Confess Your Sins

I really struggled with if I should post this poem as I don't normally post this type of poem on this blog. More times than not, my poems would elude to sex, rather than be state it. So if you are uncomfortable with erotica or anything along that line, skip this poem.

 

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"Confess your sins!"
The hard paddle
On bare skin.

"Please, sire, please,
I have no sins," she begged
As it was the custom
Of her kind.

The paddle left a red mark,
Tears fell from her eyes.
Why won't he believe her?

The Waning Moon

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Gypsies dancing under
A waning moon,
Around a crackling fire.

Tribesmen dancing under
The waning moon,
Hyenas howling into the night.

Huntsmen sit under
The waning moon,
Telling stories of big game,
Lost and found.

Sailors sleep under
The waning moon,
Rocked to sleep
By the lapping waves.

Shepherds watch 
Over flocks under
The waning moon,
Keeping them safe.

Miner staring up at
The waning moon,
A memory to take with him
When he returns to
The belly of the Earth.

All men connected by
The waning moon,
By the breath 
In their lungs
And the rhythm 
Of their hearts.

Gypsies dancing under
The waning moon
Around a crackling fire.      

And Yet - She Wanted A Love Poem

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

And Yet

"This isn't right."

I looked over at him,
Giovanni standing
At the window,
Watching the first rays
Of the morning sun.

"Are you saying
It's wrong?"
My voice rusty
With sleep.

He looked over
His shoulder,
His eyes searching
My nude form
For the right answer,
An answer it would
Never give.

He sighed and
Looked away,
I knew his heart ached.

I got out
Of the bed
And came up
Behind him,
Hugging him.

He exhaled and
I inhaled his scent.

"This is wrong,"
He whispered.

I began to
Pull away but
He held my arms
In place.

"If this is wrong
Then I better go,"
I mumbled into his skin,
Before kissing it.

"I don't want
You to go,"
He turned and
Wrapped his arms
Around me, resting
His chin on
The top of my head.

There we stood
At the window
Embracing each other,
Embracing the wrong
That may never be right.

And yet,
It felt right.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

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

I Wake Up

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I don't want
To wake up.

I want to
Fall back
Into a
Comatose state,
Letting my body
Melt into a
State of complete
Relaxation.

I don't want
To wake up.

I want to
Remain in
A dream world
Full of flying
Whales and
Barking cats,
Where days
Are called nights
And nights are
Called nothing
At all.

I don't want
To wake up.

I don't want
To face the
Monsters in
Human form
Who's candy words
Taste bitter from
The poison they
Tried so hard
To mask.

I don't want
To wake up,
But I do
Because I have
No choice in
The matter really.

By waking up,
I can make
My dreams
My reality.

So I crawl out
Of bed, clothe
Myself in a
Sunny disposition
And I face the world.

I wake up.

I Am Heavy

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I am heavy.
I am the whale
On arid land.
I am the elephant
Left in the center of
The Pacific.
I am heavy.

I am heavy.
I am the heart
That feels nothing
But pain.
I am the lungs
Drowning in the
Body's life blood.
I am heavy.

I am heavy,
Or so I tell myself
When truly,
I am a feather,
Light and floating
In the ether.
I am heavy.

I am heavy
Until I let go
Of the pain,
Of the things
That really don't matter,
Of feeling like
I am worth nothing.
I am heavy.

I am heavy,
but I'm tired
Of being heavy.

Truth Remains

Live in silence,
Close your eyes,
Speak only to yourself.

This beauty is only for the blind,
For those who can see
Won't understand.

Follow your thoughts to their rest,
Truth cannot fill
An overflowing cup.

I am glad for the glass door
That is hiding me from deception.

Ask no questions,
Receive no answers.

Be guided by the feetless walk
Upon winding paths of the mind.

In this place,
Deception and truth
Live side by side, yet
Neither will speak their name.

Only in the silence
Will truth become real
And deception will burn away
Like mist in the rays
Of a rising sun.

In the silence,
Only truth remains.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets 

Humble The Poet

I came across this and seeing I didn't have a poem today, I figured I would share it. Enjoy!!

Untitled

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

Untitled

She struck him
Over and over
Again, a feral
Cry escaping
Soft lips.

As she battered
And bruised him,
She did not see
Him.

She saw her father
Striking her mother
Because she burnt
Her slice of toast.

She saw her uncle
Slipping his rough
Hands across her
Soft skin to her
Hidden places.

She saw her mother,
Bloodied on the
Kitchen floor,
Weak.

She saw herself,
Trapped under
Her uncle's large body,
Helpless.

Then, and only then,
Did she see him,
Now bloody and
Bruised, scratched
and unconscious.
Broken.

Seeing him lying there
Broke her, she looked
At her bloody hands,
His blood on her nails,
On her knuckles.

He never struck her
Back.

She fell to her knees,
Cradling him in
Her arms, from the
Depths of her being
A wail came.

She cried for him,
The man she loved,
The man who loved her,
The man who would
Never leave, even
When she became
A monster

She cried for him
To forgive her.

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

By Myself

 

source

"People don't get me,"
She said through
A cloud of smoke.

She was propped
Precariously on the
Now cool radiator,
Bundled up in a
Shaggy white coat.

Her attention was
Directed to the
Foot traffic on the
Street below, but
Her words were
Aimed at me.

I tried to ignore
Her terrible attempt
At starting a conversation
As I cleaned up
The mess she made
In our little apartment.

"They don't get
That I refuse to play
By their rules, that
I rather be myself
And have fun than
Be 'the good girl'."
She took a swig
Of her coffee.

I looked away,
I knew she was
Referring to me
In her underhanded way.

