Category Archives: Thinking Aloud

Somewhere…

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somewhere
(in the folds of lasts week’s)
(or maybe last year’s laundry)
the person
(when I’m not a mother)
who wrote poetry
(or being a lover )
drew still life
(balancing the checkbook)
designed clothes
(scrubbing a dirty collar)
and painted murals
(while vacuuming the carpets, again)
that did embroidery
(after the button is sewed on the shirt, again)
is in the mirror
(that needs to be cleaned, again)
trying to find herself
(after working overtime, again)
because she got lost
(showing someone else how)
somewhere…
(in the folds of last week’s)
(or maybe last years’ laundry)…

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This poem is actually a little over 12 years old.  We were in the process of packing to move into our house and my then fiance, now late-husband, had found my composition book from high school with poetry. We had living together over thirteen years and he had never known that about me. He asked one thing: What happened? I did not have an answer for him. Nor did I know how to pick-up my pen again.  One day I was looking at my reflection in the mirror, asking myself the same question.  I was depressed to realize, though it been a of couple years since he had asked, I still did not have an answer.

Whenever I was upset I would write my feelings to sort them out. Usually, I would write it, read it and toss it.  This time I did not toss it because something in those words had reached me.  What reached me became the first three/last three lines of the above poem. It was perhaps only the third poem I had written in a nearly twenty year span at that point.  Granted, it was one small sad little poem, but it was the first big crack in the wall of the dam blocking my creativity. A dam I was only just beginning to realize I had built and now needed to tear it down.

dVerse Poets Pub |  Poetics – Poetically Evolving

A Good Girl Who Does

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As a thinker I excelled in science and chess
Bright in my other academics, I gave no less
Could mentally match just about whatever you bring
Daunted only by my emotional state, a very different thing
Ever curious, I took a shine to coition with ambition
Female born, however held a certain restriction
Gracious model of virtue? Hah! I never tried to be
Held back within all the rules of social complicity

Inquisitive, I felt it more honest than being just a tease
Justly stated, I would pursue my desires as I would please
Knowing that the names for me were much closer to ‘whore’
Love was but a word as the males I knew were free to ‘score’

Mainly, I felt you can’t grow a garden by reading a book
Negating convention I dared to do more than just look
Oh guys can easily convey how often they go to bat
Privately the girls aren’t ever to admit knowing any of that
Quietly I learned to hide how I came to know so much
Raging that a male is never asked to hide knowledge of such
So, I could hum the foulest limerick and still be called quaint
Talk knowledge of a hummer when I was barely twenty ain’t

Understanding people I had known only one or two
Vicious rumors and some cruel truths I muddled through
Watching eyebrows rise as double-standards reared its head
X-rated knowledge in a g-rated world was a hard path to tread

Years went by before I felt I wasn’t a freak
Zeroing in that I’m a rarity someone unique
Allowed myself to enjoy it all in its various forms
Because I refuse to stilted by social world’s norms
Carnal knowledge once bane, I’m now admired for
Day or night, finally happy, I don’t care any more

Every now and then I’ll get outrageous with a verbal gush
Freaking people out on purpose just to watch them blush

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And today’s form is an Abecedarius which is an alphabetic acrostic or a poem in which each line or stanza begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. Historically, it was widely used in religious aspects as the beginning of prayers, hymns and oracles. As time progressed, variations of the method developed and new types of acrostics appeared. Some methods included using the first letter of the first word (as I have done above), the first letter of the stanza or the first letter of the first word and last letter of the last word in each line.

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: The Art Of Rebellion

What’s next, Ku Klux Klan Week?

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http://www.cnn.com/2010/POLITICS/04/07/virginia.confederate.history/index.html?hpt=T2

Seriously? Seriously?

Last month Virginia Gov. McDonnell made a proclamation to designate the month of April as Confederate History Month in Virginia. If that alone was not enough to ignite some tension in the US, the governor then added insult to potential injury, by totally omitting any reference to one of the main reasons Confederacy came to existence in the first place — slavery.

The attempt to omit any acknowledgment of the role of slavery, during a proclamation to celebrate the Confederacy, is insulting to say the very least. It would be akin to Germany wanting to hold a Shutzstaffel (more commonly known as the SS) or Swastika Celebration without acknowledging the Holocaust.

Granted this is not the first time the state of Virginia has placed this proclamation. It also is not the only southern state to do so. This is the first time any proclamation not only ignored slavery but, in this case, also white-washed the brutality of the Confederacy in the immediate years following the Civil War. It is revisionist history at its finest.

