Martine - Part 3

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In case you missed the first part of Martine, start here to catch up.

On the other side of the front door, Sophie found a tall man with a fair complexion that reminded her of her best friend Joanne who had a black father and a white mother. The man had full lips and a straight nose and he looked very nervous.

"Hi! You must be Alain, Maman's student. I'm Sophie. Come in," she said moving to the side so Alain could enter the foyer.

As he crossed the threshold, a tall man with dark skin entered from a room on the left, an equally dark teenage girl came in from a room on the right.

Untitled

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O' grand buildings
Reaching for the sky,
Promising those who enter
That God can be found
Within the four walls
And the vaulted roof.

Fear thee not,
Sweet parishners,
God is but everywhere,
Not tightly strapped
To dogma and ceremony,
In mere words
Spoken by great orators
Or written in text.

God is not found
Through men who
Stand before you
In expensive suits
And robes of sombre hues,
He speaks to you,
Sweet men and women,
Will you not listen?

Will you not listen
To the birds that sing,
To the breeze that cools
Your warm skin?

Will you not listen
To your heart
And what resides
Within it?

If you must go
To these places,
Be they grand works
Of architecture
Or little shacks
With holes in their walls,
Heed my words.

Look not to the man
Who claims to know
God's mind and heart,
Look to the woman
Who allows you to
Rest your weary head
Upon her sturdy shoulders.

Look not to the man
Who scolds you for
Being human and having faults,
Look to the man
Who ensures that the floors
Are clean and the stain glass windows
Are spotless allowing
God's light in.

Look not to the man
Who looks down at you,
Look within, deep within,
And find the special message
God has for no one else
But you.


Submitted to dVerse Open Link

The Highway to Anywhere

 

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On the road again,

The road stretches ahead

Of me and I follow

The yellow line 

Wherever it goes.

I've been where

I've been and 

God only knows where

I'm headed.

Hand on the wheel,

Tires on the asphalt,

And the desire

To wander in my heart.

One day,

I will come to a stop,

Finding a reason

To stay in one place.

Until that reason 

Comes along,

I will keep rolling

On the highway

To anywhere.

Submitted to dVerse Open Link

Martine - Part 2

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 In case you missed the first part of Martine, click here to catch up.


"Who is this student? What is so special about him? You never invite students to dinner, Maman, so why did you invite this one? Where is he from? Was he born near here?...." Sophie went on and on, interrogating her mother as she ripped into a head lettuce. Bianca, brooding in the corner, rolled her eyes as she cut up some tomatoes.

They were in the kitchen helping their parents make dinner, or as they would put it, used as child labour to prepare a meal for their overlords. Martine checked on the pork chops in the oven while James, her husband, took out the dishes and utensils.

"I think that's enough lettuce and tomatoes for the salad, girls. Take these and set the table," James said. Ten year old Sophie jumped off the stool she was sitting on and grabbed the utensils, disappearing into the dining room. Her older sister, Bianca, was not as boisterous, took the plates and followed Sophie. James shook his head as he watched her departure, puberty had definitely changed his thirteen year old.

With the girls gone, he turned to his wife, "So why did you invite this particular student, Martine?"

New FaceBook Page

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I'm now on FaceBook!!! Come and take a gander by clicking here. What to expect when you visit the new FaceBook page? Basically, you will find:

• The latest posts from this blog;
• Links to some of my fellow poets (leave a link in the comments for me to add you);
• A few quotes and pics that I'm loving;
• Links to sites I use to share my work;
• And anything else I can think of to throw on there;

Feel free to pass by and like the page and share a good word.

XOXO
Kimolisa

Good Morning

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Good morning,

Lost stranger

Found in my bed,

Head resting on my pillow,

Dreams melting in

The morning sun.

Who are you?

What are you?

What are you

Doing in my bed?

Would you like 

A cup of coffee?

I shuffle away,

Blanket wrapped

Around my nude form.

I leave because

I need to distance 

Myself from an 

Obvious mistake.

I need to leave

So we can make 

Ourselves decent.

He enters the kitchen,

Scratching his beard.

I push the cup of joe

In his direction.

He grumbles his thanks.

This is a good thing,

He's not a morning person,

Pretty much a zombie,

So I can dismiss him

Without hurting his feelings.

As he sips the coffee,

He reaches across

And interlaces his fingers

With mine, his eyes 

Memorizing every feature 

Of my face. 

