Treasures of the Mind

Hot chocolate on a winter’s day

The way her hips to music sway

The smile that reaches to her eyes

That to this day makes your heart sigh

The feel of safety in loved ones arms

The smirk as another falls for your charms

Catching ‘your song’ on the radio twice in a day

Watching your child perform in a school play

Getting that solid A on a hard book report,
The satisfaction of a job well done
Their smart remark, your quick retort
Then kicking back and having fun 

The clearing of your head after a few good sneezes

The clearing of your head after a published thesis

The joy of hearing your newborn’s first cry

The frustrating age of “How come…” and “Why?”

Having a quiet moment if for a short while

Taking a hurting soul to happy smiles

Seeing the tom-boy turn to lady before your sight

And that 3’6” terror became a 6’3” man over night

The pure white of the first good snow
The first buds of flowers to answer spring’s call
The summer fling that might yet grow
The sight of geese heading south in the fall

An outburst of laughter when you’re by yourself

Putting the championship trophy on the shelf

The feel of babies hand within your own

Eating Mama’s fried chicken to the bone

Massive holiday dinners and you’re stuffed to the gills

You’re asked for your hand and “Yes” you will

Lying in the grass, shaping clouds above

The first time you knew that you were loved

Being able to lay your head down at night
Without a worry or a fright
With the peace that comes from living right
And knowing God has you in His sight

All this and so much more you’re bound to find
Within the treasures of the mind


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Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 17:
Photos, Nostalgia, Memories, and Families

He Sits

He sits
on a rock in the dark of night
Watching the nearby airport’s planes in flight

In the distance, city lights sparkle like gems
An hour ago, he stood among them

He knew he should have taken that first plane
But he was on a hot streak to leave was insane

His streak quickly went on a downward slope
Cashed in the plane ticket, a bus he could cope

“I believe just one more hand, and I’ll have it beat”
Now another person sits in his Greyhound seat

Resolute he tossed in the last token
Doomed, before the dealer had spoken

The wheel slowed to a pause, and he yelled “Stay gold!”
Worries over, he’d swear he saw heaven unfold
But gravity turned the wheel that one last click
Yes, fate had pulled off another cruel trick

He sits
on the rock, the eerie silence bliss
Shakes his head on how his life came down to this

Calm in this dark orchard of desert sand
Night creatures the least of his minds demand

Ordered to stay out of the Fool’s Paradise
God, how he wishes he had taken that advice

His brief streak ended, he couldn’t make book
Down to the last coin, his goose was cooked

He embarked on this weekend to have fun
Now he prays his wife forgives what he’s done

Wondering how is she going to cope
He’s taken every dime of theirs down the slope

He doesn’t try to run when the dark suits appear
Inside the loan shark’s mansion, he’s beyond tears

Not the first, not the last he falls in queue
As the suits do what they’re hired to do

So this is how it ends, the thought does occur
In the split seconds before the silencer

He sits
on the rock in the dark thick
Doesn’t even flinch, when he hears the click

 

 

NaNoWriMo – Nyah! Nyah! Nyah!

NANOWRIMO-2011

I walked in my door after hanging out Wednesday evening. I did not leave my house again until I left for work this morning. During that time I pumped out over 9,000 words, including working on Thanksgiving Day, to get this award.

I now return to my regularly scheduled life. Pass this gal a drink and bring on the holidays!

WOOT!

===== Full Epilogue 11/30/2011 ====

NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) 2011 was a great experience and I am so glad to have participated in it. For those unfamiliar with it, National Novel Writing Month is a challenge to write 50,000 words of your novel within the thirty days of November. There are no prizes other than a fill out and print-it-yourself certificate and the bragging rights of knowing you did it! For me, who had yet written Word 1, that was more than enough.

30 days seems like plenty of time to pen 50,000 words until you BS half the month away. On November 21st I had 41742 words in and only 8 days to meet the 50k challenge with Thanksgiving weekend square in the middle of it. Naturally, temptation rears its ugly head. I am invited to two events, I really wanted to attend and the weather this past weekend was freaking beautiful for late November in NYC! BEA-U-TI-FUL I tell you! It was so unfair!

