(CLASSIC black love moment! Darius sums up the immediacy of love, in such adept words, i had to post this..even though it's grimy as all hell, but still, enjoy!)

Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.
~John Quincy Adams

John Adams had a point. patience and perseverance have the ability to change things in many, wonderful ways...but damn if it doesn't take forever!

today i saw beloved, and it took lots of patience, perseverance, and money to make this extremely short trip happen. you see, they had a festival today, which is sort of like a family picnic. it's the one time out of the whole year you can actually be outside, experience the sun, hold hands, and stroll around like teenagers, albeit, within limits. but it's a nice and welcomed change from having to sit knee to knee, across a table in a crowded visiting room.

the festival was cool, the sky was blue, clear and God held back the rain, but the sheer amount of time took for the COs to process us and drive us 100 feet inside the prison walls was RIDICULOUS! if i were new to this whole prison thing, and had a bad attitude, i would have been in trouble. but whenever you're dealing with the Department of Corrections, you already know your time isn't your own. you operate on their time, when they want to move, and when they see fit to allow you to reconnect with your loved ones. it sucks, but it is what you have to deal with to get to the good parts.

coming east always feels like home. even though i'm not a huge fan of upstate NY (i'm bored!), the change is welcomed. one of my favorite things is that you hear new songs on the radio. maybe it's because i've pretty much abandoned LA's urban radio stations for my iPod & NPR, but there are a lot of good songs i've been missing out one. one that i'm LOVING right now is Jazmine Sullivan's "I Need You Bad."



this song is takes me back to when beloved and i first got together. the VERY magical days when we couldn't get enough of each other. soon after i moved to NY, he invited me to a reception for one of his family's friends. it was a muggy, august night in Jamaica, Queens and it was one of the best parties i've been to. beloved is jamaican, so each party is complete with DJ and lots and lots of drinks. the vibe was so lovely, i remember getting tispy, and dancing real close to my man. i remember thinking life couldn't get much better than this: surrounded by the possibilities of a new city, deeply entrenched in the first stages of love, giddy-all-you-can-think-about-is-him-love, and in this backyard dancing to Sizzla and Sean Paul. this song single handedly brings back all of those memories. the music, the riddim feels like an old Marley tune, her voice sounds like Lauren when she fell in love with Rohan. the vibe is there. i played it for beloved when he called and he flipped. he loves it too, it reminds him of me, and him, and home. we both can't wait to get home, wherever that may be and just LIVE.

i pray your weekend is blessed.

if you have been reading this blog for a while, y'all already know how i feel about Nas. If not, read this, then let me know your thoughts about the vid.

i'm looking forward to the conversations we'll spark off this.

because i had to do it again...enjoy.

Gabcast! This Side of the Wall: Notes from The Prisoner's Wife #3 - Story Tellin: Grinding

the first part of a short story i am working on, entitled "Grinding."







excerpt from "Women Who Write Too Much" by bell hooks.

There are writers who write for fame. And there are writers who write because we need to make sense of the world we live in; writing is a way to clarify, to interpret, to reinvent. We may want our work to be recognized, but that is not the reason we write. We do not write because we must; we always have choice. We write because language is the way we keep a hold on life. With words we experience our deepest understandings of what it means to be intimate. We communicate to connect, to know community. Even though writing is a solitary act, when I sit with words that I trust will be read by someone, I know that I can never be truly alone. There is always someone who waits for words, eager to embrace them and holding them close.

