Showing posts with label private joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label private joy. Show all posts

Thursday, September 14, 2017

The Day The Music Died II

"Purple Rain. Purple Rain." - Prince 

This isn't a story about Prince. 

It is, but isn't. 

It is about the rock star, the impact of his music, yet serving as a backdrop. This is an often-told childhood memory regarding my sister; shot and killed a year ago to the month, by a stalking ex-boyfriend. There's something to be said about scorned individuals, women and men, that attach themselves emotionally to the lives of other human beings, refusing to let go, go on with their lives. 

In short, it's a story about when doves cry. 

Shortly before the summer of '84, Prince released the album "Purple Rain." The track list served as the soundtrack to his similarly-titled motion picture, crowding theaters a month later. Both equated to a nuclear bomb dropped on the music industry; the aftermath felt for decades. 

Prince's recordings were everything as he singlehandedly produced,  arranged, composed and performed entire albums, like no other. It is a most rare thing if it had ever existed. At his absolute best, he illustrated a purple auteur of mental, emotional and spiritual gift. Therein lies the heart and soul of his genius and my sister recognized as much earlier than I did. 

In fact, she brought it to my attention. 

I recall how she sat in front of the radio and television, awaiting Prince at a time where the world anticipated Michael Jackson's thrilling videos on MTV.  Not that she never cared for the King of Pop, she did, but claimed Prince was deeper. In the past I'd liked "1999," "Little Red Corvette," and "International Lover," songs she sang word for word, but preferred the coming-of-age hip hop scene in New York. 

So once our mother provided our monthly allowances that June, I spent some on Run DMC's debut while sis grabbed Prince's strongest work. We only had one record player in the house which led to an all-out war for listening time. She was winning the battle until one Saturday afternoon where, having had enough of hearing singalong to the man that screamed like a woman, I broke the album. Then returned the pieces to its sleeve. 

I was bold. 

Heartbroken, she stopped speaking for about a month or until she was able to re-purchase the album. Never satisfied, that was my sister. 

In the meanwhile, she laid on the couch, linear notes in hand, singing the lyrics in the same tradition as if music played in the background. It is when I say that I remember hearing it, like yesterday. After awhile, and to show Prince's appeal, I began humming the tunes in my head. Once I'd gotten past his falsetto, I realized Prince was a prolific songwriter which boded well, since, back then, hip hop was all about the lyrics, bars. 

Once she had a brand new album in her hands, I found myself asking her to play this song and that song. Before long, we took turns singing verses, emulating guitar weeps. Even in theater, viewing the film together, standing with everyone else. She'd already taken the time beforehand to explain Prince's depth, so her words and his artistry rang true. The man had no peers. 

True enough, the Michael Jackson and the hip hop culture continued to define my childhood. But whenever I wanted to listen to the one artist that wiped his competition, it was Prince; even now, thanks to sis.

It's only fitting that both left this world in the same year. I can tell you: She cried when Prince died and I cried when she died. 

Rest In Peace. 

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

In the Heart of the Sleepless Moon

"You're the perfect lullaby." - Beyonce

Laid awake,
in the heart of the sleepless moon.
its light peeks quietly into the bedroom;
highlighting the blind's transparency.
located directly across from the window is the bed,
the moon stares at me, us.
exposing our images,
captured in unresolved lust.
a romantic setting,
framed in fine quality bedding.
the moon knew exactly where this development was headed.

she lays in similar position, 
faced with similar condition,
except the radiance emitted from her existence offers definition. 
portraying conviction, 
addiction, even.
instead of reflection there's intimate connection.
intimately progressing,
she slides her fingers onto my chest and begins softly caressing. 
sweet, small aesthetic strokes.
using more wrist than hand,
as if she's a fine artist and my heart is her canvas.

painting the most sensual of things; such as, "two lovers,
massaging one another, 
eyes closed, 
listening to rain
drowning in emotion. 
hoping their feelings never change.
justifying love, 
and pain."
before she adds the finishing touches,
then signs her first and last name. 

as sure as there's a Sun, 
there's also a Moon.
occupying individual skies,
yet working together as allies.
balanced: ebb and flow,
tuned into each other
like, to and fro. 
as the Sun's rays bounces off the Moon's surface, 
resulting in the illuminated glow; picture perfect intimacy. 
it shows.

