tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53503384453978901152024-02-08T07:26:30.123-06:00Fresh Writes: Pardon My PenA place to share my thoughts and watch them grow.Fresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-69106143757201004772011-07-06T18:33:00.002-05:002011-07-06T18:33:25.490-05:00The SeaMonstrous, rolling waves engulf the shore as if God himself were sailing in <br />The winds that carried them in seemed to fill every pore of my skin <br />The deceitful song of the water’s advance, a melodious lullaby<br />Seasoned riders knew of the lies of lullabies<br />Instinct signals most to flee<br />But that I lost in some other sea<br />Growing scent of adrenaline’s aroma <br />Sends me drifting into a salty comma<br />Lionous airs fill my lungs<br />Cool morning dew travels over my tongue<br />Shades of blues fade to foamy whites<br />Bracing myself for my favorite fight<br />Grind my feet into the sands<br />To ready a warrior’s stance<br />I am Poseidon<br />Gripping his trident<br />And while instinct signals others to flee<br />I ready myself to cut through the seaFresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-65933625040151498272011-07-06T18:30:00.003-05:002011-07-12T22:58:03.705-05:00Away in the WoodsA broad hipped, stolid, feminine frame gripped the freshly cleaned wooden threshold<br />The striking scent of the wood cleaner permeated throughout the room<br />Signaling the arrival of Saturday morning<br />But Friday night still loomed on his breath<br />She steadied her weight onto one knee<br />And used the beam to gain her balance<br />Improperly named Opal<br />He aint find her all that precious<br />I would have called her Phoenix<br />Routinely gathering her bearings from the ashes of his late nights and early mornings<br />And he loved her<br />Built this house just for them down that narrow, winding dirt road<br />That cut through the trees, pass the coy pond on the land his daddy left him<br />Their own little haven of matrimony in the woods<br />Two hours from her closest relative and three from his <br />To spend late nights counting the stars on their backs on a palette in the yard<br />And for her to sharpen her green thumb in the gardens that surrounded<br />And for him to commence projects that never get finished<br />No noisy neighbors to disrupt serenity<br />No nosey neighbors to interrupt his spells<br />For him to let her know when he is finished<br />For her to wrap her own broken thumps<br />Spend frightful nights counting the scars on her back<br />Two hours from the rescue of relatives<br />Her own little penitentiary in the woods<br />Through the trees, pass the coy pond on the land his daddy left him<br />Down that narrow, winding dirt road <br />He built this house just for themFresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-35007638002812498862011-07-06T18:23:00.004-05:002011-07-12T22:59:34.459-05:00A Final Drunken KissSmoky skies signal ensuing rains. I’m not sure that if it was intuition or just realistic calculations. But I knew this day was looming. Mama knew she could not manage all this by herself. She never worked a full day in her life that my memory recalls. Maybe you can count all the times Tee Tee Step had to work the night shift and paid Mama to keep my cousin Jennifer. But it seemed more like Mama’s place to do so. She was going to be here keeping house anyway while daddy was out working, or whatever it was he did when he breezed out the door on those many early mornings. Me and Brian use to make candy wagers. Whoever came closest to Daddy’s arrival time without going over wins. Most times we both lost. We were under the false belief that daddies came home every night right before dinner. That’s how it happened on TV. Well, I guess those were white, middle class television families. We were far from that. But, somehow they maintained. Well, somehow Mama was able to keep this place afloat with the bare minimums Daddy provided. Even now, I am not exactly sure how Daddy earned money. But, he made it a point to keep Mama from working. She often times found herself sneaking around town baking cakes and cleaning houses for those people who live in the big houses way past downtown. There was no real need to sneak. Daddy left for days and weeks at a time. She never said it, but I’m almost positive that cakes and cleaning were the only reasons me and my brother had any concept of Christmas or Birthdays. I still don’t quite get it. It seemed the longer Daddy was gone the less money he had. As much as his presence altered her serenity, she seemed most relieved when he came home at night after a days work. This was when he contributed most, financially anyway. <br /> <br /> I realized something was different about this departure. Mama did too. Daddy came into our rooms while we were still sleeping and kissed our foreheads, the aroma of fermented liquids lingered in the room a while after his departure. I woke just long enough to see Mama stare Daddy straight in the eyes for what seemed like eternity. Daddy couldn’t return the glare. He preferred the ambiance of the wall as opposed to the woman whose silent stare was stripping him of every ounce of manhood he so desperately cleaved to. Mama didn’t speak a word and said so much. I rolled over and tucked myself deep under the covers. He will be back. <br /> <br /> Days turned to weeks and weeks to a month. The first time I asked Mama when she thought