I'm reminded of my first crush
the wobble in my knees, first touch
summer love ice cream cone
nights shared with you
nights spent alone
butterflies, first love
sweaty palms embracing a first hug
I'm moved to say in thought of you
I can't imagine living life without you

~Dwele "Without You"

(this song PERFECTLY describes the feeling i had in the summer of 03 when we met. i couldn't play this song enough. it still makes me giddy when i think of us & this song)

beloved and i have hit a wall.

the uncomfortable feeling of routine has washed over us. our conversations as of late have all consisted of the same things: i love yous, how are yous, how's the baby?, i can't wait to see you. silence. ummm. did you watch the game? silence. ummm. i miss you.

i can tell he's getting worried. the other day he wondered aloud if we were gonna make it, if this is all there is in relation to our conversations.

i reminded him that talking is overrated.

i mean, we talk. we have deep conversations where we spill our deepest feelings, we write them down in letter upon letter, but really...does this happen to "normal" couples everyday? methinks not. i think most people don't spend days or even 15 minutes at a time talking about their feelings. we are not new to each other. we have lived together for years, been together nearly 5, and we are to the point where we are just...familiar with everything. i tried to assure him, and myself, that life gets like this sometime. we can't possibly hold super deep conversations every day. no one does that. we talk about our son, ourselves, work, writing, whatever. that's normal. that is life.

i know all of this wonder & uncertainty comes from the fact that he isn't here. i reminded him that we didn't have long, heart-felt daily conversations when he was home. we mostly enjoyed just being WITH each other, and that is the thing we are missing right now. curling up on the couch, watching a movie, taking a walk, going to dinner, or playing video games. we are missing out on all of the non-verbal conversations we used to take for granted, and it is now worrying him. i try to assure him (and myself) things will snap back to normal when he comes home, but who can really be sure?

I am not a revolutionary.

I am not uber militant about affecting social change. I usually express my action through voting, and getting others to join a cause. But tomorrow…I will take it to the streets.

My state is broke, as are most states in this county. My governor, The Terminator, has proposed nearly $4.3 Billion, with a capital B, in budget cuts to education. This proposed cut will CRIPPLE many districts, including my own, the 2nd largest in the district in the country. My district, LAUSD, is facing a reduction of approximately $377 million in state aid, which translates into new teachers, like me, being cut.

So tomorrow, I will give up an hour’s pay for the kids of LA & walkout of my classroom to show the governor that this shit won’t fly. I will stand and picket. I will pass out leaflets and I will make my tiny voice herd. My job is on the line. The jobs of my colleagues are all on the line. Hopefully the sheer size of my district will shield us from being cut, but you never know. Many of the smaller districts have already experienced drastic cuts to their teacher population. Districts from Northern to Southern California are having to cut anywhere from 300 to 1000 teachers, and some districts have even gone so far as to close down schools. We are living in extremely scary and uncertain times.

I have been trying to imagine what a normal classroom would look like with 1000 fewer teachers. Will there be 35 or 40 students to a class? Will there be more?

No matter what side of the political fence you sit on, I think we can all agree that cutting the budget for education hurts our kids. We don’t need more prisons, we need more schools. We need more dedicated teachers who work hard & give it all they’ve got to make sure our kids become successful, responsible adults.

Can you did that?

so i guess this means...

i'm completely VAIN lol. but seriously, here is your opportunity to put a voice to the words.

Gabcast! This Side of the Wall: Notes from The Prisoner's Wife #1 - Welcome

sharing poems, random thoughts, and giving shout outs!

it's funny how fast bad news spreads. yesterday was a testament to the swiftness of news. yesterday i learned that one of my best friends from childhood lost her mother. i was completely SHOCKED! this woman is someone i've known all my life. i grew up appreciating her humor, her warmth, and her love. when i was a youngster and COMPLETELY attached to my mother's hip, her house was the ONLY one i'd dare to spend the night at. i am still in shock. she is, or i guess was, younger than my own mother which brings up so many thoughts of how i'd feel if i'd lost my own mother.

the news traveled fast. a friend called me at about 4:22pm to say our friend’s mom had passed. she had only passed the hour before. i called brooklyn to tell my our other friend (who grew up with us), she called her mom in long beach, and through a series of calls and text messages (crazy, right?) we were able to piece together the story of her ending. i don't really know what to say. i have NO idea what to say to my friend. i am not even equipped to deal with this...like...i have no words. what would i want to hear? (nothing). "i'm sorry for your loss," just seems to hollow and unfamiliar. i will have to think & gather my thoughts and make that call.

