sunny day

the sky directly above my front porch at 2:02pm cst today!

breathing sunshine and breezes

feeling the warmth on my face

knowing the presence of peace

feeling my self in this space

having the earth beneath me

seeing my son run and play

knowing no rush, no hurry

thanking God for this day

Short, sweet n to the point.... just what's going on at the moment. Might take the boy to the pool in a little while. What y'all doing on a sunny, warm summer's day?

A Slam of Sorts....

So, Ms. Alise has been on a little web detox of sorts... sometimes you just gotta step back a pace or two and take a beat....

But I really have missed her Poetry Slams on Tuesdays the last two weeks, so in a similar spirit I would like to open up the Attic and invite anyone who drops by to leave a line or two. I'm gonna work it like Alise does and throw out a topic.... sort of... and let y'all run with it. Long, short, poetry, haiku, prose... whatever you feel.

Only instead of coming up with a topic, I'm gonna direct your attention to the music player down near the bottom of the sidebar. Pick a song, song title, artist or lyric from the widget and take off with that. There's some good shyt in that widget, too. Some of the artists you probably know, others you may just be discovering... and yes, it's a growing and changing list in there, so at the end of your contribution, please leave the artist name and title of the track you used for inspiration.

Now, I know this blog doesn't have the readership of Black Woman Lost & Found, but there's a couple of y'all lurkin' out there.... Susanne...April....Karen....Quest... I sees ya! Even if you think you're "not a poet" join in! Hell, I'm no poet either!! I'm a nurse and a mommy, but that hasn't stopped me from puttin' it out there!

Ok..... so I'll start.... my chosen track... "Inna Light" by Writtenhouse.

I see the dark look on your face,

the clouds across your countenance.

And I wonder where have you misplaced

your joy?

I remember when you lit up the place.

When nothing could bring you down.

Why the fall from grace,

and when?

Rekindle that fire in the grate.

Stir the embers again.

There's really no reason to wait,

is there?

You can keep the darkness at bay.

You can find yourself once more.

You can have the light of day,

look within.

Like night coming in the middle of day,

a total eclipse of the sun,

Everyone feels that pain

at times....

And I don't know what more I can say,

to one who was once so bright;

you have to look each day,

just to find some light.

Look within.

Now, as Alise would say, it's your turn....

One of My Favorites--Death of A Hired Man by Robert Frost

This is one of my all time favorite poems, by one of my all time favorite poets. It contains my all time favorite line (highlighted in red). That one line explains why my house is the stopping place of so many people who need someplace to be. Everyone needs a home.

Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. "Silas is back."
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. "Be kind," she said.
She took the market things from Warren's arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.

"When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I'll not have the fellow back," he said.
"I told him so last haying, didn't I?
'If he left then,' I said, 'that ended it.'
What good is he? Who else will harbour him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there's no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
'He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won't have to beg and be beholden.'
'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.'
'Someone else can.' 'Then someone else will have to.'
I shouldn't mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there's someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,--
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I'm done."

"Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you," Mary said.

"I want him to: he'll have to soon or late."

"He's worn out. He's asleep beside the stove.
When I came up from Rowe's I found him here,
Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep,
A miserable sight, and frightening, too--
You needn't smile--I didn't recognise him--
I wasn't looking for him--and he's changed.
Wait till you see."

"Where did you say he'd been?"

"He didn't say. I dragged him to the house,
And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke.
I tried to make him talk about his travels.
Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off."

"What did he say? Did he say anything?"

"But little."

"Anything? Mary, confess
He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me."

"Warren!"

"But did he? I just want to know."

"Of course he did. What would you have him say?
Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man
Some humble way to save his self-respect.
He added, if you really care to know,
He meant to clear the upper pasture, too.
That sounds like something you have heard before?
Warren, I wish you could have heard the way
He jumbled everything. I stopped to look
Two or three times--he made me feel so queer--
To see if he was talking in his sleep.
He ran on Harold Wilson--you remember--
The boy you had in haying four years since.
He's finished school, and teaching in his college.
Silas declares you'll have to get him back.
He says they two will make a team for work:
Between them they will lay this farm as smooth!
The way he mixed that in with other things.
He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft
On education--you know how they fought
All through July under the blazing sun,
Silas up on the cart to build the load,
Harold along beside to pitch it on."

"Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot."

"Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream.
You wouldn't think they would. How some things linger!
Harold's young college boy's assurance piqued him.
After so many years he still keeps finding
Good arguments he sees he might have used.
I sympathise. I know just how it feels
To think of the right thing to say too late.
Harold's associated in his mind with Latin.
He asked me what I thought of Harold's saying
He studied Latin like the violin
Because he liked it--that an argument!
He said he couldn't make the boy believe
He could find water with a hazel prong--
Which showed how much good school had ever done him.
He wanted to go over that. But most of all
He thinks if he could have another chance
To teach him how to build a load of hay----"

"I know, that's Silas' one accomplishment.
He bundles every forkful in its place,
And tags and numbers it for future reference,
So he can find and easily dislodge it
In the unloading. Silas does that well.
He takes it out in bunches like big birds' nests.
You never see him standing on the hay
He's trying to lift, straining to lift himself."

"He thinks if he could teach him that, he'd be
Some good perhaps to someone in the world.
He hates to see a boy the fool of books.
Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,
And nothing to look backward to with pride,
And nothing to look forward to with hope,
So now and never any different."

Part of a moon was falling down the west,
Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills.
Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw
And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand
Among the harp-like morning-glory strings,
Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves,
As if she played unheard the tenderness
That wrought on him beside her in the night.
"Warren," she said, "he has come home to die:
You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time."

"Home," he mocked gently.

"Yes, what else but home?
It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he's nothing to us, any more
Than was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail."

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in."

"I should have called it
Something you somehow haven't to deserve."

Warren leaned out and took a step or two,
Picked up a little stick, and brought it back
And broke it in his hand and tossed it by.
"Silas has better claim on us you think
Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles
As the road winds would bring him to his door.
Silas has walked that far no doubt to-day.
Why didn't he go there? His brother's rich,
A somebody--director in the bank."

"He never told us that."

"We know it though."

"I think his brother ought to help, of course.
I'll see to that if there is need. He ought of right
To take him in, and might be willing to--
He may be better than appearances.
But have some pity on Silas. Do you think
If he'd had any pride in claiming kin
Or anything he looked for from his brother,
He'd keep so still about him all this time?"

"I wonder what's between them."

"I can tell you.
Silas is what he is--we wouldn't mind him--
But just the kind that kinsfolk can't abide.
He never did a thing so very bad.
He don't know why he isn't quite as good
As anyone. He won't be made ashamed
To please his brother, worthless though he is."

"I can't think Si ever hurt anyone."

"No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay
And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back.
He wouldn't let me put him on the lounge.
You must go in and see what you can do.
I made the bed up for him there to-night.
You'll be surprised at him--how much he's broken.
His working days are done; I'm sure of it."

"I'd not be in a hurry to say that."

"I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself.
But, Warren, please remember how it is:
He's come to help you ditch the meadow.
He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him.
He may not speak of it, and then he may.
I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud
Will hit or miss the moon."

It hit the moon.
Then there were three there, making a dim row,
The moon, the little silver cloud, and she.

Warren returned--too soon, it seemed to her,
Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited.

"Warren," she questioned.

"Dead," was all he answered.

puzzling

Where do we go from today?

How do we fit together now?

Puzzle pieces falling into place,

Start with the edges and work our way in.

Start with the frame and watch the picture take shape,

because we don't have the box top to show us

what the final result will look like.

Frustrating to put it together

without a guide.

Holding a piece that seems like it doesn't fit anywhere.

Obsessed with that piece, unable to move on

until we know

where it goes

Because it must fit somewhere.

The pieces are all here.

But what does the final picture look like?

some questions...

Where does it come from?

This I'll show you attitude,

this cuttin' off my nose to spite my face...

Where does it get me?

Doing silly things at you,

that only hurt me in the end...

Where do I come by this urge?

Being outrageous and whatnot,

all out of character to prove...

What?

Thoughts that make me profoundly

uncomfortable in my own skin...

Behavior that makes me want to hide my face...

Words that spew like bile

out of anger...

That don't form themselves well in my mouth

or my mind....

And lastly...

how do I make it go away?

The Moral High Ground

If I wanna do wrong, I could do so wrong.

It wouldn't be hard or take much effort to go astray.

Just a decision and some time on the phone...

a few minutes and ambiguous words

in the right ear.

If I wanna be wrong, I could go so wrong.

I could find someone to help me in my wanderings.

A partner in crime isn't all that hard to come by...

someone willing and able to fill the bill

and drive the getaway car.

if I wanna I could

Do I wanna go wrong?

Wander down a path of bad choices and easy trouble?

Sometimes it looks like fun

like it could be an adventure.

I could take a journey to the rowdy side of town.

Would my conscience desert me?

Would my spirit continue to abide peacefully

if I gave in to the temptation to give in to temptation?

Would the day trip down shakedown street be worth getting lost?

When the greater journey is abandoned and my progress is thwarted?

If I wanna go wrong, don't get me wrong, I can.

Any time, any place, any way.

It's so much harder to stay on the road that takes me where I really wanna go.

I don't wanna go wrong, see, I been there before.

And getting back is much rougher than the neighborhood.

Wrong is where people desert you and leave you for dead.

The people who encouraged you to come for the ride...

your get away driver and partners in crime,

they're the ones who can't get away fast enough when going wrong gets wrong.

And it's so hard to find your way back from wrong, because the road twists and winds

back on itself

snakey

shifty

shiftless

to a dead end.

But still...

If I wanna go wrong, I could!

Don't think I sit here being good because I lack an alternative.

Don't delude yourself with the illusion of my saintliness.

Don't for one minute believe that I have no choice but to be good.

Don't forget that I have options.

Don't dismiss the fact that I've been there before,

and I know my way around.

My choices keep me in the right.

I choose not to pick up that phone

I decide to kill the other options,

to rule them out like no parking zones.

I opt out of the day trip down shakedown street.

I pursue the high moral ground.

But still...

Don't take my good sense and self-preserving instincts for granted.

Because If I Wanna Go Wrong, I Could!