Category Archives: Just Me, Being Me

Summanus

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21

Imagine I am Summanus

Thunder god of night

Full of dark promise

And surprise

Lingering in moonlight

Touching you

There

Reaching out with

Diaphanous fingers

Taking you to me

Let me gather you in

Gossamer arms

And hold you tight

Let my star-streaked tongue

Wax and wane

In supple poses

Over the blossom of you

And lick clean the soul

Of your body

Let my moon-body

Take yours

Mold the white heat

Of your passions

And form stars

Let me teach you

To suckle

The flow of the galaxies

from within in

For sustenance

You have known yearning

Known need

Known the hot darkness

Breeding fire inside

Let the chaos

Come

Our joining

Personified in

Aurora and comets

But first

Right now

Let me touch

The life at your lips

And hungrily kiss you

Into my eternity

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Entered in dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 40

Urban Haze

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17

If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.
The streets spots filled, the garages are packed
Garage is too expensive anyways.
Going home from work in a funky sweat,
Back of my throat like bottom of ashtrays.
The hour’s lucubration gone downhill,
Under the glare of my boss’ sharp gaze.
My corporate suit felt so good at work,
Now I’m out in midst of this darn blaze.
The walk’s a distance by foot to the train
And my suit is torture under these rays.
If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.
Want to take off my jacket but I can’t,
Caught some strange guy checking me out slant ways.
Can feel my silk blouse sticking to my skin,
Yet I’m so not about to make his days
And see just how fitting my form can be,
But it’s worse in the sauna of subways.
For once again the AC’s not running.
This train’s the epitome of clichés.
Practice mental transference while I’m here,
To somewhere with pools and drinks and valets.
If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.
All packed up on each other like sardines,
Is it the train or heat that’s causing sways?
Grateful that I’m finally at my stop,
Caught again in of those train delays.
At last! I am the phoenix bird rising,
From the deep pyre walking up the stairways.
Got the number for dinner on speed dial
The thought of cooking has me in a daze.
Little trooper I am I brave the heat,
But sometimes I swear I hate the weekdays.
If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.

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Today’s form is a Raccontino.

The raccontino is an unlimited number of couplets, rhyming xb xb xb xb xb, etc. The syllable count is set in the first line and followed throughout the poem.

Entered in dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Subway

Moshing

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33

Music blares through amplifiers
Heavy Metal
Bass line
Loud

My age shocks some
In this
Crowd

Me in the mosh
Thrashing
Proud

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Last week I went to an underground concert to support and critique a friend whose band was performing there. Let’s just say I could have given birth to most of the other attendees with whom I was front stage and center dancing up a storm. Conversations while different bands set up, comparing the ones performing that night to other older (sometimes much older), bands is when some realized I was not even within fifteen years of their age. As faces ebbed and flowed that night, it became something of a running gag for some whippersnapper in the know to grab a newcomer and have him or her guess my age. Yes, Advil was dear my friend the next morning, but this Mama held her own proudly that night.

Because when this mama rocks, it’s not in a chair.

A conversation I had yesterday regarding my love of head banging music reminded me of last week’s concert. I decided to immortalize it by trying another Zeno poem (Ten lines with the syllable count: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 and a rhyme scheme: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d).

That it also happens to fit this weeks dVerse challenge of “keeping it small” is an added bonus. 22 words total!

dVerse ~ Pets Pub | MeetingTheBar: It’s a small, small world — so let’s LIMBO like there is no tomorrow

The Fire Next Time…

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4

Other than my poem, A Lesson Deferred and a Facebook status post, I have been pretty quiet on the whole Trayvon Martin matter. A friend called me on it knowing I must have some opinion. My response was along the lines of simply not wanting to go there again. Today, I read a comment from a fellow blogger’s Slice of Life post from yesterday and she has nailed my feelings right on the head…

“I am so very tired to being quiet, of having to be concerned about the degree to which I can express my feelings because I have to worry that people will label me an “Angry Black Woman””

This is how I feel in a nutshell.

What does it say when a public figure such as Rush Limbaugh regularly feels free to spew vitriol on a variety of subjects, but I feel that I feel the need to self-censor? The very fact that I feel this restriction, this need to play the “Good Negro” just makes me more angry.

