Garden Parkways

Her lids hung low
on her eyes as her
head vibrated gently
on the windowsill of
the bus gray steel
bringing us home from
other lives she shared
with me grafting me
onto her past
family, friends, lost
acquaintances reintroduced to her
through me old moments
and broken friendships
I dovetail into now
giving them to me and
me to them hungrily
we each devour
what was given gratefully.

Language

hair like graphite
drawn out into scribbled lines
of words dedicated to
long forgotten gods
a child’s handwriting
jumbled together
like discarded phrases
strewn across the floor only
to be reassembled into poetry
her hair is like language

Three Poems

#1
In the blue darkness she kisses me
her hair is everywhere like arms
embracing me as she kisses me again
like dew on my skin in the cold morning air
she kisses me and her lips have the scent
of newness of spring on the wind

#2
ice between each word of
affection and space and
hurt inside the love rejection
divides her heart and she
hides her pain in kisses
shirt stained with tears
for the one she misses who
only is just now learning to
miss her too.

#3
love both strengthens and
weakens us.
stronger now I stand
when faced with challenge
No longer alone do I face it
But less of steel than
of down am I, less
protected by my
armors. A well placed
word can bring me down
as quick as any king.
When before none could reach.
Yet stronger I feel, emboldened
to gaze upon the sun full
face, and openly
embrace my love.

Sweetness

Sweetness, good day.
imprisoned by your sickness.
Heal and escape.
I implore you.
My love, go
Indulge in confections
For lying ill
Shall pallid make you
And so thin and without
Roundness you become.
I pray for you
And your health.
My sweetness.

– based on A Une Damoyselle Malade by Clement Marot

This, an assignment from my Copyright class, is one of the essential elements to a student’s understanding of the complex nature of intellectual property law. Unfortunately, I have no idea how. Because my ability to create a derivative work is soooo vital to my ability to act on it in court. No really.

We Don’t Need Matching Pajamas

She snored. I watched
her take the night in
slowly and let it out in a
grunt, curled up tight
against the outside.
Her stomach empty this
evening, unfulfilled
by the books
and words and learning
she hungered for. She
craved thought more
than air, and in the
company of most men,
she damn near asphyxiated
from lack of both. And so
like the night she
exhaled I breathed her in.

Falun Dafa is Good

the futility of my resistance to the current state of affairs was making itself aware to me more and more with each newborn minute that this bloody meeting dragged on. I continuously fail to see why I must need be included in every discussion that is even tangentially related to that damned website, and why my fridays are a mush of nonsense, 2 hour lunches in the peeps room, and this 1+ hour block of time we mockingly (or at least for me, mockingly) call a “meeting.”

and in the pantheon of evil corporations, on the frieze up above the columns, add, next to the smiling face of mickey mouse and directly to the left of the bank of america logo, the computer-generated face of claire. that sprint pcs bitch. I don’t think I possess quite enough ire, enough pure bile, with which to fairly illustrate my hatred of sprint right now. their incompetence infested stores. service which can best be described as “can you hear me now? what? huh? @#&*! phone…” rude simpletons posing as gainfully employed workers. rip-offs and add-ons galore. its like a pyramid scam turned into a major corporation. and currently (and assuredly, for little longer) I am the scammee, and not the scammer. and I am so cool on that.

thoughts drift back to her. I know as I write these words I do so with the full knowledge she will devour every last one of them, though I am not clear as to what exactly I plan to gain out of this awareness, and my actions thereupon. she must know how I think of her, how my heart is hers, fully, completely, but even so she knows but does not know. thinks but does not believe it.

I am going home now. well, not now, as I am typing this, I am going to finish eating a few more slices of pizza, then I will pack my belongings and get moving like the wayward soul I am. for though I love her madly, I shall not be taken for granted. and that’s how I feel right now – completely taken for granted. its not important whether its true or not, its only important that I do feel that way. so its far better for me to take my happy black ass home, and be irate there, than to stay here and grow increasingly agitated and angry. yeah, I am hella sensitive, I know, but either you deal with it or you don’t. I think I just needed more than you were willing to give this evening. and I miss my own bed. my own walls. I wanted you to share them with me, but I don’t know, there are times I don’t want to have to remind you of our plans, when I don’t want to feel like the little kid tugging at his mama’s sleeve. “but you said…” so now its just me and comrade smirnoff. and we are making a go of it. maybe tomorrow night, you and I?

