Remember The Tinman

August 12, 2008

There are locks on the doors
  And chains stretched across all the entries to the inside
  There’s a gate and a fence
  And bars to protect from only God knows what lurks outside
  Who stole your heart left you with a space
  That no one and nothing can fill
  Who stole your heart who took it away
  Knowing that without it you can’t live
  Who took away the part so essential to the whole
  Left you a hollow body
  Skin and bone
  What robber what thief who stole your heart and the key
  Who stole your heart
  The smile from your face
  The innocence the light from your eyes
  Who stole your heart or did you give it away
  And if so then when and why
  Who took away the part so essential to the whole
  Left you a hollow body
  Skin and bone
  What robber what thief
  Who stole your heart and the key
  Now all sentiment is gone
  Now you have no trust in no one
  Who stole your heart
  Did you know but forget the method and moment in time
  Was it a trickster using mirrors and sleight of hand
  A strong elixir or a potion that you drank
  Who hurt your heart
  Bruised it in a place
  That no one and nothing can heal
  You’ve gone to wizards, princes and magic men
  You’ve gone to witches, the good the bad the indifferent
  But still all sentiment is gone
  But still you have no trust in no one
  If you can tear down the walls
  Throw your armor away remove all roadblocks barricades
  If you can forget there are bandits and dragons to slay
  And don’t forget that you defend an empty space
  And remember the tinman
  Found he had what he thought he lacked
  Remember the tinman
  Go find your hear and take it back
  Who stole your heart
  Maybe no one can say
  One day you will find it I pray

>>Tracy Chapman

I Keep On Trying

June 30, 2008

There is the stain of blood

on my soul that can not be

erased

 

There is hurt buried so deep

it can’t be uncovered

 

I keep on trying because

I don’t know how to surrender

How to simply lay down and

die

 

Through all the pain and scars

I have accumulated in this life

I want so desperately to close my

eyes and let the awaiting abyss

wash over me

 

But I am not able to let go

 

I was born into this crazed world

my soul battered and shattered

by the storms of life since

 

Introverted tears formed lakes

in my soul attempting to drown

all the misery and pain swirling

inside

 

I keep on trying to feel

                          to breathe

                          to live

                          to become

 

I’ve never been taught to

surrender

Even in the face of certain defeat

I’m guilty of having unspeakable

things done to me

And doing some in return

 

I keep on trying……………..

 

 

Black Orpheus

I don’t know if I ever wanna wife

‘cause when I get a good woman

I don’t ever do it right

I knew emcees bit

But I never knew love did

The way it did when it did

We had a kid

Together but our together

Felt like a bid

Our love was locked in a grid

 

We sampled true love

But the shit never cleared

I’m a man in the mirror

You got my name smeared

Playing them f—a-man songs around the crib

But you can’t hide love

From it I never hid

 

A slave to it

The only time we don’t argue is when

we do it

Mistaking love for so-called making love

But if it was real

We wouldn’t have to make a dub

I shouldn’t have to hate to love,

the physical route ain’t the only route to love

when the sex wears out

a nigga needs a scared hug

yea real brothers get lonely too

don’t even ask what me and my homies do

if I tell you it’s you

then it’s only you

 

you got me by cooking and washing

and your view on religion

now it’s dirty dishes and you only

believe in bitching

once we lost the trust

we lost us

now I must adjust

back to Black Orpheus

 

—–COMMON

I Lost You Somewhere Inside of Me

May 21, 2008

I Lost You Somewhere Inside of Me

 

In being me, I lost you.

It was not my plan nor do I understand.

But somewhere inside of me, I lost you.

I’ve been here before, and each time

you call

me back for more.

More of you, more of life.

I cry out to you from the depths of my

Soul,

comfort me.

Move me beyond me and my Soul,

to that place of peace in the Spirit.

Spirit to Spirit let’s commune,

lets rap and break some bread.

I know my passion for you.

It’s real and I know you know

just how I feel.

Abandoned by love! I think not.

You haven’t abandoned me,

but I have abandoned you.

I unknowingly chose o leave you

when I thought I knew you.

