Showing posts with label Original Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Original Poem. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 11, 2016 0 words I am thankful for

Afrosentric

Over the last few years, I've been given opportunities to perform at events in and around my island. In some cases I write an original poem for the event. This poem was written for a fashion design competition that was called Afrosentric.

One of the organizers wanted a spoken word performer speaking with background music as dancers danced. Another organizer had seen me perform at Soothe had suggested me. As I knew the first organizer, I had an in.

What I found amusing was the fact that I've turned my back on what I studied at college, Fashion Design, and I turn around and am performing at a fashion event. It still tickles me to think about it.

Anyway this introduction as grown too long, so here is the poem:


Traveling across
A sea of sand,
A man as dark
As the sun is bright
Adjusts his turban
And looks to the
Horizon, seeing
Nothing but sand
And somehow he
Finds comfort here.

Women dance under
The full moon,
Their hands reaching
High to the cloudless
Sky as the drums
Beat a rhythm
That is echoed in
Their hearts, in
Their souls. It was
The music that brought
Them to their feet,
To the dance.

Children laugh
Despite the emptiness
Of their stomachs,
They laugh.
Despite the poverty
That surrounds them,
They laugh.
Despite the many tears
That have fallen and
Will fall,
They laugh.

This land beyond
The horizon is not
Only deserts, grasslands
And jungles,
It is cities with
Buildings that try to
Touch the sky.
Technology and commerce
Fitting neatly in the palm
Of one's hand.

This land, so far
And yet so near
To us all.

It is near
When we look
At the reflection
In the mirror.

It is near
When we break
Out into song,
In our voices.

It is near
In the food we eat,
The way we speak,
The names we give our children,
The way the rhythm,
Any rhythm, flows
In and through us.

It is so far
And yet it
Is ingrained
In every cell
Of our being.

Our being,
The beings of
The stolen children,
Taken and forced
To toil in a land
That, too, was stolen
And yet they would
Have us believe that
It was discovered.

Despite our abduction,
We survived,
We survived enslavement,
We survived poverty,
We survived adapting
To a freedom that
Was not even a dream
To our parents.

And through this fire,
A new people was forged.
A Caribbean people,
But never do we forget
Our past, our history,
And the fact that
We are the children
Of Africa. We
Are not just Caribbean people
We are Afro-Caribbean people.

Our past proves
That we are a
Resilient people,
A creative people,
A people capable
Of everything and
Anything.

We have accomplished
So much in spite
Of our painful
Beginnings, we have
Created champions,
Artists, intellects, dancers,
Singers, designers and
The list goes on
And on and on.

And as the future
Extends beyond
The edge of our horizons,
There is so much
We can achieve,
We, the stolen children
Of Africa, we, the
Afro-Caribbean.

Although our leaders
Wish to return us
To slavery under
The moniker of jobs
Where we bow our heads
In servitude to
People with pale skins
And green bills.

We, the people, can choose
To be different.
We, the people,
Can show those who
Think we are only
Capable of laboring
Under the dictates
Of those who don't
Even look like us,
That we are better
Than this.

We, the people,
Can show the world
That we are creators,
Innovators, masters
Of industry and
Much, much more.

And tonight
We link our past
With our future.
Our past, Africa.
Our future,
A new generation
Of designers.
And that link,
That bridge,
We call

Afrosentric.


P.S. In this piece, I took a shot at the local politicians and would you know it the Minister of Culture was standing in front of me.

P.P.S. Will post the video within the coming week.
Monday, May 9, 2016 1 words I am thankful for

Tick Tock



Tick Tock
I hear my
Biological clock
Ticking away
The eggs I have
In short supply.

“Yuh nuh have
A child, yet?”
He looks at me
Like fertile soil
In which to
Plant his seed.

I look at him
As though he is
Trying to plant
A weed in my
Well tended garden.

“Step along,
Young boy,”
“Don't you have
Two, Five, Eight
Kids, brother man?”
“Ew,” are thoughts
That prod the back
Of my tongue, begging
To spring board off
The tip and dive
Into their ear
To swim in the
Gray matter
They call a brain.

And still the clock
Ticks....
Tick Tock
Tick Tock.

Fuck the clock.
Toss it into one
Of those trash disposals,
Let it be reduced
To bits and pieces,
Freeing me of
This prison.