I looked at the sun through my window, watched the clock past toward and beyond the event times, sighed and typed away. I had no choice. At one in the morning of Day 28 I hit 51441. Enough for NaNoWriMo, but my personal challenge was 52k, so I still had work to do. Twenty-four hours later, I officially validated my work on their website at 52,640 words and received the certificate posted above.

I know I would have gotten off my duff and eventually started pounding out the novel that has played in the far recesses of my mind for quite a few years now. Still, the NaNoWriMo challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days was the perfect kick-start and learning experience. I am nowhere near having a manuscript I would email to good friends, let alone a publisher, but I I am considerably more on my way to that goal than I was thirty days ago.

Now, 57012 words in, I can already see the first couple of chapters I planned in my original outline are likely to be trashed. They are only marginally informational to the development of the core characters and I can do without them. I have already gone in side plot directions, I had not thought of before, and oh! -I’ve killed off a character! In addition, I have also learned some scenes are better told in narrative, while others are best done in character dialog.

Most important, I’ve learned I’m verbose (I KNOW – whodathunkit?!). I am going to have to take an editing weed whacker in the first drafts to fine-tune this when I’m ready.

Geesh! And I though writing poetry was difficult!

The plot sickens, eh? 😉

First Snow

I went to sleep in a foul mood and it has followed me to my waking hours. No, not foul because it denotes anger, I’m not feeling angry. I’m feeling inexplicably… hurt. Okay, maybe not totally inexplicably now that I’ve identified the correct emotion, yet I’m feeling it nonetheless and the weather is not helping in the improvement of it.

I’m staring out of the window watching the first snow of Winter 2011/2012. The artist in me can’t help but admire the pretty, pristine fluffy whiteness as it gently vales. As for the rest of me? I am not happy. It’s still officially early autumn. Snow? In New York City? In October? Any snow after Veteran’s Day but before December gives me pause, but it’s in November so I can accept it, but this? There is something innately wrong with this super early snow fall. Granted, I already know it’s not going to be much of a snow fall and it will melt quickly. Still… It’s snowing and it’s actually sticking to the ground, in October. If this is a sign of what’s to come, I am NOT looking forward to this winter at all.

Looks like it’s going to be a long, quiet weekend inside the house and my thoughts after all.

And I can’t keep holding on
To what you’ve got
When all you’ve got is hurt.

U2 – One

Take Me Home

The surefooted sun smiles upon us
In summer evening’s sweet dream
Where we heaved ourselves into the willows
Not that far from the bubbling stream
Aye, it has been so long a time
Yes, time’s spent many a day
Since dandelions crowned my hair
As a precocious child at play
It seemed from the moment
The golden sun starts to show
All the way through ‘till the fireflies
Light the night with their soft glow
Counting cloud daring to dent the sky so blue
While lying in the back of Grandpa’s cart
Letting the sun fry me to a nice bronze
During those weekly treks to the mart
Oh the lush green hills stretching forever
To these once young eyes it seemed
Became closed walls over night
To the teenaged me, now steamed
At how there just had to be more
Than just a life of living on the farm
Thought I travel a little and come back
What could be the harm?
How far a road I’ve journeyed since
I first loaded my things and started to travel
Yet found I’m searching for home in foreign places
All sense of such starting to unravel
To lose touch with those lush green fields
What part of my soul was so easily sold?
To make my way in this dizzying swirl
Of concrete hot and skyscrapers cold
How to regain the small wonders in my life?
To re-enjoy all the small simple things
Like how the crocus by the shed blossoms
Before the calendar says it is spring
It took decades to find that balance
I’m still a country girl at heart it seems
My plans were true to all but me I learned
But shattered plans don’t shatter dreams
Aye I’m an old woman now, seen many a thing
Among the highways and byways I still love to roam
But now and then I get a hankering for quiet, for peace
And my mantra becomes “Take me home, take me home”

For Poetry Picnic – Week 10

Why I’m Adipositive…

I’ve modeled for The Adipositivity Project, for about three and half years now and again today I am asked why. Thankfully, I know from those who’ve asked, the question is not the why of TAP itself, but why me? Why do “I” shamelessly participate? And quick answer is “Why not?”

