Of Life, of Love-

Of Life, of Love-

IMG_5501.JPG

You do not wait for opportunities,
you create them-
in the moments,
between,
the first string of light,
and when darkness-
envelopes the sky.

You do not wait for friendship,
To arrive,
At its time and pace,
And kick loneliness
To the curb,
With a sidekick.
You search it-
At the park,
The cafe,
Grandma’s birthday.

You do not wait for success,
To come knocking,
Down your door
Saying, I’m here now.
You hunt it down,
Axe and sword.
Heat and sweat.
Find it and claim-
It was always yours to Have.

But love… do you wait for love
To arrive, open arms,
Do you not?
Heck… what do I know about love.

Unlike the other woman-

Unlike the other woman-

IMG_5471

“But I love you,” he said.
And I wondered where he got the notion that saying the words “I love you” was akin to an eraser which wipes off a slate of past mistakes; a chant which hypnotises one into prompt obedience regardless of the absurdity of the orders; a piece of blindfold over a woman’s eyes to block off the reality of events.

Or maybe, he just assumed I am like the other woman who had come and gone. A blooming soul withered by a facade of love, fed on sugar coated words which tasted like nothing- nothing- a compilation of meaningless gestures- suffocating.

And maybe (cause I can only assume as mama always said speak for yourself alone) he was fed on the notion that love is blind, love is an eraser and love hypnotises in the hands of a man.

But honey, Living has taught me, you can scream I love you until the oxygen carrying capacity of your lungs deplete, without sincerity in action, it don’t mean nothing. Call me cynical, but living otherwise would have me ending up just like the other woman. A washed-up replica of a once upon a time star. 

Writer’s Quote: Cornelius Eady

Writer’s Quote: Cornelius Eady

IMG_5441.JPG

One of the things I enjoy doing during my free time is watching poetry recited out loud on YouTube. I don’t mean spoken word poetry, I mean those classical poems by Maya angelou, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes e.t.c. Watching them being recited adds more meaning to the poems, and increase in my understanding and love for the poems and poetry as a whole. It’s during one such occasion, I first heard the poem- I’m a fool to love you by Cornelius Eady. That poem touched me deeply; it spoke to me in ways many poems don’t and that’s why today I decided to share it with you guys for Writers Quote/Poem Wednesday.

I know I am not done with my AtoZ challenge and it’s already May, will try to roundup soon, the letter X is really not inspiring. Below is the poem

I’m a fool to love you- Cornelius Eady

Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don’t want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.

My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That’s how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.

And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it’s the only leverage
You’ve got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man’s kisses
A healing.

S- Success

S- Success

IMG_5400

If I could do- half the job,
My mother did- in raising me,
For the young ones I am yet to birth,
Who’d look to me before anyone else,
In the matter of life,
In the matters of death,
In the matters of love,
Or religion, I’d be first.
If I could instill,
Half the morals she did.
Then- I will know
I have indeed succeeded.

No, there is no glitch in timing, today is indeed supposed to be letter Q but I opted to post on letter S. The reason is I have already written this a while ago, its just been sitting in my draft waiting to be posted. And also, I am exhausted, it’s been a filled up day and I haven’t had the chance to write a poem. As I type this, I’m on the bed and ready to drop off any moment from now. Good night.

L- Life after dusk

L- Life after dusk

IMG_5416.JPG

She grew up with laughter,
At the dinner table,
Holding hands across the street,
Kind of parents-
She was that kid with pink ribbons,
Daddy’s doll;

He was that kid- a replica of
hand me downs,
Wiping mama’s tears and cleaning
After papa’s mess,
He was that kid with barely average
On every test;

Life after dusk brought women-
Drowned in assortments;
Men elated for the peace at home.
Kids cradled- by soft hands
who’ve not experienced,
The touch of labour,
neither it’s sweat.

Life after dusk brought on a stench,
The kids knew too well;
An image they wish-
They could forget.

Life after dusk is different-
In every household,
Some build sweet memories,
Some dim the lights
Of Children, and their innocence.

K- Knowing you

K- Knowing you

IMG_5414

Those ember months brought along a certain feeling of longing and wistfulness I couldn’t adequately describe in words; a longing for the ocean while standing at the shore, watching the waves crash at my foot but not daring to take any step further. Why? A question I couldn’t answer until you arrived, one sunny ember morning.
And a girl who never believed in cliches took one glance at you striding into the parlour with my father and I knew, you would play a big role in my life, which you did… until you couldn’t.

Your smile would light up a room and your charisma made everyone comfortable. You let me be the joker in public with the jokes you enriched me with in private. And you- with your arms which were nothing like those of the future I had imagined, were my home.
Meeting you was a coincidence, knowing was a privilege, and loving you- a blessing

G- Grief

G- Grief

IMG_5406

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
While you stare at the floor;
Wondering how on earth,
A part of you is now gone;
Their words sound so foreign,
Till your love’s name comes up;
Every mention- a drill,
Burning a hole in your heart,

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
And you wonder what for-
It wasn’t their fault,
Heck it wasn’t anyone;
You envision them strolling to
The arms of their love;
Looking down through welled eyes,
At the emptiness of yours.

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
And that they understand,
But you know they cannot fathom
The loss you incurred,
So you nod as they murmur
Words, meant to comfort-
Praying to God, he Is at much
Much more peace, than you are.

Writer’s Quote: Mother’s Smile

Writer’s Quote: Mother’s Smile

IMG_5354

It’s another Wednesday, which means, it’s time for Writer’s Quote and Poem. I noticed on Facebook, a lot “happy Mother’s Day” was trending about two days ago. I guess it was Mother’s Day in my side of the world. In honours of that, I would like to dedicate today’s quote and the poem below, written by Michael Burch, to all the parents striving and sacrificing,  with their time, their sweat and their little wealth to make sure their children always have enough and more, with regards love and happiness. I hope you like the poem below.

Mother’s Smile by Michael Burch
For my wife, Elizabeth Harris Burch, and my mother, Christine Ena Burch

There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”

So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach

from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.

There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,

then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, oh, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!

A very different Post!

A very different Post!

“no matter how tough the world becomes, you must never run out of sweetness”- Bernadokath. That said, let’s spread a little love and sweetness to a dear blogger friend and his daughter who is the definition of a fighter. Please give this a read, and spread a little love today

A Dog's Life? (Stories of me and him)

This is a very different Post from my usual literary meanderings, as it focuses on my daughter Melanie.

She was diagnosed with a brain tumor 10 years ago and, as it was not possible to surgically remove all of it, she has had considerable chemo and radiation treatments.  Sadly, while those treatments have no doubt kept her alive, there are numerous long term side effects which dictate that she cannot perform regular work functions, and is therefore dependent on benefits from her disability provider.

When she is up to it, she uses her time volunteering for a non-profit program that coaches people who are fighting poverty.

Melanie has always been a fighter but, being unable to earn an income, she is struggling to cover her basic living costs.  When I was in N. Vancouver last October, he spirits were quite high, but she was obviously concerned about paying her monthly…

View original post 238 more words