Sunday Morning

As you left,
so did the existence of eternal peace
resting inside of me.
Slowly unrest crept up
and attacked my nervous system.

I became agitated with the idea of not seeing you until...
I became frustrated with the concept of not kissing you until...
I became nervous from having to fall back in love with you
every time you touch your feet on this soil.
Over and over again,
It feels like every trip is starting over.
But it is also proof that every trip my love is running over.

What strange creation is this love thing.
Especially when it is molded from the physical being gold,
traded over miles and emotions,
a test when throwing in distance...
I always have to wait until.
Until when?
Until what?

A true testament of tomorrow is the existence of today.
The purest form of what endless should be starts with something.
There most be a tiny piece of hope involved for us to last.
I have too much certainty in my grasp.
I don’t doubt destiny.

Nothing is the same without you,
because everything is changing with you.
Meals are just empty feedings,
no longer nourishment to my soul,
but just food my belly.
Showers have become quick and emotionless.
I no longer feel your warmth cleansing me
but envision repeats of something I once denied.

My apartment is empty with out you.
Filled with furniture branded by our love.
Gifts, scents, candles, tiny left overs
scattered among my belongings
all remind me of moments with you.

And what of this until concept???
I guess I will be waiting and loving you until we figure it out.
Wishing I could bottle your touch,
you be my Jeannie,
and appear when the bottle is rubbed....

Until then...
I am here.
Loving you
from the inner most
precious part of my being.

Sun and Moon

My solar energy.

I Slept to thoughts of you
Only to Wake with you on my mind

Finding you shining
Way Before we found the sun.

Slowly we count down the minutes until I rise
And our present becomes past tense

Balancing the sun within the moon's existence
In a the world where I have found waldo in you.

My mystery.
They still investigate why people worship sun gods.

I just accept the fact that god shines within you.
Your rays are destined to burn those not able to withstand greatness.

When you need a rest,
I will grace the skies for you.
And we shall balance the universe.
Together.

Here I am
Ready.

love

Love 3/14/08

I miss your ability to rub my rights when necessary. Your desire to ease my day with a slip in. Reorganizing my thought process with you taking up most of them. I recite songs in tones that only you can appreciate. Scribing emotions only you can relate. I just wish its you I could recreate. At time of discourse, disgrace, and dismay, call out your name, and it will all go away. I miss your sweet embrace. There when all else falls, and leaving everyone needing you. Appearing not always for selfish intake, but moment to remember that life is what we make. I miss my love and the drive in my tips that you motivate. Woven poetry from a blank slate.

the L word (2004)

2004

love
love good
bad
love
mmm...
undeniable
indescribable
touch me
hold me
sex me
love
feelings
emotions
swirling
twirling
lust
for love
needing
wanting
hoping
missing
craving
taking
no giving
your not receiving
love
sky is my limit
life is endless
love
pain
days go on
for i am strong
with
or without u
love
sex is all
sometimes
all
lust
wanting it to be more
love
easily said
hard to express
immeasurable
literally
imaginative
but reality
love
my love
one love
first love
long love
last love
lost love
i need
love
i miss love
i want love
the L word

photography of my dreams

Image captured. Blurred to perfection. My life two folds. Camera lens focused. Zoom in on passion, determined to capture my purpose. Mixed composition. Background: my challenges, obstacles, achievements, distractions, and external elements that make life stand out. Lurking in the foreground: focus, beauties, bold lessons, goals, and desires. Dreams that over stand reality, creating a perfect image. Life captured in a perfect frame of time. Seconds halted within beauty and desire. The fourth dimension magnified to its purest form, a silent image of truth. I refuse t merge background with foreground. Without the constant reflection, the depth, and imagery, beauty with be still. Left in small attempts and front image focus of self. All is necessary to see life in the blink of an eye, through the frame and lens of love. Two folds. Reality, and idealism. Slightly merging into a desire of need for completion. The fourth dimension. Life. Time.

Untitled...

A cycle of bigotry.
Subconsciously
Stepping into quick sand.
Securing safety.
From self harm.
Craving refuge in your healing,
yet pardon from your worries.

As blind as love is,
She keeps seeing us.
Held Captive by her reign.
Seeking stubborn separations
When strength is to much
for the ill hearted.
Imagining a life before you.
When joy didn't seem so blissful.
And the wind didn't remind me of your flowing spirit.

Yet I am tied to your lies,
Just like I hang from your truths.
Salvaging each word
To be meant for only me.
The savor of your sweet essence,
Only lasted seconds on my pallet
And yet I am hungry for departure.

Wishing I never laid my eyes on your glory.
Experienced unity by definition
Not example.
Love.
You have lied to me.
Told me you were worthy.
And I believed you.
Now I just linger on each possibility
That my lens was blurred
From the start.

