I am supposed to be writing...real writing. I have this dissertation that is staring me in the face like a starving lion needing to be fed. It is hungry...for words, research, thoughts. I am less motivated than I would like to be to write at the present. Regardless, it is going to be completed-just not at this moment. Why, the least interested reader may ask? Well, I am somewhere else right now. I am on a mental joyride racing over and through the dense forest of my own thoughts...trying to make sense of all the emotions that are within me.
I am home with my LO right now, but he is napping. So Daddy, well Daddy is trying to figure out how to give him the world and find a sense of purpose for myself at the same time. Whenever I am truly stuck...like not knowing which way to turn or even what to think about my future I feel the need to write. I do not always follow the need, or else this blog alone would be voluminous by now. No, there are times when I just want to say something but do not know how to say it...and since now, if you say something-anything here, it will follow you forever I say nothing. But that was before.
Before I thought that the transparency of emotion was a good thing. I mean, I am having trouble with the next step of the dissertation...maybe the trouble is not trouble at all but the battle between myself and the words. I know I am not the first man to fall prey to indecision and doubt in this process, and therefore the world may judge me but others may applaud the emotion-because it is familiar to them. Most will say nothing as they will never read this and that is okay as well.
In addition, I am a husband and a father, and I work hard at those titles as they do not come without substantial responsibility. However, I am also an individual. In that individuality, I am trying to find the space-be it career or outside the office work, that helps to define me...to me. You see, it really does not matter, at least not that much, what the world thinks about you. I say that because regardless of what you do the world will have an opinion of you-the earlier you learn to accept that the opinion you have of yourself and the world view may at times differ, the easier life will be. But still, you make an effort to be a good showing out there to the world. But you cannot put on a show for yourself. Either you are happy with you or you are not.
I mean from a child you are taught how to act in public, be it at school or church or at a restaurant. You learn early the rights and wrongs of social behavior. But, no one takes the time to tell you that whatever becomes of you is okay. I mean literally-if you are clumsy, goofy, not good at anything in particular...all that stuff is alright. Yet, there is no one going around saying hey-great job being, well, not great! So, some of us are left to question ourselves all the time. Therein lies the cataclysm...the grand tragedy of humanity is the dissatisfaction with who we are. Not who we are becoming, or who we are when we get dressed up or who we are when we are with this certain group. No. The cataclysm is the dissatisfaction with who we are right now at this very moment. Period.
The fact is we are this ever-evolving mass of humanity, that often considers the world, and everything outside of ourselves first. Simultaneously, we judge ourselves based on how every other person in the world functions...pretty, smart, rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight, Christian, Jew...yadda, yadda, yadda. The reality of it all is that we are all, individually necessary to make the world function...as it was created to function and therefore we each need to truly get right with the individual who dwells within us to ensure that we add value to this entire world.
So now that it is understood that the individual is of the utmost importance to both him or herself and the greater community-how then do you tap into the individual and the greatness within? Moving from the great cataclysm of man to the continuum of self-awareness? Well, the LO is awake and duty calls...is this not an ironic moment in time? Until the next mental joyride...
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Do you even write anymore...?
I said to myself...
Writing has seemed so distant.
Like a club I used to frequent when I was a single man. Lots of time on my hands.
Kept the hands busy with the crafting of sentences and the development of thoughts on paper.
Do I even write...anymore?
Not as much as I used to but the truth be told not at all.
I take no time for mental exercise in the way in which, well it was.
Maybe that is why I do not write anymore-
Everything I am dying to say to already been said a thousand times over.
Who am I but a small voice in a crowd of spectators.
Trying to make sense of it, prior to making my thoughts immortal.
Now it seems my passion near extinct...a paragraph sighting a year ago.
Maybe two.
Used to wear words like new clothes, poetry was my garment of choice.
An artist muse...married to the rhythm of stanzas in iambic pentameter.
Presently, divorced and not dating too often.
Gave my gifts to the good will.
When will good come of the abundance of vocabulary hidden away in my bosom?
I am a memory...of sun-drenched circles saturated with soulful sounds,
brown hands clapping while a serenade of rhyme and meter passes amongst friends.
Cyphers from dusk to dawn.
That time some time before when
I used to write...so why do I not
Anymore?
Writing has seemed so distant.
Like a club I used to frequent when I was a single man. Lots of time on my hands.
Kept the hands busy with the crafting of sentences and the development of thoughts on paper.
Do I even write...anymore?
Not as much as I used to but the truth be told not at all.
I take no time for mental exercise in the way in which, well it was.
Maybe that is why I do not write anymore-
Everything I am dying to say to already been said a thousand times over.