my Daddy would be home was the first time I heard her drop the f-bomb. “I don’t give a fuck when he decides to come back here,” she said while washing dishes with a furiousness I had never witnessed. She paused for a second. Turned as if she wanted to look at me to apologize and recanted with, “Baby I don’t know when he will be back. But, we will be just fine,” she assured me.Fresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-63506073605686129592011-07-06T18:03:00.013-05:002011-07-12T23:01:47.422-05:00From the Heart of a BabeWhen people ask me why I desire to teach, I usually counter with a quick practiced response saying, "I like to see those light bulbs sparkle in the minds of children." If you have never seen the face of a child light up when they have finally mastered a tedious concept, then you have not lived a fulfilled life. I discovered a passion for enhancing the enlightenment of others while tutoring at my church. I will never forget that thin framed, ebony young man who ignited a fire for education I never knew I possessed. Jacob was maybe ten or eleven when I was active in Mount Hebron's tutoring program. Oddly enough, I vividly remember the pure white hue of the whites of his bold brown eyes. Eyes unmarred by social, economic and chemical ills that plague the masses of the young men just a few years his senior. Unlike the whites of my eyes that had seen the beginning brunt of life’s harsh truth. Truths I did not have ample opportunity to digest because they are also accompanied by restlessness. Young Jacob still possessed that joyful innocence that the world prematurely strips from our youth. <br /> <br /> He was a child I would love to create from my own loins. Unscarred, flawless, ebony skinned, adolescent brother caring limbs to which he had not yet grown accustomed. His face housed big, almost excessively dramatic, brown eyes that pierced my soul. Large pearly white teeth, which he was just catching up with, mastered a smile that seemed to radiate through my very being. He was full of life. But, I saw all that fade when his mother or her significant other came to pick him up. I could never make out whether that was his father or not. It felt as if his aura had been snatched up and bottled, only to be released outside the presence of his household. <br /> <br /> Our time together was always tedious to say the least. He was more interested in wrestling, cartoons and computer games than homework. It was obvious that he needed a little more practice and repetition than I did at that age. He did not grasp concepts as quickly as I might have; a quality I have always taken for granted. Not a slow individual by any stretch of the imagination, but he was easily and heavily distracted by the smallest un-conducive things. This was amplified by the fact that the tutoring program was held in a computer lab with several other kids scrapping for the time of only two or three tutors. Although unfounded, I concluded that he had to exude all of him before his mother arrived for pick up. This meant he had to have all the fun he could in a small window. Least common denominators are not exactly pillars of excitement. So I had to work diligently to maintain his full attention. <br /> <br /> Through all of that I was able to breakthrough his youthful quirks and hold successful tutoring sessions. However, he was doing more tutoring, teaching, and revelation revealing than he knew he was even capable of performing. It did not take long before I witnessed that first light bulb. His eyes widened and even his dark cheeks seemed to blush with excitement as he quietly yelled, “I think I got it!” He looked over at me and I wanted to counter with, “I think I got something too!” What I had gotten I could not explain. It was radiating warmth in a frigid place. I was piecing together parts of a blank puzzle. It was the catharsis of uncertain emotions. Boy, what the hell did you just do to me? This uncertain feeling was something I wanted all the time. I could not allow it to escape me. So I went back weekly to those Tuesday tutoring sessions, in that crowded computer lab, on the upper level of my church to search out that feeling. I had not yet discovered that I was actually searching out self. So on the second level of Mount Hebron Church Ministries, in that crowded computer lab, on a random Tuesday evening, in the Fall of 2006, I found my passion for education. <br /> <br /> I wonder where Jacob is now four years later. His voice is likely deeper. The appearance of peach fuzz is probably driving him and some lil’ pissy tale girl wild. I wonder if he continued our routine of repetition. I wonder if he has grown too old to run up to me after eleven o’clock service to give me that bright eyed, brief run down of his presently most pressing academic issue. I wonder how he interpreted the world. Did he let it get to him? Or, did he get to it. Did I teach him anything he really needed? How many temptations can you ward off with least common denominators? He probably has no idea what he has done for me. I have to make sure I let him know.Fresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-87606311109672133112010-06-23T18:47:00.005-05:002010-06-30T10:43:47.018-05:00Forbidden FruitI am in love with you<br />I love the way the spaces between your fingers seem to fit perfectly into the crevices of mine,<br />Like the sporadically cut patterns of a one thousand piece puzzle joining as one <br />I am in love with you, <br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />I live for the brush of your blushing cheeks against the stubbled chocolate canvas of mine,<br />Like a concerned artist diligently brushing away at what was once a blank slate, but now is a work of art depicting the deepest concerns of the heart <br />I am in love with you, <br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />Arms entangled in an embrace leaving your limbs undistinguishable from mine<br />Like lovers trapped in a cocoon preparing to release the morphed beauty of one united butterfly,<br />I am in love with you, <br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />Life springing into my cold heart from the radiating warmth of your young fresh skin<br />Resurrecting emotions once purposefully entombed in the darkest caverns of my being<br />I am in love with you, <br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />Trailblazingly encroaching toward a secluded destination previously deemed prohibited, <br />Bringing light to dark uncharted regions of me<br />I am in love with you, <br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />Words forever affirming the man in me<br />Reassurance that my insecurities are petty<br />I am in love with you,<br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />Two unlimited minds merging in an ultimate vision of genuine love<br />Bright futures blinding the masses<br />I am in love with you,,<br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />Unfamiliar sensations arising from a reserve I never knew existed<br />Sending paralyzing ripples up my spine to change my temple<br />I am in love with you,<br />But, I can't have you<br /><br />How dare you infiltrate the stonewall guarding my heart<br />Who gave you the gall to sincerely employ honesty as a practice <br /><br />How dare you patiently wade through my indecisiveness<br />Who gave you the gall to take this chance<br /><br />How dare you trust me so blindly<br />Who gave you the gall to believe in my love <br /><br />My eyes were once the window to a wall<br />Yet in them you found the gateway to my all<br />I am in love with you,<br />Yet, I still can't have youFresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-30870863474888770122010-06-18T21:53:00.003-05:002010-06-18T22:06:58.282-05:00Intimately DivineA friend gave me this real soulful, sensual beat to write a poem to. This is the result of that. This is a side of me you will not see often. Enjoy!<br /><br />"Intimately Divine"<br /><br />Presently raging through my body is a passion not even my ridiculously immense vocabulary can convey<br />I reminisce on the memory as if it were yesterday<br />When we joined at a place so intimately divine<br />And for those few precious moments you were completely mine<br />Our bodies danced in an unrehearsed yet synchronized display of natural beauty and love<br />There was no reason to hurry, for it seemed as if even time had paused to witness this <br />Immaculate, intimate, divine merger of two beings displaying the most purest, passionate, perfect, rendition of love<br /><br />With your breast pressed against my chest, I realized that even our heartbeats played in unison a song that can only be heard when love, meets passion, meets opportunity<br /><br />The aroma of your cool sweet breath filled my lungs<br />Your warm rose petal skin rested so gently next to mine<br />The affirmations of my motions rang softly through the room<br />Even under the cover of blackness passion guided our steps<br />I found an insatiable appetite for your love cuisine <br /><br />Completely, utterly, wholeheartedly entangled in you I found the center of your love cortex<br />And those ringing affirmations swelled in a chorus of the intimately divine<br /><br />Working, searching, caressing, groping<br />Working, searching, caressing, groping <br />Work, search, caress, grope<br />Work, search, caress, grope<br /><br />Baby its working<br />Successfully searching <br />Tender caressing<br />Deeply groping<br /><br />As we simultaneously approach the zenith of this intimate divine union of the most purest, passionate, perfect rendition of love<br /><br />Spiritually and<br />Mentally and<br />Physically and<br />Sensually<br />We bonded in an indestructible union as we concluded this <br /><br />Intimate, divine union of the most purest, passionate, perfect, rendition of loveFresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350338445397890115.post-40475745301093537282010-06-18T16:57:00.003-05:002011-07-12T23:03:05.993-05:00"????????"This is a short poem I wrote in high school. I don't remember exactly what I was going through but it had to have been deep. For some reason the title was simply eight question marks. This is just a little warm up post until I really get the hang of this blogger stuff. Enjoy!<br /><br />Confusion,<br />Loneliness,<br />Emptiness,<br />Heartache,<br />Can’t completely embody my current state of being<br />Unguided footsteps lost in a sea of confusion<br />Crowded by love, affection and adoration<br />Yet lonely<br />Filled with endless knowledge of the world<br />Still empty<br />Understanding that He mends and restores<br />But heartbroken<br />Inside festers a pot of suppressed emotions bubbling over<br />The screams of my heart muffledFresh Writeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03025574952030782655noreply@blogger.com0