without having uttered a single word,
worth a thousand are spoken. 
mostly verbs; conveying passion thru blatant actions, 
expressed in subtle ways, 
shaped firmly; aroused form, 
amassed in unrestrained fashion, 
bodies conjoined.
the man on the moon is smiling, 
as the light casts our silhouettes onto the walls and ceiling,
recreating the Sistine Chapel.
Fuck Michelangelo.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Screams of Passion

"But you made me feel." - Madonna

When two worlds collide;
they do so,
with unimaginable force. 
like Halley's Comet and Earth on a collision course, 
the impact can be felt at the core. 
as once known,
is no more... 
you've been hit with something different. 
no matter what you say or do, 
the effects are relentless. 
it becomes part of your existence, 
as if part of your existence was its one and only mission. 

You took a deeper breath, 
emitted a piercing sound, 
then trembled the moment I entered your atmosphere. 
it seems you would've braced yourself once you realized how near I was. 
the fallen stars should've given a clue,
that heated passion was headed directly towards you. 
but you... 
you must've imagined your oceans were wide enough, 
deep enough, 
wet enough, 
to withstand as I came crashing, 
and rocked your world. 
at one point I wondered if you'd been removed from your axis. 
you wilted. 
at the least, I tilted you. 

That's the thing about passion: it's boundless, powerful,
penetrating anything it hits,
with no warning.
energy in its purest form, 
leaving you torn between the past and the future...
passion makes a person truly feel. 
devotion so trill, 
that upon implosion, 
it reveals everything inside of you.
like, a confession.
in your case: pent up aggression. 
until I came along and rearranged your position. 
as if rearranging your position was my one and only mission. 

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Tied with a Golden Rope

"You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate and what's written in the stars." - Anais Nin

Said if weapons formed you'd stand in front of me. Weapons formed, and you stood in front of me. Protected me. Us. To the day, I would not know what to say if ever you asked how I doubted as much. Or why I felt you'd betray the trust, a trust that took some time to build. Maybe I should have known, but I know how it is. I just know how it is. The very ones who claim to stay are the first ones to disappear shortly after things no longer go their way. You did not run, you did not leave. You hung in there with me. You just might be who you claimed to be. We'll see.

Said I am your oxygen, said you feel so alive with me. Is it that I remind you of what it once felt like to feel eternally free? Able to do as you externally please, perhaps racing toward your true destiny, 
amid this highly organized, systematic society. A world so repetitive and equally boring that at times it keeps us not knowing if we're coming or going. I be knowing, cause once upon a time I traveled a similar path. Apparently I don't know much about Algebra. Either that, or the math simply did not add up. At least not until the day I inhaled your presence and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you and I were of the same essence. Same grain, same cloth. Touched for the very first time. Like two virgins, moments after taking their clothes off. 

Said I'd leave before you do. Well, I hardly believed you. You did not strike me as the type to run against the wind, despite having done as much with me. I figured you'd open that conventional heart of yours and allow fire and desire to breathe, while receiving me with free-spirited force. Then, for whatever reasons, doubt your ability to sustain course. Which would've been okay with me. I mean, I wouldn't had a choice. We all run out of breath eventually. Especially if you're the type to give everything there is to give to your lover, as you most definitely are. You feared falling in love, taken all the way out there and not brought back. Maybe now you can rest assured it's not like that. This will never be the case with me. I maintain energy. And although we aren't quite like I know you wanted us to be, throughout our undying bond, I hope you're still able to see: manners, morals, respect, character, trust, patience, love, class, integrity. All of the things you warned you'd need. Things in which a woman of your caliber should always receive, until the day you die. The qualities you insisted money can't buy. I listened.