This prison of
Others' expectations
Due to the fact
That I am a woman,
And as such, I must
Breed!
Breed?
Breed?!?

Alas, my entire
Existence, in a
Blink of an eye,
Has been reduced to
A walking womb.

I want to....
Breathe, the inhale,
Exhale kind,
Don't get it twisted.

Then again, I could just
Let time slip away,
Let the clock run out,
Ignore the pity
In people's eyes,
The venom in the
Eyes of overtaxed
Parents, the laments
Of family and strangers
For not letting my genes
Live beyond my body.

Extracting this clock
From my craw and
Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
Breathe.

Then...
Then I would see a little one,
Be it a floppy headed babe
Or a gangly seven year old
Who has just begun to reason,
And....

And I touch my hand
To my stomach.

And I imagine a
Little me with an
Extra bit of spice.

And...
And I think,
Just maybe,
Just maybe
I could be
Someone's mommy.

Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Tick

Tock.

image credit: Ales Krivec
Tuesday, January 26, 2016 1 words I am thankful for

Seven Days

Give me seven days,
He smiled,
His eyes twinkled
Like the stars above
With an energy
She knew too well.

Can you perform
A miracle in such
A short time?
Her smile was nervous,
Tinged with a hope
That was ambrosia
To him.

I can do it
In less time,
His confidence never
Wavered, a steady
Candle flame, even in
A sand storm.

Then seven days
It is, she smiled
On the outside
And prayed on
The inside.
She wanted him
To succeed.

One then Two,
Two then Three,
Three then Four,
Four then Five,
Five then Six,
Six then Seven,
Seven then...

At the end of
The seventh day,
As the sun became
One with the sea,
As the moon bloated
And sickly watched
Over her, he came forth.

Did you worry?
He searched her face.

Yes,
Her eyes flutter shut.

Did you pray for me,
He tipped her chin up,
Urging her to look at him.

Yes,
She could never lie to him.

Did you believe in me?
His lips brushed hers.

Always,
She met his gaze
And in his eyes,
She saw that the
Miracle had come to pass.
Thursday, January 21, 2016 1 words I am thankful for

I love...

I love
The smell of him
In my sheets.

I would turn over
In the middle
Of the night
And it would be
There.
I would breathe
Him in.

I love his
Scent.

I love
His skin.

Alabaster black
In some places
And a sweet
Brown in others.
So sweet
I would kiss it
Here, there,
Anywhere and
Everywhere.

I love
His skin.

I love
Sleeping with him.

I knew I was
Long past infatuation
When I could
Dream with his
Arms wrapped around
Me.

We weren't two
Lumpy masses
Existing on a
Plane courting
Nocturnal bliss,
We fit perfectly
Together, in more
Ways than one.

I love
Sleeping with him.

I love...

I love....
Him.

Not for reasons
Or concepts but
Because he is
One star and
So am I
And in a universe
Of stars, we
Somehow found
Each other,
We found someone
Who fits perfectly.

Then again,
I guess
That is
A reason.



I will be honest and say that my handwriting was awful, so there are a few words in this that I doubt was in the original poem. Still working on my poetry.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016 2 words I am thankful for

Likkle Boi

"Psst
Psst,
Miss,
Lemme talk
To you for
A minute."

Taking in the
Boxers on display,
The jeans so tight
It is a wonder
They are able to
Hang so low,
The woman ten years
His senior sucks her teeth
As though sucking
The flesh off of
A kenep.

"Likkle boi,
Don't know
Him place,
Thinking a
Big 'oman
Like me would
Eva deal with
A likkle boi,"
She says, hiking up
Her bag and
Walking away.

All that likkle boy
Want is the two
Dollar me work
Hard for. He
Would t'ink is
His payment for
Rubbing my
Neck, feet....
And other such
Places.

Not dis 'oman yah,
My money is for
My clothes,
My food,
My child,
And no man alive
Would get a cent
Of it. I work too hard
To throw way
What likkle money
I work for.

If only that
Likkle boi did
Know that I only
Deal with man
And they money.
And by the look
Of things, I would
Become a man
Before that likkle boi
Ever would.


My attempt at dialect. LOL. Oh and this is "kenep"
Thursday, January 14, 2016 0 words I am thankful for

Not Ever

Whisper softly to me,
Speak words that you
Would never say to
Anyone but me.

Tell me that
You want me, that
You need me, that
You love me.