Yes, the Confederacy is very much a part of the South’s heritage, and we (Americans) acknowledge it happened. However, I do not see the need to have an entire month dedicated to it. Hell, Black History Month only has 28 days, 29 on leap years, in which to celebrate. Confederate History Month will have 30 days guaranteed. I’m sorry but there is something wrong with this beyond mere arithmetic.

Did McDonnell really, I mean really, think he would get away with it in the first place? Of course not! So whose ass was he pretending to (or perhaps outright) kissing, knowing he would have to change the verbiage?

As expected, the Governor was called to task on the omission by various groups, for reasons ranging from racial, to political and just down right insensitivity. Gov. McDonnell has since issued an apology for the omission and has stated that new language will be added to the proclamation to include slavery. Sorry, it’s too much, too little, too late motherfucker. It’s using the lube after the screwing.

I can acknowledge the Confederacy. I don’t think twice about it, as I see the Confederate flag waving proudly from various front porches, when I travel south. Maybe it’s the residue of my very southern (and yes, very racist) mother’s words still rattling in some far corner of my mind from when I was growing up but, some things just should not be “celebrated”. A part of me can’t help but wonder…

What’s next, Ku Klux Klan week?

National Poetry Month: All For Not Knowing

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April is National Poetry Month, so each day I will post poems that I have written. Enjoy!

All For Not Knowing

We met at the worst I thought I could be
After my life was crossed by a rouge star
Life between the worst and the best to come
I hike my joy on our mock verbal spars
Such was the mode of our sharp biting wit
Mine under the belt, and yours just bizarre
Crossed that line between acquaintance and friend
All for not knowing how far was too far
Ache held tight to my emotional cage
Still half living inside a past memoir
Knew my pain gave nix but a rough sketch of me
In time drained the hurt of that soul deep scar
“There’s no place like home” said with arms held wide
And I opened mine too, we were on par
Crossed that line past friend but not to lovers
All for not knowing how far was too far
Seemed that Fate was not quite through with me yet
And released the hold to stability’s bar
A new fix of hell crashed through my soul’s gate
My path, once clear, now so muddied and marred
Too much too handle you turned tail and ran
Showing exactly the colors you are
Crossed that line between true friend and just friend
All for not knowing how far was too far
Letting slack what you once begged to hold tight
As I needed you more than gold to czars
The sun sets shadows on what you can’t give
You withdrew from me as though I’m eschar
Where to go when home is now closed to me
With no chance of door being left ajar
Thus crossed that fine line between bend and break
All for not knowing how far was too far

I Am Ready

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Next month, May, will be the fourth anniversary of my being totally on my own. In the craziness of these past few years of changes in my life, I was so involved in just getting through each moment; I was totally blind-sided by something I had never really felt before… Loneliness.

I didn’t truly realize what it was until I found myself being very envious of a friend who was in the process of buying a home with his partner. I found myself thinking at he’ll have someone with him. That is when it hit me; it was one of the many little things I miss. The lightening speed, rapier sharp jibes and verbal sparring that were a staple of my home where it seemed even the dog had a smart remark (rebark?) at well opportune times. That knowing someone else was home.

Until then I have never been on my own. I did not have the college living on own or even dormitory experience. I went from living with my parents to living with my husband and children. Even if I was in the apartment/house by myself for a time, there is still that sense of knowing someone will be coming home soon enough. There was an odd sense of security in that which staved off true loneliness until now.

It took a while to reconcile the feeling of loneliness with the simple act being alone. I have friends old and new and   have been more active physically and in my spirit than I have been since my teens.  It helps keep me sane.  Still, the most fun day ever with friends cannot replace knowing there is a special someone.  And I do mean special, not a one-night stand, not a friend (or friends) with benefits.  A Special Someone just for me. Hell, even biblically, it seems we as humans have been indoctrinated to want to be with, to share with someone; after all it is not good for man to be alone and while being alone was not solely defined as having a partner, I can’t seem to help stop thinking in that direction of late.

Maybe it’s because it is spring and thoughts… well – you know…

Or maybe, just maybe,  I am ready for love (queue India.Arie)…

I Imagine A Day

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.

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one
“Imagine” – John Lennon/Imagine

We walk down these busy roads
Each step met with some disdain
Yet we move along through the goad
For we’re still walking harsh terrain
We’ve made a choice in this workload
Not for the grind of the office screamer
We work with those whose hands lay
In not hiding what is during the day
Some may say I’m a schemer,
You may say I’m a dreamer

I was once completely battered
By words that should have been balm
Stung as my feelings hardly mattered
And all along I felt as tender
As a crystal ready to be shattered
Feels like I’m living a life undone
Pieces of my soul I imagine crying
With the all senseless lying
Built upon the company jargon
But I’m not the only one

