Wonder Land

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The land was
A mix of wintery
Wonder land and
Desolate patch of
Hinterland.

I watched it pass
By as I rode on
A bus to somewhere
Else.

I touched the window,
Marveling at the
Coolness but happy
With not having to
Face it yet.

"Where you headed?"
The old lady sitting
Across the aisle asked,
Either making conversation
Or giving into her curiosity.

"Nowhere in particular,
Anywhere that is not
Where I was," I answered.

"Then how do you know
When you reach where
You going?" she asked.

"I figure I will just know,
Right here," I patted the
Place over my heart.
"I will just know."

She nodded her head
Then returned her attention
To the novel she was reading.
Her curiosity sated.

I didn't tell her the whole
Truth. I didn't tell the
Old woman that I was
Headed for a warm place
Where I can rest my head
And dream of you no more.

A place where we dreamt
Of going, but never did.
In the end, I was the only
One going because you
Chose a different type
Of life, a different type of
Woman.

I was headed to a place
Where I could let the
Memories of you fade
Like old pictures in
An album I stopped
Flipping through.

Then again,
I have a feeling she,
The old lady, already
Knew the truth. She
Was too polite to ask
For it.

I looked out of
The window, watching
The desolate, wintery
Wonderland pass by.



Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Also I want to thank everyone for subscribing to this blog. I am happy to say that it now has 100 subscribers. Woohoo. Thank you all for the support and expect some fun things to come.

Don't Wake Me Up

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Don't wake me up,
Don't drag me kicking
And screaming out
Of my delicious slumber
.
Don't wake me up,
Let me squeeze the last
Of this wonderful dream
Of honey kisses and
Bear size hugs.

Don't wake me up,
Leave me to my dreams
Even if the sun lies to you
Saying it's time to wake up.

Don't wake me up.
Don't wake me up.
Don't wake me up
And yet,
You wake me up.

Untitled

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"Ricky called,"
Jasmine was leaning
In the doorway
To my bedroom,
Thumbing through a magazine.

"That's nice," I replied
From under the bed.
I was searching for
The red bag that matched
The red heels I was wearing.

"He asked for you,"
There was something different
In Jasmine's voice, but
I continued on my search,
Trying my best to act normal.

"Did he say why?" I asked,
Pulling the bag out and
Standing up. Jasmine was
Not at the door but
Right behind me.

"Are you seeing Ricky?"
Her eyes slits when I turned
To face her. They were
Searching for the truth as
Though expecting me to lie.

"No, why would I
Be seeing your boyfriend?"
I scoffed, walking around her.
I started to put things
In the red bag, hoping this
Was the end of the conversation.

"He broke up with me,"
Jasmine fell onto my bed
Dramatically. "He found
Someone else," she croaked
Before sobbing loudly.

"Forget about him, you
Deserve better, you'll see,"
I said, patting her leg.

"Oh no, is that the time!
Sorry Jazz, I have to go."

I slung my bag onto
My shoulder, grabbed my
Phone and my keys and
Ran out of the apartment.
The sound of Jasmine's sobs
Following me down the hall.

I met up with my date
At the corner of our block.
We made our way to the
Restaurant.

"So you broke up with Jazz?"
I looked up at Ricky.

"And you didn't tell her
I broke up with her for you."
His response was a statement
Not a question. "She doesn't
Want me. She never did.

"How do you know
I want you?" I asked,
Following the maitre d' to our table.
"How do you know I'm only
Using you to hurt her?"

"I just know," he said,
A smug smile plastered on
His face. "Plus you're not like that.
She is, but you're not."

The evening passed with
Good food, good wine
And good conversation,
The roommate and the ex-boyfriend
Enjoying each others' company.

Mario invited me up for a night cap
But I declined as I had an early morning.
As I walked home,
I slipped off my red heels.

I found Jasmine fast asleep
On the couch in the living room,
"I Love Lucy" on the TV.
I turned it off and
Made my way to my room.

"Lucy......?"

"Yeah, Jazz,"
I turned back to look
At her.

"I love you, Lucy,"
Jazz said, drowsily.

"I know, I love you, too,"
I turned and went to my room.
I locked the door and
Fell into bed, knowing that
That was the last time
Jasmine will ever say that.

I love Jasmine and
I love Ricky and
They both love Lucy.

Loved

Woke up
This morning
And found nothing
In the fridge
But water and
A full cup of death.