Said I possessed your soul, an admission which left me taken aback. Cause you gotta know that was not my intention. At the most I looked to become an extension of your good and gentle spirit. At the least, make love to your entire being for long periods of time. I never imagined there'd be so much heated passion between us. The Man on the Moon is smiling, cause he's seen us in action. To be real, baby, it has to be real. Every time we look into each other's eyes, we should feel something. Every time we speak, our conversations should reveal something. Every time we open our hearts, our nurturing abilities should heal something. And if it's what we say it is, it will automatically build something. I originally figured you to be a woman content with sacrificing "wants" for "needs." I believed you wanted but didn't necessarily needYou figured myself to be the complete opposite, someone not really concerned with needs. And truth be told, that just might be. Interestingly enough, we opened each other up to believe we could have both. As if our souls are tied with a golden rope...

With you I am never bored. 

Friday, September 26, 2014


"That little glimpse of light, it makes a diamond really shine." - Beyonce

What I think he meant,
by the term,
"stay gold,"
stay pure,
from that which is all but expected.
from dusk to dawn,
hang on the cusp; remain precious,
by that which threatens as much.
always maintain a bright and fresh outlook on life,
it's but a twinkling of an eye.
never lose sight of The Gift; the beauty that lies deeply in the eyes of the beholder.
do not become unnerved by paradigm shifts.
you only have one life to live,
stay confluent to the innocence birthed into your heart.
do not succumb to the ways of the world,
just waiting,
to tear you apart.
don't ever change,
you are perfect the way you are.
like a sunset's hue,
that's golden; aurous,
it never loses its shine,
and neither should you.
stay gold, 
stay true.

Friday, September 12, 2014

The Arms of Orion

"They could contemplate the entire Universe or just one Star." - Prince

There is much to be written about intimacy. 
unfortunately, true intimacy cannot be expressed in words. 
In order to assess such amorously deep understanding, 
one must become conscious of all that is not being heard. 
true intimacy is conceived at the soul.
from what I was told: whenever a man and woman are in love, 
they will know.
It will show.
no words need to be spoken.
similar to the manner in which you peer effortlessly inside of me, 
my entire being.
understanding the positive force requiring nurturance,
versus the negative energy in need of freeing.
seeing me, 
at my core; naked. 
the way my DNA is set up...
not too many can take it. 
I am not of this world. 

a perfect example: when we role play;  and I am the student, 
and you are the teacher.
I'd bring a juicy red apple to your classroom every morning,
but only if I'm allowed to sit and watch you eat it. 
or when I underline and you italicize.
such emphasis.
or when I write in bold letters,
and you go back and quietly place periods where I left run-on sentences. 
or when I dot the i's and you cross the t's,
or when I write between the lines...
and you edit me. 
you copy me, even. 
like, the times you furrow your brow and beam intensely into my eyes,
as if you are trying to hypnotize me.
leaving me in tears, 
laughing hysterically, 
trying to use my otherworldly gift against me.
but you are from Earth, though,  
and need oxygen to breathe.
I am sure we agree upon that. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

If I Told You Baby

"I'll never be your mother's favorite." - Bruno Mars

These past few years,
I am hardly surprised each time I've gazed into the depths of your eyes,
everything I needed to see - I've seen.
The Heavy Stuff. 
you know, those things only witnessed in dreams.
If I'm dreaming,
please don't awaken me,
I am totally content with this being my reality.
your inner beauty; it sets me free,
ignites my spirit,
steers my soul,
veers my heart into directions that no woman had ever gone.
so when I say you are just as beautiful on the inside,
as you are on the outside,
this is exactly what you've shown.
they say the eyes never lie.
If true, then you my love are living proof.
as the windows to your soul make it official,
all the while driving me away from life's superficial thrill.
towards a place beyond the moon; among billions of stars, 
you swear I'm from Mars, anyway...
so I guess it's safe to say I traveled quite the distance, for you. 

Like GPS, your heart signaled me across vast lands, deep seas, and wide oceans.
yet, for whatever reasons, 
you allowed me to believe I had found and drowned you within intergalactic emotion. 
although we both knew the truth, 
I continued to play along with you, 
I guess you felt it was better for me to believe I'd chosen. 
whatever boils your coffee, baby.   
whatever heats your pot. 
just as long as when served, it's piping hot. 
there is something to be said about a woman who stirs a man's soul.
I once was told. 
but, now I know for sure. 
like I said: burning desire was already inside of you, 
yet, tragically suppressed. 
uncovered upon hours of hard work and immense sweat. 
Bruno said it best: you are a treasure. 
you are not a "trophy," 
trophies are made of plastics that eventually peel.  
and besides...
you said it yourself: Claire Huxtable wasn't real. 