it's crazy
how short
life really is

today i was challenged with loss again. a student that has been absent for a few days returned today, and i asked where she'd been. i was expecting something like..."i was sick," or "i was out of town," but instead she told me her dad died, unexpectedly in South Africa. again, i was faced with trying to gather the words to convey my utter hurt and concern for her. all i could muster was "oh no...i'm so sorry to hear that." i felt shitty because i couldn't be of more comfort. i felt horrible that i couldn't come up with something more personal…to say how much i wish she wasn't dealing with this at 13.

life is short. yesterday beloved's aunt asked me how i am dealing with the situation of him being away & me being a single mom. in light of the things my friend & my student are facing, this is a cakewalk. i am still alive, and beloved, although gone, will be home soon (insha'allah). this just gives me more reasons to pause and take in every single moment and enjoy LIFE. no matter what it brings, no matter the hard knocks and setbacks, i am still ALIVE. i am breathing and able to live and LOVE my people...that's all i really need.

(i actually liked the cover of this book because i have a strange affection for the A-train. i gave it a shot, but just couldn't get into it)

ok, i'll admit it....i'm a book snob...and i'm tired.

last night, before heading to the grocery store, i stopped off at Borders to pick up a few Curious George books for the munchkin. i used to love going to Borders and browsing for hours. it was nothing to find me there on a saturday night perusing the african-american lit section looking for good reads. you see, unlike the old saying, i DO judge a book by its cover.

when i'm trying to find something to read, i don't run to the NY or LA Times book section to see the bestsellers list, i browse. i pick up books, check out the cover to make sure it is devoid of all cheese, then flip it over and read the back jacket. if it seems interesting enough, i'll crack it open and read a few pages. many books have found their way to my bookshelf via this shallow-yet-effective method. Waiting in Vain, Blues Dancing, and Black Girl in Paris all managed to past the test and become some of my favs, but these days i'm finding it hard (very, very hard) to find a book that even warrants a second look.

i used to love the African-American Literature section. i always preferred Borders over B&N because they (Borders) segregated their books. they made it easy for me to get to the books that i REALLY wanted to read. books filled with interesting, colored characters that looked like me. books that transported me outside of LA, outside of my home, and my life. books filled with intelligent, upwardly mobile black folks with STORIES to tell. i loved that. loved how i'd get lost in a book for days, always trying to get the picture of the characters in my head. but today, every time i browse the Afro-American Lit section all i see are hood novels.

now, i'm all for black people reading, and i don't knock anyone's (legal) hustle, but damn...how many more sexually explicit, violent, and baby-mama-drama books can possibly be written? i remember when i first moved to Harlem and i'd see people on 125th St. pushing self-published books for $5. i admired their drive. as a writer that longs to be published, i understood and appreciated their hustle. i'd see people on the A train reading books with titles like Around the Way Girls and B'more Careful and i'd think...wow...look at all these black folks READING! it was a site to see. but now, as the hood lit section has swallowed the African-American Literary Fiction section WHOLE, i am dismayed.

sometimes i ask myself, am i just a hater? have all of my years of reading, writing, and analyzing literature turned me into a bourgeoisie reader, out of touch with my own community? or do i just expect more...more from my books, my literary brethren, my people?

whatever the case may be, i'm tired of the book section looking like a in-print version of BET Unkut.

(and this is how i spent my memorial day. the munchkin & i headed to the beach...he isn't too keen on the waves, but LOVED playing in the sand!)

i knew it had to come to an end, but who knew the weekend would feel so short?

a MILLION thanks to all of you to left bday wishes & shout outs, those that sent up prayers, and my sista-friend, Xtina who sent me WONDERFUL a gift! my bday weekend is officially over, but i thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. i have eaten out more times than. even i. can deal with, i danced the night away to some SOULful music, and i got to wrap it all up at the beach. this weekend has been truly magical & it just makes me look forward to all that the summer will bring. i can't wait!