Yes, I own a full length mirror at home. It may be old and has started to be spotty in some places, but it is no way near being so old that it can fool my eyes into not seeing what’s there. Trust me, I see every roll, lump, bump, crease, crevice, varicose vein, crows feet, laugh line, cellulite, splotch, mole, scar that I have gained over my forty-eight years on this earth quite clearly. I also see the tan lines from the bikini I wore at the pool in Las Vegas this past summer. I see the beauty mark my on breast that my late-husband was drawn to kiss as a moth is drawn to porch light after dark. I see the wrinkle I have over my right eyebrow only, because I am constantly arching it in sarcasm, amusement, anger, delight and yeah seduction. I see the body that used to be able to do sixty-crunches in sixty seconds, but fully owns that the only crunch I’m interested in now is usually Nestle’s. I’m simply a human female who happens to be fat and refuses to be cowered in the booth, in the back, in the corner, in the dark, by a society that constantly sees me as less than average simply because I weigh more than average.

I can’t lie; I didn’t always embrace my size. I always had the broad shoulders, thick thighs and big ol’ booty that drove my poor mother crazy when clothes shopping as a child. Even before I crossed that magical line that classified me as fat, many years before the dreaded letters BMI became a part of our health lexicon, I was never small enough to be considered a “plus-size” model even by current standards. My current state of fatness seemed to take only a few easy years to develop. As my friend Lyn is fond of saying “God made me and I helped out”; but the acceptance of that fatness and the phatness of me was a much longer, harder struggle that (in retrospect), even I concede was not as hard as it now for my fellow sisters-in-fatness. I have a special empathy for all the young fat girls and women coming up in this age where the constant bombardment of images of beauty and health do not reflect the beauty they see in their own mirrors each day.

Dot Golberg, a fan of The Adipositivity Project recently posted a YouTube clip on the Facebook page of Substantia Jones, the amazing photographer behind TAP that makes it the fat-de-force it is. Technically, the clip is a project for her college film course. In reality, the clip is in fact “a love letter to Adipositivity” as one commenter to the post aptly stated. While Ms. Goldberg speaks solely for herself, her words, her self-discovery and awareness of her own beauty are words I’m sure every woman of size, wherever they are in their personal journey, can relate to. As I posted on my own Facebook wall when I shared it, the reason why I continue to participate in The Adipositivity Project is For the unspoken fat women out there who have felt or want feel this, but can’t put it into heartfelt words as beautifully as Dot Goldberger has.
Thank you, Dot.

Watch Dot Goldberg’s love letter here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTzfBws7JWg

“Yes, I am fat. Yes, I am curvy. And yes, I am beautiful. I am all of those things.”
– Dot Golberg

Here goes…

Why is my brain so scattered this month?

I barely, and I do mean barely, seem to be able to focus on any specific artistic pursuit to save my life and goodness know I have more than enough things on my to do list that needs to be done. Someone asked what’s up with this blog and I was actually shocked to realize that I had posted nothing since September 8. Granted part of lack of content, as all who know me in real life are aware, is the celebration of my birth month of September. Between preparing for vacation, being on vacation and the various activities surrounding my birthday itself, September is always a whirlwind so no surprise there of the lack of content. However, the dearth of activity in October is another matter all together.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. I have. And then … crickets. No new blog entries, not even about my stay in Oregon (and I did have a wonderful time there). No work on about a dozen partially started ideas I have in the queue. I’ve written no new poems; nor have I worked on anything in progress in that realm. The blinking cursor with nothing in front of it has been a very haunting and daunting thing these past couple of weeks as I try to kick-start a muse that seems to still be on the vacation that the rest of me has returned from for already.

It really irks right now me as I am seriously considering entering NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) to finally put to pixels an idea of mine that has floated on the outskirts of my mind for several years now. I don’t know if entering NaNoWriMo will be a dismal failure if I can’t shake whatever this is that has my brain so scattered or if being forced to concentrate will be the jump-start I need. NaNoWriMo officially starts November 1, I have less than a week to decide. I will say this though, if I do plunge in, unfortunately this blog will be what suffers the most. So, for you few followers/subscribers who’ve patiently stuck through this dry spell with me thus far, I thank you so much and kindly ask for just a little more patience as I tackle this. After all nothing beats a failure, except to not even try right? And when have I not at least tried?

