In Peace

source

"Sit with me," she said.
I looked down
To see a frail woman
Of advancing years
Sitting in a wheelchair.

Instead of sadness,
I saw joy in her eyes
That seem to twinkle
Like a reluctant star
In the morning sky.

Being from the kind
Of fold who heeded
The words of their elders,
I say beside her
Upon a rickety bench.

"Now tell me, " she began,
What is ailing you so much
That wrinkles appear between
Your eyes with the ease
Of a baby smiling at it's mama?"

An expression of shock
Must have flashed across my face
Because she just smiled
And patted my knee.
"Tell me, sugar," her voice like honey.

It was as though
I was waiting all my life
For this question, the words,
My words surged forward
Like a great wave.

When I was done,
The last of these words
Trickling out of my mouth,
I felt a measure of peace,
A weight removed.

"Now, see here," she began,
A serious expression on  her face,
"All you just said remains here
With me. You are not leaving
This place with them."

"Instead I want you to leave here
With that blossom of peace
You feel in your chest.
I want you to focus on it,
Water it until it fills up your life.

I started to speak
But she held up her hand,
"Nuh-uh, not a word,
You said your piece,
Now go in peace."

I got to my feet,
Lighter and happier,
I leaned over
And kissed her cheek,
My way of thanking her.

And I did what she instructed
I went in peace.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

It's Complicated

source

"It's complicated."

She sat in the middle

Of my living room,

In the middle of my

Life's debris, reading

A book.

"What's complicated?"

I asked, I always had

A problem called

Curiosity.

Looking up for a second,

Before returning to her book,

"Everything.

Everything is complicated,"

She said, matter-of-factly.

I felt the beginnings of

A deep conversation

And I wondered if

I was prepared to go

To a place she knew

Very well.

I was not prone to

Heavy thoughts, I 

Left philosophy to the

Likes of Socrates, Plato

And her, 

The woman 

Who would wear 

A top that skimmed

Her hips with nothing

But panties while 

Reading Nietzsche.

"Everything is complicated

Because we can't handle

Simple."

She decided to take 

The reins and lead me

Down the path.

"We can't imagine that

Life is simple so we 

Tell ourselves that it's

Complicated."

She caught my interest

So I sat down to listen.

"If given the choice

Between simple and 

Complex, we always

Choose complex.

We love a problem to

Solve."

"What is a problem

You are trying to solve,"

I asked.

She looked up

And leveled her

Gaze with mine,

"I'm trying to figure

Out how to stop

Loving you."

She was right,

She was always right.

It is complicated.

Willing To Love

The train drew closer
And I waited patiently
For her. It had been
Four months, twelve days,
Seven hours and 15 minutes
Since I last saw her.

Her letter said she
Was coming for good,
That she was looking
Forward to moving to
The little Spanish city
That was my home.

The train emptied out
And between families
And lovers reuniting,
I waited patiently
For her. I waited
Till the little station
Was almost empty.

Then I felt a tap
On my shoulder, I
Turned around to find
The train's conductor,
A letter in his hand,
A mix of sadness and
Pity in his eyes.

He didn't speak,
I didn't speak,
The letter left his hand
Coming into mine.

He walked away,
His mission complete,
A weight, a burden
Now gone, soon to
Be forgotten.

Alas, this weight, this burden
Was now mine,
I walked across to a bench.
As I sat, I opened the letter.

Words swam in and out of
My vision, in and out of
My understanding like
Fish escaping the water
Attempting to fly.

I had read the letter
Once, then twice,
It was only on the third
Reading that I truly
Understood.

In a daze, I walked
Through the city, the
Vibrant colours I had
Come to know had bled away.

I walked to a my neighbourhood,
But passed my abode,
Making my way to the bar
Down the street from it.

I parked myself on
A stool and asked
The bartender, a friend
Of mine, for something hard,
Something to dull the edges.

He didn't ask,
I didn't tell.

Between mid-afternoon
And midnight, I drank
To forget, I drank
To dull the pain, I drank
Till the bartender, the friend
Refused to serve another
Glass of slow death.

Instead at two past
The witching hour,
He delivered me to my home,
Placing me on the bed,
Water on the bedside table
And a bucket on the floor.

She never came, instead
Pain was my companion
During the months that followed.

Eventually it eased from
Sharp to dull like
A butcher's old knife.
Then it became an ache
That returned only when
I remembered.

I stared to forget
Thanks to Maria, and
Maria became Isabella,
Isabella became Bianca,
Bianca became Carmen.

As Carmen slept in
My bed, I returned to
The letter for the first time
In a long time.

In the letter,
She said she loved me
But she was scared,
She didn't have the
Wherewithal to jump, to
Take a chance on
The fickle emotion
Called love.

For the first time ever,
I didn't feel sad,
I felt angry, and in
That anger, I tore the
Letter up, offering the
Pieces to the flames
On my stove top.

