Untitled - She Wanted A Love Poem

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

Untitled

Brown skin shone

In the half light.
I followed one limb
With my eyes
From the shoulder
To the finger tips.

On one finger
Sat a rock of
A diamond ring.
I wondered
Who gave it to her?
Did he know where she was?

Did he know that
The woman he chose to marry
Was sleeping next
To another man?
Then again, where was he?
Was he in bed with someone else?

During my wanderings
In wondering, she awoke.
At first an expression of
Surprise washed over her face
But it drained away and
Was replaced with a happy knowing.

She leaned over
And kissed me,
A kiss that bordered on
Butterfly kisses and something more,
Her wanting more but
Resisting that wanting.

I asked her to stay,
Stay the night,
Stay with me.
She said she couldn't,
She said she had to go,
She had to go home.

I looked in her eyes
And asked if
She wanted to go.
her head shook no
But her mouth said
She had to go.

She slipped out of the bed
And out of the bedroom.
Soon after, I heard
The shower being turned on,
She was washing
Me away.

She was washing
My scent away,
From my favourite cologne
To the slight funk
Of my sweat
But not everything
Would be washed away.

As I listed to
The shower washing me away,
I debated if
I should tell her
About the broken condom
That laid in the dustbin.

Should I tell her
That there was a chance
That she would be having
My baby not his?
Should I tell her
That I love her?

The shower was turned off
And she appeared
At the doorway,
I beckoned her over,
Telling her I have
Something to tell her.

Once again,
She shook her head
And said that
She had to go
And she was gone before
I could say another word.

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

Called

She calls me Mama
And I call her
My little girl.

It had always been
Her and me, and
When we first met
She almost killed me.

Out of my womb
She came and with
My love, she almost
Took my life, but
It was her cries
That kept me earthbound.

With no husband,
With no close family,
I knew she would
Have no one if
I were to pass
Without even saying
Hello.

She would call me strict
And I would call her
Unruly, a hellion,
But my hellion
And then we would
Fall into laughter as
We knew we were cast
Of the same stone.

I knew what it was
like to be like her
And she knew one day
She would become
Someone like me.

I would call her naive
And she would call me
Un-trusting, never trusting
The men she loved,
The men she would
Dance with in the moonlight
And whisper things behind
Closed doors.

I would call her foolish
And she would call me
Unadventurous. "You
Never take chances,
Mama, never have fun,"
She would pout the exact
Same way she did as
A child but I knew
And accepted that
She was not a child
But a woman
Of age.

She called me Mama,
Her voice strained
As the men pulled
At her, dragging her away.

I held on,
I called to her,
My little girl,
And then there was
A loud crack
And my grip loosened,
I fell with a thud.

She called to me,
"Mama!
Mama!!
Mama!!
Ma-ma!!!"

As my blood
Coated the tiles
In my courtyard,
I whispered,
"My little girl."

A Holy Man

A young merchant was
Traveling through a new district.
Feeling tired, he decided to
Sit at the side of the road
Under an old tree.

From where he sat,
He saw an old man
Traveling up the road
Towards him.

The old man's clothes
Were old and worn,
He did not carry much
Just a small bag, but
It was obvious that
He had traveled far.

"Good tidings, young man,"
The old man greeted
As he approached
The young merchant.

"Good tidings, sir,
Are you from this district?"
Asked the curious merchant.

"Oh, no, I am from
A distant land, making
My way to Mecca,"
Answered the old man
Coming to a stop.

"Will you sit with me
And rest for a while?
I would love to hear
About you land,"
Said the young man.

The old man obliged
And say next to the man.
Not many people had
Given him such attention
Or showed such interest.

Time passed with both men
Sharing tales of their time
On the road. They laughed
And chided each other,
Soon becoming friends.

It was time for them
To go their separate ways,
And as they were saying
Their goodbyes,
The old man asked,
"Which would you rather be,
Rich or happy?"

The young merchant
Thought for a while
Then spoke,
"I would like to be rich."

Seeing the frown on
The old man's face, he continued,
"I want to be rich because
I am already happy."

"My happiness is not something
Given to me by someone else,
It is something created by me,
Borne from within
The depths of my being."

"Everyday, I wake up
And I choose to be happy
And no one can take
That choice away from me."

The old man nodded
In understanding.
He wished the young man
A good journey and
Continued on his.