Not good!

I pull away and 

Walk to the door,

Hoping he can read

The lines and between the lines.

He looks at me for

A minute which feels like

Five then sighs and grabs 

His jacket. As he passes

Me at the door, he stops

And kisses me gently.

The kind of kiss

That pulls you in,

So tender, so innocent,

So genuine and authentic,

Making you want more.

He pulls away,

Once again he looks at me

For a minute that feels like five

Then walks out the door,

But has he walked 

Out of my life?

When I return to my room,

I find a scrap of paper

On my pillow. 

"Good Morning.

Jaimie, 555-7878."

Good Morning.

Dark Warrior

I had traveled
To the other side
Of Tokyo to
Meet a friend
Who wanted me
To see her favourite band.

I stood under
A street light
In a deserted side street,
Waiting patiently for
Ayako to arrive.

Unexpectedly,
The street light began
To malfunction,
Coming on and off,
Plunging me into bouts of
Darkness and light.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

Before me stood
A Japanese man
Of advanced age.
He wore the robes
Of a samurai
And the air of confidence
And power emanated from him
Like a potent fragrance.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

"Who are you?
What are you?
You are darker than
The farmers who toil in the sun."
His Japanese was old and formal
And I barely made out what he said.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

As I told him my name,
Informing him that
I was of African descent,
He circled around me,
Observing me, then
He stopped before me
And pulled out his katana.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

"Do you know what this is?"  he asked.
I nodded.
"Do you know how to use one?"
I nodded slowly.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

With the light,
Appeared a katana in my hand,
It became quite apparent
That I was to fight
This samurai.

"I can't fight you
While the light comes and goes,
You will use it to your advantage,"
I said to him,
A fair fight,
I can live with,
An unfair one,
I can not abide.

"Worry not,
The light will remain on
During our fight.
We will commence
When the light returns."
I nodded.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

We ran at each other,
Katanas prepared to draw blood.
They clashed, sparks flying,
Then we separated
And lunged at each other.
This continued as time passed
And the light remained on
As he had promised.

Soon, I was winning
And each time I struck
The samurai became more macabre.
His eyes cried blood,
His skin became sallow,
His teeth began to fall out,
I even smelt rotting flesh.

And with my final blow,
Sure to leave him defeated,
The lights went out.

Buzz, crackle, darkness,
Buzz, crackle, light.

He stood before me
As he was when we first met,
No torn garments,
No torn flesh,
No sweating brow.
He bowed deeply
And I did the same.

"You are truly a gifted fighter,
Dark warrior," he said
Just before he brought
His katana down on my shoulder,
The blow pushing me back
As darkness engulfed me.
"It was an honour fighting you."

I awoke to Ayako shaking me
Under the lit street light.
Immediately I touched my shoulder,
And found no injury there,
No torn clothing,
No torn flesh,
Just a slight burning
That soon disappeared.

I knew not how to explain
To my friend what had happened
So I gave a lousy excuse
For why I was unconscious
On the ground and
Insisted we still go
To see her favourite band.

It was only later on
When I was preparing
To go to bed
That I saw the tattoo,
Starting from my shoulder
Down my chest,
Where the samurai's katana
Struck me.

The script was old Japanese
But with the help
Of an old scholar
I found out what it said.

"Dark Warrior rises
One level up."

To be continued........


A couple readers have heard this piece already and I must admit, it's one of my favourites as it mixes poetry and anime. It all started with a blinking street light and this was spawned. I already have the continuation of this in my head and boy, is it fun, I just have to write it out. Be on the look out for Dark Warrior 2.

Submitted to dVerse Open Link

Martine - Part 1

 

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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 would be as interested int the foreign language as her last class.

Upon entering room 305, she put on a bright smile and surveyed the room. As expected, the jocks were present, taking the mandatory Humanity course. The hopeful romantics, taking the course because French was supposed to be the language of love. There was also the "regular" students, probably taking the course so they can speak the language when the 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?

The Day Was Hot

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The day was hot.

It was the kind
Of day that made
One crave cold showers
And ice cold glasses
Of water.

The kind of day
Where you develop
A sheet of sweat
Twenty minutes after
Taking a shower
In places you never
Knew you sweated.

It was the kind of day
Where the air conditioner
Appeared not to be working
And you would pull out
The trusty old fan
To blow hot air at you.
Telling yourself that
It feels a little bit cooler
Knowing you were lying
To yourself.