Hmmm, sounds like I’ve made a decision there doesn’t it?

Oh Hair We Go!

A male friend (who wears locs), commented on a New York Times article regarding US Surgeon General, Dr. Regina Benjamin. The article titled “Surgeon General Calls for Health Over Hair” was commentary on how studies revealed a third of Black women exercised less because they were concerned it would jeopardize their hair. That of these women, 88 percent did not meet the CDC’s guidelines for physical activity, which is 150 minutes of moderate intensity exercise each week, or about 20 minutes a day. What pissed me off were his ending comments…


Are you one of these sisters? Real talk. Whether you rock a curly hawk or a sew-in special, we honor and respect you. Now get your sneakers and go sweat your perm out! With such an awesome task ahead of her, our hair should not have to be on Dr. Benjamin’s radar. And let’s be clear, this is not a School Daze – straight hair, natural conversation. This is a show-your-daughter-that-sweat-is-your-swagga-and hair-ain’t-your-dagger-conversation. A new priority. A paradigm shift.

I am not commenting on the merits/demerits of the surgeon general’s or the journalist’s comentary (Black women are fat ’cause they got their hair did), but on his.

You have NO idea how it pisses me the fuck off that it’s always the people with wash and wear hair and others who don’t have to deal with our hair every day always telling us what the fuck to do concerning it.

I don’t know any woman who goes to the gym regularly and only does twenty minutes of “moderate” exercise. For those of us that go to a gym to work out, WE WORK OUT. For me, if I’m not doing at least forty minutes on the floor, it’s not worth the time of changing into my sweats. Once my hair gets funky from sweating it’s funky for hours until it eventually peters out or I wash it. I planned my gym days around when I had time to at least damp wash (which is an extra maintenance time unto itself), if not to fully wash my hair.

My hair is thick, when I had it permed bone straight it took three hours to dry naturally. Yes, it only took about an hour with a blow dryer, plus whatever additional curling time if desired, but no woman in her right mind, is going to damage her hair by blow-drying it two or more times a week, every week. Not if she wants to keep her hair. And here’s the irony, even women with a weave need to have some hair to weave it to, so we can’t damage our natural hair underneath by blow-drying it constantly. Even a loctician will tell customers not to heat dry the hair, because it’s damaging. So I need to wait it out.

I currently wear braids, once wet it takes considerably more time to dry than when straight, especially if I want it curled. Even the weather affects drying time. I have washed my hair at 7pm on cold damp days and woke up the next morning at my usual 5am only to find it still damp. Every spring and fall, I risk catching colds for this reason alone. I’ve asked and a lot of my sistas wearing whose hair is long in twists, dreads and locks have similar drying time issues.

A few years ago, I wore my hair in an all-natural Afro for three months one summer. I’m not going to comment on all the societal-political ramifications from such, that’s a blog for another day, but it was the most miserable time I’ve ever had with my hair. If the wind blew strong, it was messed-up. If I leaned back in a tall chair or on the subway, it was messed-up. If I wore a hat, or pushed my sunglasses up, it was messed-up. And like most women, different parts my hair grow and behave differently than others, so sometimes it was just messed-up. I felt I was always in a mirror checking it, making sure it was nicely rounded and I don’t have time in my life for that kind of vanity.

I’m single with adult children, so I have no demands on my after work time except the ones I put on me. However, I can tell you from experience that there are not enough hours to work, commute, run errands, be mom-wife-girlfriend-lover as is, in a day. Going to the gym meant something else was being put off until another time, or I was in for a very late night. If I just spent half of my day (usually a Saturday, twice a month, when I should have been doing something else), in a salon for four or five hours and spent serious dollars for the privileged to boot, you’re fucking right I’m going to try to maintain that look for as long as possible. Even women with locs/twists have to take time to get to a loctician every couple of months or so for maintenance and I guarantee you, they are not likely to be doing ‘moderate’ exercise, let alone a full-on work out for a few days after that until it sets.