As he walked to Mecca,
The old man thanked Allah
For putting a holy man
On his path and for
Teaching him, an old man,
An important lesson.

We are bestowed
The great gifts of
Free will and choice,
We should use
These gifts wisely and
Choose to live well.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Stranger Things

Little feet went
Pitter, patter on
Hardwood floors.

I awoke with
A start. The house
Ought to be empty
Save for me and Luke.

Luke being my dog,
Sleeping at the foot
Of my bed.

I kept still,
Listening keenly to see
If what I heard was
Real or but a dream.

Then I heard them
As clear as day
In the dark of nigh,
Two set of feet
Coming my way.

They stopped just beyond
My closed bedroom door.

I held my breath
As the reptile within
Gauged the situation
To decide if I should
Fight or take flight.

I waited,
They waited and
Luke farted.

Then I felt someone
Get in the bed
To my right, I turned
But no one was there.

Then I felt someone
Get in the bed
To my left, I turned
But no one was there.

A shiver ran through me
And I slipped under
The covers, pulling them
Over my head.

Through the comforter,
I heard a little voice
Ask politely,
"Do you mind sharing
That with us."

I bolted up
And ran to the
Bedroom door which was
Now open.

Luke looked up,
Responding to the commotion,
Then said, "Oh behave,
You are overreacting.
They are but babes,
They won't do you no harm."

Then he went back to sleep
As though nothing had happened
But my jaw became unhinged.

A little girl appeared
At my side and took
My hand pulling me
Back to bed.

On the bed, appeared
A little boy who
Pulled back the comforter.

I followed along and
Laid in the bed with
Ghost children at my sides.

Once settled in,
They tucked themselves
Around me. "Tell us a story,
Please," they said in unison.

I spent the rest of
The night telling stories
To ghost children
While a talking dog
Slept at the foot
Of my bed.

Stranger things
Have happened.

The Mongoose and Ms. Daisy

One night,
When I should be
In my warm bed,
Dreaming of sheep
Jumping over fences,
I sat at my window,
Listening to a discourse.

Said discourse was
Between the sly mongoose
Who lived in the empty lot
Beside my house and
My yard fowl, Ms. Daisy,
Or so the mongoose called her.

"Now, see here, Ms. Daisy.
I've been checking you out,
Me love you long time,"
Said the mongoose,
Laying down his raps.

"For true? eh eh,
What you love 'bout me?"
The brown chicken asked,
Warming to her visitor.

"Well, see,
Me love the fullness
Of your body, I can
Tell you grown, not
Like dem spring chicken
Clucking around the place."

"Mmmm, go on, nuh,
Tell me more,"
My yard fowl decided
At that moment to take
A seat.

"Your eyes, you eyes
Bewitch me, dem mek
Me want to know what
Going on behind them,"
The mongoose saddled up
Next to the hen.

"Is that so?"
Daisy blinked as though
She had something in her eyes.

"It's true, how about
You come back to my place
And I'll tell you more
Like....." he leaned in
And whispered into Daisy's ear.

Daisy giggled or was
It clucked hysterically,
Whatever it was,
It caught the attention
Of her daddy, Mas Rooster.

With a stealth
That would make one
Wonder if he was
Part mongoose, Mas Rooster
Crept up behind of
The two courting creatures.

Just as Daisy was
About to give into the mongoose,
Mas Rooster called out
"A wha go on here?!?"

Both Daisy and mongoose
Jumped. Mongoose turned
To find a large Rooster
Towering over him

"Nothing, boss, nothing.
I was just going,"
Mongoose said at last.
"I be seeing you, Daisy,"
He then slithered through
A hole in the fence.

"Not if I can help it,"
Harumphed the old rooster.
What followed did not
Hold my interest so
I went to my bed.

The next day,
I found Daisy brooding
At one side of the yard
And on the other side,
Sitting next to a hole
In the fence.

I never heard the mongoose
Speak to Daisy again.
Last I heard, he moved
To the other side of
The village. Then one day,
Daisy disappeared and
Mas Rooster was there
Brooding on the other side
Of the yard.

I Love Men

Jackson said
He loves women.

This statement was not
Meant to underscore
His sexual preference
Or send gay men
Fluttering to their next
Man of interest.

The statement was more
Of a declaration,
Albeit a subtle one.

