Change

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Let me start off by saying, I'm sick. It started with a little sleep deprivation, followed by being exposed to sick people. One of which was my sister who had a doozy of a cold with a wicked cough. Instead of getting better, I got worse. Thank goodness I was able to take part in the Antigua Toastmasters' Tall Tale Competition, although my voice began to go but it added to the performance. Right after, my voice got worst and the coughing more. That was Thursday evening and then I got worse. From Friday to Saturday, I lost my voice, had a terrible cough and felt miserable. That pretty much explains why there was no poem on Friday.

The thing is I had plan to change the blog up a bit. Instead of posting poems three times a week, I've decided to only post two. One on Monday and the other on Friday, but there will still be something on a Wednesday. It might be an audio clip of me reading one of my poems. It might be one of the YouTube videos of me at an Expression's open mic. It might even be a poem embedded in a picture.

I'm doing this to mix it up a bit. I noticed that not all the poems get love in terms of comments and I am going to be submitting my poems to literary journals. For instance I submitted a poem to St. Somewhere April 2013 Journal. I'm going to have to learn to be disciplined and resist the urge to put all my poems on this blog. Plus it would be fun to see my work among other talented poets in various journals. I've met so many awesome people through this blog and it is through their kind feedback that I have the courage to take the next step and submit.

I hope you you like the change and continue to support this blog.

OXOX
Kimolisa

And Every Time

He would knock,
Knock, knock,
And she would not answer.

He would call to her,
He would have heard
Her walking around,
Breathing, existing
Just beyond the door
And she would not answer.

He would pound violently,
The door shuddering
Under his heavy fist,
And she would not answer.

Then frustration would
Seep away like rain water
Into storm drains, leaving
Behind resignation that
Would wrap around him
And lead him away,
And she would not answer.

She would not answer.
She should not answer.

Her ears had to be deaf
To his knocks,
To his calls,
To him.

To her,
He must not exist,
A mere shifting of air
But this was not
Her choice, simply
Her truth.

The truth is
She could not see
A man who did not exist,
A man who was
A figment of her
Beautiful mind.

So the doctors say,
So her family say,
So the people who walk
The earth beside her say,
And so she grew
To say the same.

And only when his steps
Had melted away
Would she open the door
To prove to herself
That he really wasn't there.

And every time,
He would be standing
Beyond the threshold
Waiting for her to
Embrace her insanity.

Someone To Run To

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Nina Simone was singing
About a sinnerman and
I was thinking of one.

A delicious construction of
Skin and bone that
Had the power of stealing
My breath.

As the record played
And the memories unfolded
In front of my mind's eye,
I could not help feeling
Regret.

Despite long walks on
Moonlit beaches, or
Fingers interlaced at the pinnacle
Of making love, my memories
Were tainted with regret.

Regret for walking away
Leaving him standing alone
Under a perfect full moon
That transformed his once handsome
Face into a macabre mask.

Regret for unfurling my fingers
From his grip and letting go
Of the one man who knew
My secrets, my fears,
Me.

His only sin being
Him loving me unconditionally.

As the song came to an end,
I lit a cigarette, lighting
The darkness for a second
Or two and I took a long
Drag, inhaling a slow death.

I reached for the phone,
Dialing the first six digits
Of his number, my finger
Hovering over the last digit.

With all the courage
I could muster, I pressed it.
The line connected, it rang
Three times, then I heard
A voice, a female voice.

I quietly replaced
The handset on the cradle,
And for the first time in
A long time, I wept for
My sinnerman.

I waited too long and
Now, my sinnerman found
Someone to run to.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Never heard of Nina Simone's Sinnerman? Check out the video below:

Untitled

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I never thought
Of myself as
Alone.

I never thought
Of myself
Requiring another
To define me,
To convince me
That what other's
Thought of me
Was important.

I never understood
The word
Lonely.

In a world so
Full of life,
The fact that
I was not in
The presence of
Another human
Being human,
Did not make
Me feel this
Word.

I am not lonely.
I am not alone.
I am at peace.

I Found The World

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I found the world

Beautiful, today

As I stood on 

The edge of Today

Looking out to 

Tomorrow.

No matter how

Long I looked

I could not see

Beyond the gray

Clouds that hung

Close to the horizon.

Eventually,

I grew tired of

Trying to see what

The future held,

Choosing to use 

My imagination.

In the depths of

My gray matter,

I built a world

Filled with splendid

Wonders that

Had be yearning 

For them to become

Reality.

Soon, my imaginings

Became more than

Dreams to entertain

And delight me,

They became the 

Blueprint for the 

World I wanted to create.

Today, I worked on
Creating a future
I wished to live in,
But still I knew that
Now was beautiful,
Was worthy of
My attention and
So I reside in that
Sweet middle ground
Of enjoying now
And creating for later.

I found the world
Beautiful, today.

He Paints

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He paints.

My daughter says this
Every time I ask what
Her new boyfriend does.

Paints?
Paints what?
Paints houses?
Paints cars?

She would roll her eyes,
Bored of the conversation.

