That Which Is Called…

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What’s in a name? Shakespeare asks.

Clearly he was never subjected to the abject cruelty of schoolyard children to the poor child whose mama got a little thoughtless in the naming department. I’m also guessing one simply did not use a diminutive in those days. At least not one associated with male anatomy, right William?

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Another go at Flash Fiction, also called sudden fiction, micro fiction or nanofiction via Friday 55.
Write a story in exactly 55 words, then tell the G-Man!

Royal Pains…

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Let me begin with, I honestly am happy for Kate and William. I am glad the newest prince is healthy. I truly am as happy as I would be for any woman successfully bringing life into this world.  However, that is where my empathy/sympathy begins and ends.

I hold my hand up and totally acknowledge my desire to be the total bitch here.  You’ve been warned…

So, Catherine (Kate) Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, had a baby…

Yay, we’re celebrating the business of royal marital arrangements a.k.a. your womb is mine a.k.a. what’s love got to do with it?

Yeah, I said it.

They had a year and a half of time to themselves as man and wife. Most of it spent introducing the new bride to the rest of the free world.  Well, as much time as a young couple can have when heirs to the monarchy of one of the most prosperous of the first-world nations that is, but eventually the honey moon period is over. Duties await and what is a new royal wife’s first royal duty? – why to be an heir making apparatus of course. Don’t kid yourself, Kate performed her royal duty to the Crown and popped out an heir as fast as not-so-little Willie could pump one in her. I’m giving them three years max before Royal Tot #2 is out. After all, there must be a royal back-up baby in case, well, you know….  Royal Tot #2 can ask good ol’ Uncle Harry about how always being 2nd best feels, once he or she gets here.

So, Princess Catherine had a baby…

So did blank.blank million other women yesterday. Are we globally Facebooking and Tweeting about all of them?  I didn’t think so.  I wonder how many of the imminent-to-be  mothers were thinking ‘Ooh my baby is born on the same day!”? Oh come on, you know some of the ones in British territories did, or they will once they learn of the coincidence.  I’m guessing the rest of the women in the world, whose contracting wombs, widening canals, separating hips and ripping perineum were likely too preoccupied.  I could be wrong.

So, Kate Middleton had a baby…

Mind you, I fully comprehend the British interest in such; after all she is their princess.  I’ll even branch it out to Europe in general as they are all nearby neighbors of the monarchy such as it is, so love thy neighbor and such. What I don’t get is the American fascination with such so that nearly every other status post in Facebook and Twitter tweets are still yapping on about the royal birth. Hmm, I wonder what Kate would about all those who are playing the baby’s birth date or weight/length and other such factoids at the numbers/lotto/horse race?

I feel as though I am the only hard-nose, heartless wretch not wearing the “Awww the prince and princess had a baby!” rose-colored glasses in this.

So Kate had a baby…  

She’s fine? Yes.  The baby’s fine? Yes.  Okay then. What’s for lunch…?

 

You WERE warned…

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Slice of Life Teal

Slice of Life Weekly Writing Challenge – Jul SOLSC #4 

I Lay Here Waiting

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I lay here waiting

Waiting for you to touch me
Lay your hand upon me

Your thoughts utter chaos,
Needing the clarity
That only I can bring

I lay here waiting

As your fingers tap the table
Impatient, frustrated

You know what you need to do
What you need to say
Yet you refuse

I lay here waiting

As near as your heartbeat
As far as your heartache

You stare for a long time
And for a long time see nothing
Your vision blurry with unshed tears

I lay here waiting

Morning shadows from the left
Now late day shadows on my right

But if you would just touch me
Just let one word, just one escape
All the rest will come in a flood of truth

I lay here waiting

For you to put down your pride
For you to pick up your pen

Then pour your heart out
So she’ll let your love in
Instead you stand and walk away

And I lay here waiting,
a letter never to be…

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 119

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Callipygian Earnestness

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Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (a.k.a. the shit that comes out of my mouth):

So, while holding a bag  that clearly contains my lunch in hand, I am about to enter the revolving door of my office building when I spy a colleague exiting. I stand to the side and wait for him to exit.

Seeing my bag he inquires of it contents.  I tell him it’s “poison”.  I have no idea why, but I can tell by his expression that he doubts the veracity of my statement.