Feeling the need to get it in gear,
Tired of being the ones just waiting
Let us get a few things clear
It’s time for action, no more debating,
Who else has had it up to here?
What’s with our happiness being zealous?
Why can’t we spread word of our joy?
Just another face as love’s envoy?
Yes, we’re causing more than a fuss,
I hope someday you’ll join us

Even knowing it’s a hard road to tread
I rather be weary with the fight for reason
For the company line leaves me emotionally dead
And I just can’t live with the social treason,
So, tell me, where do you wish this world to head?
Someday we’ll walk in peace under the sun
When the seeds of tolerance to bloom into reality
And there is a fighting chance for us you’ll see
For only then we’ll say our work is done
And the world will be as one

(For those still afraid to open the closet door, have faith, we’re working on it )

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Form for All: Paying Tribute, Page and the Glosa

Drenched In Rainy Day Memories…

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A couple walks damp streets on a lovely early spring evening that has slowly segued into an equally lovely if rainy night. No rainy was not the right word. Misty; it was that misty rain that you could not see unless you were looking at the drops break the surface of whatever puddles have gathered about. Enough to make you wet if you stayed in it for any duration, yet not enough to warrant use of an umbrella. They talk, joke and tease, as any young couple still in the early stages will do as they learn about one another. On a twist of etiquette, she walks him home.  She convinces him that it was still early enough that she would be fine for the ten or so blocks from his place to hers. Still she promises to call once she’s home to assuage his fears. She is not going to be your average girl and he knows it. They exchange a brief kiss goodnight and he shakes his head musing on the role reversal as he heads in.

She walks a few yards when gut instinct alone makes her turn around suddenly. They both jump in surprise. He at quickness at which she spun on him and she at just how close he was to her before she sensed him. Hands in their respective pockets they stand close to each other, very close. Almost imperceptibly, their heads instinctively turn slightly askance as they lean into each other. Each feels the heat of the breath of the other play along their respective lips, but there is no other contact between them. They stay that way for a long moment, exchanging breaths, before leaning away. Somehow breathless from the exchange, the chill that runs down both spines had nothing to do with the mist falling upon their faces, gentle as the kiss they didn’t exchange. Eyes stare questioning and answering, answering and questioning in complete silence.  Finally, they both turn and walk to their respective homes.  Somehow they both knew, in that moment of saying nothing yet saying everything, they had just crossed that magical line past friendship into something much deeper and they were truly and completely fucked!

>|———-|<

Nearly a decade later, as Bill and I walked off the dance floor at a friend’s wedding, a cousin asks why did it always looked like we were making love when we were slow dancing. I, always the flippant one, quickly responded because we are. Our cousin looked at us befuddled before Bill continues on my comment by adding there are ways to make love that don’t involve sex; like kissing without kissing in a spring rain. I blinked and stared at him.  That night was something never before mentioned between us until just that moment. I honestly thought he had forgotten about it though, I guess, I should have known better. I blushed and then I grinned.  I have no idea what was the look that passed between he and I at that moment, but I do know our cousin sucked her teeth and walked away saying we needed to “get a room!”

>|———-|<

Sunday night as I walked home in an early spring misty rain, those two memories, now intertwined as one, came to me.  Now Monday morning, I am left to wonder if I will be blessed enough to feel anything even close to that ever again.

“Art” In The Eye Of…

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I was walking to the subway after coming from an art show. Just before I reached the train station, I came across this new mural.  It consisted of various women in a colorful, exaggerated, stylized representation of the urban street culture. That is putting it very nicely in artistic terms.

In my terms, it was a HAM (a Hot Ass Mess).  To me it looked like a very bad cross between Dr. Seuss and an acid-tripping graffiti artist.  These women (obviously of color) were “’hood”; as in from the kind of inner-city neighborhood, most people try to stay out of after dark.  I knew immediately anything that huge was commissioned to be there.

Sofia Maldonado - Times Square Mural

Sofia Maldonado - Times Square Mural

Of all the artwork out there representing women for possible display in Times Square “the crossroads of the world” this is the art that what was chosen?  Seriously?  I thought perhaps I was being overly sensitive, and seeing things that were not there, but maybe not…

“It is felt by a great many woman that this mural is an affront to hardworking Black and Latino women everywhere. It depicts them as hoes, sluts, and street walking prostitutes. Not one business or professional woman is represented in the mural for balance”
…states Community Advocate Anthony “Tony” Herbert.

Natasha D on literanista.net said..

“Many people are disgusted by the mural being displayed by Sofia Maldanado. It is a negative depiction of black and Latina women. Artists should have some social consciousness and be responsible and she is completely clueless. How dare she cause this affront to women of color. I am utterly disgusted, as well as many other women.”