Should our hair not be an issue (read excuse), for exercise? No, it should not be, I fully concede to that, but let’s be real. Even for the regular exercise enthusiasts, the majority of the day is not spent in the gym and we have to deal what we look like when we’re not in it. We may not care what the average stranger on the street thinks, but it’s bullshit to pretend the average woman is not, on even a subconscious level, thinking about how she presents herself. And it’s equally disingenuous to pretend we’re not being measured, if not outright judged on it, down or rather up to our hair, even by the people whose opinions we may care about — our own friends, co-workers and families.

To him I say: You are not the one having to take more time out of your schedule because of return trips to the salon (or home maintenance), to get that do back in order for the next day. A month from now when your comments are relatively forgotten and you’re greeting – hugging – standing next to a woman and her hair is smelly as all get out, at that moment, you are not going to be thinking check out Sistagirl taking care of her health. You’re going to be thinking damn her hair’s funky!

We’ve all scrunched-up our noses at the woman who otherwise looked fine, but the hair wasn’t up to par and that was before we were close enough to smell it. In a perfect world every woman would look fab in whatever style that washed and dried in no time, but it’s not a prefect world. These are our realities and belittling it down to pithy sound bites because it’s not your hair apparent reality doesn’t help (our hair or our fat asses for that matter).

If I Didn’t Know…

There’s a scratch on my heart ,
You’ve put it there,
The memory is seared
Forever in my soul’s care
Every now and then,
I run a finger across to feel the sting
For it’s all I have left of you
And it’s the worst to know how hard I still cling

Now I’m left wishing
Your kisses meant much more
Than just another
Notch on the bed post to score
Even knowing
That you never loved me so
You’re still in my heart
And for the life of me, I can’t let go

If I didn’t know
How your smile filled me with delight
If I didn’t know
How your arms felt holding me tight
If I didn’t know
How your lips tasted in the night

If I didn’t know
It would be better now

When people say
To follow your heart
They never tell you how
When it’s in a million parts
I spend each night
Praying for one less tear to cry
So quick to say “Hello”
Why can’t my heart now say “Goodbye” ?

It was easier
When you were just a fantasy
When there was never
A chance to be a “you and me”
It was all so easy
When just a figment of my brain
Because I never imagined
You’d be the source of all this pain

So if I didn’t know
How your smile filled me with delight
Or if I didn’t know
How your arms felt holding me tight
And if I didn’t know
The taste of your lips in the dark night

Oh, if I just didn’t know
It would be so much better now
So much better now

My Father

Family Tree Image from Google

My father is the earth

    dark, deep, rich soil
    soil tilled and turned
    from the sunrise
    to the sunset
    sometimes in sweat
    sometimes in blood
    from the day born from it
    to the day returned to it.

My father is the earth.

My father is the root

    of the mahogany, the ebony, the oak
    drinking heavily of
    the sweet rain of the clouds
    the salt rain of the tears
    drenched deep in the soil
    of my fathers before them

My father is the root.

My father is the trunk

    rough on the outside
    sometimes ripped by nature
    sometimes stripped by man
    but in the story of each ring
    hidden deep inside
    is the smooth beauty
    known only by those
    born of him

My father is the trunk.

My father is the limb

    raised forward in the wind
    raised forward in the rain
    raised forward in the snow
    raised forward to the sun
    because you can’t teach
    fathers to look forward
    by having fathers
    looking back

My father is the limb.

My father is the branch

    the extensions of faith
    the stretch of hope
    the breadth of a promise
    made long ago

My father is the branch.

I am the twig

    the latest incarnation
    of that promise deferred
    planted deep of the earth
    rooted of the past
    trunked on to the present
    out on a limb
    branched to the sun
    and if I seem to live
    off my fathers before me
    it is not to deprive
    my fathers give willing
    knowing I must survive
    for it is their dreams
    that are my dreams
    coursing through my veins

and in that I am the twig

  the branch
  the limb
  the trunk
  the root
  the earth

and in that I am my father.

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Submitted to

Theme Thursday
Thursday, August 11, 2011 – Tree