“What?  You were warned years ago to never trust a big butt.” I say as I make it a point to smile broadly.

He’s stumped for all of .1 seconds before he starts grinning.

“I can’t play with you.” He throws up his hands and walks away, shaking his head while laughing.

Was it something I said?

– blame Bell Biv DeVoe!

Feeling Good

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I’m feeling good…

Good like the cool rain taking the heat out of a sultry day
Like the breeze causing my skirt to gently sway
In that zany, loopy fun kind of cray

Good like finding a long-lost favored ring
A walk in the park the first days of spring
On a hot day, a sip of some cool fruity thing

Good like cutting with the Little Joker in Spades
Knowing I still have the big one to be played
Hiding the gleam in my eyes behind some shades

Oh, I’m feeling good.

For I’ve  spent way too many days with my smile lying
Fake laughing to cover how my heart was crying
In a world not even close to caring how my soul was dying

And too long I let others tell me how I should be
But never was it ever what I knew I could be
So now I only work on what is it good to me

Now that’s not saying I’m not feeling for my brothers set adrift
Or lost my empathy for my sisters getting the short shrift
Or that I don’t care about our socio and economic rift

Because sometimes the world makes me wanna holla from that stress
And like Marvin I want to know what’s going on with this mess and…

Excuse me, I digress…

Where was I?

Yeah, but right now? I’m feeling good!

Good like looking the mirror and loving the sight
Whether in silks by day or leathers by night
When I know I’ve got it all together so tight

Good enough to wear a mini in a skinny crowd
Not hide my beauty in some mumu or shroud
Head high, gut forward, loud and proud

And yes, sometimes it comes to pass
That there are those who chose to lambast
For they have a problem with my fat ass

But I’m not the one that’s going to obsess
And with each bite of food reassess and…

Oh excuse me again, I digress…

I am feeling good!

Good like having a day that started with doubt
But then proving I do know what I’m about
And later catching someone fine checking me out

That kind of good that can only come from within
That sneaky good I feel when I’m about to sin
With the one that gives me more than just a grin

The good of being in the zone
When my voice takes on that tone
Like the sound of a pleasured moan

Good like when I get that feeling of that special caress
From the hand slipping slowly under my dress and…

Damn, did it again, huh? My bad… Excuse me… I digress…

But no, y’all just don’t understand! I’m feeling good!

The giddy with friends that’s fondly tolerated
The kind of good that’s always celebrated
Where those near can’t help be feel elevated!

Feeling like Joy has answered my speed dial!
Good like not a thing on this earth can cramp my style
Good like the strength of my strut, the gleam of my smile

Good for the first time in a long time I feel like I’m able
To handle the crap still left on my mental table
Feeling a  good, that’s so good, that I a poet can’t even label!

Umph –  that kind of good!

And yeah I know I can’t sing it as Nina would, but

Birds flying high, you know how I feel
Sun up in the sky, you know how I feel
Leaves drifting on by, you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me and…

I’m feeling GOOD!

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Feeling good about dVerse ~ Poets Pub’s | OpenLinkNight : Week 104

Each Tick

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Each tick of the clock ticks quick,
Leaving me

Trying to make the moments last,
That should have long since slipped away
Trying to stall what will soon be the past
From knocking on my door any coming day

For all the years we’ve cared
Our time together has dwindled
For all the time we’ve shared
I still feel our time was swindled

Each tick of the clock ticks quick,
Leaving me feeling haunted

Within every inch of my soul
With a strength I can’t believe,
I stand here in total control
As I’m watching you leave.

Good-bye does not mean forever,
Or so we tell ourselves so,
But it’s going to be a long time
Before we can smile and say hello.

Each tick of the clock ticks quick,
Leaving me with what I thought I wanted

We’re adults, we made the decision,
At least as far as I can tell.
So why am I unhappy with this division?
When being together was such hell

Surprised I have tears left to cry
For something once never conceived of.
Never thought I’d be saying good-bye.
To someone I still love

Each tick of the clock ticks quick,
Leaving me

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week : 103

Rachel Jeantel On Trial

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Rachel Jeantel, the 19 year old young woman questioned as a key prosecution witness in the Trayvon Martin trial, was/is put through a trial of her own in the court of public opinion.  Social media overall, but especially Twitter have newly pages, status updates, posts and hashtags which mock nearly everything about her.  One would almost think that Rachel Jeantel was the one on trial Wednesday and Thursday instead of George Zimmerman.