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Hey Young World

"Stay gold." - Stevie Wonder

To be young and carefree, again. 

The majority of adults would probably give just about anything in the world to return to their youth. This, of course, is hardly possible as one cannot turn back the hands of time. It is also a sentiment I find just as impossible to convey to young adolescence. For whatever reasons, children nowadays are eager to become adults. 

If you sit and listen to the average teenager between the ages of 13 and 18, they have life all but figured out. They will tell you everything that is wrong in the world. The only problem: that same world awaits each and every one of them. And just as adults recognized beforehand, there arrives the moment of truth where we realized it was merely innocence talking. The truth is - life comes at you fast. Even faster if you rushed childhood. 

So young hearts be free. Once grown, one can never go back. Embrace youth. Like I warned my daughter Christina, don't be so in a hurry to grow up, cause you gotta figure that you will be older way longer than its opposite. 

Or so I've heard. 

Forever young. 

Thursday, August 14, 2014

And God Created Woman

"You're a sinner I don't care." - Prince

Let a woman be a woman, man be a man.
That is the plan as much as the case.
And nowhere does it say woman more than the man's hands gripped tightly onto the woman's waist, head buried between her thighs.
Tongue flung deeply into her abyss.
Caught up in the rapture, although some might describe this feeling as bliss.
The area of both pleasure and pain, as the fruits of the man's labor produce warm juices that flow throughout his addicted, fiend-like veins.
Providing oxygen to the woman's innermost desires.
Flicking the flames, slowly igniting the fire.
Like, a well-written introduction.
Setting the stage for her rift to explode into volcanic eruption.
Treating the woman's clitoris as if it were a canvas. 
Peep game.
The man's tongue  substitutes as a paintbrush, yet not all portraits are the same.
Not all artists are trained, either.
Some are born with The Gift.
Somewhere on God's green earth lies a man creating an absolute masterpiece between a pair of fat and juicy pussy lips,
as if his name is Leonardo da Vinci.
Did not Mona Lisa smile? 
Does not her face glow? 
Is not there a look of satisfaction within her eyes that speaks of the curliest of toes? 
Before the gust of strong wind settles into a gentle breeze,
it sweeps in and around the forest of suspecting, unsuspecting trees.
Blowing ferociously, disturbing leaves along the way.
Bending limbs, branches intertwined.
Wrapping up and slipping safely inside is the only thing on my mind.
As a man, there is something to be said regarding the opposite sex.
Although thousands upon thousands of years have passed since Adam and Eve,
and that which transpired in the Garden of Eden,
I can't quite conjure the words yet.
But I digress.
Then wander away like the mind of a woman subjected to horrible oral sex.
A far cry from the woman whose hands are filled with her own nipples and breast.
Intensely engaged, body completely covered in lust.
"Baby please hurry, cause I'm ready to ..."
And that's when the man tightens the grip on the woman's hips and thighs, and really bears down.
Until the woman's brain spins, around and around. 
Until his mouth makes slurping, smacking sounds. 
Until her eyes roll into the back of the head. 
Until his jaws start numbing and she's seconds away from succumbing. 
Until her lips quiver and body shivers,
Until the woman places a Kung Fu grip atop the man's forehead,
and her soul had been delivered...

She had longed for this feeling for as long as she could remember.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Days 22, 23: Something you wish you hadn't done in your life and something you wish you had done in life

"If daughters couldn't soften a man, then nothing would." - Linda Weaver

Like I said in a previous post, at this point in my life there's absolutely nothing I wish I had or hadn't done. Once upon a time I did. But not anymore. To do so would be redundant, seeing as how I apparently did that which I wanted to do. For me, this quote by Samuel Johnson sums it up: "It is a mortifying reflection for a man to consider what he has done, compared to what he might have done." That said, and since I'm only days away from finishing this 30 Day Blog Challenge thus hanging up my blog shoes, I believe there's one post in particular that still needs to be written before all is said and done. 

