience, I have come across my fair share of land clams. Each experience better than the last, but one day i came across a land clam I didn't want to share with anyone else. That one I kept, had it for what? 52 years, the best 52 years of my life.

And that, my boy, is my story about clams.



I don't normally write stories, but when I do, it's because it was meant to be written and I didn't really have a choice to share it. I hope you like it, owners of land clams, I hope you take care of them and those who come across them, I hope you respect them.
XOXO

Do I Know You?

Do I know you?

Who?
You're who's girlfriend?
Excuse me,
You're who's fiancee?

Edward?
Edward?
No, I don't know
Any Edward.

Oh, you have a picture....
Oh, oooooooh,
You're Eddie's girlfriend,
Sorry,
Eddie's fiancee.
Well congrats, girl,
Nice ring.

Say what?
Say who?
You want me to
Stop seeing him?!

Is he here?
Because at this moment,
I don't see him
So I'm not seeing him.

No need to be
Puffing up like
You're a blowfish.
Dang!

What!
While you were,
Ahem, being intimate,
He called out my name?

Oh, my, my, my,
I am so honoured.
I didn't know
I had left such
An impression on Eddie.

After only one night with me,
He's calling out my name.
Wow, I knew I was good,
But I didn't know
I was that good.

What's that?
Yes, one night but
Multiple sessions,
But that was 2-3 years ago,
Old news but good news.

Wait!
Wait. One. Minute!!
Don't tell me you came here
Thinking I was sleeping
With your, ahem, fiance.

Are you telling me
You found my name,
Found my address,
Hopped in your car
And came here to what?
Curse me out?

Oh so sad,
That is what you are.
Do me a favour,
Hop back in your car,
And take your behind home
To your, ahem, fiance.

It's obvious you both
Have a lot to talk about
Before you walk down the aisle.

And do me one more favour,
Don't ever come back here.
I don't have your man.
I don't want your man
Because I have my own,
Thank you very much.

Bye now.

Sneak Peak - eBook

Here's the cover of the eBook I've been working on for over a year. It's called Woman Defined and is a collection of poems. Majority of the poems have never been posted anywhere, not even in this blog. One of the poems that is in the book is They Did Not Teach.

If you are wondering who the little girl is, that's me at maybe 3 or 4. I'll be keeping you all up to date with the progress, so check back every now and then.

Knew

She knew him,
He knew her
And they knew each,
As you can see.

And somewhere in
That knowing,
A spark came to life.

One would liken it
To a stray spark
From a raging fire,
Small and non descript.
Sure to burn out
In two snaps of
One's fingers.

To her,
It was equal
To a star being born,
Even though others saw it
As a shining dot
In the sky, to her
It was a raging inferno.

She knew him,
He knew her
And they knew each other,
As you can see.

They did know each other,
The knew the feel
Of each others' bare skins,
They knew each others'
Rhythms.

They knew little bits
Of facts whispered
Into the dark
Before slumber stole
Their attentions.

In that knowing,
There was a shift,
The spark started to fade,
The star began to die
And as easily as
It came to be,
It ceased to be.

She knew him,
He knew her
And they knew each other,
As you can see.

Knew.
Past tense.
Not "know" or "knows"
But knew.

Time pasts as
It is wont to do
And they ceased
Knowing each other.

Every now and then,
Then and now,
They would see each other.

He would see her,
And she would not see him,
She would see him,
And he would not see her.

On both occasions,
They would look,
Look hard, hoping
The other would see them,
At the same time,
Hoping they would not.

Sometimes,
They would see each other,
A smile, a nod,
A polite "Hi, how are you?"
Would be exchanged.

Simply because
At one point in time
She knew him,
He knew her
And they knew each other.


Submitted to dVerse Open Link

They Did Not Teach

They did not teach me
How to fight,
How to strike out
With both fists
Tightly curled,
How to fill them with
The rage only
Little girls possessed.

They did not teach me
How to fight,
How to scratch
With hands converted
Into claws,
Creating long scratch lines
On tender flesh.

They did not teach me
how to scream,
Tapping into all
The Amazons,
The Sirens,
Those warrior women who
Opened their souls
An emitted a howl
So fierce creatures
Of all sizes scurried away.

They did not teach me
How to push, shove,
Kick, fight
Strong hands that
Held on like vise grips,
Branding my skin,
Branding my body.

They did not teach me
To fight for my own virtue,
That this body is mine
And no man, woman
Or child shall ever
Defile it.

They did not teach them
That I, we, the young girls
With innocence and curiosity
Still in our eyes were to
Remain untouched,
Both physically and mentally.

Letting us hold on
To these like
A treasured teddy bear
Or a beloved blanket.
Letting us blossom
In our own time
And eating our apple
In our own time.

No, they did not teach me
But I will teach her and her
And him and them to fight,
To scratch,
To scream,
To shove, kick
And bite.

But most of all,
I will teach them
To respect themselves
And those with
Innocence and curiosity
Still in their eyes.


Submitted to dVerse Open Mike

Him....

source

I could not stop thinking about
Him. My thoughts spun
And twirled like a prima
Ballerina.