(Chrisette tearing up the stage!)

the concert was LOVELY y'all. although i was VERY excited to see Raheem Devaughn, the show-stopper was my girl, Chrisette Michele! this girl is FIERCE! she reminds me of a younger Jill Scott. her voice, her stage presence, her thick-girl swag...it was pure story-telling in action. she COMPLETELY outshined Raheem & my friends and I felt like even if he hadn't stepped on the stage, we got out money's worth! if she comes to your city....RUN to see her! it's THAT serious.


(Raheem Devaughn...tryna look all sexual chocolate! lol)

speaking of Raheem, he was pretty good too, but...i felt something lacking. perhaps it was because of the fact that ALL of the songs he performed dealt with love-making and he proceeded to gyrate, grind, and hump the floor (ala Sir Bobby Brown). plus...he's just NOT attractive (to me). brotha better be glad he can croon, cuz had he have been average joe # 2...he'd get NO play from the ladies. the whole time he was singing i was distracted by his shiny ass lips & aviator glasses. i know i sound shallow, but yeah. i was glad he did my songs, "You" & "Guess Who Loves You More."

can you tell i had a good time? beloved called and called and called & sent me two BEAUTIFUL cards! i got some ends, and treated myself to a mani & pedi. i dances, i drank, and i relaxed. the weekend was full and fulfilling, and i am SO thankful for making it another year!

how was your weekend, y'all? was it as good as mine? *smile*

bless

buy me a drink, pin some bday dollars to my shirt, dedicate a song to me...let's have FUN cuz it's my birthday!




(i'm not a fanatical beyonce fan, but i'm LOVING this song lately. it gets me through my workouts and it always makes me shake a little something and dance.)

ahhhh...another year older, and hopefully wiser. i look back on this year as another tough one, but one that has been full of life lessons. the biggest lesson i think God has taught me (and continues to teach me) is the virtue of patience. i have always been a fairly impatient person. i want what i want when i want it (read: now!). however, being a mother to a 2-year old who also has his own brand of impatience has taught me to relax and be patient. my professional life has also taught me to chill. there are days i want to pull my hair out, shake a kid or scream on an unruly student, but that would only lead to the weave shop & unemployment line so i'm forced to remain even tempered and take things in stride. and y'all already know my relationship screams PATIENCE! i want beloved to spend this long, bday weekend with me...but unfortunately it is not so...

here i am, taking in all the lessons, wisdom, and blessings that have been bestowed upon me this year. i am so thankful for making it this far. thankful for my 28 years. i embrace getting older & look forward to all that i will experience in life. i pray i have decades left to go, see, and accomplish EVERYTHING in my heart.

so come...celebrate with me. turn up your speakers, play your favorite songs, do a little dance, light your best smelling candles, have some chocolate and just have a good time with me.



(i can't wait to hear this song tonight. i'm going to try to make my way {*ehem* elbow} to the front of the stage when he sings this. i will imagine that he's singing to ME.)

as i mentioned in the last post, i've been experiencing a bad case of the blahs. i haven't been in a funk, really, but i have just been feeling out of sorts and disconnected from everything and everyone. but all that is starting to change. my birthday is tomorrow & perhaps its coming has given me a new burst of energy. i've never really made a huge deal out of my birthday. i can't even remember ever having a birthday party, and that's alright with me...but approaching 30 (ok, 28) has sorta lit another fire, or at least a spark, in me.

a few things have been pulling me out of the funk.

1. Podfitness: i've been waking up a bit after 5am to workout & it's been great. it's given me the energy BURST i need not to dread going to work. i've felt more purposeful & not so lethargic in the mornings.

2. Homemade Smoothies: i've never been huge on breakfast, but getting/eating healthier means i HAVE to eat breakfast. my smoothie concoctations have been a wonderful (and tasty!) addition to my morning routine.

3. My 'Fro: ok folks, i'm bout to sound a little self-absorbed, but my afro is fuckin FABULOUS! it's huge! my friend cornrowed the front Tuesday night & it looks so regal. i think i've found a new summer style! my hair has always been a bit of a challenge, especially since i went natural. it's SUPER thick, and has so many textures, but i'm finanally getting into a good hair groove & it's wonderful.