Sofia Maldonado - Times Square Mural (Detail)

Sofia Maldonado - Times Square Mural (Detail)

Sofia Maldonado - Times Square Mural (Detail)

In fairness here is a statement from the Artist, Sofia Maldonado

“The 92-feet long mural illustrates strong New York City women as a tribute to the Caribbean experience in America. Inspired by my heritage, it illustrates a female aesthetic that is not usually represented in media or fashion advertising in Times Square. It recognizes the beauty of underground cultures such as reggaeton, hip-hop and dancehall and incorporates trends such as nail art and Latina fashion. Green organic forms represent the imaginary land that third generation immigrants create in their minds about their countries of origin. I represent the characters and happenings that tourists usually do not see in Times Square, even though it could be a frequent scene in the other boroughs of New York City. These women are strong single mothers or wives who enjoy life and have overcome tough experiences living in and immigrating from a third world country.”

I know art is subjective, but in the street vernacular “I’m not feeling this” at all.

Life Goes On…

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Some friends tell me I should post a blog;  I don’t know why.  My partial narcissist conflicts with my partial self-critic on this. I suppose I could have and probably should have chosen something more lighthearted for my first post.  I think you’ll understand why my head is where it is once you read it.  I just felt if I didn’t do this now it could be months before I would and sometimes you just have to dive in and see where the tide takes you…

I thank you for taking the leap of faith and riding with me.

======================================================================

March 1, 2006 -Day 1

“I’m sorry Mrs. …”

I really don’t remember the exact words in which it was broken to me; however, I do remember the doctor’s tone of voice. I remembered I just looked at him waiting for the rest of it, the punch line – something – anything. The manner in which I found out I just became a widow was delivered with about as much compassion as a market clerk informing me they were out of my favorite brand of canned goods.

But the doctor’s delivery of the words was the least of my problems as I suddenly understood why everyone who has ever been informed, hit, hell bitch-slapped with such news is usually asked to sit first. I wasn’t so lucky. “Can’t stand it” takes on a whole new dimension of meaning when you literally cannot stand. I felt the last breath of him being a living part of my life escape me as my back slid down a wall. And I remember hands – hands touching me, hands holding me, hands caressing me; hands unfamiliar and all too sanitary and just wrong. I just wanted them away from me and to see him, recall what was quickly becoming days of old, and feel what remaining warmth he had a little longer before all that I once knew was gone.

My first gallows humor: Bill loved his car and once told my older son he’d be allowed to drive it over his dead body. As this same son pulled off to drive us home from the hospital I found a need to remind him of the veracity of that statement. It was met with a grimace (a grim-look upon one’s f-ace, interesting how even that word also takes on new layers of meaning).

I mentioned somewhere else  how, through my now late-husband, I have learned how to shelve the things I can’t resolve at the given moment and concentrate on the things I can. Somewhere in the eternity between falling and rising (how apropos) I know this is where I started going on auto-pilot. The efficient, organized, take-charge aspect of my personality – took charge, even as my emotional aspect crumbled.

I had about an hour at home to absorb my new reality when the first of the telephone calls began. “I’m so sorry…” How many times can a person hear that in an hour? In two hours? More? Even now, it raises my hackles slightly to hear that from people who say it as automatically as the instinct to bless someone when they sneeze; and it’s almost always equally as heartfelt.

Once my best friend was by my side I simply let go and did the only thing I could do – go numb There are about two whole weeks of my life that are smoky vignettes of emotional moments. Some have since solidified more into concrete memory. I know others will remain forever from my grasp. With the patient guidance of those who have visited the grieving place before me, I understand that now. No, I still don’t really understand it – I just accept it for what it is.

March 1, 2007 Day 1 (of the rest of my life)

I’m now able to read through most my journal without wanting to cry. Although, oddly enough, I find I now have a little trouble reading When Winter Cradles Spring straight through; especially now with the crazy weather we’re having when changing seasons make no sense. I wrote that maybe a year before my husband’s passing, but I find I’m pretty much living those words each day right now. When all else fails the last stanza of a another poem I wrote  Each Day Anew becomes my mantra…

I know I have the strength to cope

I go as heart and soul say to

I sow my seeds of faith and hope

I grow and start each day anew

March 1, 2010 (life goes on…)

I still read Each Day Anew now and again to jump-start a bad day into something better.  My bad days are almost never about him any more.   In fact, except for an odd stretch of days last May when I could not excise thoughts of my late-husband from my mind and it started to freak me out, I’ve been pretty okay in that regard. I halfheartedly started dating a little over a year ago.  I’ll decide how much I want to delve into the details of that in a later posting.   I’ve had a certain India.Arie song stuck in my heart for a couple of months now. If you know her music you can easily figure out which song.  Let’s just say, I’ll be taking dating just a little more seriously and see how it goes…