While I do know you, I don’t know

you as intimately as I should.

I lost touch with you somewhere inside

of me.

All of what I need is inside of me,

inside of you and your kingdom.

As I praise you, I release you and all of

what you have for me is released to me.

It’s so nice to hear your voice again.

I love the peace you bring,

not to mention the joy.

Thank-you for the wake-up call and

allowing me to find you

somewhere inside of Me.

 

                                                              -Bruce R Thomas

IN MEMORY OF MARTIN LUTHER KING JR / 40TH ANNIVERSAY

April 5, 2008

 Today started out really crazy for me.  My aunt Lillian had to have open heart surgery and things were not looking good for her.  She is a matriarch in my family and has lived through so many trials and tribulations.  There have been times of great joy as well.  I am humbled because she represents such a large part of my history and who I really am.  So, on the 40th anniversary of the slaying of Dr. King I want to implore all people but black people especially the importance of getting past the past and reaching for a new tomorrow.  I am so sick of hate in all forms…black on black, black on white, black on brown etc….  I strive to love like God loves…unconditionally.  Granted it is easier said then done but I am committed to the task.  I want to dedicate the following poem to the continuation of Dr King’s dream and the legacy he left behind.  Even though, it’s aimed at black people there is something we can all take from it. 

THE BLACK FAMILY PLEDGE

BECAUSE we have forgotten our ancestors,
our children no longer give us honor.
BECAUSE we have lost the path our ancestors cleared
kneeling in perilous undergrowth,
our children cannot find their way.
BECAUSE we have banished the God of our ancestors,
our children cannot pray.
BECAUSE the old wails of our ancestors have faded beyond our hearing,
our children cannot hear us crying.
BECAUSE we have abandoned our wisdom of mothering and fathering,
our befuddled children give birth to children
they neither want nor understand.
BECAUSE we have forgotten how to love, the adversary is within our
gates, an holds us up to the mirror of the world shouting,
"Regard the loveless"
Therefore we pledge to bind ourselves to one another, to embrace our
lowliest, to keep company with our loneliest, to educate our illiterate,
to feed our starving, to clothe our ragged, to do all good things,
knowing that we are more than keepers of our brothers and sisters.
We ARE our brothers and sisters.
IN HONOR of those who toiled and implored God with golden tongues,
and in gratitude to the same God who brought us out of hopeless desolation, we
make this pledge.

——-Maya Angelou

 

 

I AM PREGNANT WITH POTENTIAL

April 1, 2008

I’m pregnant with potential but I birth silence

And just ‘cause you slap me on my ass doesn’t mean I’ll scream

for you

my private is braided into pigtails decorated

with plastic barrettes

and

yellow rubber bands

the little girl in me is afraid

but the woman in me will kill you

while cooking breakfast

that’s that Scorpio shit

you get caught up on wanting to

ménage a trios

my metaphor, five, six times a lady third eye evade me

we drown in lyrical libations never played on radio stations

hands grow impatient

and I want to be sweet for you, baby

but your spit no longer drips liquid sugar

teeth are rotting and falling as I speak

to my spirit alone with my things-to-do-list

standing on my spine before realizing your feet are too heavy

for my back so I simply erase your name

from the paper

wet the dead tree with my tears in hopes to grow a dozen

more

of you so afraid

to let me show you how a real woman could

my wholeness will guide you to the

half of you

you thought you didn’t have

so you only offered the little that your

body allowed

and in the end it’s never enough

‘cause

I wanna smell like it

taste like it feel like it walk barefoot inside it

wrap it around my waist wear it in the shower take it

home with me

share it with my girls play an Aretha CD to it eat it sweat it

believe it African-dance to it wash my face with it hold it

love it

grow it out my stomach rock my Adidas with it let it run

down my

back lick it live it shake a tambourine and say amen

because of it

steal it if I have to

melt chocolate on top of it

just want it to be sweet, baby

sweet like you like we can be

like revolution

-Jessica Care Moore

I AM A WORK IN PROGRESS

I am a work in progress

for asha bandele

-jessica care moore

We are born writing

but will learn to wait

An agonizing line of blood will follow our future

and never find us

mistaking our memories for actual events

reason and common sense will never make an appearance

opening the door after a temporary disappearance

the fisher man showed up in your world again

guess that’s why our female heroes got fancy

addictive names like

Heroin

You were born writing little girl

but you will learn to wait

the lines will appear as currents

events to fool you into submission

the grocery store

the post office

the unemployment line

the local train platform at two in the morning

this is where you will find poetry

screaming between the air inside your walk

this is how you will learn to kiss and paint

nurse babies and call “next”!