4. My Kid is COMEDY!: so my son has quickly made the chage from a silent kid, to a little chatter box. he cracks me up SO much & i'm so happy he's finally letting the words flow.

5. 3-Day Weekend: I am SO looking forward to this weekend. Although I didn't make it out to see beloved, i do plan on enjoying myself. tomorrow night (my bday) i'm going to see Raheem DeVaughn perform & have dinner with some friends. Saturday I am planning to get a mani & pedi and perhaps do dinner with the fam. Sunday is church and______________? and Monday, i will just enjoy relaxing.


so what's up with you guys? i feel as though we haven't connected in SO long. let me know what's going on, what y'all chattin' bout on your blogs, plans for the long weekend.

peace

i'm here, i sware. i have just been in a constant state of blah. don't ask me what's wrong, becasuse i'm not sure if anything IS wrong. i just haven't been in the mood to write...anything. and i've barely been online. i guess such is life.

i have noticed that more people are stopping by, so i guess that means i should force myself to write, because i DO (really, really do) appreciate the reads, and i love sharing words, but i just haven't been feeling like me lately.

i have a birthday coming (the 23rd), so hopefully i'll pull myself out of this funk before then. but all in all...i'm good. i am having a pretty easy work week (thank God for state testing!!), and the weather has turned SUPER hot.

how are you guys? i pray you are well. anything fun planned for the weekend?

Freddie Lee



5 am. Surrounded in silence, he bathes.
thinking of all the things he can do. he
lathers, shaves, and drenches himself
in Obsession. the burgundy Olds
is spotless and it’s time.

seventy-one years have not slowed his pace.
he still speeds like a man of twenty-three
barely stopping at lights and signs, never
failing to honk at those who drive too slow.

He drives everywhere. exhaling Benson & Hedges
going to airports, and banks, and hospitals, praying
with the sick, delivering communion, rummaging
junkyards for new mirrors, and it’s amazing
how much gas he burns each week.

Granddaddy never sits still
unless it is to listen to Chick Hearn call the game
or watch John Wayne ride into the sunset,
victorious, having conquered a world,
my grandfather has never seen.

(c) me. 2003

~~~~

my grandfather passed away the summer i moved to New York, a day after his 74th birthday. my mother and I were actually in NY at the time trying to find me an apartment. he had been struggling with brain cancer for most of that year. his decline was startling. he went from a vibrant 73 year old man who still preached, served communion, and drove all over the city for God knows what, to a man barely able to feed himself. i hated to visit him in the hospital. not because i didn't love my granddaddy, but because i couldn't bare to see him like that.

my granddaddy loved the lakers. love to hear Chick Hearn call the game & wrap their win up in jiggling jello and hardened butter. we would watch together and argue over Eldin & Vlade. we would watch as Robert Horry would will us to win with yet another clutch three pointer. we watched as Kobe & Shaq embraced after they brought the crown back to LA where it should have stayed all along. and we watched as three parades marched through downtown, signaling victory.

it's coming up to the 5th anniversary my granddaddy has been gone. and the lakers have gone through many changes since them. they've lost, Shaq left, they gave us some hope, only to lose again, but now they are back on top. as i watch them today, i am still proud. still a diehard laker fan, but i can't help but feel a bit of emptiness. my granddaddy would love this. he would love the new players & the excitement they bring. he would love how Kobe has finally begun to share the ball. and he would love that they are on top. i hope they go all the way this year...not just for our city, and the fans, but for my granddaddy. it's been far too long.

last night we had open house at our school. typically open house is a time when teachers display all of the creative/excellent projects students have completed throughout the semester. in honor of open house & in honor of National Poetry Month, my students created poetry collages. before open house began i hung them all outside of my classroom under the heading, "Every Child Is A Poet," which is the title of the Piri Thomas documentary.

because I am sharing poems this month, i'm going to share a few of my students' work. i hope you enjoy them as much as i did.

ps--for all images, click on them for a lager view.


"looking for love"


"king of love"



"my los angeles"


"anywhere but home"


"school"

dear student
(an apology)

and it's not your fault
fucked up and thirteen
i mistook your pain
as attitude misread you
and flashed righteous like
you should know better

we did not get it
raised voices spit
pain and accusations
in mixed-up directions

but it's not your fault
you didn't know
i expected so much
wanted you to carry us
deep into the future
wanted you to live
for all those that could not

instead of telling you
about your genius      again
i told you to leave
and not come back
until you know how to act

(c) me. 2008

