Music: “We All Try” by Hendersin
Music: “We All Try” by Hendersin
Sometimes, when the weight
of it all enfolds you,
like an overfilled knapsack,
after an eternity,
you push it away,
your bones weary
and mind haggard.
But, you unearth strength,
like a new dawn,
Eos opening the gates
and welcoming the sun,
and there’s an instant ecstasy
a plethora of pain,
ancient galaxies can’t stand up
to the collapse of the climax
or the refrain, so you try to refrain,
but instead stagger through
until you are feeling so huge
and new, with the view
of the old you,
standing at the edge
of your own prison
viewing the skewed,
peering and wondering
how long before
you are no longer hungry,
but held even more,
with a lovely afterglow
after the low
of an aching, pummeled soul,
knowing the stellar is ready
to truly unfold.
Photo Credit: Genre Contributor, Rich
…and tell me again about how you love me
about how empty that statement is
so empty in fact it is better you say nothing
Remind me once again.
I wonder what you would see
If you look me in the eyes…
Would you see how hallow I feel?
Empty, yearning for a fill
Would you see how cracked
with bruises and scars
Trying to reach for the sky,
But unable to grasp the nearest branch,
Can you tell how scared I am,
to be numb?
Unable to connect the blinking dots even to myself.
I wonder what you would see…
If you look me in the eyes,
And stare into this petrifying soul,
Waiting to succumb to the binding light.
Author of The Phoenix Letters and The Mist Calling
a poem by Joseph Spence
It has been a long time since,
she was fine—flourishing!
She always seemed so
naturally desiring, nourishing,
My mind going lispingly loco,
she was like bubbling hot mocha
Such an awesome creation
made of fine ebony cocoa,
Imagination going wild
I bet she could have had the spoil
No doubt I would have been
captured with her winning style.
She was like the cool soft touch
of autumn’s evening breeze
Passing me just mesmerizingly
tickling my cheeks,
Hair starting to grow on the back
of my neck clinging to static
Transformation of her electric
tranquility illuminates like magic,
Feet felt like walking
on thin air of invisible clouds
My heart could not whisper
and started shouting out loud
wildly fighting my spirit
Battle within to win like a
fighting marine of great merits,
An about face I had to make
because she was my taste
Not lost in time and space
she was like Susie Q from the waist,
I was not a French Foreign Legion
soldier lost in the desert
Absolutely not a mirage before me,
—removing my shirt!
Soaking in the tan from the resonating heat
just drenched on my feet
She was so neat,
complete, looked so sweet,
creation could not repeat,
The street turned to pastures,
picnic baskets, butterflies, fragrance
Switching to white sandy beaches,
blankets, and building sand castles,
I squeaked a peep,
she turned, my world stood still
Mind floating as if I had taken a pill,
like a flash
—Help me, I felt a chill!
tongue moved, I had a notion
Still turning, her hair moving slowly,
like a karate kick in slow motion,
Eyes blinking, I could not move,
“Yes I remember,”
Her memory better than mine,
“How are you?”
My bread was buttered,
It has been years since,
queen of the prom,
My ship has landed,
“Coffee at noon?”
My heart whispered
Spent so long following the beaten path
The one lit up with tales of the right way
But I’ve been on this path for years
And I’m nowhere near where I wanna be
So I’m gonna turn here and
Go down that dark trail
And let the fire in me light the way
Tempting me with the easy road
The one that’s been tried and true
But for me that just won’t do
I don’t wanna make it to the other side
With my dreams as the sacrifice
I’m sure you’ve heard about it – the whole debacle surrounding Usher and the allegations against him. Right – but this isn’t about the allegations.
Here’s the thing – a woman claimed to have slept with the R&B superstar (and allegedly contracted herpes), and nobody blinked an eye… until a picture surfaced of Usher’s accuser.
Okay, so she’s fat.
The day the picture of Usher’s accuser (whose name is Quantasia Sharpton – no relation to the Reverend Al, I’m assuming) appeared online, my FB timeline was flooded with dandruff and ash.
“That’s his accuser?”
“Now I know it isn’t true.”
“She’s delusional. Ain’t no way he’s messing with all dat.”
And other shea butter-less quips. Until then, I decided to stay silent about the issue, but something about those comments got under my skin. I’m not really concerned with whether Ms. Sharpton is telling the truth, nor am I concerned about Usher’s sexual health – cuz I’m still trying to get somebody to go half on this high ass rent. I am, however, concerned about the heat that is aimed at Sharpton – mostly, for her weight.
She has been accused of being morally corrupt because she dared to even think that someone like her could have sex with someone like him. Little mention of her possibly lying about what happened – but a laser sharp focus on her weight, and the implausibility of her ever attracting someone famous, talented, and reasonably attractive (I mean, Usher just isn’t really my type). The assumption underlying all of this is that fat girls are unattractive and incapable of having a sexual relationship. Even more disturbing were the ashy comments from the faceless hordes, hinting that Sharpton’s weight was somehow to blame for her lack of moral character.
So many problems here that I don’t have enough time to unpack them all. However, I am wondering about the way we look at body type – particularly, how we look at those who are classified as overweight and assign character traits to them that we don’t assign to thin women.
Okay, ladies, here’s an example – imagine you find out your ex is dating another woman. You’re thinking, “well, he’s somebody else’s problem now,” but deep down you feel some type of way. So anyway, you go on about your life, taking selfies and painting a perfect picture of your life on Instagram. Then one of your friends texts you with a screen shot of your ex’s new girl with the caption, “GIRRRRRRRRRRRL” – and she’s fat.
How do you feel? About her? About your ex?
Now go through this same scenario, except the new Boo is of the Runway Model Tribe. How do you feel then? Different?
That’s the thing, y’all. Media, the fashion industry, music, etc. all have us making assumptions about big women that just aren’t true. Contrary to popular opinion, big women are leading healthy, active sex lives, and not using lies or manipulation to do it. Don’t believe me? Ask your ex.
What is Poetry? – part 3
Poetry doesn’t necessarily rhyme,
it just climbs out of the mind,
out of a recess in time,
obsessed with success
and blind to the cold shoulder it usually finds.
It’s a mess, it’s sublime,
it’s a knife as a prize,
it is life in the eyes,
it is death, of a kind,
it’s leaving something behind,
it’s caressing the past
and the future that lies,
dormant though brooding
Who says poetry is dead?
Just maybe when you fall. This time.
There will be beds of cloud-like linens.
A sea of infinite warm goodness.
Maybe this time. When you fall. Softness awaits.
And the cross you bear will be of Balsam Popular.
And sticky sweet molasses.
Instead of Ironwood and nails.
Maybe. This time.
Photography by Clarke Sanders
Alchemy. Taking blank material and transforming it into something else, is fairly spectacular. Sometimes the intention is not even apparent. This creative process is very interesting and inspiring.
There is such a unique beauty to go from blank canvas to an explosion of color or a creative vibrant script. I hope for the rest of my life to transform my truth into a reflective image.
Original Work: “JSN” 12×14, acrylic on canvas, 2017
Check out more of my work at 19art81.com .