Why is your
Tongue still?
Why are your words
Trapped in that mind,
Prisoners of some
Malady I know
Nothing about.

Why don't you
Speak truth to me
For your actions
Speak them so
Plainly.

Alas, your mind
And body oppose
Each other and
You trust the mind
But I trust the body.

Then go!
Yes, go!
I shall not stand
For such indecision,
It is either you love me
Or you don't.

Speak plainly, man,
I know those lips,
I know that tongue
Can construct
Sentences.

And so we have it,
You love me, but you
Also love someone else.
The decision was never yours
It appears. It is mine
And my decision is for
You to leave.

Don't look at me with
Sad eyes. Put your tail
Between your legs and
Shoo.

I am not one
To share my toys,
Not now,
Not ever.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016 1 words I am thankful for

In This Time



A Norman Rockwell painting
Hung over my head,
More like a print,
But I'm not judging.

A snapshot of
A more peaceful time
Sends me reeling back
To the time when it
Was not so peaceful.

When a hatred gripped
The hearts of men
Who could never get
Past their programming.

A time when women
Could not vote,
When a black man
Could not occupy
The same space as
A white woman.

I also remember
A time when the
Hatred was reversed
And the anthem of
"F*ck the police"
Was played from every
Ghetto blaster.

In this time,
A time I now
Live, gangstas are
Either dead or
Making movies.

In this time,
We haven't resolved
The hatred, and
Untended it has
Been left to fester.

In this time,
We wear masks so
Tightly that they
Seem to become
Our faces.

In this time,
I look up at
The Norman Rockwell
And wish that
This lie was true.


Image Credit
Friday, December 11, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

Untitled

Among the rocks,
I found a diamond,
Its many facets
Reflecting my torch
Light in every direction,
Dazzling my eyes.

In my hands,
It was hard
And unyielding
And all I had
to do was slip
It into my pocket

No one would know,
No one would believe.
Instantly, i would
Become rich, but
What is rich?

What is rich,
If I deceive
The ones I love?

What is rich
when there is
No one to share
The trappings
Of my prosperity?

What is rich
If I was alone
In a world
That is foreign
And nothing but
Illusions and deceptions?

Digging a hole,
I made my decision,
I placed the diamond
In the hole
And buried it.

A fool am I?
Perhaps, but a
Happy fool with
No money to his name
Is better than an
Unhappy one with
Money to burn.

A fool I am.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

His Words

He would whisper
In my ear in
The most unexpected
Places, the most
Unexpected times.

His words would
Beat against my ear drums
As crowds pressed us
Together as we waited
For a concert to begin.

His words would
Break my concentration
As I sat at my desk
Working on a budger
Or something work related.

His words would
Wrap theselves around
My attention and
Pull it violently away
From what triviality
I was lot in.

His words never
Changed, never morphed
Into anything else
And still when I heard
Them a smile wormed
My face.

Then his words
Would become my words
As I whispered
Them back with
Equal sincerity
That was never
Lost on him.

His words.
My words.
Our words.
I love you.
Monday, December 7, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

Held On

He held on to me
As the golden raays
Of the morning sun
Turned Sharp and white
Then dull and golden
Again.

I should be dead,
Instead, she lay
Motionless, somewhere
In this building of
Life and death.

He held onto me
As though I was
A life preserver
But he was mine.

I held onto him
When the hearaging
Didn't stop. When
the doctors and nurses
Buzzed around like
Inhabitants of a disturbed
Hive, he held onto me.

I survived but
She didn't, she
Slipped through my hands
And fell into death's
And before I could
Get to know her,
She was gone.

It was as the
Shadows stretched
Till they became one,
That the tears came.
One, then two, then
My ace, his face
Was awash
With tears.

And we held on,
Even as sobs
Caused tremors
In our bodies
We held on
To each other.

The tears would dry,
The sobs would be
Silenced. The pain
Would recede from
Sharp to dull
And we will try
Again, but for now
We held onto each
Other.
Friday, December 4, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

A Monster

I feel like
A monster.

The light streaming
Through the gap in
The window turned
Innocuous dust motes
Into stars. I wondered
If actual stars were
Really dust motes
Floating in someone
Else's space.

Are you
A monster?

I looked across at
Dr. ..., his head tilted
As though he was
Reading the pad
He always held,
But he was looking
Up at me over his
Glasses.