And just as they pulled
Off that grand, incredibly
Hard move that demands
A standing ovation,
I remembered why
I'm not supposed
To be thinking about
Him.

Him......
Him....
Him, oh so delicious him,
Him with electric kisses
And the magic key to
The depths of my mind.

You see, he saw me,
I let him see me.
No masks, no charades,
No little girl in grown up
Clothes, just me and
If it was anyone else,
I would be scared.

I am scared,
Not for the same reasons,
But I'm still scared
So I push him away,
I push them all away.

I push him away
But I still can't
Stop thinking about
Him.

He Loved Her - She Wanted A Love Poem

The following poem is from the section, "Love Hurts" of She Wanted A Love Poem, a collection of poems.

He Loved Her

I love you.
His fist connected
With her ribs.
Hairline fracture.

I love you.
The backside of his hand
Swiped across her cheek
As though shooing
A ten ton fly.
A swollen cheek.

I love you.
A kick to her abdomen
That would make
Any football fan proud.
Gooooaaaaaallllll!!!
Another miscarriage.

I love you.
He broke the broom stick
Across her back.
A welt and broken skin.

I love you.
His hands closing
Around her neck,
Tighter and tighter
'Til her vision was reduced
To stars and then blackness.
Death.

He loved her
To death.

To get your copy
of this collection
of poems,
click here.

Story

"What is your story?!?"

He pulled her head
Out of the icy water
And she barely heard
His question through
The water streaming
Out of her ears.

Her lips trembled
But she said nothing,
As she took a hit
Of oxygen.

He pulled her head back
Arching her back,
Forcing her to look at him.

His faced contorted
By rage,
His eyes hard
And unyielding,
She tried to find
Humanity in them,
Trying and failing.

"What is your story?!?"

Her oxygen sated brain
Provided an answer
But she doubted
He would like it
Or accept it.

"My story is...."
She started.

"My story is
I have no story.
Each night, I die
And every morning,
I am born anew.
I pick through
For the things I need
And leave the rest
Behind to rot."

"The past hold stories
But I am not a story.
I am flesh and bone,
I am here and now."

A growl rumbled
From deep within him
Coming out as
A grand roar and
He released her.

She fell back
Onto her floor,
She then scooted
Into a corner,
Keeping her eye on him.

It was as though
The sound was him
And he was the sound.
As the sound subsided
He disappeared until
There was nothing,
Neither sound nor man.

She awoke with a jolt,
She was alone,
In her room,
In her mind,
In her being.

Yet somehow she knew
She would never be
Alone.


Submitted to dVerse Poet's Open Link

I Am No More

The sweet smell
Of wild flowers
Filled my lungs
As I laid
In the field.

The full moon
Traveled across
The night sky
As my breathing
Became laboured.

One by one,
Two by two,
My bodily functions
Shut down
As little bugs
Crawled along my skin.

Everything faded to black,
The world became soundless,
I died and was
No more.

I was not the daughter,
The sister, the friend.

I was not the worker,
The voter, the traveller.

I was not the fan,
The enthusiasts, the nerd.

I was not the victim
With a bullet hole
In her chest.

I became nothing
But a corpse
In a field and
A memory.

A memory
That will fade
Like old pictures do
Leaving behind only
The bright parts,
The happy parts,
Never the dark,
Sad parts.

There are always
Sad parts.
The parts, you wish
You could take back.
The parts that still
Bring you to tears.
The parts which
Hurt oh, so bad.

Thank God,
Those are the first parts
That fade away,
Melting like wax
From the minds of
The people you love.

They will find me,
They will cry over me,
They will dress me pretty
And they will bury me
Six feet under and
Deep in their hearts.

But all this
Doesn't matter anymore
Because I'm dead
And I am no more.

Untitled

source

An old man
Caught my eye,
Pulled me in
With just a sigh.

I sat on the bench,
Him on one side,
I on the other side,
Between us sat
Fifty years of experience.

He started to speak,
I started to listen.
Everyone's story should be heard,
Even if, by a stranger.

He told me
How he killed a woman,
The only woman he ever loved.

How he ripped out her heart.
Hacking away at her chest
With lies and infidelity,
Pulling out her heart
And leaving her for dead.

He had her heart,
He thought.
She will always be there
To love him,
He thought.

When all the other women
Treated him bad,
Lied to him,
Used him,
Broke him and his heart,
She would be there
To pick up the pieces.

But she wasn't.
She wasn't in the gutter
Where he left her,
Nursing a wound,
Missing a heart.

While he was gone,
A man found her
In the gutter.
He raised her up,
He revived her.

In her chest cavity,
A new heart grew,
A better heart,
A stronger heart.

And when it was fully grown,
She gave this new heart
To this man and in turn,
He gave her his.

I looked across
At the old man,
Tears wetted his cheeks.

He really loved her,
He just never loved her
The way she deserved
To be loved.

I got up,
Stretching my legs,
I patted his shoulder twice,
Then squeezed it once.

He nodded and
I walked away,
Allowing him to return
To his memories,
Washing his soul
In his tears.

I was like his woman,
I am like his woman.
I found a man
Who loves me the way
I deserved to be loved.

And unlike that old man,
I will live a life
With no regrets,
No sad memories, a life
Filled to the brim
With love.