Guest Showcase: J'Aimmee aka iTmeans_iLOVE(twitter)

J’Aimmee
Twitter: iTmeans_iLOVE
Blog: http://itmeans-ilove.tumblr.com/
Bio: Simply complex and unique. Never stumbling from the wounds of the world. Trendsetter. Urban go getter. Spreads energy to each space.

Branded by Disgrace

She was branded by disgrace
A young woman whose life didn't match her face
Whose life didn't match the face.
The façade.
She was branded by disgrace,
The back of her shoulders burned
With the marks of common fate.
Her back and her shoulders weighed down by
All God's missing grace
God missed her, so she left Him
And he, he took her.
He took her life with every blow to her face,
With every thrust below her waist,
With every tear poured out her face...
And she grew, lifeless.
She was branded with HIS disgrace.
Face and lips, no hips and lips
Hips and Fist...her face, his fist.
Bruised, broken, battered, torn
BRANDED...with his fist
And with his lips...with Disgrace.
And he left her lifeless, with just a face
A façade; a lifeless mirage.
And through all this, all she wanted to know was...
WHERE WAS GOD!?
When he took her shattered innocence
For braze and barren offering
Where was God?
When, even though she was told she was beautiful,
He showed her, her beauty wasn't enough?
Where was God when his lust
Left her in shattered shreds of innocence
Shattered, shredded, innocent.
Bruised, branded, disgraced.
A lifeless body, a pretty face.
Covered by a façade
A glowing smile and bright eyes
A confident strut with her head held high.
A million questions in her mind
And she never inquired "why?"
But better yet "where?"
Through all these trials, she asked me, Where?
Where was God?
She asked me and I told her.
You see, He was right there.
Every time, He was standing right there...right here
See He was there that day
Pulling on the strings that brought up the sun in the sky
On that one beautiful morning, where for once,
She didn't have to cry.
He was the one pulling on the side of her lips,
So that even through all her strife,
She could continue to bless the world with her smile.
He was there...when somebody else chose to ask her why?
When someone else saw her cry.
When her story changed all those lives...
The whole time he was right there...
Waiting for her to open her eyes
To realize...
That, yes, she was branded by disgrace.
But only so through her life
She could brand others with His grace.

- J. A. Louis

Reflection: there is purpose in every thing. Find the meaning and purpose in your life. Aim high. Reach beyond the scope of your hands. Do expect things to come easy, and instead be willing to work for it. You are only as strong as the pillars holding you up… remember your system can be faulting if your foundation is weak. Realize that you cant do it alone… do not walk blinded.

Khalil Gibran

Born January 6, 1883, Khalil Gibran was a Lebanese American artist, poet, painter, and writer. His literary career developed after immigrating to the United States. Known for his 1923 book, The Prophet, a series of philosophical essays writing in prose. Gibran’s presence was a gift to my life and writings. After soaking myself in The Prophet, I can’t recall a time that I didn’t use his writings as a point of reflection, inspiration, and balance. His words so eloquently places, align not only the most subtle of emotions, but confirm the most important thing: everything has meaning. The story of his life, his love, his mediums of expression and intimacy are profound. Gibran reaffirms that expression at all levels is essential for growth.

His work can be found in the Telfair Museum of Art in Savannah, Georgia and University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Library. In addition there are memorials and buildings dedicated to him in Canada, Boston, Brooklyn, D.C, and of course internationally where his final resting place has become Lebanon.

And I will close with this…The words written next to Gibran's grave are "a word I want to see written on my grave: I am alive like you, and I am standing beside you. Close your eyes and look around, you will see me in front of you ...."

I just recently… printed several copies of The Prophet… and mailed them to my brother and his inmate “friends”… it’s that timeless.

Links:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khalil_Gibran
http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/5616
http://ow.ly/15rcw
http://ow.ly/15reT

I have enough faith to lend.. do you??

So I was going to post on something else today.. but for now.. I am just going to write from the heart. What do you value? If everything was snatched away from you… what would you ask god to give back?

I don’t remember a time without friends, because it never really mattered to me, I always had my brothers. There were my friends and equally my enemies on bad days. I guess you can say I was far beyond a tomboy growing up. Everything they grew out of slowly found its way in my closet. I remember many fun days exploring the woods nearby, wandering off for hours with out anyone knowing, to come home in trouble. But mom always gave me the freedom I needed to develop into this beautiful soul. (thank god). I never had a curfew, rules, or limits, just simply… make sure the brothers knew who I was with and where.

Over the years, my business was never my business, which help regulate the things I did and the people I socialized with. My little brother is one year and almost 6 months apart from me. We fought everyday growing up, about little things.. one time he got mad because I wouldn’t let him cook something after mom’s told me he broke a glass pan. But yet no matter how mad my brother was with me, he never hesitated to be by my side, defend me, or simply correct me when I was wrong. And my older brother, the natural born genius, seemed to be good at anything he put his mind to. He can manipulate any situation to benefit himself... except lately. Time has caught up to both of them.