Do I look like
A monster?

We were prone to
Doing this, answering
Questions with questions,
I'm sure to normal people
This would be irritating
But to us, it was normal.

A minute passed.
What does it
Look like?
A monster?

I reached out and
Grabbed a handful of
Stars. The action would
Have looked peculiar.
Perhaps it was.

It has horns,
And red eyes,
Pointed teeth,
And terrible 
Skin.

I squeezed my hand,
Imagining stars, moons,
Planets and little itty
Bitty people being
Crushed in my little
Hand.

What if I said
It looks like a
Woman with
Grey eyes and
A disarming
Smile.

I smiled.
Are you calling
Me a monster?

He didn't answer,
He wrote on the
Notepad he always
Held during our
Sessions. The thick
Glass separating
Him from me.

Perhaps, I am
A monster.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

Feels Heavy

My pen feels
Heavy today and
As I force it
Down upon the paper,
It sputters ink
Here and there,
Thoughts splutter
With no rhyme
Or reason, just
Thoughts.

My pen feels
Heavy today and
It feels as though
A wall was built
Between my muse
And me.
Free her,
Free me,
Free us!

Let our words flow
Like rivers older
Than time, older
Than the existence
of creatures that
Quench their thirsts
In the ever flowing
Waters.

Let my words be
Unshackled from
The heavy chains that
Hold them down in the
Muck of silence,
Let them be free.

Free them,
Let them not be
Held back by mine,
Own fears, mine own
Doubts fed by
The words of others.

These words are not
Mine, they never were,
They were stories
Of their own making
And I am but
A tool, nothing more
Than a pen, a type-
Writer.

My pen feels
Heavy today and
Still I put it
To paper, I let
Thoughts sputter
Across it until
They make sense,
Then again....

Then again,
Do they have
To make sense.
Monday, November 30, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

The Price

Open up your heart,
She banged on the door,
The pain of striking it
Shot up her arm and
Still she struck it
Again.

To her, the pain
Was nothing in comparison
To the pain she
Felt in her heart.

A pain that wormed
Its way into the
Tight spaces in her
Chest and squeezed
The one organ that
Made life possible.

I love you, you know.
Her striking the door
Ceased and in the
Silence, she spoke
Her truth.

It made her feel
Naked, her skin
Exposed to his
Possible rejection.

The door opened and
He stood in the doorway,
His eyes searching her face,
Her soul.

Do you really?
Say it again,
When she did,
He smiled.

Taking her hand, he
Pulled her into an
Embrace.

I don't love you,
His words were
Whispers in her ear.

He stepped back
And closed the door.
She stood, jaw slack,
Spirit crushed.

Was this the price
Of being vulnerable,
Of loving a man,
Of walking in her truth?
Was it worth the price.

Turning around and
Walking away from
His front door, she
Closed her heart,
And with it the
Pain. For her,
The price was too high.
Friday, November 27, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

His Smile

His smile never reached
His eyes, instead it
Was oily and as a
Result my smile was
Slow in coming.

His smile set off
A chain reaction of
Disgust in me as it
Made me feel as though
He was stripping me
Bare with his eyes.

A smile is supposed
To make people happy
But his, his was
The Rumpelstiltskin kind
Of smile and I
Was grateful I had
No hay to spin to gold.

His smile did him
No favours and I
Was grateful when
It faded away in
Disappointment when
For the tenth time
I said that I
Was not interested.

His smile was
The one smile
I never missed.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

Of Time

With each passing day,
A jewel formed on
One of the many chains
That hung about her.

It was not long
Before they weighed
Her down, curling
And folding her body.

It was as though
Time was returning her
To the earth with
Each trinket
Representing a day.

It was not long
Before her existence
Was reduced to
Her bearing the pain.

But one day it
Was too much
And she fell under
The weight, crashing
Down to the earth.

Time paid no heed
And more jewels appeared
'til she disappeared
Under the trinkets
Of time.
Monday, November 23, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

The Arena



In the center
Of the arena
They stood, a
Mindless throng
Yelling at them
To do the
Unspeakable.

They looked one
Another over,
Trying to determine
If one or the
Other will leave
The arena alive.

One uttered words
That were a mess
Of sounds to the
Other. They did
Not even speak
The same language.

Strangers being
Forced to kill
Strangers.