on the ball court

your name will be one African syllable too many

for jane who didn’t do her lower case b

phoenix assignment

pretending that she just can’t pronounce Kenya or Brendesha

with america’s alphabet

this is the moment you find meaning in cuss words

you will take cuts attempting to find the front line

your scent will leave hunters running in the wrong direction

as your home becomes brick your home becomes thick

clocks will confuse the moon into thinking

dark is a synonym for gloom

you will stay still as your body leaves the room

for the first time in weeks

strength will appear from behind the sun

they will call you a freak and you will believe them

you were born writing and will soon learn to run

we are born writing

but will learn to wait

the wind will pause our dreams

lies suddenly sound like laughter

we will survive in here

or after

skeleton woman break dancing

into poses resembling roses

emulating an African nose

that never smelled ivory up close

this is when you will cry the most

learn to gather your tears into your fists

realizing water will never grant your wishes

reflections are always true but never wet

so we kiss ourselves

till our lips turn dry and honest

you will hear faint pieces of your voice

in the electricity of a phone line

screaming for freedom

in the middle of a message or a voyage

never delivered during long distance

conversations or kidnappings

this is the moment your fingers

will find your hand

and hang up on your past beliefs

what is the white courtesy phone?

Why can’t I ever find one?

the lines will appear as a sound waving

goodbye

when you jump off the side of the ship

in the footsteps of the march of tears

funeral processions will break into the hustle

digging up mudered soil

that forgot this was a man’s world

and daddy needs a son baby

everbody will wear black

forgetting this is your damn birth day party

There was a time we didn’t have to wait

nine months for our children to be born

we just believed they would come

and waited for them to quickly leave

I’ll take the young pretty one

with the chisled brown lips

for 5 axes 3 pigs 2 arrows 1 chicken and a bushel of wire

this is when you’ll carve your first pencil from wood

and draw blood

this is when your story is erased

I was born writing

but will be taught to wait

I am an incomplete sentence

a work in progress

and I’m not finished

yet

Let Me Be Held When The Longing Comes

March 20, 2008

 

Let me be held when the longing comes

by you

 

Yours the arms, yours the tender

breath.

 

Tumble down into the quiet dark

of this embrace

night is come again.

 

Stay a little longer,

for no other reason than it is

good not to be alone always

let there be a song of

remembering and not knowing

where there is except

a warmth and a blossom

of a feeling, sweetly,

gladly, home.

 

-STEPHANY

My Love When This Is Past

 

My love when this is past

and you have turned away

—or I

 

and we no longer

as we are today

I will be more

 

having known your love

I will be more

and not alone.

 

-STEPHANY

 

02/06/2008

February 6, 2008

There have been and sure to be times in my life when poetry has tranformed my life.  I will share with you some of my favorite poems as well as anything new I come across that I think will be appreciated.  Jessica Care Moore is hands down one of my favorites in the spoken word world and I hope you enjoy her work.

I’m in love with potential

by Jessica Care Moore

I keep falling in love
with potential But it never seems to work out
He was full of a lot of it
And he was TALL

But potential had a way of becoming diluted with insecurities
And just cause you can see the beauty of someone
Doesn’t mean they can see if for themselves

Still I believed potential would eventually love me
As much I loved him
Then begin to love himself
The way I loved myself
But there was someone else
There always is

Potential had an influential way
Of showing me what my potential was
And he celebrated all I could do without him

Potential reminded me of how he loved my commitment
To doing whatever I had to do to exercise my own potential
Even if that meant potentially leaving him behind

Still I unconditionally loved potential
And held on to the potential future we could have
If only he would see our potential
Without being intimidated by my own potential

If he would just stop loving me with conditions

Especially when I loved him
Simply for the possibility of how great
He could become and already was
But didn’t know it

Cause he was caught up in my potential,
Instead of seeing my life
As a reflection of what he already had or
What we could potentially have together

And that meant loving you when you hadn’t yet
Reached your full potential
But helping you get there as quickly as possible
Isn’t it just a bit too easy to fall in love
With someone after the glory and
Not along the slow, goal setting, potential way?