If there's but one person in the entire world I'd willingly die for. If ever someone stood by me. If ever someone stood up and held their ground with me. If ever someone I trust. If ever someone demanded I stopped bullshitting and handled my business as a man, dad. If ever someone furrowed my brow. If ever someone prayed for me. If ever someone inspired me. If ever someone had shown pure and unconditional love in an illuminating way. If ever someone kept it real. If ever someone laughed at my every joke. The unconscious bridge between my mom and I. The conscious bridge between her mom and I. The undeniable apple of both of her grandmother's eyes. My spirit. The eyes in the back of my head. Though she'd hardly admit as much, I am the sole reason she learned to make banana pudding. My oldest and brightest daughter. Too smart for her own good, at times. I often comment on how I erred in sparing the rod, thus allowing her to be as spoiled as she wanted to be as a baby and young child. 

Occasionally there's a reference to her endless belief that I favored my two youngest daughters, growing up. But nothing is further from the truth. Still though, I am happy for whatever experience, routine, trial and error we've endured during the course of our unbreakable bond. Suffice to say if I died today, I'd close my eyes while knowing in my soul that my mother and Kiara and Jameelah would be just fine, due in large part to the  big sister, grandchild and most of all glue that is most definitely Christina.

I love you to death, Bubblehead. 

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Day Six: Something You Hope You Never Have To Do

"The love between a father and daughter is forever." - Anonymous

Awhile ago, I came across this heartfelt post on Sunny's blog where she spoke of having suffered sexual abuse once upon a time. Before reaching its conclusion and as a father of three daughters, I wondered what if some dead man walking did such a horrible thing to them? 

Earth, all 3,959 miles of it, wouldn't be big enough for him to hide. Not even the United States military could save him. 

Then I thought about my mother, sister and the two women who birthed my children, and how all four are victims of rape, or near rape, at some point in their respective lives. My sister, at age 9, was physically forced to have sexual intercourse by the good-for-nothing boyfriend of our aunt. Even worse, she - desperate for a man, did not believe my sister's nightmarish story. In fact, it was completely swept under the rug. One of those family secrets never to be discussed. 

Two years younger than my sister and nowhere near mature enough to comprehend what had occurred, I was unaffected by it all. Several years passed before I gained a better understanding. By this time, my sister and I learned the negro had passed away. We were not sorry to hear. She joked tearfully about how our deceased dad was somewhere looking for him in the afterlife in order to beat him up.

Knowing dad, and how much he loved my sister, he found him.

Fathers and daughters share a special bond. Daughters are the women that we cannot help but love. Daughters warm their way into our hearts. A father is always making his baby into a little woman. Once she becomes a woman, he turns her back into a little girl again. A daughter loves her father the most because he is at least one man in the world who will never break her heart. At the end of the day, the role of a dad is to physically and emotionally protect his little girl. 

To believe otherwise would be foolish.  

I say this while recalling how my oldest daughter stood in her 7th grade class and spoke of how I am the first man she fell in love with, and countless phone calls where the mom of my two youngest complained about our kids crying, due to wanting their daddy. 

Fond memories such as these are embedded in my heart and will be at the forefront of my rage, if ever the day comes where some unfortunate soul decides to commit suicide by sexually abusing one of mine. And I said that to say this: I could not live in this world knowing that he's still breathing. One of us gotta die. 

Something I hope to never do?

Bury him.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Ten Things I Am Most Thankful For

“Sometimes we need to see the bad side, to appreciate the good side.” - Anthony Liccione

  • I am still standing
  • I fear no man, but God
  • Mom
  • Daughters have developed a much-needed mixture of book/street smarts
  • My woman was not/is not "easy"
  • An emotionally-connected relationship
  • The burning desire to make better decisions for myself
  • Real friends
  • The brain to talk the talk, the heart to walk the walk
  • Ability to forgive those who have used me, cause they themselves are being used by others

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Top Ten Reasons Women Know Men Are In Love