I’m not going to lie; I cringed as I watched/heard some of the proceedings.   I knew how she would appear to some people. She was virtually a walking stereotype: a poorly educated, fat, angry black teenage female with an attitude.  However, I also saw a young woman thrown into a situation none of us would ever want to be in, trying hard to keep her head up and do the best she can.

Her demeanor, especially on that first day was most described as “antagonistic and defensive”.  No shit Sherlock.  Is this truly a surprise?  She’s a 19 year old witness at a murder trial facing the lawyer for the defendant.  The person she knows whose job it is to discredit her and anything she may say in hopes of making her look bad and his client look good to the jury.  Nah, you’re not going to be on your guard and defensive about that at all.

The next day, she was calmer; there was noticeably less antagonism between her and the lawyer during questioning.  Enough so that it West himself commented on it, to which a good night’s sleep was Jeantel’s reply.    Was the discerning public happy?  Not quite, for now the was commentary over her multiple uses of “sir” to Don West in a subtle implication of “Uncle Toming“.  Classic damned if one does/damned if one does not.

Nearly every other tweet regarding her either induced facepalming or had me outright cringing in its vitriol. Posters questioned her education, mocked her looks and retweeted her less than inspiring tweets. Because we all know, that at nineteen years of age, every phrase that spouts from ones thoughts in 160 characters or less is going to be jaw-dropping brilliant.  Still I what simply cannot grasp is why so many blacks in particular on Twitter felt the need to mock and insult a teenaged girl clearly still grieving over the loss of a friend.

The way these detractors have posted “in jest” is so heartless it makes me sick. And almost none of it has anything to do with the trail itself, but exists solely to humiliate a young woman at what must be the most vulnerable time in her life thus far.  It begs to wonder how any of those finding such humorous sport in this would fare on a courtroom stand, under a tremendous amount of pressure, while being watched by the nation, all at 19 years of age.

Makes me wanna holler throw up both my hands.

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Breathe

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Not sure when it happened, horrifies me that it happened without my noticing, but suddenly I am terrified of reaching – truly reaching and risking – for the things I want.

A friend recently posted the above as her Facebook status.  The below is my response…

Breathe. You slipped into a moment of complacency. It happens to all of us. Perhaps you needed the break for a moment, but it’s lasted too long and now you’re aware. Rest is over hon, time to get your life in gear again.

Breathe. It is a little more terrifying than the first you put your faith in His hands, while taking your guts in yours and leaped, because then you didn’t think anything could slow your forward motion. Now you know things can if you’re not paying attention and be vigilant, so it does not go too far again. Moreover, you know you had the faith/guts to start this path before, you will and find it again.

Breathe. Stop worrying about the endgame for a moment. What is the very first step you need to accomplish to set you on your path again? Focus on that, complete it, reassess, and focus on that next.

Breathe. How can you ever fail as long you’re ever trying to move forward and so many of us have your back? I’ll let you guess what final word of my heartvice to you will be. You can begin with that…

For an admitted Snark Queen, every now and then, even I surprise myself…

…as the…

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…As the anger coursing through my veins

As I look across this beach foreign to me
As my guns carve the limit of my restraint’s lack
As I seize the day for another’s sovereignty
As my brothers at arms fight at my sides and back

…As the hunger crawling over my sin

When I think of the shade of certain someone’s hair
When I think prose of its owner quite a distances flight
When I think once again how life’s a tutor of the unfair
When I try not to think of her smooth skin that night

…As the crier of my resolution’s wane

On this sand far from my home’s grassy hills
On this life bewildered by what’s come to past
On this soil dyed crimson with this war’s kills
On this day bullets destined to be my last

…As the last prayer given beneath my skin

For the medic who sighs at what he sees
For the home I go to, just not where I used to play
For the glass like calm that washes over me
For the final trip now only two closed eyes away

…White… as the anger coursing through my veins

…White… as the hunger crawling over my sin

…White… as the crier of my resolution’s wane

…White… as the last prayer given beneath my skin

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 100