I found myself this weekend listening to my older brother, Esso, cd… www.myspace.com/joeblow456... real hard. reading his letters from prison seems to help bring all these memories alive. Help put my goals, and desires for my family and self in perspective. They are never too far away. Just yesterday my younger brother turned himself in, to let time tick away at his brain. Over and over… I used to joke with my mother that I don’t get enough attention because I am on the “right” path. And yet more and more as I reflect on these last months... I now am starting to believe... their path has been “correct” for them.

Greed, jealousy, love, confusion, desire... all conflicted with misguidance leads to a dead end or a u-turn. As everything was slowly snatched away from both of them… slowly I can see their growth. Slowly I can see their appreciation. Slowly I can see them hurting. That seems to be enough for me these days. The memories. The moments. The fact that they may be better inside there, then in a different type of box, buried beneath my walking footsteps. That keeps me. And my writings will only confirm that things are changing. Now its time for me to stick by their side….

They have sacrificed so much for me to be me. To be grounded in strong principles. To be strong and determined. To take their examples and never duplicate them. To understand what trust is, and how loyalty is a luxury. They have dedicated themselves to seeing me do well in school, without a doubt that I would fail. Who am I to not sacrifice anything for them? I have enough faith to lend. do you?

Externally Wounded

My posts are about to start being a little more theme organized. Today I wanted to post a strong piece. A reflective piece. I wrote this sometime in 2008, I worked at the Carlos Museum at Emory... got a chance to help with a lot exhibits, and reflect on a lot of history. A lot of open wounds that we as people continue to hold on to… so heal with me...

Externally Wounded

I was born
wounded.
we
Bloody from oppression
Lack of freedom to the womb
Who are you that was born healthy?
Foreign to the country.
Their country.
Field at the hands of the enslaved
Take away kind
Take away color
The mentality of destruction.
Selfish Empowerment at the hands of humanity

And
I was created
with ropes around my neck
They already set aside my noose
Gestation purgatory
Renaming
Birth
hell’s heaven
yet the afterlife seems like bliss
They must have known
I would fight for justice
so they prepared to combat my strength

internally
limitless, bound by hope and freedom
They must have known
the power of true knowledge
yet within
Their education, their country
I was born.
Behind
Walking backward on fear
And looking away from weakness
Yes, they must have known our people would
Create the strong
Be the mighty
Despite our being
Stripped
Strapped
Caged
Beaten
Born into misery on foreign kinds
Now becoming foreign homes
And culture lost in trips in boats
Lost in trips on boats tamed by whips
Whips that hit at the core of soul
Dehumanizing hope
And rationalizing power and greed
estruction
Willie lynch them
Generational divides
Between cultural misprints and misreads
Power structures
Left generations to die.
Divided.

And me.
Born into the ills of the world
Molded, crafted, from first breath
The chosen one to lead
Those blinded
soul cultivated
Speech manipulated
By the blood of these people
Our people
My people
And my birth was celebrated
With another number
In the army for freedom
Already wounded by history
Already slain by history
Bloody still from oppression
Discrimination
ready to fight.
With only my soul.
Open, branded with freedom on forearm
Studying
Reading manuscripts of pass explorations on faith
Within
against this unjust fairytale
Of America’s dreams
It’s creating my blueprint.
I am attempting to regain dignity
In our conception. Our presence.
Our essence of being.

There are no battle wounds on
The battle field for the new
Leaving behind Garvey
Malcolm and Fannie
For a pause
A breath, fresh air, cleansed
By all our blood deaths, and past births scorn
Fighting from wounds they have started
But we have yet to finish. Understood/
We need to finish
Open books
Pens awaiting touch
Paper, ink, awaiting history
To be used to document this new battle
The change in this country
Formulated off greed and hatred
Yet its came to be known for its
Ability to keep everlasting dreams
While culture and history
Was stolen, thus depleted.
So I rise.
I am born
to create infinites
To believe in the limitless
Based foundations on faith
Positive yet realistic premises
That all karma is not good:

Stolen silence
and they
Will have their share
And the light will shine
Reborn with my ancestors
Rebirth of my future
No more wounds.
No more bloodshed
No more misery.
Just:
Soul, purity, vision
New world order-divine
Truth, with faith in heart
Hope in veins, knowledge in mind
I write the future to claim
Victory
No more wounds.
Change is in vision.
Vision is clear.
Practice is in action.
Action is near.
Externally
Let go
Of these wounds

Ars Poetica

If you are a writer.. or even a reader.. one should explore the meaning and historical value of "ars poetica".. a phrase that translates to the art of poetry... yet means so much more. how our actions when expressed, should actually feel like the expression.. writing about the beauty of poetry, or signing melodies about the love of each tune and voice..

here are a few links...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ars_Poetica
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15222
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19947
http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/HoraceArsPoetica.htm


and one of the most famous, and my favorite piece..