This was the kind of day
Where a trip to the beach
Was requited, where you
Were sure that a dip
In the azure waters
Will dip the temperature
Of your body to
Something more bearable.

So you pack your towel,
Pull on you bathing suit
And cover it up with
An old t-shirt and a pair of shorts,
Slip your feet into
And old pair of flip flops
And head to the beach.

Once there,
You hesitate only to do away
With clothes and flip flops
Before running, not walking,
Into the water.

For once,
And thankfully, it's not
Too cold and neither
Has it adopted the heat
Of the day.
The water is perfect.

Between swimming
And floating, dunking
And diving, you are lost
In the experience.

Between swimming
And floating, dunking
And diving, you are lost
In the experience.

The water cools your skin,
The sea breeze lulls your mind,
The blue waters calm your senses
And the seagulls provide a melody.
Time passes by and
The sun kisses the horizon.

As you put back
On your clothes,
Slipping back on your flip flops,
You ponder why
You don't come to the beach
More often.

You vow to return
The next week or
The next month, but
A year will pass
Before you dip into
The cool waters.
The only reason for your return
Being the fact that
The day was hot.

An Open Mind

Open your mind
They say and yet
The don't see
The little child
Crying at their feet,
Stomach distended
From Hunger,
Having not eaten
For two days.

Open your mind
They say and yet
They don't see tracts
Of forest being destroyed
For Palm Oil and Bovine
Production, wild life and
Exotic vegetation leveled off,
Not thinking for once
That the cure for our diseases
Reside in those same forests.

Open your mind
They say and yet
They turn away from
Countries fighting themselves
Humanity stripped away
And all the combatants see
Are the enemy, not
Someone's child,
Someone's father.
All they see is a concept
Not someone of flesh and bone,
Just like them.

Open your mind
They say and yet
They can't see beyond
Their petty desires,
Their petty concepts
And find something
More profound,
More real than anything
They have ever encountered.
Open your mind
They say and yet
They close their eyes,
They close their ears,
And sadly,
They close their hearts.

So before you beseech
Someone to open their minds
Ask yourself if your own mind is open?
Wouldn't it be grand if we all had
An open mind.

Martine - Introduction

 

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I've been meaning to post this story I wrote for a long time, but I never really got around to it. Actually, I posted the first part some time back but never continued. It came to me one day while I was at work and since it was a quiet day, I wrote it out. It became a daily thing and I reached a point where I didn't know how to continue. I have a vague idea of what will happen, but I haven't sat down and let it flow.

The premise of the story so far is a French woman of African descent is confronted by her biracial son who she gave up for adoption. She now resides in the United States, is married, has two girls and is a French professor at a community college. The story takes a look at secrets coming to light and the pain that comes from when two people not being able to see the other person's point of view.

Like most of my work, this doesn't feel like it's mine. It's more like a story that comes from somewhere else. Some people would say it's from God or from a muse, I don't really know. All I can say is I feel honoured to be the vessel through which these delightful and thought provoking poems and stories can come through.

Check back next Friday and every Friday for Martine (this is just a working title, mind you). I hope you enjoy it and don't forget to comment.

Flying The Friendly Skies

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Let me fly away,
Hop on a plane
And take to the
Friendly skies.

I would peek out
The window at
Tracts of land,
Bodies of water.

Huge trucks became
Toy trucks gliding
Along a river of asphalt
Effortlessly.

I turn back in
As the flight attendant
Asks me if I would
Like a beverage.

Ice with a cola,
Please and thank you,
Would I like a snack?
No, thank you,
I brought my own.

As I settle back into
My seat, sipping on
My half a can of cola,
I muse over the changes
Of air travel.

No longer do people
Dress up, putting on
Something that borders
On formal or church wear
To travel from country
To country, state to state,
City to city.

No more free meals,
That were decent to meh,
But food was food
And free food is free food.

No more free headphones,
To watch a movie yet
To hit cable, now
One must buy a set
If God forbid they
Forgot their own,
Which is not too bad
If they were a decent pair.

Two checked in luggage,
A carry on and your handbag,
All free, now considered
A luxury.

I want to push back my seat
But I check if there is
Someone behind me,
I would hate to lean back on them
Like the person in front of me
Is doing.

Soon the hum
Of the engines lull me
To sleep and I drape
My jacket over myself
And let slumber carry me home
As the jumbo jet takes me home.