Jacob was here,
I smelled him
Before I saw him,
And when I saw him
I wish I didn't.

He laid in the middle
Of the living room,
Half naked with
A toke hanging
From the corner of
His mouth.

"Was a good night, Evie."
His voice was gravelly.
"You should have
Come out! The moon, babe,
The moon was so
Beautiful and we were
Animals, free!"

I slipped into the couch
Above his head,
Mouthing the exact
Words he was saying,
"Free like the wind,
Free like the clouds,
Free like the birds
And all the damn animals."

This was my life
And I was trying
To get used to it.

There were times
I wished I changed
The locks so he
Wouldn't enter, then
I remembered it was
His name on the lease.

"Evie, why don't you
Come out with us?"
He was looking at me,
Lying on his stomach,
Propped up on his elbows.

I reached out and
Took the toke, taking
A long, slow drag,
Hoping he would forget
The question by the time
I was finished.

He didn't.
He was waiting.

"Honestly, Jacob?"
He nodded his response.
"Honestly, I don't want
To be free. I want
Security, knowing
What will happen next."

"Freedom holds to many
Unknowns, too much
Responsibility. I can't
Handle that."

"You rather be
A caged bird, Evie?"
His voice was sleepy
But I could hear
The disappointment.

"The caged bird
Can still sing and
Is guaranteed food
And water everyday,"
I answered.

He turned around,
Lying on his back,
Reaching up for his toke,
"What are you doing, today?"

"Same thing I do
Every Sunday,
Airing out this apartment
After you funked it up,"
I replied casually,
Happy for the change
Of subject.

"I loved you,
You know that?"
In a matter of seconds
He was fast asleep.

As I draped the blanket
Over him, tucking him in,
My heart ached because
I knew we were near
The end.

All the times before,
He would say,
"I love you,
You know that?" amd
This was the first time
He ever said "loved".

He loved me and
Sometimes, I question
If I loved him at all.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

The Emperor's Babe - Reading It

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A couple weeks back, my friend, fellow poet, and lover of words, Rasta Mage posted this book, The Emperor's Babe on a FaceBook group page. Well, seeing I was online I decided to take a gander on Amazon and I was hooked. The concept was interesting and the whole book is in poem form!! I almost swooned from excitement.

Yes, excitement because it showed the possibilities that exist for poets who are interested in writing books. I'm planning on creating a book out of the Dark Warrior series and this is a push for me to do so.

The books description reads:

Bernardine Evaristo’s tale of forbidden love in bustling third-century London is an intoxicating cocktail of poetry, history, and fiction. Feisty, precocious Zuleika, daughter of Sudanese immigrants-made-good and restless teenage bride of a rich Roman businessman, craves passion and excitement. When she begins an affair with the emperor, Septimius Severus, she knows her life will never be the same. Streetwise, seductive, and lyrical, with a lively, affecting heroine, The Emperor's Babe is a strikingly imaginative historical novel-in-verse.

 About the writer/poet:

 Bernardine was born in Woolwich, south east London, the fourth of eight children, to an English mother and Nigerian father. Her father was a welder and local councillor and her mother a schoolteacher. She was educated at Eltham Hill Girls Grammar School and the Rose Bruford College of Speech & Drama, and spent her teenage years acting at Greenwich Young People’s Theatre.

To learn more visit her site, bevaristo.com.

So far The Emperor's Babe has me captivated. There is a pull/tug where as you are in the past, but the feel is so modern. I will be honest, I haven't read the whole book. It's like a fine wine that I want to savour. I hadn't seen the book when I told Rasta Mage to hold a copy for me at the bookstore where he works, but I was happy to see it was a good size book. I had already read about a fifth of the book in one sitting, and I am happy with the purchase.

I wouldn't say that the narrator, Zuleika, is related-able or someone you want as your best friend. I would more likely say she is real, she doesn't fit into one particular mold and doesn't try to. Even when she has been made into a "lady" she still clings to the life she knows and this is one of the things I like from an author. When they can show the muddy nature of being a person, a real person and can through the story give the reader a choice of loving or hating them. The most important thing is accepting them enough to keep reading.

Would I recommend The Emperor's Babe ? Yes and no.

Yes, if you are the type of person who can embrace reading a story in verse form, and see this is a novel and quirky idea of writing a novel.

