15....

Today was that day
Where if it could go wrong, it did.
Ah, but such is life.
And more than every, I'm ready for the greens and blues of tomorrow. The lush yellows and oranges of a new day. Even if the sky reflects the brilliance in a stubborn shade of gray.
Hello new day.

Day 14...The Questions.

Do souls really intertwine?
Do they kiss into fate?
And transfer wisdoms of past lives?
Or is that all talk?

Day 13. . .

Shivers, shakes and chills
You know how good you make me feel
I'll soon see you my love.

Day 12. . .

Ebony god and other cliches
Heaven sent but sin made
Eyes that convince, hands that ease
A smile that comforts, and words that assure.
I fell for him once, but never more.

Day 11

COMMITTED TO MEMORY

SOUNDS OF SILENCE
RECALL VIOLENCE
MEMORIES OF TRAGEDIES
RECOLLECTION OF FALLACY
THE QUIET BRINGS IT BACK
THE QUIET REMINDS US
THE QUIET SHINES THE LIGHT ON THE FORGOTTEN
WE TRY TO BURY IT DEEPLY
BUT IT COMES BACK WHEN WE'RE SLEEPING
OUR PARTNERS HEAR OUR WEEPING
AND BELIEVE WE'RE ENGAGED IN NIGHTMARES
SO THEY RUB SMALLS OF BACKS GENTLY AND USHER US BACK INTO THE DEEP
NOT KNOWING THAT WE AREN'T CONJURING DEMONS
WE ARE REMEMBERING THEM
THE ONES THAT HAD THE FACES OF FAMILIARITY
FAMILY BUT THAT WAS RELATIVE
THE ONES WHO TOLD US NOT TO TELL
PAID US TO FORGET
THREATENED US WITH WET EYES AND DECLARATIONS OF PROBLEMS
AND PLEADING WITH US FOR UNDERSTANDING
SO WE OBLIGED WITH TEARS IN OUR EYES AND WE GAVE THEM ANOTHER CHANCE
WE INVOLVED OURSELVES IN ACTIVITIES LIKE BIRTHING DRINKING AND SEXING JUST SO WE COULD FORGET
BUT WE NEVER DO
WE BURY, YET STILL CARRY, AND WE PRETEND ITS NOT THERE
BUT IT ALWAYS IS........ITS EMBEDDED LIKE TATTOOS ON THICK SKINS
WHO DO WE KID? NO ONE. IT NEVER LEAVES.





Sidenote: This is getting harder. But art is pleasure and work.

Day 10. . .Haiku Kick Continues

Screaming tears, angry words
Bring sweet apologetic love
It's the making up. . .

Day 9. . .more haiku

Suns on yolky days
Lemon, saffron,other shades
Yellow's how I feel.

Day 8...posted from blackberry

Milky moon set to evaporate
Its getting early but getting late.
I'm patient but restless
This is too much.
From Ms. Stressed

Day 7

something I've been working on. . .

SUMMER..

In a perfect world it would be summer . . . without hesitation you’d be my lover.
We’d stop time when we didn’t want to be apart. Without hesitation we could read hearts
But a perfect world does not exist and for that I am truly pissed.

Day 6. . .

Untitled.
That feeling. . .
The time we spend.
The breathless moments spent breathing your air.
The lifeless minutes when you're gone.
I don't know what's worse
Waiting on you to show, or watching you go

April 5, 2009 Poem #5

4/5 Work in Progress.

The words are flowing. . .
I'm scared to hear. . .
But will die of curiousity.
Begging you to stop, but urging you to go on. . .
I need to know.

Bonus Haiku: Ocean

He calls me Ocean
So fluid with my motion
Vast love never ends

Poem #4

Feeling like it's close
Like it's enough
But then I'm empty again
Thinking I'm on the brink of losing my sanity
Wondering where all this extra need is coming from
When the self sufficient woman turned into the lovey dovey type. . .
When the independent woman became dependent on your love. . .
Just when I think I can be loved no more, that this love is becoming an addiction
That I am on the verge of losing it. . .
I get confirmation in your eyes, your smile, your words, your touch. . .
That I could never overdose.

April 3, 2009 Poem #3

This one will be a haiku, short but sweet. I'm creating this man as a character in a story. Potentially.

Calvin

The strong type but hushed. . .
Mississippi mud skin tone
Southern born and bred

April 2, 2009 Poem #2

I am birthing this poem.
Conceived in love and deliberation
Premeditation played its part.
As I contract with the pen
I anticipate the labor pains
Emancipate words from my reins. . .
Poetic birthday and liberation all in one day
I want to deliver this poem loudly.
Here it comes screaming into this world.

Poem #1

Untitled 4/1

After the candles burn,
After the night is over
The music stops
The night comes in, the day begins. . .
Will you be there?

Daily diatribe: If you don't want to hear the truth, stop making your lies so relevant. When someone tries to stop you from making mistakes, stop being so defensive. Listen to the opinions of those who aren't as disillusioned as you are. Be open-minded and aware of the motives of others.

I'm Back. . .

I haven't blessed my blog in a slow forever, and now is a great time to return.

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I am following in the footsteps of another lovely poet and embarking on a poetic fast. In my version, I am making the commitment to create at least one piece of poetry each day this month. Stay tuned. . .