Its subtlety was to
Soften the edges of
The truth that
He could not,
Would not
Commit himself to
One woman.

To Jackson,
My silence was a
Quiet acceptance
Of what he was
Proposing and the
Type of man
He chose to be.

The truth was
I had accepted
His choice as
It was my choice
As well.
I love men.

I did not make
A statement of my choice,
What was good
For the goose was
Good for the gander.

Unfortunately,
For Jackson,
He could not handle
My side of this
Secret arrangement.

He developed
An unfortunate case
Of a broken heart
When he found me
In the arms of Pierre.

We did break up,
His idea, not mine,
But for the life of me
I could not figure out
Why it was okay
For him to love women
And not okay for
Me to love men.

As I packed
The last of my things,
I took a good look
At Jackson.
His face was a mask
Of pain and sadness.

His stance spoke
Of his vulnerability
And the open wound
That I had caused.

I should have walked
Out of the door and
Walked out of his life,
Instead I reached for
His hand and pulled
Jackson close.

I looked into his eyes,
Searching for a reason
To stay and asked him
If he wanted me to stay.

He said yes,
So I stayed, but only
Until I found him
In Monique's arms.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Pinned

Check out more of the images I pinned on my Pinterest page dedicated to poetry by clicking here.

Help Me

source



"Help me....."

She whispered
To no one in particular.

Her eyes were trained
At her reflection,
A sole tear trailing
Down her cheek.

"Help me...."
She beseeched the woman
Inside, the one who was
Supposed to be in control.

The one who lost control
Leaving the little child,
The little monster that
Destroyed everything it touched.

"Help me make it right,
Help me....
Help me be the person
I'm supposed to be."

Her voice cracked
Into razor sharp shards
Which cut deeply,
So deeply.

The shards cut to the bone,
Cutting to her core
Waking up the woman
Who's help she needed.

The reflection spoke,
"And what is it
Do you want?"

"You, I want you
To take control
Of this body
Of this life,"
She answered.

"If I take over,
If I take control,
What is to become of you?"
The reflection asked.

She sniffed,
"I will fade away,
I do not belong here,
I'm too weak,
Too scared."

The reflection stared at her,
It's eyes absorbed
Every inch of her,
Then it spoke."

"No!"

She gasped,
He hand covering her mouth.

"This is not my life
To live, it is yours.
I come when I must,
In that moment before
You break, never before."

"I'm breaking,
Don't you see the cracks,
Can't you feel the pain,
Can't you feel it!"
She touched the mirror
As though trying to
Transfer the pain.

The reflection looked away,
Hating to see desperation
On her face,
"That is not pain,
This is pain."
It positioned its hand
In line with hers.

A jolt of pain
Ran through her,
It ebbed and flowed,
It felt alive and
Coursed through her veins.

When she could take no more,
She pulled away.
She braced herself
On the face basin,
Her head hanging down.

She looked up
At her reflection
Through a curtain of hair.

"That, my dear, is pain
And people have taken
That pain and survived,
No, they've thrived."
The reflection's eyes
Were steely.

"Do you understand
What I'm telling you?"
When no answer came,
The reflection asked again,
"Do you understand!?!?"

She stood taller,
Looking into the reflection's eyes.

"Do you understand?!?!?"
The reflection roared.

"I understand that
You won't help me
So I better help myself,"
She replied at last.

The reflection smiled
A knowing smile,
"I already helped you,
My dear, I helped you
Find your backbone."

The smile disappeared,
The face reflected
In the mirror was
One that held a deeper purpose,
One that was in control.

It was her face.

Deep in the quiet
Of her mind,
She heard a stern voice,
"'Help me,' she says,
She can help herself,
She always could."

The woman within
Went back to sleep
And she became awake.


Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry #128

Sweet Words

source

She would whisper
Sweet words
Into the ears of men.

Sweet words
That would lick
And stroke their egos.

These were the words
They wanted to hear,
Craved as though
They held a sustance
Their existence lacked.

These were words
They never heard
In their everyday lives,
As they ran the rat race.

They never heard
These words with
The alarming clock
Or on the commute.

These words were not
Found at work
Or as they settled in
To watch their
Favourite TV show.

Their wives, girlfriends,
Significant others used
To say these words
But that was then
And this is now.