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." - Anais Nin

10. He lets down the toilet seat

9. He no longer claims to had never heard his phone ringing and replies to all text messages

8. You are no longer his "good time" girl, as he now shows honorable things never witnessed beforehand

7. All he does is think of you

6. He shows you off to friends and family

5. He keeps both heads firmly in the game and never steps out of bounds onto sidelines

4. He holds the ultimate respect for you as a woman, things which mattered only to you now matters to him

3. He values companionship, spends quality time and no longer avoids you during that time of month

2. He no longer begins sentences with "I" or "You," it's "We"

...and the Number One reason that a woman will know if the man is in love: By his actions - action still speaks louder than words

Monday, June 17, 2013

Let a Woman be a Woman and a Man be a Man

"And they listen to me when I talk, cause I ain't pretending." - Beyonce

Love how we discuss everything under the Sun. I am an avid listener, allowing me to appreciate the subtle presence of another one. I enjoy the intimacy that open and honest communication brings; the understanding, the chemistry, the combination of which leads to other things. Like impromptu duets in the shower, knowing damn well that neither one of us can sing. Yet, absolutely adoring the endless amount of laughter it brings. Organic energy, a language of our very own. Not to mention being stuck at work as the radio plays your lover's favorite song. Suddenly able to smell her natural scent, mixed with naughtiness, and a slight touch of after-shower evening body mist. I close my eyes and quietly reminisce...

So then, the sexting begins. Somewhat conservative, at first. Then liberal, and then downright politically-incorrect. Impatience. Becoming more aggressive within each text. Same window, exact same agenda. Taking a wild guess, I'd say she encourages such illicitness, based on how well it translates in bed. She isn't looking for a politician though. She insisted their kind told lies and only came around in search of votes. Instead, she seeks a man to implement his policy up close and personal on a daily basis. She abhors actors, recalling how often they forgot their lines. Either that, or flipped the script altogether and she simply doesn't have time. The Art of Imply, thoroughly mastered. For instance, sly remarks about how she was unable to sleep the night before due to constant tossing and turning, and what sounded like a woman moaning amid the smell of condoms burning. Using my words against me. Apparently, she majored in reverse psychology...

She begins by sending a flirtatious text commenting on how she's wearing a sundress and wanting me to guess if she's without bra or underwear. A thought tossed willingly in the air, out of nowhere. Followed by a winking emoticon that flashes a smile which causes me to take a deep breath and stare into the immediate distance. Apparently, she's proud of her God-given ability to get me aroused, while turning around and calmly settling me all the way down. Claiming she cannot believe she texted that question  in the first place. Asking if I needed a towel or something to wash these thoughts off my face. Teasing me. Just like a woman. All of which adds even more passion to my touch, a quickly shifting force to my thrusts. Like the cue ball staring the 8 from the back, sizing it up mentally, anxiously awaiting its physical contact. A game of inches, for all intended purposes. The anticipation of it all forces the beat of my heart to race into a thousand different places. Including spaces I never knew existed. Penetrating, resonating long after her panties are conclusively torn away...

Similar to skillfully planted kisses, there is no doubt she majored in Psychology as she comes with zero apologies. Sounds like a grown woman to me. One that's not afraid. One that learned quite well, page by page. Whenever a woman is able to carefully maneuver a man's imagination, to the point where he pays full attention to every word she is saying, where he knows she is not playing. There is something to be said. I must say. She knows the exact words and, most importantly, how to properly convey. In a way where she creates mood, sets the stage. Not only do we complete each other's sentences, we encourage each other's thoughts. A superb narrative that leaves our conscience simultaneously lost, wrapped within intense layers of unapologetic lust. The bed's set afire seconds after the lights are turned off. I reflect upon thy countless ways I cannot resist. Moments revealed, enforced, sealed with a kiss. Pure bliss. Sweetest of ecstasy. Awakening in the middle of the night to her drained body cuddled next to me. No other place I'd rather be. A desire which, as it turns out, summons a second wind... 

Clearly, I cannot wait until the work day ends. 

Thursday, May 30, 2013

If I Have Never Told You Before

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source." - Anais Nin

You are so strikingly beautiful,
utmost pleasure to one's eyes,
after all of these years, I take one look at you and remain hypnotized.
a natural born goddess; dare I say the earth is your turf,
stars perfectly aligned the moment birthed.