No, if you rather read paragraphs and heavy chapters.

Yes, if you like to see history revisited in a funky, unusual way.

No, if you are a history buff and don't like anyone messing with history.


Hopefully this will be the first of many book reviews, I'm an avid reader and there are a few books that I really love and would like to share. If there are any books that you think I should read, leave a comment below and I will give it a go. Till then happy reading and writing.

Untitled

Loose tendrils of
Smoke coiled around her
As she watched
The two men fight.

They fought often,
Leaving her to nurse
The bruises of the
Body and ego
Of the loser.

That is,
After she made love to
Or fucked the winner.

Sometimes in the tussle
The men would find
Themselves over come by
Their own attraction
To each other.

When that happened
She would play
Her music loud
To drown out
Their groans and grunts.

It wasn't perfect,
It wasn't moral,
It wasn't civil
Or the way good folk
Would conduct themselves.

Good folk didn't live
In the constant seesaw
Of violence and sexual
Gratification, leaving
All parties spent.

If they weren't fighting,
They were fucking,
If they weren't fucking,
They were resting
And healing.

At first, it was interesting,
Then it became boring,
And she threatened to
Run away, but they all
Knew. She was going
Nowhere.

Nowhere to go
Because beyond the door,
Beyond the walls
For miles in every direction
Was a dead world.

And this "paradise"
The three of them created
Was better than the certain
Death from thirst, hunger
And the unknown.

Her attention returned
To the men before her,
The fight was coming
To an end.

She flicked her cigarette
To the ground, then
Made her way to
Her room, trying to
Decide between
Nirvana and Bob Marley.

Between Teen Spirit
And Get Up, Stand Up,
She let her mind
Wander back to the time
Before the end and
The future waiting for
The beginning growing
In her belly.

"Welcome to Paradise 2050.
Welcome to a world gone mad,"
She whispered before falling asleep.

She Was Beautiful

He said
She was beautiful,
Not pretty,
Not gorgeous,
Not cute,
But beautiful.

A word that
With three syllables
Let her know
He thought she was
Pretty,
Gorgeous,
Cute,
Beautiful.

Still,
She didn't believe him.
Saying he was just
Saying so to be kind,
To get in her pants,
To get something
From her.

The only thing
He wanted from her
Was the one thing
She didn't have to give.

A simple for letter word
That lives between
Loathing and like
And the one word
That never spilled
Out of her mouth
To another or
To herself.

Yet, he said
She was beautiful,
Hoping that she would
Let the words absorb
Into her being.

Forcing her to take
A moment and really
See the beauty in her,
Taking a moment
To love herself.

He said
She was beautiful,
Hoping that if
She could love herself,
She could love him.

She was beautiful
If only she could
See that.

He Was A Man

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"I am a man."

The words escaped

His lips in a whisper,

His eyes cast down

On the pavement.

He was alone

And before him stood

A crowd of good, old

Boys.

The men he grew up

With, played with until

They were told that 

He was beneath them.

Bobby Joe, Sam, 

Mickey and Thomas,

Men who refused to

See him as an equal.

Men who possessed

Power and numbers,

And what did he have?

What did he possess

That would prove to

Them that he was like

Them with the only

Difference being 

The colour of his skin.

"What did you say, boy?"

The question was spat

At him. He felt the

Saliva on his face.

"I said 'I am a man.'"

He looked up,

Steeling himself for

The first blow, be it

A punch, a kick or 

A knee to his groin.

Nothing came,

He looked them

In the eyes, finding

Shock and uncertainty

In their gaze.

"Is there anything

Else you want to ask me?"

Hearing no answer, 

He slowly stepped back.

He walked backwards 

Till he was a safe distance

Away. He cut through

Old man Peterson's field

To his house.

It was time to leave town,

It was one thing 

To be a man, 

It's another thing

To be a dead man.

As he packed his 

Few possessions,

He felt a sense of pride,

For the first time 

In his life he stood up

For himself, and 

By George, 

It won't be the last.

He was a man.

Kimolisa In New York?

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Actually, the answer is no. It will be a while before I return to the city that doesn't sleep, but I will be back.

Early last week I was at the bank and I saw the week long weather report for NYC and I remembered how one of my friends who lives in NYC would be annoyed when I would tweet how lovely the weather was down here in Antigua. So I decided to tweet how great the weather was there. A little twist on what I normally do, then my imagination got stoked.