To her,
I was always trying,
Always wanting to
Please everyone,
My mother,
My professors,
My boss,
My boyfriend.

She also knew,
That after all
My trying, I would
Return to our apartment
And cry myself to sleep.

When I looked back,
She was looking at me,
A steady stream of
Smoke escaping her lips.

"I love you,
You know."
I nodded and
Looked away,
Still unaccostomed
To such words.

I threw away the last
Of the garbage in
The bin in the kitchen.

When I returned to
The living room,
She was gone.

Shaggy coat draped
Across the radiator,
Coffee cup and cigarette
Sitting on the window sill.

Slowly I walked across,
I put on the coat and
Perched myself on
The radiator. The coffee
Was cold, but the smoke
Was like an old friend.

In that moment,
I had stopped trying.
I was not trying
To be her because
I was always her.

In trying to be
Everything for
Everyone else,
I became disconnected
From who I really was.

And in moments like these,
I had to be reminded by
The only person who
Knew who I really was.

I had to be reminded
By myself.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets 

TED Talk

This is such a powerful poem and story. I had to share.

My Dear Phantom

source

On cobbled streets,

I followed,

Trying to catch up

To a phantom.

That is what

You are,

Draped in the

Silken sheets of

My imagination.

My phantom.

And every time

I thought I caught

Up to you,

You slip through

My fingers like

Mists through boney

Branches.

Would I ever

Catch up to you?

Would I want

To catch up to you?

Some part of me

Fears what I would

Find if you became

Real, ceasing to be

A specter just

Beyond my grasp.

Alas,

The streets grow

Narrow, threatening to

Swallow me,

Crush me,

End me.

Then I find myself

Standing at a wall,

A dead end,

And yet, I am not

Dead.

Have I lost you,

Dear phantom?

Is this where my

Journey, my search ends?

A mouse scuttles by,

Nimble feet scraping

On stone, I follow his

Progress.

He slips into a doorway

I had not noticed,

Voices pouring out of 

A little pub.

My search continues,

My dear phantom.


Submitted to Poetry Pantry #141 on Poets United

Dark Warrior Book Limited Edition

I am very crafty indeed. After I first read the first poem in the Dark Warrior series, a friend had asked me for a signed copy of the poem. Well, I have a tendency of procrastinating and before I knew it the series had three poems completed. So I decided to create a handmade book containing the three poems as a "I'm so sorry that it's this late". Let's just say he appreciated.

Then I converted my eBook Martine into a free download and seeing another friend had bought a copy, I decided to gift him a limited edition Dark Warrior handmade book. What makes this one different from the other one? This one has the yet unpublished 4th installment which I've only recited at two open mics. Both books have a special message for the friend. This particular book was for Passion Poet.

I'm not sure if I will be creating anymore but it was fun making it. I will make updates on my crafty side in the future.

A Break From Reality

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This morning, I was looking through my posts of late and although I am proud of them technically they appear to be very sad, angry or dark. I had to take a moment and wonder if this was a reflection on my life. Was art reflecting life? Don't get me wrong, I haven't experienced any of the heart ache or abuse portrayed in my work but it makes me question why there was such a focus on that aspect of life.


I love my work, I've been writing for about 20 years and what you see on this blog is a result of that. Then I ask myself where do I go from here? Perhaps a book or three? I just finished the fifth installment of the Dark Warrior series and I'm ready to make a book out of it. I'm looking forward to that and two other books that have been chomping at the bit to become realities. More on those at another time.

I know I don't normally write random posts like this but I miss it. I guess it will mean the re-emergence of my other blog, Kimolisa Was Here. I think I got too caught up on the idea of "work" and getting paid that I forgot that part of the reason I keep these blogs is because I really like blogging. I like sharing my work and reading other people's work. I like finding interesting things online and sharing them. I like sharing my thoughts, they aren't perfect but their mine and these blogs may be the only things I leave behind. Oh, there I go, going dark again.

Then again, a few people have done well by exploring their dark sides, Tim Burton, audfaced. Why try to be what everyone expects or think is safe? Much food for thought.

Okay, now I'm ranting and rambling. LOL. Hope everyone is having a great weekend or will have a great week.

His Name Was Carl

His name was Carl.

A bear of a man

Who possessed a

Jolly laugh that

Vibrated throughout

A room.

His name was Carl.

Whenever he saw me,

He would smile,

The kind of smile

That lit up the room

And the dark corners

Of my life.

His name was Carl.

He would laugh

At my jokes,

No one laughed

When I told jokes,

Not even my parents

But he did.

His name was Carl.

We would play together,

Tossing a ball around,

Building and destroying

Things. I told him

My secrets as I had

No one else to tell.

His name was Carl.

He was thirty and

I was ten and yet

I never thought that

Anything was wrong.

He was my friend,

My only friend.

His name was Carl.

One day, our friendship

Took an unexpected turn.

He made requests that

Made me uncomfortable

But he's my friend so

I did what he requested.

His name was Carl.

He would watch me

Play with toys he bought me.

He insisted I played naked.

It was only a matter

Of time before

He touched my bare skin.

His name was Carl.

Eventually, he did more

Than touch, his big hands

Groping and pawing at

My pre-pubescent body.

I prayed for someone to notice,

For someone to say

That this was wrong.

His name was Carl.

He would appear

At my school,

At my house,

Waiting to whisk me

Away to his hidden places

And I wondered if anyone

Noticed.

His name was Carl.

No one noticed,

No one followed,

No one said that

This was wrong,

No one came to save me,

So I decided

To save myself.

His name was Carl.

Was not is,

Never will it be is

And all you need

To know is

His name was Carl.