So they seek
Her out in quiet
Places, secret places.

She would whisper
Sweet words
Into the ears of men.

"I value you,
I need you,
I care for you,
You mean a lot to me."

Sweet words.

Wanting - Spoken Word

Another attempt at spoken word:


To listen to more spoken word, check out my Sound Cloud page here. I'm trying it out right now, let me know what you think by leaving a comment.

Old Man On The Cliff

One day,
A sinner sought out
A holy man who
Lived on a deserted island.

After securing his boat,
He found the holy man
Sitting on a cliff
Looking over the raging sea.

When the holy man
Noticed the sinner,
He bowed deeply
In the direction
Of the sea then
Turned to his visitor.

"Greetings one who is most holy,
I, a sinner, seek your wisdom,"
The young man said.

"Tell me, are you truly a sinner?"
Asked the holy man,
"And why do you say
That I am most holy?"

The man hesitated,
The sound of the sea
Filling the silence.

"I have sinned,
I was told that
I am a sinner."

"Many have told me
That you are a holy man,"
He answered.

"Is this rough?"
The older man asked,
Gesturing at the waters
Beyond the cliff.

"Why, yes,
Look how it crashes
Against the rock,
It is indeed rough."

"But is it not
The same as that
That exists over there
By your boat?
That is so calm and still."

The waves crashed
Against the rock,
Spraying them with
A fine mist.

The old man nodded,
He pulled a mat
From a bundle at his feet,
Handing it to his visitor.

He sat down on his own mat,
Waiting patiently for the other man
To do the same.
He studied the younger man.

"You are not a sinner.
I am not most holy.
We are more than our actions.
We are greater than such labels,
Because like this body before us,
We are fluid and ever changing."

"Strip away all your labels,
Those given to you by
Others and by yourself,
Then tell me who you are."

The old man sat
Facing the horizon
Waiting for the man's answer.

The sun travelled
Across the sky, slipping
Into the horizon, and
Still the man said nothing.

When the old man looked
At his visitor, he say
Tears on his visitor's face.
"I am nothing."

"You are nothing and
Everything. And this,
My friend, is by the beginning.
Come, it is too late
To travel back.
We will talk inside."

By morning,
The older man imparted
All he knew. He knew
He could speak
But it was for
The young man to listen.

As he walked with
The young man to the boat,
He bent down and
Scooped up water.

"Be like water,
Be fluid and constant,
It is the water
That carves the rock
And it is water
That sates our thirst."

The man sailed away
And the old man nodded,
The seed had been planted,
He can only hope that
The young man nourishes it
And allows it to grow.

He nodded once more
And dissolved into the water.
Only taking form when
His wisdom was being sought,
When one needed to be
Guided to their greatness.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Pinned

I believe this will be my quote for the month of December into January, I love it. Check out more of the images I pinned on my Pinterest page dedicated to poetry by clicking here.

Her One Regret

"I am waiting to die,"
She said in a matter fact
Manner. She sat at a desk
And looked out the window,
Staring at the carrion birds
Picking at the carcass of
Some unidentifiable animal.

She looked back to me,
Then sighed. She stood and
Walked towards me,
The fabric of her skirt rustling.
She touched my cheek,
Her hands cold and skeletal.

"Do you think I want to die?"
She asked, her eyes searching mine.
I knew not the answer so
I said nothing allowing
Silence to fill the room
Wondering if she would
Accept it as my answer.

"I don't want to die,
At least not the animal part.
That part will always
Fight to live but
That is not the only part,"
She grew weary and
Walked back to the
Desk, bracing herself.

"I am tired,
I am weary,
This body can only
Take me so far,
And I don't think
It has much farther to go."

She sat back down
And looked out of
The window, "Do you...
Do you still miss him?"
I looked to the door,
I would rather leave
Than answer that question.

"You don't have to answer,
I know you do,
I would, if I were you."
I looked back at her
To find her looking at me.
Was that regret on her face?

Did she regret
Sending him away?
Did she regret
Locking me in my room?
Did she regret
Cutting off all communication
Between him and me?

She pulled a key
Out of her pocket
And unlocked a drawer
In the desk, she then
Pulled out a stack of letters.

She tossed them at me,
They landed at my feet.
They were from him.
"Go on, pick them up,
Go on to your room and
Feed on his words."