With the energy
Of the mad crowd
About them,
They attached,
Not out of anger,
Not out of malice,
But out of the need
To survive.

Before long, one
Was struck down,
And with the crowds
insistence the other
Rendered his opponent
Lifeless.

As the arena
Grew quiet,
A sense of clarity
Descended upon
The survivor.
Small hands released
The bloodied axe.
The child fell
To its knees.

They were but
Children, not quite
Men and women,
And yet they were
Forced to do
What we are
Reluctant to do.

As he wept
Over the slain
Child, a girl
Who would never
Become a woman,
A guard scooped
Him up.

The guard would not
Return him to the
Cage that had been
His home. He
Would be taken
To the barracks,
He would become
A soldier, serving
The empire.

But before he
Ever serves his
Country, the empire,
The child had to
Lose his soul.


Image Credit: galleryhip
Friday, November 20, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

Untitled

His body was
Nothing but a silhouette
Among the shadows.

If I knew not
That he was there,
I would think him
An illusion formed
By an over-active mind.

He sat beside me
And the heat
Emanated from his body
Made me wonder if
He had absorbed the heat
Of the sun and now
It was seeping
Away into the cool
Night.

Yet when I touched him,
When our bodies
Became one, he was
Cool to the touch.
It was my body,
He said, that was
Heated.

It was not long
Before both bodies
Became heated, minds
Lost in a pre-climatic
Trance. The mind,
Body, soul enveloped
In a singular gasp.

Falling apart,
Bodies spent,
Minds drifting to
Parts unknown,
We reached for each
Other. An intimacy
Followed by an intimacy.

One kinetic.
One latent.
Both connecting us
To each other,
To this moment,
Which quickly slipped
Away to slumber.

From the shadows
He came,
In my arms,
He remained.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

When I Grow Up

When I grow up
I want to be different.
I want to be the
Person people point at
And say, “Wow.”

When I grow up
I want to hold life
By the hair and swing
It around and around
'Til it got dizzy
And puked all my desires.

When I grow up
I want it all to be
Sweetness and light
Edged with a darkness,
So dark it rivaled
Black holes.

When I grow up
I want the sun
To shine unto my face
And the breeze to
Lick the sweat from
My brow.

When I grow up
I want it all
To make sense,
That I would understand
Why people claimed
Their sadness.

From the outside,
I appear to have
Grown up, but
It isn't what
I thought it
Would be.

Somehow, I get
The feeling that
Someone is lying,
Is it me or
Is it society?

Somehow, in the depths
Of me, I believe
That the truth is
Buried under the many
Layers of crud placed
Lovingly around me
By those who
“Know better.”

So I believe
I am still growing,
A plant buried
In a seed
Buried in the earth.
And when I grow
Up, I will make
Life puke all
My desires.
Friday, November 13, 2015 0 words I am thankful for

Strands of Hair



The strands of hair
Curl and coil
This way and that,
Refusing to stay
Straight, to fall
Luxuriously down
One's back.

The strands of hair
Stand out in a
Tangled mess as
Fairies go about
The business of knotting
A few out of idleness
Or vindictiveness.
Either case, thy leave
Behind knots.

The strands of hair
Never heard of gravity
But soon discover
Whey they are braided
Together and soon
They are aware of
The Law.

The strands of hair
Are rebels and misfits,
Hated and loved,
They are my own
And are me, the hair,
They come together
To make my crown.






Image Credit: Dope Black Art
Wednesday, November 11, 2015 1 words I am thankful for

Imperfect



I'm not perfect.
I'm not beautifully
Constructed with
Bone, Muscles,
Blood, Organs
And sinews.
My imperfection
Is so evident,
Can you not see it?

I'm not perfect.
I don't continually
Walk in the light
Of self confidence,
Half the time,
I shiver with
Insecurities as I
Walk blindly into
The unknown.
Can you not feel
My fears.

I'm not perfect.
I can never be
Perfect for the
Word itself is
Conceptual with
No true example
Existing in
The world.

Each flower has
Its blemish.
Each man,
His flaws
And yet everything,
Everyone is
Perfect in their
Imperfection.

In my imperfection,
I have room to
Grow, to reach
Beyond the limitations
I place on myself,
Placed on me by others.

I am no perfect.
I am gloriously
Imperfect.


Image Credit: Jacqueline Harriet
 
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