Where The Hood At? Apparently On Your Bookshelf

Either the product makes money like "street lit" and sex novels do, or it fades into obscurity like a VHS video tape machine. But if the only way I can earn a living now in African-American adult fiction is to sell my people the same poison that they've become addicted to, then I quit with my artistic integrity still in tact, while moving on to a more progressive mission.

--Bestselling author Omar Tyree on why he's done with street lit and anything that resembles it.

I'm always thinking about what to write next, and what's already out there. I've been surveying what's popular to see how I stack up. I have tons of things written, but I'm always ready to start fresh with a blank Microsoft document(or pen and pad depending on the mood). This week I took a trip to the library to see what was on the shelves as far as "African American Lit". I saw the staples of any well stocked library. Your Terri McMillan, Toni Morrison, and Maya Angelou selections. I was shocked by the abundance of what we call "Hood Novels", "Street Lit", or even "Urban Lit". . .there was more of that than anything else considered African American lit.



I am not against writing what you know, or what some people may experience in their lives. My problem comes when there's an overindulgence in a certain lifestyle, with very few alternatives.

Where is the balance?

I'm a fan of Iceberg Slim. I love Donald Goines and Chester Himes. This is CLASSIC urban lit. It's gritty and well written. The Coldest Winter Ever by Sista Souljah is a classic, in my opinion. It's gritty, yet cautionary. You can read and know that it was written as a labor of love.



I can't get with all the wannabe rappers, gangsta girlfriends, and formerly incarcerated ex-g's who put a book out every week. There's a gross over saturation in the market right now, and people seem to forget that quality will ALWAYS reign supreme over quantity.



How many of us read Flyy Girl by Omar Tyree? I loved that book, and I still have the first copy I purchased almost 13 years ago. So many people feel like this book started the wave of "hood novels", and the writer himself cringes at what his creation has birthed. It's to the point that he is considering retirement because of the current state of black lit. Tyree has compared it to the destruction of hip hop, which is a whole different story. After him came Teri Woods, K'wan, and Nikki Turner. The market is so flooded with stories of drugs, sex, violence, and that neverending climb to the top of the rap game. Puh-leez. . .

is there anything else we can write about?

I know a well known author who writes awesome books featuring Black characters with respectable jobs, and desirable lifestyles. However, her books aren't selling like they used to so she has taken on a pseudonym and began writing hood novels, which sell like hotcakes. So, in order to make money in the publishing game, should I sacrifice my craft? Should I dumb down my the good stuff fades into obscurity.



I have a concentration right now when it comes to my writing, and some people might ask is there more. I can honestly say yes, and I don't plan to pigeonhole myself into one genre. Let's branch out, peoples.......

Deuces! (Updated 6-26-08)

A few weeks ago, I ended a toxic friendship. My best friend of over TWENTY years is no longer a part of my life. I'm 25 years old, so having a friend for that long was really something. But all those years were all we had. For the first time since it happened, I'm really, really going over what was wrong with our friendship:

She was needy. She wanted to talk everyday, and got mad if I couldn't spend hours on the phone with her, talking about her problems. She would get pissed if I fell asleep on the phone if she wasn't ready to hang up.

She was very self-involved. She loved to tell her problems, yet she didn't stop to hear good advice, and she never wanted to listen to mine, and when I finally got a word in, she turned it into something about her.

She was insecure. Never wanted me around her man, never wanted to hear about my accomplishments....she was one of those women who calls and hangs up, always needs a man, hated me having new friends. If we went out (which was rare), she would hate if someone gave me attention and not her.

(The more I type, the more I wonder why the hell I didn't do it sooner....this sounds like a boyfriend more than a best friend)

She was jealous, always forgot my birthdays, and would rather gossip than look out for my best interest.

She didn't want MORE for herself. She hated education, and was satisfied with being mediocre. I love being around people who are going to motivate me to do more, be more, and see more. I'm not where I want to be in my life yet, but it helps to be around people who are doing fabulous things. My mother told me a couple years ago that I should watch out for her, and that she had some issues but I made excuses and I kept trying to forge a friendship where it was obviously dead.



I'm all about personal responsibility, but honestly I think I was a good friend. Maybe I didn't call enough, but I didn't think we had to talk everyday to be friends. I called and asked her how she was doing, how her family was, etc. This stings but it was necessary and these 3 weeks since we broke it apart have been good for me. I know that she has a side to tell, but this was mine and I've never felt so free in my life. If I could let go of an empty friendship after 20+ years, I can let anyone out of my life.




**6-26-08 UPDATE**
This friend sent me a text a few days ago letting me know that her grandmother passed. Her grandmother was a wonderful woman who really looked out for me during my jr high school years when she was head of the school lunch program, and I was really sorry to learn of her passing. I wasn't sure whether or not to reply via text or phone call, but ultimately I made the call. I let her know that I was sorry about her grandma, especially knowing how close they were, and that if there was anything I could do to let me know. I asked her to leave me the wake/funeral info and I would try to pay my respects or have my mother go since I was leaving town. She never responded. I reached out, did my part and I have let it go.

I'm going to start blogging again...

. . .slowly but surely. Little by little. Mostly about nothing, a little poetry here and there. It's so therapeutic.