Who am I but a small voice in a crowd of spectators.
Trying to make sense of it, prior to making my thoughts immortal.
Now it seems my passion near extinct...a paragraph sighting a year ago.
Maybe two.
Used to wear words like new clothes, poetry was my garment of choice.
An artist muse...married to the rhythm of stanzas in iambic pentameter.
Presently, divorced and not dating too often.
Gave my gifts to the good will.
When will good come of the abundance of vocabulary hidden away in my bosom?
I am a memory...of sun-drenched circles saturated with soulful sounds,
brown hands clapping while a serenade of rhyme and meter passes amongst friends.
Cyphers from dusk to dawn.
That time some time before when
I used to write...so why do I not
Anymore?
Genius...
They say he was a genius; least that is what one person-who barely knew the "terrorist" that stormed into an elementary school just the other day and opened fire-called him. He was a normal kid. Withdrawn. I say, even though no one has asked, how dare anyone label him anything other than a "terrorist". He is no genius. I do not wish to hear about his mental problems or his social inadequacy. It means nothing. Not how nice his mother was, or how she always spoke to her neighbors. That does not matter at this point. You cannot blame the dead for the sins of their children-but something was wrong here...something was not right and in time it may come to light. Something that triggered this rampage. But something that was known.
But what could have been known, at a time before has no relevance now. He was and in our history will always be a "terrorist". Worse even than Al Qaeda, in that he took away our freedom. Not an attack on the principles of our nation. Not a planned confrontation by a radical leader on the integrity of our political and financial systems. There is pain in 9/11. Pain that will never heal. But we sent our soldiers abroad to seek, fight, find and assassinate the mastermind behind the plot. Bin Laden is dead. America felt a bit safer. Until the terrorist from within robbed us of any peace we may ever feel.
We were not looking for him...did not suspect him at all. He walked among us; the awkward guy in the back row of class. He is now present in our minds. A nightmare in the midst of our dreams. He stole our most precious gifts...and left nothing. At Christmas.
Our children are the most prized possession in our country. They are our future, our present, our joy. You cannot help but smile when you look at them, hear them laugh, talk to them...children are a gift from God. There is nothing bad in a child. Sure, they may act out at times...talk back, and even yell and scream but they are good. They are like sunshine-nourishing the entirety of the world around them. We love them, teach them, guide them, nurture them but most of all we protect them. Everyone, regardless of race, color, creed or religion should protect the children. But at this moment...this precious moment, how do we accomplish what is unquestionably our most important task?
He took our ability. We are handicapped by a fear that we cannot even put into words. Weakened by a sense of helplessness that now plagues our society. I am scared. There is no relief to this fear. Many will call on faith, others on processes and systems to prevent future events...but the fact is the damage has been done. We will never be the same. Terrorism is not often defined simply by the act, but the effects of the act on the human being...the human mind, for the future. How many parents will ever feel safe, dropping their kids off at school again?
He took away our sunshine. He is no genius. No misunderstood boy, or man. He was, is and will always be a "terrorist". I will not praise or endorse any semblance of compassion for this person. We are broken by this event. A nation that prides itself on self-defense, and military might, has been crippled by a terrorist of our own making...able to wield weapons found in the hands of our military-who defend the nation-legally. Right to bear arms? However, this terrorist used these weapons on our babies. He took our future and bludgeoned it. It is no longer recognizable. Tomorrow is a foreign concept.
I do not care to know who he was. I do not care how he felt. I care to know the teachers, the principal and the children...what were their dreams? What did they eat for breakfast? Who was their best friend? I do not want to know anything about his family, his past, his issues. He doesn't matter anymore. Just simply call him what he is. A terrorist. He took away our sunshine...and there are nothing but dark days ahead.
You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine
You make me happy
when skies are gray...
You don't know just how much
I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine...
away
It all changed in an instant
and in an instant we will never be the same
a nation wears pain at half-mast
on this day and many more
on bended knee millions ask
what was this for?
why...sounds so hollow when no answers
follow
no understanding found for all that is seen
at the scene
is...loss
beginnings broken into
26 pieces...
tiny pieces scattered across the room like
toys after morning play
no little ones to put them away
they are all sleeping
to awake no more
and today there is rain from a cloudless sky
for each life a thousand tears will fall
preparing the earth to receive
her children
she wraps them in a deep sadness
and whispers to the moon to hide the sun
if only for a moment
and there is silence amongst the people
their joy eclipsed by the darkness
of the present
why...sounds so distant when the light
is non-existent
questions fill the air,
forgiveness is buried with the young
eyes water as the thought of tomorrow
comes
close your eyes...
and try remembering the sun
close your eyes
remembering
the sun
But what could have been known, at a time before has no relevance now. He was and in our history will always be a "terrorist". Worse even than Al Qaeda, in that he took away our freedom. Not an attack on the principles of our nation. Not a planned confrontation by a radical leader on the integrity of our political and financial systems. There is pain in 9/11. Pain that will never heal. But we sent our soldiers abroad to seek, fight, find and assassinate the mastermind behind the plot. Bin Laden is dead. America felt a bit safer. Until the terrorist from within robbed us of any peace we may ever feel.