I wonder if you still feel the softness of my eyes, roaming your entire presence, 
expanded lungs, inhaling your terribly sweet essence.
exhale is met with tense desire; so hard to ignore,
butterflies swarming nervously inside of my stomach,
I am passionately yours.

If I have never told you before, 
I adore our emotional connection; the reasons why, 
intimacy defines the core of you and I. 
the invaluable manner in which all thoughts are heard,
how we've communicated, despite not having uttered a single word. 

Perhaps this is the reason you remain constantly in mind, 
a certain vibe survives us,
a commanding understanding describes us.
no pretense, no deceit, 
we give each other exactly what we need; no make-believe, 
we thoroughly add up.

If I have never told you, allow me to apologetically begin,
long before we ever spent one second together, 
I always knew we'd become lovers, friends.
our paralleled pasts led me to wholeheartedly believe,
two souls powerfully connected,
based upon the simplest of need.

Love; pure and unconditional, eternally,
exactly how love is meant to be.
carefree, conduit, built upon humility,
full immunity; not prosecuted into futility. 
our bond developed an encouraged confidence.
true happiness, indispensable bliss.

where I am perfectly free to be my imperfect self, 
regardless of any, everything else.
with you, I can be open and honest; never taken for granted,
compassion nurtures the seeds that we've faithfully planted, 
as our growth continues on and on,
standing upright, strong,

They say, if you look deeply into a person's eyes,
you can peer into their soul,
and discern between emptiness and a spirit that overflows.
I've done as much, while holding you in warm embrace,
causing my heart to skip a beat;
momentarily taking my breath away.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

To Nina, with Love

"Each night I breathe you and become high." - Nina Mosley

I remember love,
the Cloud Nine feel
its heart; revealing, willing,
to give and receive,

Like the scores of sunlight that generates Earth,
the pours of rain which invigorates its turf,
there lies a persistent flow of intimacy on behalf of someone fully converged.
for better or worse,
love heals, love hurts,
love emerges from out of nowhere.
we share love...

Immaculate; thick, rich, good,
to the point where it becomes easily understood,
as to why love is corinthian-ed as the greatest of them all.
a soft stare.
THE Breath of Fresh Air.
a Tamia song.
the way your name tastes sweetly on the tip of my tongue...

I depend on love, as if my soul depends
I need love to grow as passionately as the strongest Chicago winds,
like a well-placed crease, I wear the emotion proudly upon my sleeve.
see, once you've fallen in love it's hard to believe it has an ending.
inasmuch as the atmosphere itself leaves your spirit animately suspended...

Though, such as a flower birthed into existence,
if the roots of love are shown minimal attention,
its spirit sways,
and eventually withers away,
I'm sure many will agree.
leaving the sum of its parts far from where one's heart longs to be...

I remember love,
I remember you,
I remember me.

The poem To Nina, with Love was creatively inspired by the film Love Jones.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

YOLO: Choose Well

Prom Night '12

Hard to believe 18 years have passed since the birth of a child who, as a toddler, laughed uninhibitedly at the top of her lungs in the company of laughter. The fact that she was too young to truly gauge whatever jokes hardly mattered. It was understood by everyone that Don and Tracy's child was different, as evident by the heart-breaking manner in which she routinely cried herself to sleep the moment someone hurt her feelings. In a way that led us to believe her heart had been stepped on and broken into a thousand little pieces. 

I took Christina's difference to be a gift, a rather compassionate one, regardless how others viewed. Often warned she was too emotionally-invested and how it was best to go ahead and nip that perceived downfall in the bud, I saw no reason to apologize for the heart of gold she thoroughly possessed. Instead, I felt it would be more convenient to nurture and protect that facet of her personality. And hopefully prevent people from taking advantage of the little girl who, as it turned out, offered everyone she met the benefit of the doubt. 

Above all, this is what I remember mostly as I come to grips with the fact that she's no longer Daddy's Little Girl. This, and our never-ending debates regarding her unspoken belief that she can somehow change the world, despite awakening to much of the same attitudes, games, politics, manipulation. At one point it became so dire that I decided to forever remove the rose-colored glasses from her eyes at the tender age of 13 and reveal the world as is. Since then, the rebellion ceased. The disagreements, a thing of the past. Christina now owns a more sounder approach towards Life, especially upon assuring her that nothing ever changes. Only the names. History teaches. 