I returned to my bedroom,
Stopping at the doorway,
Watching the woman sleeping
In my bed, the woman
Willing to take a chance
On love.

Her eyes opened and on
Seeing me, a lazy smile
Spread across her face,
"Vienes aqui, mi amor,"
Reaching her hand out to me.

I went to her,
Wrapping myself around her.

The pain was gone,
The anger was gone,
Love for some one who
Loved me replaced it all.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Willard

Willard.
Willard was his name.
Not William.
Not Willy,
Nor Will or Bill,
But Willard.

Willard stood 6ft tall,
Maybe more but
I never had a
Measuring tape around
When he came by
The farmhouse that
Pa built.

In those times,
They called it courting,
I called it sniffing around,
But Ma and Pa liked it
As every time Willard came by
He would bring news
For Ma's ear or
An extra hand for Pa.

As for me, he would
Bring wild flowers.
A whole mess of them,
Ma would have me smile
And put them in a pretty
Vase bought specially for them.

I didn't like Willard,
But I didn't hate him
Either. He was like
A stranger you saw
Often enough that
You end up liking them.

First, I like the way
He laughed nervously when
I told a blue joke.
Then the way his sandy hair
Would catch the last rays
Of summer sun.

I liked the freckles
That came out in May
And said goodbye
When the harvest moon
Said hello.

I liked his smile,
Not the nervous one,
Or the polite one,
I liked the one that
Was full of mischievous
That mirrored mine at times.

Or the one that
Could only be described
As proud when I told
Mary Sue, that little know it all,
Where to put her
Pretty, little nose.

When a summer turned
Into a year and
A year into two,
When puberty brought
New surprises and emotions,
Willard was there.

When Pa got sick
And Ma became Ma,
Pa and Pa's nurse,
Leaving me to fend for myself,
Willard was there.

Then Willard was gone
For a spell or two
And I felt a sadness
I never knew could exist
Leaving me listless and cagey.

Then he came back and
I swear, though Ma said
Not to, it was like
The sun came out from
Behind the clouds.

When he came back,
He took me down by
The river where the big
Oak tree stands
And out of his pocket
Came a ring.

I said yes before
He could ask the question.
Yes, I love him,
Yes, I will marry him,
Yes, I will live with him
In sunshine and rain.

Willard is his name.
Not William,
Not Willy,
Not Will or Bill
But Willard,
The man I love.


Submitted to Poets United's Poetry Pantry

Untitled

source




"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.

I Found Peace

vi.sualize.us

Daniel laughed out loud,
And usually it would thrill me,
But in this moment,
It only chilled me.

The gasoline had leaked
From the can
Creating a river of death
That pooled before me,
Becoming a lake tinged with
My fear.

His eyes were wild,
His movements, too quick,
His hatred shone and flickered
Around him as though it lived
In his atmosphere.

Those fingers used to intertwine
With mine, those hands
Used to stroke my cheeks,
But now they struck a match.

Now they tossed the match
Into the river of death.
Flames caught, leaping and
Jumping, following the river
To where I sit bound.

And in one breath,
The flames began to consume me,
But I refused to look away
From my former lover’s face.

As my skin melted,
As the smoke filled my lungs,
I stared at him,
I stared at my killer.

I died,
And in that death,
I cursed him.

I cursed him with
The darkest of magic,
A magic fed by
My rage.

It was that magic
That kept me alive
After my body had died.
And it was that magic
That helped me kill
Daniel.

And it was in his death,
I found peace in
My own death.

I Would Journey

The plane dipped down
As my stomach dipped up.
The pilot cursed
In three languages,
None of which was English.
And yet, I continued on.

The seat of the bus
Rudely smacked my rear
As though I was
An unruly child.
Still two more hours
On this bumpy road,
And yet I would not turn back.

The donkey brayed
And once again
My rear learns a new
Pain from a saddle
Attached to said donkey.
I believe the braying
Was him laughing
At his foolish cargo.
I am to close
To even think
Of where I came from.

My body ached
As I took the
Last few steps
To the doorway of the hut
And yet it was
All worth it.

There standing in the doorway
Was my child.
There in my child’s arms
Was my grandchild.

As I took my grandchild
Into my arms
And my child led me
To the chair
Next to a window
That looked out onto the mountains,
The aches of my journey
Melted away.

For my child,
I would journey
To the end of the world.
For my grandchild,
I would journey back.

Love is Love

vi.sualize.us

Do you believe....
The words escaped
Her lips in a whisper.
Almost as though
She had exhaled
The works like spent air,
Technically, carbon dioxide.

My grandmother
Was not prone
To speaking at length.
Actually, I knew her
Not to talk at all
As she died
Long before I was
A twinkle in my parents' eyes.