~~~~~

my mind is racing. i just finished watching, "A Live Conversation on Race" on MSNBC and i am feeling so...conflicted. i am trying very hard to unpack all that was discussed: the effects of slavery, the doll test, systemic racism. my heart and my head are heavy. this round table discussion made me feel like i was misreading my students & not quite meeting their needs.

you see, today was one of those days. i'm usually a patient person, i don't do very much yelling in my classroom, i try to deal with my students reasonably and with respect. but today *sigh* i flashed HARD on one of my students. she constantly annoys me with her actions and her choice to not meet her potential. she is very smart, but acts dumb to fit in. i can't stand that. i wish she were comfortable enough, wise enough to know that BEING SMART is a great thing. i wish she knew deep deep down to her core that dumbing herself down isn't cute. today she worked my nerve to no end & i told her that i didn't want to see her anymore until her momma came to talk to me. i said a few other things (no expletives tho), but i was SO hot. honestly, i wanted to slap some sense in to her, but the munchkin already has one parent locked up, so i'm cool. but as i think back, and as i think-through all of the conversations the panelists engaged this evening, i am a bit ashamed of myself.

my students struggle with a myriad of issues. i am a big advocate of personal responsibility, so i try to get them to take responsibility for their actions. but how can i expect my students to know right from wrong, to see the value and importance in education, and to see the absolute genius within themselves if no one ever tells them it is so? how can i try to convince them that they can accomplish the impossible if they live in a world that does not value black/brown genius? my kids are scared. they come from homes with absentee parents, and i suppose, they will take any ounce of attention they can get even if it's from a tired, worn-out teacher yelling at them. at least they know somehow hears them. someone cares?

i am still dealing with the conversations of tonight, but i felt i needed to apologize, even if only in poem form, to my student. on monday i will try to smooth it out, tell her why i was frustrated. it's not because i don't care, but rather it's precisely because i do. i'm human. we all fall short. i pray she is able to really hear & understand what i'm saying and that i'm coming from a place of love.

i went into teaching not really expecting to get emotionally involved. i'm pretty even tempered and nothing really stresses me out. but these kids, lawd, are a whole 'nother animal. each of them has become my own. i worry. i shake my head. i pray. i love. and hopefully, a few years from now they will be in a better place. hopefully they will be responsible adults. hopefully they will walk away from my class knowing that they are valuable, and someone cares.

The Healing Improvisation of Hair
by Jay Wright

If you undo your do you wóuld
be strange. Hair has been on my mind.
I used to lean in the doorway
and watch my stony woman wind
the copper through the black, and play
with my understanding, show me she cóuld
take a cup of river water,
and watch it shimmy, watch it change,
turn around and become ash bone.
Wind in the cottonwoods wakes me
to a day so thin its breastbone
shows, so paid out it shakes me free
of its blue dust. I will arrange
that river water, bottom juice.
I conjure my head in the stream
and ride with the silk feel of it
as my woman bathes me, and shaves
away the scorn, sponges the grit
of solitude from my skin, laves
the salt water of self-esteem
over my feathering body.
How like joy to come upon me
in remembering a head of hair
and the way water would caress
it, and stress beauty in the flair
and cut of the only witness
to my dance under sorrow's tree.
This swift darkness is spring's first hour.