I tweeted my indecision of which park to go to - Central Park or Prospect Park. Then my decision of Prospect Park. Out of nowhere my imagination created this story of what I would do next. Or better, what I would tweet next.

A kernel of an idea formed, why not create a fictional character and use social media to follow her story, primarily twitter and a blog. What I found fascinating about the idea is through my imagination I could be anywhere in the world, and through this character I would be making decisions that would be in line with my values or go against them.

I would definitely have to run through the idea completely and develop the platforms but so far I've learned a few things:

1. You Can Be Anywhere - For a day, okay more like an hour or two, I was in NYC. It made me question if we really need to visit a place, especially a place that is so publicized as NYC to have an experience there. There are so many pics and videos, not to mention books and articles that to be there in person is only required when you need to feel the energy of the place.
2. You Can Be Anywhere Part II - Anyone following me on Twitter or FaceBook would really think I'm in NYC. There are two reasons why - 1. Why would I lie about being NYC if I wasn't in NYC, 2. I said I was in NYC. Then again, I was in NYC, I just have to say I was in NYC in my mind.
3. I Discovered I Really Didn't Want To Live in NYC - Yes I want to return and visit but in my fantasy, I wanted to visit friends and then see the US. First I was going to drive a car then I thought of leaving on a bus and having an adventure in all the 50 states and some Canadian cities. It makes sense, I like to travel, I don't like to stay in one place for the whole trip. I like movement.
4. It Made Me Question What I Really Wanted - I grew up watching a lot of TV and reading a lot of magazines and through those media, NYC looked like the place to be. And I guess I believed that that NYC was right around the corner from the NYC I knew. The truth was it was a hybrid of both NYC's. I wanted experiences but I didn't know what type of experiences so I ended up with those I didn't like or wasn't crazy about. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends in NYC, but I feel as if I was holding back and not running madly into life. Instead I was waiting for it to come to me. But what do I really want? I want to come alive, love hard, hurt hard, get bruised and get up again. Sad that it took me so long to discover that.

 Anyway, I will be keeping you up to date with the idea as I massage it into existence. I already have the bones of the character's back story and a little of what she will be encountering in the future. It's crazy but I'm looking forward to it and as the ever delightful Tanya Evanson said, "Don't not do it."

Oh and before I forget, I've gotten over the writing block, unfortunately or fortunately the poems are a bit more gritty and can veer into sexual. I'm not sure if I want to just get it out of my system or explore it and have it all out of my system completely. Time will tell.

St. Somewhere - I'm In It

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I have been toying with the idea of submitting my poems to literary journals with the hope of getting my work out and beyond my blog and my sphere. Unfortunately, I never really got into the submission processes. Between being turned down by two different journals, not feeling like my work is in sync with the journals I've come across, and my inability to resist posting my poems on the blog, I just didn't do what I have to do to get my work published by a third party. That is until now.

Earlier this year, I submitted a poem to St. Somewhere. Here's some info about the publication:

St. Somewhere Journal is an online literary journal with a focus on the broader Caribbean Basin region. Our primary mission is to present works from, about or inspired by this geographic region, its peoples and cultures. Secondary emphasis will be placed on works of an international nature, or with more general appeal.

There are many online literary journals and magazines, but St. Somewhere Journal hopes to help fill an under served niche in the writing market. Literature from the Caribbean region has relatively few viable outlets, despite its rich history and large potential audience. Of those outlets, many are not readily accessible to a broad audience. Despite the vast array of online literary outlets, those with a Caribbean focus are in even shorter supply online than in the print world.

Additionally, St. Somewhere Journal wishes to foster a sense of accessibility that is sometimes lacking in more formal or academic publications. We seek to feature the work of both emerging and established writers, regardless of credentials or previous credits. Well-written and well-crafted works are our concern, but we believe that literary art should not be confined to academia.

A few of my contemporaries had their work published in the journal, including Robert Gibson, Cher Corbin and Tammi Browne-Bannister, so I mustered up my confidence and submitted the poem and a bio. May I mentions that I'm not big on writing bio's, something else to work on. To a degree, it feels like the first win at the submissions game and it's motivation me to move forward with submitting to other journals. I just have to keep reminding myself that nothing beats a fail than a try.

Visit the online journal and show all the writers, poets and artists some love. Click here to visit.