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

My Baby, He Loves Me…

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9

Drifting on a mode so deep – had to put it to words so I can sleep
Some of you won’t like this I know – but the muse goes where it wants to go

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like Chi-Town

Gangsta All The Way, ‘Cause He Know I Don’t Play
Before He Could Love Me Here, He Had To Love Me There
He Had To Speakeasy To Find The Key To Unlock My Mind
Because Once Unlocked There Is No Prohibition To What He Won’t Do For Love
Because Once Unlocked There Is No Inhibition To What I Will Do For Love
Because Once Unlocked There Is Just The Mission To Love

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like Detroit

Do-Wop Singing, Joy Bringing, Hip Swaying, Motown Playing
Hot Car Driving, Always Striving To
Giving Me The Best That’s He’s Got
Giving Me The Best ‘Cause It’s Hot
Giving It All Until We’re Bloodshot

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like New Orleans

The Big Easy – Easy Like A Sunday Morning, Just As The Day Is Dawning
Like Cool Jazz On The Hot Delta, I’m Telling Ya’ll I Never Felt A
Who Do The Voodoo, Like He Do
The Bass Of His Sax Makes My Skin Thrum
The Bass Of His Sax Makes My Lips Hum
The Bass Of His Sax Makes Me Just Wanna Succumb

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like Compton

Timberland Wearing, Rough-Neck Swearing
All The While Smiling Cause We Doggie Styling
Free-Styling On Crenshaw Where They All Saw
The Liquid Ounce¸ Ounce, Ounces Of The Forty
Drip On The Flounce, Flounce, Flounces Of My Booty
In The Bounce, Bounce, Bounces Of The Hoopty

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like The Big Apple

Creating It, Making It, Taking It, Never Faking It
So Good It Makes Me Weep For The Sexing That Never Sleeps
Ain’t Got A Damn Thing To Say When He’s Laying Down The Broadway

Shoes On The Counter, In The Hall, Still Outside The Front Door.
Buttons Splattered, Clothing A Tattered, Scattered Mess On The Floor
No Shame In My Game ‘Cause Don’t You Know?
I’m Well Versed In The Language Of Fellatio
Going From “oh baby, oh baby, oh baby, oh.”
To “Oh Baby! Oh Baby! Oh Baby! Oh Baby! OH!”

Back Stinging From The Sweat In Trails His Nails Left
And Moaning For More ‘Cause I’m Not Done Yet
Tom Catted, Hair Matted,
Sheets Twisting, Sweat Glistening,
Cock Throbbing, All Out Sobbing
And That’s Just Him . . .

Menage A Trois? Yeah! Fuck That And Get The Strap!
Tongue Dripping On The Cunt Dipping For
The New Jack Trick Of The Deep Licked Long Dick
Where I’m Laid Down To Get Jacked-On
Where I’m Held Down To Get Sucked-Off
Where I’m Tied Down To Get Fucked Up

Stroking, Stoking, Toking, Smoking
Steaming, Streaming, Screaming, Creaming

MY! BABY! IS! LOVING! ME! UNTIL! WE! ARE! FUCKING! EACH! OTHER! AS! HARD! AS! THIS!

And Oh – Did I Tell You About My Baby?

He Loves Me…

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 37

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

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A week ago Saturday, I should have been repeatedly glancing at the time, waiting for 5:17 pm Pacific Daylight Time to make a call that would have rung in New York City at 8:17pm Eastern Daylight Time. For the past few days I should have been teasing my friend, on how I wish I could have personally seen the expression on her face when the man she had been living with for three years dropped down to one knee and proposed to her, in front of the family gathered for St. Patrick’s revelry while she and I were talking on the phone at 8:17pm EDT/5:17pm PDT. Why that exact time? Because the proposer was seventeen minutes late for meeting up with friends at a pub in San Francisco for St. Patrick’s Day, when he first laid eyes on her four years ago. As I was in California for the weekend, I thought it was a grand idea to call from the West Coast at that exact time tying the events together.