Now that she's entered the next stage of her life - often referred to as The Breaking Point, the period where it's possible for peer pressure to hold a greater influence upon her mentality and thus behavior, I quietly wonder her decisions. I don't worry, I speculate curiously. Mainly due to the misinterpreted "You Only Live Once" calling card of today's generation which, for whatever reasons, appears to be a contrived excuse to practice plain-as-day nihilism. 

Unlike my mother I fully understand the importance of allowing a high school graduate to begin to make his or her own decisions, regardless of whether I am personally afraid of the future of society on a whole.  But how else will Christina know who she is? How else can she avoid resentment while further developing unteachable qualities such as courage, acumen, self-esteem, self-empowerment, self-consciousness,  temperance, spirituality? And perhaps the greatest lesson of all: over-reliance on others is a mistake.

As a parent and certainly afraid to see my daughter endure heartache I've come to believe that the best possible thing for me to do is remain on the sidelines, yet offer advice as requested. Which, at best, means offering step-by-step accounts of mistakes I made at a similar age. The point where my mom failed miserably. Granted, I haven't been the perfect father by any means. At times I've been impatient, unreasonable, irrelevant. But if history is to show that an apple fell from my tree, I do intend the fruit to be ripe for consumption.

Generally, it's never easy to reveal shortcomings to your child. Not only does it allows them to view dad in an unfavorable light, it also leads them to question how are you able to voice proper opinion when you yourself completely disregarded protocol. Ever notice how one reflects upon judgments - both favorable and unfavorable - and recall actions that led to experiences which, in turn, allows your intuition to alert whenever someone else travels the same road? So therefore, if I ignore my daughter's opinion and simply tell her to shut up, it only increases hypocrisy. 

Judging from all I know of Christina's inner child, the compassion remains. But, for the most part, she has lived and loved and learned enough to accept that Life is sizable and entangling. And, even better, understand the hallmark of personal journey centers around decisions.

The fact that she only lives once should never confuse the matter. 

In other words - choose well, my love. 

Graduation Day '12

Monday, July 16, 2012

Likes And Dislikes

  • my woman's sudden addiction to the beach
  • Hip Hop on Trial debate
  • Louis Farrakhan speaks truth, regardless
  • humility
  • gospel music
  • patiently awaiting NFL season #WhoDat
  • reaching financial goals
  • rather die on my feet, than live on my knees mentality
  • recently forced to cut ties with long-time friend
  • Jeremy Lin might not return to Knicks
  • Tyler Perry's latest Madea film
  • doing something I might regret the next day
  • didn't realize classes start so soon
  • they don't make R&B songs like this anymore
  • one-sided conversations
  • 100 degree weather
  • when my daughter is upset with me
  • upcoming election hardly excites me
  • people who can't keep secrets

Friday, June 15, 2012

What About Your Friends?

"Constant use had not worn ragged the fabric of their friendship." - Dorothy Parker

A word we use every day
Most of the time in the wrong way
You can look the word up, again and again
But the dictionary doesn't know the meaning of friends

If you ask me you know I couldn't be of much help
Cause a friend is somebody you judge for yourself
Some are okay, and treat you real cool
But some mistake kindness for being a fool

We like to be with some, cause they're funny
Others come around when they need some money
Some you grew up with, around the way
And you're still real close to this very day

Friends thru the Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall
Then there's some we wish we never knew at all
This list goes on, again and again
These are the people who we call friends...

- Whodini, Friends

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Things I Respect

"Keep writing, keep reading." - Danyel Smith

  • Jehovah, the creator of all things
  • people who obey the Word of God
  • prayer
  • my conscience
  • good moms and dads
  • mutual love
  • hard work
  • actor Denzel Washington's body of work
  • people who respect themselves
  • fasting
  • a good sports debate
  • The old Earth
  • The End
  • people who sell quality bootleg DVDs
  • The Power of Love
  • Proverbs 9:10
  • my daughter's opinion
  • dedicated teachers
  • homeschoolers
  • writer Danyel Smith's knowledge of culture