And if I didn’t love your possibilities
Then I didn’t love you
And if you didn’t realize our possibilities
Because you were too wound up in my potential
Then you didn’t really love me

I guess sometimes we give potential too much credit
And borrow interest from our own accounts
Without taking ourselves into account

How many times did I blow off your behavior
Relying on potential?
I can no longer count
Or wait around for you
To let me stand naked in front of you
So you can see yourself as worthy of my loveYou loving me for me and not through me

Can really be potentially dangerous!

CAN I WRITE OF FLOWERS (BLACK HISTORY TRIBUTE)

February 1, 2008

Can I Write of Flowers?

Must I write

of Emmett Till

problems plaguing

Black Folks

Still

Apartheid

Lynching

Reparations

Political elections

Race relations

Issues

making my heart implode

hoist responsibility

tenfold

on shoulders

tiny-

naïve, perhaps,

tossing knowledge

onto laps

where men come

to rest their head

bury sadness

inside beds

float rose petals

across blank pages

lick my lips

while trouble rages-

continents away

children shot down

while they play

but I write poetry

not real life

I’m a poet

and

that man’s wife

So can I write of flowers

please

ducklings

swans and

honey bees

Understand this

I hid from you

Poets

Writers

Historians, too

who suggest

my hand

examine time

face feared

annihilation

by mankind

with covered ears

I run away

shield my eyes

in hopes to stay

in this

velvet box,

where love

resides

between four

walls where cowards

hide

Octavia Butler

wrote of me

penned hyper-

sensi-

tivity

So can I write of

flowers please

sing this song

in sweet release

forsake war

choose inner peace

Emmett Till sleeps

in my bed

haunts me

with his swollen

head

missing eyes

I can’t forget

my pen bleeds tears

of silence yet

Someone else

must capture pain

spin the words

that often rain

truth across this continent

where evil breeds

our discontent

Flowers

boldly call my name

echo beauty with the same

fervor mixed in violent rage

that I can’t capture

on my page.

                                _ Jeanne Miller

 

THE DREAM LIVES ON: IN MEMORY OF MLK JR

January 30, 2008

 

For Sweet Honey in the Rock                                                        by Sonia Sanchez     I’m gonna Stay on the battlefield  I’m gonna Stay on the battlefield  I’m gonna Stay on the battlefield til I die.   I’m gonna Stay on the battlefield I’m gonna Stay on the battlefield  I’m gonna Stay on the battlefield til I die.   i had come into the city carrying life in my eyes amid rumors of death, calling out to everyone who would listen it is time to move us all into another century time for freedom and racial and sexual justice time for women and children and men time for hands unbound i had come into the city wearing peaceful breasts and the spaces between us smiled i had come into the city carrying life in my eyes. i had come into the city carrying life in my eyes.   And they followed us in their cars with their computers and their tongues crawled with caterpillars and they bumped us off the road turned over our cars, and they bombed our buildings killed our babies, and they shot our doctors maintaining our bodies, and their courts changed into confessionals but we kept on organizing we kept on teaching believing loving doing what was holy moving to a higher ground    even though our hands were full of slaughtered teeth but we held out our eyes delirious with grace. but we held out our eyes delirious with grace.   I’m gonna treat everybody right I’m gonna treat everybody right I’m gonna treat everybody right til I die.   I’m gonna treat everybody right I’m gonna treat everybody right I’m gonna treat everybody right til I die.   come. i say come, you sitting still in domestic bacteria come. i say come, you standing still in double-breasted mornings come. i say come, and return to the fight. this fight for the earth this fight for our children  this fight for our life we need your hurricane voices  we need your sacred hands   i say come, sister, brother to the battlefield come into the rain forests come into the hood come into the barrio come into the schools come into the abortion clinics  come into the prisons come and caress our spines   i say come, wrap your feet around justice i say come, wrap your tongues around truth i say come, wrap your hands with deeds and prayer you brown ones you yellow ones you black ones you gay ones you white ones you lesbian ones   Comecomecomecomecome to this battlefield called life, called life, called life….   I’m gonna stay on the battlefield I’m gonna stay on the battlefield I’m gonna stay on the battlefield til I die.   I’m gonna stay on the battlefield I’m gonna stay on the battlefield I’m gonna stay on the battlefield til I die.