Ars Poetic
by : Archibald MacLeish ( read on who he is as well!)

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown --
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind --
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
*
A poem should be equal to
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea --
A poem should not mean
But be.

the last line be far is the most eloquent summary of what ars poetica is.. and should be.. a poem should not mean but simply be. the existence of its powers should magnify its greatness.. and one should honor it for being, instead of describing.. and that the description aligns with the reality.. like a literary comic book.. it is. real.

thanks. enjoy.

kwansaba's for him

enrichment,kwansaba- 7 lines, 7 words, 7 letters or less

ego tippin


tripping on shoe laces from owns foot
intent spun of spider webs of irony
walking mighty on water that greed drank
keepin self on mntain atop city sheeps
the inner being praised but ignored
scales tippin self drippin vision lost
soul lost soul lost self never xcepted
__________________

the hustle

math the matic brain storm quick reflex
jumping to numbers testing storm life skills fast
never was this good with adding always
until money hungry hopes drove long days
still frozen on greed,guilt, and ambition
dreams drilled into cell block corners forever
too long ago were hopes beleived acheived

_______________

bystander lost

peace written strong willed black man walks
life driven off impulse distract greed lust
stagnte under pass fredom train de railed
passer by lost in cause and possible
justice renamed him turned wrong after right
core hungry with pain from ambush past
soul lost casue, life left him starving

__________

jan 16th

red summer has be came winter
long days of despair linger closer
lynched men in mental slavery prison now
last chances to str8 line life over
routed by GOD to do other work
for gotten laws of trust,loyalty, worth
lost- love needed. missed. wanted. now. ALWAYS!
________________

love's rejection

saddle bags full of emotion pull me
trashed memory leave my soul empty
reject every bodies' worst enemy temptin me
thought love wasnt suposed to feel sensles
mystery chills left scratchs on my soul
pain addict xtracts purity but still falls
cold cement never felt so familiar after

StolenLegacy

Stolen legacy
Strapped caged mind disabled body
Stuck swollen by life's fight
Swirled emotions
Swarm with commotion
Suddenly distractions equal fractions
Seconds spent wasted in time
Summer spending
Sequential minutes
Surrounded by nothing but references
Sadly succumbed by seduction
Secluded to a place of passion
Straddle and strapped
Sultry share of expression
Satisfied
She stroked
She floats
sure of nothing
Stuck on him
Standing, walking, left, her
Searching, for answers to match his questions,
She, branded
Substance tainted
Steady head strung,
strong willed but lost
Staggering between his syllables, his love song,
Strategically tranced her
Summer silenced by his words on repeat
Scanning each moment,
surveying each place
Submissive response to sunrise,
solitude
Stolen legacy
Solution : escape seconds spent in esctacy
Suffering for higher ground
She smiles, sky miles hung on his each word
slow recaps
Secluded to a place of satisfaction
She settled
stepped back ,
Stuck in love for self
Success with each second,
stupidity stepped
She lost time.
Selflessly.
Saddened memories
Her Legacy stolen
Gradually
Self slowly excepted.
Success with each word
She no longer listens.
smiles. submissive to self. Love.
Legacy re molding.

Concrete,Swollen.

Recollection
Seconds become ours
You
I
Conjoined
Gave
And given
Slowly riding
Course unforgotten
Our road less driven
We never meant this
Stopped
Dead at tracks
Guilt ridden
Hope searching
Blind loving
Before us
Stole, a place of worth
Life living purpose with seeing
Us.
Fallen
Concrete. Swollen
Bruised Loving
Unconditionally open
Yet taken
A Void.
Of social living
Rules. Limits. Creation
Golden
You were life.
Emotions misplaced
Ashamed
My secret
My sanity
The We. in Us
To get her
Magic
Chaos
Esctacy
Raw.
Lust
All or nothing
Below
Or average
Drowning
Priceless
But Worth something
Trust fall
Last seconds past hours
Claimed passion
Was it to be
Truth. Strong. Unity. In All
Chosen,
Never broken
Tainted poison.
A desired fear
Love.
We had it.
Together forever
We never broken
Living in dreams
Always forgotten
False reality
Lived daily
Memories.
Won't escape me
The fall
Best lived on repeat.
Love at the purest
After the miss me
Concrete swollen
Time worked
Loved.
Blessed
Nothing
We. us
Now
You
Dead
Tracks love train
Smashed and recapping
Gave borrowed love
Became
Ashamed
My secret
My sanity
the raw, the ecstasy
Mine.
You were.
Seconds became ours.
To
Past
Never forgetting
Despite all
The fall
Concrete swollen.