We were not looking for him...did not suspect him at all. He walked among us; the awkward guy in the back row of class. He is now present in our minds. A nightmare in the midst of our dreams. He stole our most precious gifts...and left nothing. At Christmas.
Our children are the most prized possession in our country. They are our future, our present, our joy. You cannot help but smile when you look at them, hear them laugh, talk to them...children are a gift from God. There is nothing bad in a child. Sure, they may act out at times...talk back, and even yell and scream but they are good. They are like sunshine-nourishing the entirety of the world around them. We love them, teach them, guide them, nurture them but most of all we protect them. Everyone, regardless of race, color, creed or religion should protect the children. But at this moment...this precious moment, how do we accomplish what is unquestionably our most important task?
He took our ability. We are handicapped by a fear that we cannot even put into words. Weakened by a sense of helplessness that now plagues our society. I am scared. There is no relief to this fear. Many will call on faith, others on processes and systems to prevent future events...but the fact is the damage has been done. We will never be the same. Terrorism is not often defined simply by the act, but the effects of the act on the human being...the human mind, for the future. How many parents will ever feel safe, dropping their kids off at school again?
He took away our sunshine. He is no genius. No misunderstood boy, or man. He was, is and will always be a "terrorist". I will not praise or endorse any semblance of compassion for this person. We are broken by this event. A nation that prides itself on self-defense, and military might, has been crippled by a terrorist of our own making...able to wield weapons found in the hands of our military-who defend the nation-legally. Right to bear arms? However, this terrorist used these weapons on our babies. He took our future and bludgeoned it. It is no longer recognizable. Tomorrow is a foreign concept.
I do not care to know who he was. I do not care how he felt. I care to know the teachers, the principal and the children...what were their dreams? What did they eat for breakfast? Who was their best friend? I do not want to know anything about his family, his past, his issues. He doesn't matter anymore. Just simply call him what he is. A terrorist. He took away our sunshine...and there are nothing but dark days ahead.
You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine
You make me happy
when skies are gray...
You don't know just how much
I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine...
away
It all changed in an instant
and in an instant we will never be the same
a nation wears pain at half-mast
on this day and many more
on bended knee millions ask
what was this for?
why...sounds so hollow when no answers
follow
no understanding found for all that is seen
at the scene
is...loss
beginnings broken into
26 pieces...
tiny pieces scattered across the room like
toys after morning play
no little ones to put them away
they are all sleeping
to awake no more
and today there is rain from a cloudless sky
for each life a thousand tears will fall
preparing the earth to receive
her children
she wraps them in a deep sadness
and whispers to the moon to hide the sun
if only for a moment
and there is silence amongst the people
their joy eclipsed by the darkness
of the present
why...sounds so distant when the light
is non-existent
questions fill the air,
forgiveness is buried with the young
eyes water as the thought of tomorrow
comes
close your eyes...
and try remembering the sun
close your eyes
remembering
the sun
You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine
You make me happy
when skies are gray...
You don't know just how much
I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine...
away
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Midwest Spit
So I found myself in Kansas City for a few days this week-on business. But when I am blessed with the ability to travel to a new city I always try to check out the poetry scene. So I fell into this little spot in the 18th and Vine District. It used to be a jazz area, with likes of Byrd and Basie on the scene, so the energy was good. Spot was called the Blue Room-I entered about 9:30pm.
Now I don't know when the set began, but I just checked in with host- when he said the last poet was up and asked could I spit. His exact words were "No problem brother-what's your name?"
Word? Now I been to a many poetry set, and I ain't never received that type of instant love. So, after about fifteen minutes in the spot I closed up the open mic-word. I dropped a classic, Why You Wanna...and I think I repped DC fairly well. Funny, I ain't been on the mic in the District in years-but regardless got love in KC.