He paints pictures,
Everyday he wakes up
And goes to his studio
And paints.

What kind of Caribbean man
Paints for a living?
How can he provide for you
If you get married?
What about children?
They are not cheap
Nowadays.

The conversation would go
Downhill from here with
Both of us frustrated
And we would move on
To a topic less volatile.

He paints.

My daughter once took me
To his studio,
A messy place with
Unfinished paintings
Everywhere.

Those that were finished
Were pretty enough,
But pretty does not
Put food on the table.

In the corner of the studio
Stood something draped with
A heavy fabric. A piece
He's working on, said
My daughter,
He has yet to show her.

He paints.

The days after the visit
To his studio were spent
With me wanting to see
The shrouded painting.

Curiosity got the better
Of me and I snuck
Into the studio.

Carefully, I removed
The cloth and before me
Was my daughter,
Then I saw my grandmother,
Or was it my mother?
Or was it me?

The paint on canvas
Froze in time four women
Of one lineage, one blood,
All found in one woman.

This woman painted on canvas
Had my grandmother's resilience,
My mother's nurturing spirit,
My stubborness, but
The woman was my daughter.

My heart ached as
I saw the innocence
And hope in her eyes,
Things that I once possessed
Before life did away with them
A long time ago.

Somehow,
My daughter's boyfriend
Captured more than her likeness,
He captured her soul
And the souls of the women
Before her.

I replaced the heavy cloth
Over the painting, reluctantly,
And snuck out of the studio.

I never asked my daughter
What her new boyfriend
Did for a living,
Having accepted the truth
And seeing it from
A new perspective.

He paints.
No he does more than
Paint, he freezes people
In time, taking their
Likeness and spirit and
Trapping them on canvas.

He does not paint,
He performs miracles.

But..

"Do you love him?"
Soft lips murmuring
Against my aroused lips,
Pleading eyes looking up
From between my thighs.

"Sshh.
Don't speak of him,"
I answered, evading
The question the best
Way I could.

She rose up, sitting
Back on her haunches,
Her eyes leveled on mine,
My juices smearing her lips.
"Answer me, Jasmine."

I got on all fours
And kissed her,
Palming her breasts
Before tweaking her nipple.
She groaned.

I pulled away,
Getting out of bed,
Putting on my clothes.
"Where are you going?"
Panic in her voice or
Was it sexual frustration?

"Home, home to him,"
I answered, heading
For the front room.
"I came here to forget
About him, but you seem
Bent on talking about him."

"Don't go, Jasmine,"
She came up behind me,
Snaking her arm around
My waist, pulling me into her,
"I promise I won't mention him."

"You promise?" I asked
Turning to look her
In the eyes.

"I promise with
All my heart, pretty lady,"
She said with a mix
Of sobriety and lust.

She kissed me softly
Then took my hand and
Led me back to
Her bedroom.

She made love to me
The way he never could.
Her touch was soft,
Her embrace was tender,
And when she was finished
I felt loved and cherished.

I waited until
She was fast asleep
Before slipping away,
Returning to him.

Do I love him?
No, but he is the man
I married, the father
Of my children,
The breadwinner.

I love her but
I must live with him.


Submitted to dVerse Open Link

Tell Me A Lie - She Wanted A Love Poem

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

Tell Me A Lie

Tell me a lie,
Let it skim
Against my skin,
Let it wrap me,
Snugly like
A blanket, tightly
Like a cocoon,
Until the truth
Come out and
Pierces my heart
With its serrated edge,
Trust bleeding out
Of the gaping wound.

Tell me a lie,
Let me savour it,
Taste its cunning
Mixture of salty and sweet.
Let me swallow
It down, consume it
In its entirety
Until it proves to be
Poison and I grow
Sick from it,
Sick of you.

Tell me a lie,
Let me play with it
Like a newly acquired
Puppy. Let me
Show it to friends,
Family, even strangers
Who show the slightest
Interest until it grows
Too big, too ill mannered,
To dangerous, too much
To handle, leaving you
Standing over my mauled
Ego.

Tell me the lie
I want to hear,
The lie you want to tell,
Let me live in
This artificial world
Constructed by the fine
Threads of the lie.
I hoping it's real,
You hoping nothing and
No one snaps a thread.

Tell me a lie
So a false sense
Of peace may descend
On us. We would
Breathe it's smog like quality,
Telling ourselves that
It smells like fresh air,
Believing it's a cool breeze
On a hot, humid day.

Tell me a lie,
Tell me you love me.

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

Slips and Ties

Slips and ties,
Dreams and lies,
Sediment settling
To the bottom
Never to rise.

I hear him
Calling across the
Way, nothing more
Than a whisper.
He calls.

He calls and
I follow, not
Out of curiosity
But out of
Wonder.

Wondering if it
Is really him
Calling beyond the
Way or just
My imagination, again.

The whisper ceased
To be a whisper,
Now I hear
Him ever so
Clearly.

He is at
My left ear,
Then my right,
He kisses my
Temple, then wishes
Me goodnight.

For the briefest
Moment he was
Real to me
And then he
Ceased to be.