I carried my life, like a stone,
in a ragged pocket, but I
had a true weaving song, a sly
way with rhythm, a healing tone.

~~~

(me, on the way to work.)


black women & hair is as complex as astrophysics, as deep as the atlantic ocean, and as contentious as discussing affirmative action. our hair, just as our bodies, have been agonized over, objectified, and gentrified to suit the needs of society.

even with all that surrounds us, we manage to do our 'do in countless ways & look FABULOUS in the process. my hair has been natural (sans relaxer) for some years now. i decided to stop relaxing my hair back in college, just to see how my natural texture felt. i'm not one of the militant ones that argue that ALL black women should just let their hair be. i feel like we are intelligent/complicated women. we should have the right to choose our hairstyle based on our personal tastes. i DO have a problem with those that ask, "why don't you get your hair pressed? it would be so cute!" as if my natural kinks ain't cute.

honey, i'm FLY. so i let it be.


anyway, i love this poem & i wanted to share it. bless!

untitled

our discourse ended
cut short by a synthesized voice
signaling the end. time never seems
to meander when we speak. it sprints.
running away from all the things we need
to say, as if it can only handle so much.

yesterday, the sun rose orange
and early and i pretended to wake you
kissing fingers to lips, whispering hello.
your early morning grunts overwhelm
my memory, filling me with a sense of longing

today is not starting out right.
you are not here. and you will not be
curled up inside me anytime soon.


(c) me. 2008
~~
i spoke to beloved yesterday for the first time in a week. he is...ok, all things considered. still having issues with the COs, so it looks as though i will have to move further into advocate mode. i am learning so much about what it truly means to be committed. i never thought this would be my life. even joked with him that i'd totally NOT stick by his side had he ever found himself on the wrong side of a prison, but life changes. five years, and a son later, this is our life....FOR NOW. *sigh*

last night i went to a party for the first time in YEARS. when i say party, i don't mean a gathering of boho types listening to jazz & reciting love jones quotes (oh, you know what i'm talkin bout!), i mean a Divine 9, KAPsi frat party. back in the day, my sands and i were ALWAYS at the center of attention at these parties. we strolled deep, (innocently) flirting with frat and just having a good time. last night officially sealed it: i'm old LOL. i didn't even know HALF of the new sorors who were there, and the Nupes...they were way more energetic than i remembered. i had a good time though. i was still able to keep up with the Neos, learned a few new strolls, and enjoyed seeing people i haven't seen in years.

how was your weekend?

& don't forget to share your poems in the comments section. shout out to LoveBabz & Stephen Bess for posting poems for National Poetry month!

5
____________________________________________________

by Wanda Coleman


there is no one here but me. from behind this glass
i see the guard's station. prisoners are watched
on TV monitors, a camera in each cell. if i move,
i see the wisp of my movement on the monitor.

i am here through no fault of my own as a result
of doing more for others than for myself. all the guards
are men. they can watch me undress and make my toilet.
they can watch me caress myself in my nightmares.

there is a pay phone in the prisoners' rec room
that does not take coins. communication is futile at worst,
faulty as best. i have learned that i am friendless.
no one has sympathy for me. i have learned
that misplaced trust can dismantle a life

as a result of this punishment, i have learned
it pays to be more selfish with desire.

memory divides me against the light

~~~~

i was browsing some of the books i own when i stumbled across this poem. it speaks to my life, beloved's life. i haven't heard from beloved in nearly a week. the last time we spoke was Saturday morning. he's been having some trouble. he's been depressed. he's being sort of harassed by the COs.

last we spoke, he told me they cut off his electricity and water. i suppose this is "normal" when they are trying to "make a point." you see, even in prison, beloved refuses to be treated as less than a man. i can understand. his situation is precarious. he doesn't want to jeopardize coming home, but he doesn't like being talked to any which way. he will speak up. he's filed complaints about his treatment, and that's just not something that's looked upon favorably.

the power dynamics within a prison are astonishing. it's amazing how people feel superior to you, simply because they have some authority. you can feel it in the visitor's room. you can feel it in the way they speak to us (visitors), the way they look at us suspiciously, as if we are guilty by association.

i hate visiting. i hate prison. i hate that this is our life. i want beloved home, like yesterday. i want our son to have his father. i want to cook dinner and go to movies and walk in the park like everyone else. i want so many things and it seems as if everything is put on pause...indefinitely.