And yet here she sat
On the corner of my bed.
This was a dream
Or so I kept
Repeating to myself.
Still, I did not
Pinch myself, thinking
It would be a tad
Disrespectful.

Then she repeated
Her question,
This time louder.
This time with an object
As well as a subject and verb.

Do you believe in love?
I looked away.
How do you explain
To your grandmother
That you had closed your heart
And chose not to love,
Chose not to seek it,
Chose not to let it in.

Coolness touched my chin
Turning my head
So that I met her gaze.
She waited,
She would have waited
From now to forever.
I had no choice
But to be honest.

She listened
As I emptied my soul
Into the night.
She listened as the moon
Traveled west
And the stars watched .
Then she whispered again.

Love is love.
Love is not a missing pen
That you have to look
High and low for.
Love is out in the open
And if you continue
To look for it in
Nooks and crannies,
You will never find it.

Love is not for one
Who hides their heart
Afraid that it would
Be abused,
That it would
Be broken.
If you do not,
Can not love,
How can you be loved?

This night
As the full, shiny moon
Traversed west,
A dead grandmother
Taught her granddaughter
How to love again.
And as the weight
Of the Sandman’s
Sands closed my eyes,
I felt coolness
On my forehead
Where my grandmother
Kissed me goodnight.

I saw her twice more
In my lifetime.
Once on the eve
Of my wedding day.
She taught me
How to love my husband.
The second time
Was when my newborn child
Slept in the cot beside me.
She taught me
How to love my child.

Every time I saw her
She whispered
Love is love.

Love & Marriage

Today, there will be two posts, the other one will be the poem.

Now, yesterday, with the help of technology, I was able to have conversations with two friends based in NYC. Through email, one friend and I discussed Valentines Day and the awkward nature of it. In some relationships it tends to feel like an obligation and in others it is another opportunity to express one's love. Well, this conversation flowed into relationships, and a barrage of questions flooded my mind. But the one I asked was, if you are in a relationship and you don't feel compelled to go the extra mile for that person, should you stay?

You see, I have a logical side and an irrational, crazy, romantic side. The logical side would assess the situation and say dump the guy, you're wasting your time and his time. The romantic side says "What if you don't find someone better and you end up alone," or "He'll change or you will grow to live with it." When I look at it the logical side makes sense, but when you are in the thick of the relationship you can't grasp the sense. So I become cynical. Which brings me to my other friend.

She's getting married to a genuinely good guy (well she says he's a good guy). He's her best friend, he's a great lover (she says, of course I wouldn't know that) and he really loves her and she loves him. That's the universe for you, just when you think that love is an old concept, it gives you an example otherwise. I'm very happy for her. He's even going to ask for her hand in marriage. So cute and divine.

Perhaps I'm rambling, I tend to do that, but if you have any thoughts, weigh in.



Inspiring quote of the day:

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
- Lao Tzu

Diary of a Tired Black Man

I have a slight addiction to watching movies online, and I come across some gems that don't reach my island or are not really blockbusters. One such movie is Diary of a Tired Black Man. I wouldn't say it's a movie per se, more like a documentary. When I first clicked on the movie, I was thinking it was going to have a parody of sorts on Tyler Perry's Diary of a Mad Black Woman, what I came across was truth. Truth about us black women, truth about how black men perceive us and maybe the starting point for truly working out what one wants out of a relationship and what we want out of a partner. We all have feelings, sometimes our feelings blind us from seeing what the other person is feeling.

There are some very important points I gleaned from this movie, for example:

- Bag lady, leave your bags at the door of your new relationship. This is a new man, new experiences, the last thing you want to do is ruin it with drama from a past relationship.

- There are good men out their, yes you may have dated some crap men, but like anything else, it comes down to persistence, don't stop looking. Also, sometimes it comes down to the human mind and being open mentally and physically to something you want.

- Stop being angry, stop stressing everybody. There is a difference between being strong and being stifling and hegging.

I could go on and on, but I won't. Below are the links to the website.

This is the original clip:


Here are the links to the movie:
Diary of a Tired Black Man 1
Diary of a Tired Black Man 2

This Messy Thing

There is this song by India.Arie, it starts with "I am ready for love... I made a cd of the love songs I had on cds and that was the first song on it.

Right now, I question if I am ready for love. Or if I am capable of lof love. Hell, what is love? Do I want it? Do I need it? Can I have both love and a career? If I can't have both, which one should I give up?

I'm confused at an age when I'm suppose to get it. I had a suite-mate who was at the end of a relationship with her boyfriend. She didn't know it, but he knew it. It was messy in my estimation, and she asked me what was going on, why was he not calling her back. It was clear as day and she didn't get it. How do you convince someone that the other person isn't into them anymore. I guess I was mortally afraid of being so blinded by this messy thing call love.

I'm babbling, so I'm going to stop here. If you have any comments on this messy thing called love, post them.