Instead, a week ago I was trying to get drunk so I could fake happiness for a party I had traveled to the other side of the country for, but no longer wanted to be at, because I received the news from the fiance-to-be the day before, that my friend was killed in an auto-accident by a drunk driver. The shock of the news put me in such a state, much to the worry of my drinking buddies who (when I did not show up at the dance Friday night an hour after I received the news), could not reach me through my self-imposed communication silence while I grieved.

Today we bury the body that died, then we will celebrate the life she lived. The past few days have been a whirlwind as I had chosen not to talk about it. Not talking about her is not an option today. For the past few days I noticed when either 5:17pm or 8:17pm struck and felt a pang. Today, tomorrow, a week from now and for several more weeks to come, those specific time markers will be a bittersweet memory; she would hate that.

Eventually, she will be a sweet memory and while she’d likely gag at the use of “sweet” as adjective in relation to her, I know she’d smile at that.

Yet I know as soon as later today, instead of tears of sorrow , it will be tears of laughter streaming down my face as we all tell our favorite stories about her, because you cannot talk about her and not laugh. She would love that.

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

A Lesson Deferred

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Moonlit justice
of an imagined sunlit crime
Swung from an oak
a cruel pendulum mark of time
Some eyes tremble
Some eyes leer
all wonder at the marvel
of what happened here

Emmit’s a lesson some can’t forget
Emmit’s a lesson some haven’t learned yet

How many more
Must there be
Why does it take a man’s death
for us to see

As we travel down the road of another man
Who will never travel the same again
Truck tires designed to ride him above
Much better used to drag him down in the night
For a crime no more sinister than
He wasn’t born white

James Byrd’s a lesson some can’t forget
James Byrd’s a lesson some haven’t learned yet

And sometimes a child is shot
For doing nothing more
The walking home in the rain
From the local store
Was it the clothes he wore?
Was it the color of his skin?
He carried iced-tea and candy
What was his sin?

Some fifty plus years between hence and thence
To be reminded how fragile the balance on the fence

Stewart, Griffith and Hawkins lesson some can’t forget
Diallo, Bell and now Martin lessons some haven’t learned yet
How many more names will be added before the lesson is set?

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Letting off some steam in the wake of another senseless killing and wanting to bitch-slap Geraldo Rivera even while a part of me understands the rational behind the unintentionally inflammatory statement.

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Two Princes

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Two New York princes on a subway train
Two different styles, two different manes
Mister Business so perfectly dressed
While Mr. Free Spirit’s so casually tressed
One baby bottom smooth as always
One hasn’t seen a razor in many days
Mr. Business is the model of all things materially
But it’s Mr. Free Spirit who captivates me
Is it the flip-flop sandals on his feet?
Or that reappearing dimple in his cheek
Head bopping in beat to his own tune
In a way Mr. Business’ would never swoon
Business is cool as in ice, Spirit’s cool as in fun
Maybe I’ll take the money under another sun
But for today Mr. Free Spirit is the one

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

And I’m Off…

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By this time last year, I had attended the first five of far too many funerals. By years end I had officially dubbed 2011 as The Year of the Departed. I am happy to say 2012 bodes far better for me as I now dub it The Year of The Travels. January found me visiting Boston and Philadelphia. In February it was Richmond, Virginia. April will find me spending some time in New Jersey and May will see me cross an ocean to visit Paris.

I sit here now having checked all my jots and tittles yet again as I prepare to head to San Diego tomorrow (betcha thought I forgot about March didn’t you?), I’m already plotting to see how long I can keep this streak going.

Stay tuned…

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

And No Jim Carrey!

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3

I have this thing I occasionally post as a Facebook status called Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (aka. the crazy shit that comes out my mouth).  This wasn’t so much verbal as an email response, but it applied.

A few girlfriends and I were given a choice of venues to decide out next hanging out adventure. The following is how I phrased my vote because I cannot resist — bad puns or sexual innuendo, especially when combined and simply because I’m an idiot:

I vote for Medieval Times. I love watching when strong, virile men mount up, then getting a solid grip, pull it straight out  front for all to see and then thrust it at each other until one falls for them. And the jousting is fun too! 

Yeah, I know — I need help.

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012