Few times in my life have I been completely mesmerized.

In 1999 while channel surfing, I came across this man and his poem on the PBS documentary, “I’ll Make Me a World*”. Saul Stacey Williams completely blew me away. I had never HEARD a poem sound like that before. Never heard a man beat-box in the middle of a stanza. Never heard words strung so dangerously together. Never felt any energy like this from any poem, I’d ever read or studied. I was awestruck.

In an instant, my entire view of poetry changed. Until then, I thought emcees had all the fun. I thought they were the only ones aloud to ride beats with words, but Saul Williams switched up my whole thinking. Soon I began seeking more. Back then, we didn’t have you tube, but the Internet was just starting to be BIG (for me at least), so I searched and searched and found everything I could find that he wrote. Time after time I was blown away, and was sonned by his immense ability to pair word and emotion and my inability to mimic it.

Fueled by this newly discovered muse, I practiced. I wrote. I recited poems, and I found the courage to actually perform in front of groups of people. Until then, poetry was something I did privately. I did not share my words. I did not declare myself a poet. Until then I was stuck, conversing only with myself and my psyche, afraid to share my voice because I thought people wouldn’t get it.

But they did.

And here I am. A degreed writer. A blogger. A poet. I used to be afraid to call myself a writer. I never thought I was worthy of the title, as if writers were only those famous ones we’ve read in English class.

But I am
indeed a writer
living in papyrus
with pen and paper
always within reach

peace.



**If anyone knows how to get a copy of this series (I'll Make Me a World), PLEASE email me. theprisonerswife at gmail dot com. thanks

what is poetry? (when enough is too much)

breaking windows
with words, grinding
rough diamonds into amethyst rocks
trying too hard
to reach inside        thoughts
sweating themselves about how deep
they pretend to be       poets
trying to bottle them as butterflies.
when enough is too much,
who can be the judge?
what is and is not       art
pretending to be God
pretending to be man
where the divine
and the blasphemous
do lunch at Sylvia’s, arguing
who is more
in touch with the people.

(c) me. circa 2003. harlem, ny.
~~
poetry is something that many attempt to define, but rarely come close to doing. what is a poem, exactly? by definition it defies such confinements. even its strictest forms allow the poet room to play and push the envelope.

this year has been my first year teaching creative writing, and as a poet, it's been an interesting experience. teaching writing, of any kind, is a bit trying. i am a natural writer (did i just type that OUT LOUD?). i can hear things others do not. i know when a line, a sentence, an essay is right because it SOUNDS right, and that fine-tuned ear is not really easy to explain to others less familiar with the rhythm of words. this semester i've been teaching my kids about poems. all kinds of poems. yesterday, we explored limericks (they had a good time trying to write those). prior to that it was the sonnet, the tanka, and the villanelle. in working with the kids, the thing that i consistently notice is that they either LOVE writing poems, or they are completely frustrated because they "are not good at writing poems," whatever that really means. when my students hit roadblocks and start to psyche themselves out, i try to tell them to relax and not think so much. over-thinking it has been the death of many a poem for me, so i know it must be killer to them. they come to class with their preconceived notions of poetry: it MUST rhyme, it has to have short (or long) lines, it's really, really hard to write. it is my job to help set them free.

writing for me is like...breathing (or fighting, or fucking, or living, or_________). it is a means to express all the things i wished i had the courage to say to people's faces. it gives me a voice, power, agency. it affords me room to live outside of the world i see everyday. for my students, i want them to see the power they have within to create. at 13, many of them are dealing with SO many issues i never thought of back then. they need an outlet, other than older boys or their neighborhood corners. they needs this (words) more than they actually know.

as readers, what do words, and specifically poems mean to you?

April is National Poetry Month, and as a poet, i'd be remiss if i did not acknowledge & celebrate it. over the course of the next month i will share some of my favorite poems by my favorite poets, dig into my own poetry crates, and maybe write a little something new.

i encourage you
to do the same.
   c'mon
share with me.