Just so cool to travel, and vibe with folks on the artistic tip. Good times. So now I am on a plane on my way back to the East Coast, frustrated with some delays of the day but my headphones are blaring that new Nas, Life is Good, and the memory of the other night leaking out my fingertips-must admit I am cool. Just feeling okay about my space in the universe you know. Honestly, with that energy in my spirit, gotta let it flow...
Like above and beyond
The level I am on
Spiritual plane fly over
Negative things
I reign...king of my situation
Peasant to pleasantries
Not dominated by past mistakes
I have made
My way paved by bearers of
My name
A reflection of he who has seen
Many things
I dress in various shades of gray
Suited for all that may come
Numb to my own indecision
Learn to listen more than
Speak
To some the changes in my person
A reason to question
Me...
Burdened by less than most
Yet still in possession of pain
Thus,
I refrain from allowing the ignorance
Of acts committed yesterday
To limit my progression
Potential
Infinite-outside space and time
The Wisdom
I seek, simply trying to become
Better than he who stares back in the mirror
So I outline my hopes and dreams
In poetic verses over imaginary beats
And proclaim to be MC
Manifesting creativity as I magnify my culture
Mending community to mobilize the collective
A soldier, with more faith than fortune
Methodically committed to the movement of chains from mental
Of all within striking distance
it is essential that I remain
Stay
Majestically cultivated...mellow cool
I be
Momentarily canonized in rhyme and meter
Message caretaker for the sake of memory classification
Place my words amongst your dreams
Move crowds with the melodic cadence of consonants and vowels
See above and beyond all else
I master ceremonies when present
Microphone captivator
Massaging the consciousness of the people
MC...
Copyright 2012
Now I don't know when the set began, but I just checked in with host- when he said the last poet was up and asked could I spit. His exact words were "No problem brother-what's your name?"
Word? Now I been to a many poetry set, and I ain't never received that type of instant love. So, after about fifteen minutes in the spot I closed up the open mic-word. I dropped a classic, Why You Wanna...and I think I repped DC fairly well. Funny, I ain't been on the mic in the District in years-but regardless got love in KC.
Just so cool to travel, and vibe with folks on the artistic tip. Good times. So now I am on a plane on my way back to the East Coast, frustrated with some delays of the day but my headphones are blaring that new Nas, Life is Good, and the memory of the other night leaking out my fingertips-must admit I am cool. Just feeling okay about my space in the universe you know. Honestly, with that energy in my spirit, gotta let it flow...
Like above and beyond
The level I am on
Spiritual plane fly over
Negative things
I reign...king of my situation
Peasant to pleasantries
Not dominated by past mistakes
I have made
My way paved by bearers of
My name
A reflection of he who has seen
Many things
I dress in various shades of gray
Suited for all that may come
Numb to my own indecision
Learn to listen more than
Speak
To some the changes in my person
A reason to question
Me...
Burdened by less than most
Yet still in possession of pain
Thus,
I refrain from allowing the ignorance
Of acts committed yesterday
To limit my progression
Potential
Infinite-outside space and time
The Wisdom
I seek, simply trying to become
Better than he who stares back in the mirror
So I outline my hopes and dreams
In poetic verses over imaginary beats
And proclaim to be MC
Manifesting creativity as I magnify my culture
Mending community to mobilize the collective
A soldier, with more faith than fortune
Methodically committed to the movement of chains from mental
Of all within striking distance
it is essential that I remain
Stay
Majestically cultivated...mellow cool
I be
Momentarily canonized in rhyme and meter
Message caretaker for the sake of memory classification
Place my words amongst your dreams
Move crowds with the melodic cadence of consonants and vowels
See above and beyond all else
I master ceremonies when present
Microphone captivator
Massaging the consciousness of the people
MC...
Copyright 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I'll Fly Away...
We sent my grandmother home today, Mary Louise Banks. She was 90 years old. She was my favorite person. She just, well, she put so much into me. So much life, and I tried to be a good grandson I really did. But, I always think of more I could of done; things I could have said; time I could have spent. I actually know there is no place for that right now...that guilt accompanies death like personal servant-attending to all its needs. I need not buy into guilt right now, but part of me wants to dwell in this sad place...the pain, the tears somehow bring me closer to her. I know this all sounds like nonsense but emotions have no basis in fact or reality. They are not bound to rules or parameters...emotions are free and whether you choose to submit to them or not, they are ever-present. On days such as this one, their power is overwhelming.
I cannot be sad but I cannot be happy either. My grandma is gone; outside this existence and entering into a new day. A day undefined by time, hours or minutes, and lasting infinitely.
I cannot be sad but I cannot be happy either. My grandma is gone; outside this existence and entering into a new day. A day undefined by time, hours or minutes, and lasting infinitely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)