I stooped down and
Noticed that the date
On the last letter was
But a few days ago.

"Soon enough,
You will leave me.
Soon enough, but
It doesn't matter,
I will sit here, patiently
Waiting to die.

She did die,
By the time
I consumed all his letters,
By the time
I packed all my belongings,
She took her last breath and
Died, releasing her one regret.

Sinful

I felt like being
Sinful, today.

I felt like doing
Something I wasn't
Supposed to do.

Something that
Would have old women
Covering children's eyes
And men giving me
The evil eye.

I felt like today
Was a good day
To do naughty things.

Things mother said
Good girls wouldn't do,
But we all know
Good girls were doing it
Anyway, they just
Didn't get caught.

I felt like Sin
And I were bosom buddies
Who would sit together and scheme.

We would be the
Scheming kind that had
Pleasant faces and
Dark minds who played
The game to the very end.

Although, my friend
Stood on the front step,
My ace boon hooting
And hollering for me
To come out, I find
Myself slinking to
The back of the house,
Pretending I was not in.

I felt like being
Sinful, today, but
I chose to be good
This time around.

Good Morning - Spoken Word

For some time now I've been playing around with the idea of going into audio in the form of a podcast or just spoken word tracks. This was inspired by a lot of things, one was a couple scenes from "So I Married An Axed Murderer" when Mike Myers did spoken word with music accompaniment. Also when I lived in NYC, I was addicted to a Jazz radio station and one evening, they played a poet with a jazz accompaniment. I loved it! Over the years I came across poetry in this format and I was lucky to experience it in person when Expressions: Poetry At The Pub had a musician playing in the background during the open mic. That was one of the best moments at that particular open mic. Another source of inspiration is Tanya Evanson who I met a few weeks ago. She's a spoken word artist from Vancouver, Canada who does amazing work.

So last Saturday, I started to play around with GarageBand on my Mac and this is one of the pieces. What I found amusing was my recognizing the different intro music to the podcasts I listen to. I had a lot of fun making the following and the others that will be posted over the following weeks. You can only imagine how many times I had to read one poem to get it almost perfect and then to play around with the sound. I hope you like it. Comment and let me know what you think.



P.S.
This was a major feat as I'm not a major fan of my voice so be kind. LOL.

Untitled

The jack rabbit
Raced through the desert,
Stopping only to
Smell the air.

In the split of a second,
He changed direction,
From North to West,
Evading a rattle snake.

The sound of the rattle
At the end of the venomous snake
Died away as it slithered
Along the desert floor.

The predator passed
A pair of scorpions,
Claws snapping, tails raised,
Waiting for an opening to
Deliver a devastating blow.

This fight to the death
Did not even register
As important to
The vultures gliding
On the updrafts,
Waiting.

Waiting for the mountain lion
To have its fill of
A jack rabbit who
Chose to go West
Instead of North.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Pinned

Check out the complete Poetry board on Pinterest.

The Poet's Corner - Introduction

For a month now, I've been playing with the idea of posting a series of blog posts under the title of The Poet's Corner. I've always been a fan of Inside The Actors Studio, for one, but my main reason was I wanted to get to know the poets I've grown to know through their comments on this blog and when I visit their blogs. It's one thing to read a person's work, but it's always nice to peek behind the curtain and see who they really are. A little like in The Wizard of Oz.

source

Through these posts, I will be interviewing poets from the US, the Caribbean, Canada, the UK and hopefully further afield. I will be asking about their backgrounds, their work and their thoughts on poetry in general. I believe everyone has a story and I'm always drawn to listening/reading that story. It's a reminder that even though we are different in so many respects, we still have similarities, we all have hopes and fears and we all have moments and situations that make us vulnerable. There is a person behind the beautiful/funny/insightful/thought provoking poems and I want to share that person with you.

I will be honest, I was all set to get this started when I came across another blog that had posted an interview with a poet and I was intimidated. For one, I felt that if I started The Poet's Corner so soon after they did their post, I would be viewed as a copy cat. The crazy/funny/cool thing is the idea did not go away, it was one of those things I was meant to do, like this blog. I see this series going on for years to come.

So to those poets I've already reached out to, thank you for taking part. To those who I will be contacting, I hope you come on board. To those who are interested in taking part, visit The Poet's Corner page. And to one and all welcome to