The tears have
Vowed not to
Fall for him
But a lone
Tear rebels.

Then two, then
Three and soon
The kingdom of
My tear ducts
Stood bare.

He whispers once
More from across
The way, "Always
I am with
You, today, tomorrow
And beyond.

I whisper back,
"I know."

Slips and ties,
Dreams and lies,
Sediment settling
To the bottom
Never to rise.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Pretty, Little, Sad Girl

Pretty, little, sad girl
Sitting over there,
Wrapped up in her misery,
Thinking no one cared.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
Smile turned upside down,
May I make you something,
Perhaps a floral crown.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
May I have a seat?
Of course, not too close,
You, I would like to meet.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
Is it too much to ask
For a glance upon my face
Even if you wear your stony mask.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
Tell me your name,
Withhold it not from me,
It, I'm sure, holds no shame.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
Do you know what brought you here,
With tiled walls and the scent
Of Death scrubbed away with care?

Pretty, little, sad girl,
No, my sweet, bad you were not,
No one thinks poorly of you
But I'm afraid you have begun to rot.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
Too long you have been away,
The elements have preserved you
But the cold and ice have gone away.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
There you laid for eyes to see,
Once lost but now found,
No longer a mystery.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
A terrible task I am to perform,
But necessary as the
Truth you can not inform.

Pretty, little, sad girl
I promise to be gentle
As the one who did this
To you had left behind his dental.

Pretty, little, sad girl,
Silent you shall be forever
But from your body, I will
Learn your final story, ever.

Pretty, little, sad girl

Smiles and Glances

At first,
We did not speak
With words. Our
Conversations were
Nothing more than
Glances and smiles
That grew into
Gentle touches and
Tender kisses with
Promises of more,
Much more.

But he was snatched
Away from me.
Death claimed him.

Words came and
For those with power,
Symbols on parchment.
I saw him one day,
His features had changed,
His station was higher,
But alas, mine was lower.
He, a prince of Egypt
And I, a slave.
Many moons had passed
Before I stood before him.

But I was snatched
Away from him.
Slave traders claimed me.

The land was new
To my people,
The sun harsh to
Our pale skins.
To him the land was old,
The sun, an old friend.
He knew it was me
And he claimed me
As such. In hidden places
We touched hidden places.

But he was snatched
Away from me.
My people took his life.

My skin was as dark
As the depths of night,
His skin, pale yet tanned,
Accustomed to the sun.
My life was hard,
Leaving me brittle and
Unseeing and so he
Sought and found me,
Purchasing me for twice
My price, then escaping
This land of hate to
Surround me with love.

But I was snatched
Away from him.
So brittle was I that
I shattered during child birth.

He was a Goldstein and
I was blond with blue eyes.
Under a net of lies
And deception, we travelled
Through Europe, Hitler's forces
Nipping at our heels. Just
When freedom and safety
Were within our grasps,
The rabid dogs caught him,
Dragging him away.

He was snatched
Away from me.
Aushwitz was his last
Known location.

I was sitting in a cafe
When I saw him.
It was obvious that
He was a tourist
To my city of lights.
I did not run to him,
I just watched him,
History had left an
Imprint on me and
I was afraid that
He or I would be
Snatched away
from the other.

He looked through
The window, he
Looked at me,
We spoke without
Words, just
Smiles and glances.
He knew it was me
And he came into the cafe,
Sat across from me and
Said hello.

Maybe, just maybe,
This time we were
Meant to stay together
For a long time.

Maybe, just maybe,
Fate will be kind.

Depend On Me

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"The sky looks funny,"
I looked across at her,
Her small frame lying
On the blanket,
Her eyes looking
Up at the open sky.

"Why do you say that?"
My gaze returning
To the same sky.
It didn't look any
Different to me.

"It looks.......
It just looks different."
This was the norm for her,
She would make a statement
But found it hard to
Put her feelings, her opinions
Into words.

"Why are you here?"
She turned onto her side
Staring at me inquisitively.
"I know why I'm here,
But why are you here?"

Why was I here?
I let the question sink,
Sink into me, hoping
For an answer to pop up
Like apples in a barrel
Of water. Instead only
The truth popped up.

"Because you asked,
Because I care for you,"
My gaze remained on
The sky but I could still
See her in my periphery.

She just nodded
Her understanding then
Laid back on her back.
"Why did you ask me
To come with you?"
I asked, trying my best
To sound normal.

It was two hours ago
That she found me
Walking home.
She was in her beat up
Corolla and she asked
If I wanted to go
On a trip to the desert.

I said yes.

"You're the only one
That understands me,
The only one that doesn't
Keep asking me if I'm okay,
the only one that really
Listens to the words that
Fall out of my brain
And unto my tongue,"
Sometimes her answers were
Poetry to my ears.

I nodded my understanding,
Trying not to think of
The scars on her wrists.

"I asked you to come
Because I knew you
Would say yes and
Because I care for you, too."
I looked across at her
And she was looking at me.

For the first time,
In a long time,
I knew she was going
To be okay because
She knew she could
Depend on me.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets