Double Standards

Unquestioningly I expect,

and would be offended

if I didn't get,

your absolute belief

in what I tell you.

When I say how I feel,

you should see truth.

No doubts, no reservations

or misgivings.

Absolute confidence,

absolute certainty.

I expect nothing less

when I lay myself on the line...

open my life's book

to the chapter of my heart.

And on my part,

I find,

much to my own disappointment,

that I do not return the favor

in kind.

I am the place where "I love you"

meets the arched eyebrow,

and "I miss you"

encounters "Oh yeah??"

*side-eye*

I am the contradictory ground

where saying what I mean

meets skepticism

of what I hear,

failing to believe.

And I know it sounds cliche,

but I'm gonna say it anyway,

it's all me,

and not you.

There's no reason for disbelief

based upon reality...

but in my mind,

dangerous ground.

That's the place

where the arguments thrive,

between myself and I.

Where, "I love you,"

meets "right....why?"

Where, "I only wanna be with you,"

meets "Until something better comes along."

Where "You're beautiful,"

and "He's full of it,"

battle it out for days.

And days

and days....

I'm careful, though,

not to let it show

on the outside.

Regardless of the battle

raging on the inside,

I bluff.

Conceal the doubt,

and insecurity.

I am covert in the questions

plaguing me.

Allow nothing to show.

A confident front

for you to see.

Only that

and a demand

for your confidence in me.

50th Post and Seventh BornDay for Eli!!

Throw some confetti and put on a party hat!! Eli turns 7 tomorrow! And this is the 50th post on this blog. Which is something of a miracle, considering there was a time in my past when I would rather take a beating than let anyone read my poetry!

So tonight's offering is dedicated to the theme of family and motherhood... different from my usual, but that's ok.

Once a physical part of me

still a literal part of me

of my soul, I watch as you grow.

You are a miracle of epic proportions.

The eyes that show what you feel when you feel it,

that give away when you get the joke,

Delight my soul and cause my heart to sing.

The voice so animated with your excitement

over bugs, and snails and rocks,

it's music to my ears.

You are the harmony to my very self.

You are the melody of my being.

You are my song and my son.

Seriously Susanne!!

I not only love to write, I truly love to read. I follow so many blogs and enjoy every one of them. Every now and then, on one of my blogs, I like to take a minute to show some love to a blog/blogger that really rocks my socks.

Today it's Susanne's turn...

Susanne is a young woman with a beautiful, wise old soul! She is something of an inspiration to me. She has handled a lot more in her life than many women three times her age. And she has done it all with grace, dignity and faith!

Susanne writes a blog called "Beauty From Ashes" and IT IS AWESOME!! She writes poetry mostly, but she also has a story to tell of her journey through some treacherous territory in life. I love to read her stuff. She is honest, raw and fearless in her poetry. She examines her life unflinchingly, never turning away from what she sees. I am amazed at her self-perception. I actually kinda envy her that, because she came by it a lot earlier in life than I did. But then again, I'm pretty hard headed.

So do yourself a favor and go check her out. She's a talented and cool chick, and I'm excited to see how she develops and grows, as a writer and as a woman, as time passes.

A Haiku For Susanne

here stands a woman

wisdom not explained by age

youth hides her old soul

Haiku Self Plagarization

Here are a couple of Haiku that I wrote for the Blog Poetry Slam at Naturally Alise's eCrib, Black Woman Lost & Found.... I'm not a Black Woman, but she loves me anyway n lets me come over n play!

feel you in the room
even when you are not here
I can imagine

anticipation
almost the best part of love
building up my need

Haiku You!!

So sometimes I get blocked... and I've been sick this week, so I've been blocked. One of the ways I have learned to unblock is by writing haiku. There is a discipline in haiku that lends itself to the task. By the way, in case you wondered, yes, I did learn this from my poetry guru, Alise.

For those who don't know, haiku is a Japanese poetry form. The rules are simple. 3 lines with a 5/7/5 syllable/line form. Doesn't hafta rhyme, but it can, addressing a single image or concept. The idea is to say a lot in 17 little syllables. Convey a message with minimal verbiage. Give the essence of your subject succinctly yet vividly. Good things come in small packages.

So, here's some haiku for you....

Orange, red and brown

leaves shower down on my lawn

making pretty work

Too quiet in here

out of sight for five minutes

what is he up to?

Waiting to begin

dreams and plans to be lived out

keeping faith in sight.

That's a few off the cuff for now. I am working on a couple of other things, but like I said, been blocked. Hopefully, I can rattle a couple things loose!

Sorry to disappoint... no poetry here tonight.

...but there is some reflection and introspection. I'm feeling some kinda way, and thinking about some really touchy things right now. I'm in that frame of mind that Alise would call "moodtrospective" and not really liking it.

See, sometimes in life, you can know the source of your angst (I hate that word, but couldn't pull a more appropriate one outta my arse at the moment). You can know the source, but still not be able to change it. Even if you wanna. Even if you know it would be for the best. Sometimes you can almost see the change, and still not be able to make the change. So in the mean time...

Suffer the consequences of being stuck in your moodtrospective rut.

I know there is some change coming in my future. And I know some kinda way doesn't last forever. Even if I'm not sure how I'm gonna make it happen. And even if I'm not sure when.

Missing

I miss me, but I don't know where to look.

I haven't been in any of my usual haunts or hangouts.

I miss me, but I don't know where I am.

I haven't been sighted for days.

I miss me, but I'm totally in the wind.

I haven't settled in one place long enough to find myself in ages.

So, if you see me, give me a message from me.

Let me know I'm looking for myself.

Ask me to call home.

Just passing through...

I stay on a see-saw with my blogs. I try not to neglect one while giving attention to the other. It's a tough balancing act... almost like parenting more than one child. (Lucky for me I only have one, coz I'm obviously not very good at the balance thing).

Anyway, I am working on some pieces for the Attic, but nothing I'm ready to turn loose of yet.

The real point of this post, aside from giving the ol' place its fair share of attention is to share something I just discovered. Remember my guest poet, Susanne? Well, guess who finally took the leap into the blogosphere!!

You guessed it!! I can't tell you how excited I am about it!!

Do me a favor, check her out. She's a young lady with an old soul... kinda like Ms. Verbfashion!

Her eCrib is Beauty from Ashes. She's posting some fiyah! Help me welcome her to the world of Poetry Blogging, won't ya?

Acceptance

Acceptance is all that I ask,

and the best gift I have to give.

It is the air that I breathe

and food to my spirit,

the freedom to be who I am,

the liberty to live

without pretending.

I have come too far,

and lived too long,

and I am too tired

to play make believe,

for anyone.

I don't have the reserves any more.

Don't ask me

to put on a costume,

don a mask,

act in a play

just to provide you a comfort zone.

If who I am makes you uncomfortable,

I apologize,

but I will not change.

I will not lie.

I will not make believe.

This is who I am.

Accept me,

and I will give you acceptance

in kind.

I will love you

for your flaws.

I will find humor

in your quirks,

and humility

in your triumphs.

When you are weak,

I will help you to stand.

When you are silent,

I will listen to what you leave unsaid.

When you are pensive,

I will respect your mind.

And I promise...

I will not force you

to play a role,

pretend a life,

invent a persona

more palatable to me.

I will accept you for who you are,

by loving you as who I am.

For this, my best gift,

Acceptance is all I ask.

Missing you Haiku

Home's where the heart is?

Then my heart is on the road.

He soon will return.

Plagiarizing myself...

Sometimes, I really don't know what I'd do without Alise and her blog. I know y'all probably sick of hearing about it, but I really do owe that woman a debt of gratitude...

My creative side, the love-to-write-wanna-be-a-poet side of myself had sat dormant for so long, I had begun to forget that side of me ever existed.

Anyhoo... enuf of the "I stan for NaturallyAlise" stuff. Here are two pieces I originally wrote for her blog poetry slam. She comes up with the best writing prompts!

The first prompt is "I miss you."

In your absence

I am observant

of that sacred space

Reserved for your presence.

There is no inticement,

Nothing sufficient

to cause a violation,

to motivate migration.

Because with you not here,

there's nothing for me

on your side of the bed.

The prompt for this piece was "parts of speech."

We were past tense
and again are present tense
will we be future tense
or past perfect, is yet to be seen.

Your past participle
predicates my future perfectly,
but I don't want to split my infinitives
as I wait out the verb that's also a noun
and look to infinite possibilities.

Hope you like these little offerings!

THEM

Composed at a moment of realization and clarity. Maybe not the most "poetic" thing I've ever written, but it's honest at least!

Maaaannnn....

I'm sick

of them!

Sick to the point of fallin out

of them!!

Ready to have it out

with them!

Just absolutely unquestioningly

tired of them!

To hell with them!

Fuck them

and their opinions,

and their misconceptions,

and their perceptions,

and their good intentions,

and their questions,

and their preconceived notions,

and all of that!

Who are they anyway?

You tell me

what they have to say

to you

about me

and the way

I choose

to live

my life.

You keep me

informed,

in the loop,

in the know....

Awww....snap!

I see.

It's not them

judging me.

Fuck YOU!

road trip with erykah

I've been working on this poem for a little while now, and was having trouble with it after the second stanza. So, I did what you have probably come to expect of me, and I ran it past Alise... my poetry guru. *waves to Alise*

Her words of wisdom were let it find the flow, and the rest would ride its own wave in... and tonight, it did.

Check out Alise's blog coz she's the business!

Black Woman Lost & Found

Road Trip With Erykah

Shifting into drive, and rollin' out

Miles stretching out before me like a promise.

My travelling companions on the pre-dawn highway...

my over-taxed,

overflowing,

over-active

mind

And Erykah's voice.

The sun rises to my left and

waves away the dusky purple shadow

of night's last sigh.

"Honayyyyyy...... you're soooo sweet"

the lyric coincides with the gilding of a new day.

Note by note and mile by mile

driving the pain away,

leaving Thought along the road,

let that raggedy hitch hiker fend for herself.

Lyrics, fluid from my speakers,

flood my mind.

Rising like the tide

to wash away the memories

and burdens.

In this solitude with Erykah's voice,

I am finding a small, quiet place.

It is mine.

And the miles roll on under my tires.

I am farther from home,

closer to where I am going,

and not wanting to get there.

Yearning for the journey,

not the destination.

It is mine.

Like silk ribbon through slack fingers,

the notes slip through my brain.

Caressing away the tense expectation

of resistance yet to come.

For now, the music says,

let this be enough.

Let go.

Yes...

Let this ride last a little longer,

safe and alone in my capsule of sound,

wheels turning...

and delivering me away....

Even if it is temporary,

it will be enough,

and...

it is mine.

before and after times

This is something I worked on today and wasn't sure if I was ready to post. But after I ran it past Alise n got a little feedback, I decided what the hell...

Now, baby, you know I'm into you.

And there's not a thing wrong with it

when intimacy and physical are in union.

In other words, Love, the sex is that shit...

but...

yes, there's a but...

That's not what I crave.

It ain't sex that makes me sleepless

for days and days,

causes me to be distracted,

althought I am attracted

to your package

and your performance don't ever make me mad...

What really makes me hold on

steal one last embrace before you go on

your way, and about your day,

is the before and after time.

It's in the way you look at me with knowing,

and your intentions show in

your eyes.

The touches as we pass in the kitchen,

and in "Baby can you scratch my back?"

When "we" is more than you and I.

And it resides in the warmth of the bed when,

bodies touching and spent,

you stroke my face and arms,

shoulders and back and thighs,

hands visiting the soft places

in the small of my back

and the nape of my neck.

Quiet voices, bedroom voices in flickering light.

Small talk, and "I love you"

and the tv reflecting in your eyes...

and your eyes on me.

"What?"

"Can't I just look at you, baby?"

And you do.

Until sleep takes us both into the night.

It's this,

the before and after time.

No, don't get me wrong, man.

Your sex... is more than just alright.

But the lovemaking!

That happens in the before and after time.

But maybe I over think things....

Sometimes

I have to roll things around in my mind...

Like a snowball in reverse

melting away the extraneous

the extra layers on the outside

to get to what's on the inside,

at the center of things.

Sometimes

I have to peel back the layers of wrapping

pull off the ribbons and

discard the packaging

get to the plain truth

of what's inside the box

at the heart of things.

Sometimes

I find it takes some time

to discover what I really feel

to find the core

the central truth

the source.

Sometimes

I don't always know what I think

caught in torrents of feeling and impulse

and I don't want to proceed

until I'm sure of my course.

Sometimes

my mind is a busy place to be

with all the analytical activites

but always,

it's good to get to the root cause.

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.