FOUNTAIN OF KNOWLEDGE

December 9, 2007

I stand in line at the fountain

of knowledge

Waiting for my cup to be filed

And to overflow with the wisdom

Of those who paved the way

And made it possible for hard work

To elevate me to a level of

Understanding not revealed to many

Its like that path

The one less traveled

 

Remembrance of the past is needed

For movement into the future

How can I know where I’m going

If I don’t know where I’ve been

And how can I attain wisdom

If I never sitat the feet of Elders

One without the other is impossible

This is Jihad of inheritance

And in order to attain the wealth

I must stand in line at the

fountain of knowledge

And to allow my cup to be filled

And to overflow with the wisdom of

Those who paved the way

 

I opened my mind to the

Possibilities and to the assurance

Of a new day

And I have allowed the hand of wisdom

To shade the ground on which I stand

As an open vessel I sit at the feet

Of Elders and wait to receive

my inheritance >>>Lakeisha A. Brooks

Scorpio

July 22, 2007

Scorpio is ruled by Pluto, the ancient ruler is Mars, a fixed water sign. Scorpios are experts at perceptive abilities, they can sift through every situation for clues which they analyze over and over to determine what's going on here. Scorpios are relentless, obsessive and jealous. They are consumed with boundless energy. The polarity is Yin, feminine and negative. The sign of cosmic purpose, Scorpio is considered the success sign. Self contained and self centered, concentrated Scorpios usually succeed in what they set out to accomplish.

 

Scorpios are the most intense, profound, powerful characters in the zodiac. Even when they appear self-controlled and calm there is a seething intensity of emotional energy under the placid exterior. They are like the volcano not far under the surface of a calm sea, it may burst into eruption at any moment. But those of us who are particularly perceptive will be aware of the harnessed aggression, the immense forcefulness, magnetic intensity, and often strangely hypnotic personality under the tranquil, but watchful composure of Scorpio. In conventional social gatherings they are pleasant to be with, thoughtful in conversation, dignified, and reserved, yet affable and courteous; they sometimes possess penetrating eyes which make their shyer companions feel naked and defenseless before them.

 

Scorpio will rarely be found in the center of activity, but will always know just what is going on of concern to him. Their tenacity and willpower are enviable, their depth of character and passionate conviction admirable, but it is their deep sensitivity that makes them the best and most loyal friend. This same quality makes them the most treacherous of enemies.

 

 

Their sensitivity, and pride allow them to be easily hurt, quick to feel insult or injury, even when none is intended, and easily roused to heights of anger. An angry Scorpio is a sight to see. Unlike Leo, who can have a temper tantrum and five minutes later be quite himself again, Scorpio seethes, and doesn't give it up.

When they harness their abundant energy constructively, their self-confidence tempered with shrewdness, and their ambition coupled with generosity toward others, they excel at whatever they undertake. Scorpios are demanding of others, but never ask someone to do what they would not do themselves. They can be fanatically focused and work till they drop, and ask the same of those around them. No middle ground for a Scorpio, all or nothing

 

Scorpio imagination and intuition are excellent. They possess refined critical perception and strong analytical ability. In addition, they seem to demonstrate a natural healing power. These abundant gifts allow Scorpions to penetrate the most profound subjects. They are serious folk, but quite charming to people they like, and when social events call for it. Their tragic flaw is their immense pride. Once wronged, once Scorpio's pride has been diminished, the game of courtesy is over.