Jim

My great-great-grandmother, Mamie, lived up until my senior year of high school. For the length of the time we shared the earth, she lived in a house down on 21 with a man I have always known only as “Jim”, who I always assumed to be my great uncle. Mamie died in 1995, and following that, Jim lived by himself for a few years, moving from the rickety old vine infested shack the two had shared into a single-wide just adjacent, which was subsequently adjoined by a thicket of blackberry bushes, but soon age and illness took the better of him, and he moved in with my mother. Into my room.Cancer is the second leading cause of death in the United States. Half of all men and one-third of all women in the US will develop cancer during their lifetimes.American Cancer Society

I finally returned my mother’s call today, she says she was only just checking up on me, and saying hello…but my mother, bless her heart, has a preternatural ability to call when my chakras are out of balance. So small talk, bullshit, blah blah…and then she unleashes Cerebus. “Jim is going into surgery soon.” My reply: “Why?” Her’s: “Well, didn’t I tell you? They found out that Jim has cancer.”

My family breaks down into two classes of terminal illness. In this way, the two clans possess an inner order, through death, which they fail to achieve within their behaviors. My father’s side is Coronary Heart Disease (CHD). My mother’s kin is best known for the Big C. My grandmother, grandfather, great-grandmother, and great-grandfather all suffered its effects, and now, its getting Jim too.

Sorry to go on about it…I don’t, I mean, I can’t really think of what to say, or to do, other than write and get my feelings out of my system somehow. I guess I just need a friend right now. A companion other than this webpage.

Mastercharge…Bankamericard

Bank of America is the worst damn corporate entity in the free world. Yes, worse than Verizon. More evil than Disney. Also, slightly not as good as the Tic Tock liquor store in Hyattsville.

SHARPIES™

Sharpies™ are my favorite markers
Brown and blue and red and darker
They really are the best of pens
Thick or thin, it just depends
They’re permanent and oh so black
With a stench Crayolas™ lack
They scribble on near anything
They’re good for art, or doodling
Thank you Sanford™ for this gift
Your felt tip’s swell and nontoxic
And though they may seep through the page
Get a Sharpie™, they’re all the rage.

Shit Occurs When I Shift My Words

Gather round, all my children, and I will share with you these too-oft taught lessons of life, love and loss.

So have I learned…Keep your heart to yourself, guard it against all new would-be conquerors. Protected from the barbarians at the gates, you will come to no harm. Open these city walls to the invaders, and suffer at the hands of their cruel and senseless torments.

SWEET CLYDE, LAUGH DERISIVELY AT HIM

I sit in class, and failing to prepare, I write and write and write. And so I think, perhaps, this is the life for me, this is my direction, this is what I need to be doing. I only LOOK like I am taking notes, when instead I am crafting responses to Sadia, or composing some cliched poetry, or designing a webpage of some sort. Why again am I in law school?

PECADILLOES OR PARADIGMS?

Lo, a small, darkish nightingale lit upon my shoulder, and quietly, I heard what seemed a whistled message in my left ear. “I am hungry, feed me,” demanded the Bird, and so, being hungry myself, I understood this creature’s need, and proceeded to share all I had with it. And lustily did it devour my meal, every morsel and piece, even the crumbs, completely. Finishing that, the waifish warbler proceeded to gnaw upon my fingers as well and so, I drew back, fearful of becoming unable to pursue my chosen craft, and find my fortune, for lack of digits with which to grasp a pen and scribble my tired lines out each eve. Seeing the fear and hunger in my eyes, the Bird recoiled as well, and having fed so fully upon myself and my spread, and finding newfound strength welling up within itself, declared loudly, “Don’t be so self-centered, no one wanted to eat you, silly…and besides, I was never really all that hungry anyway. In fact, I wasn’t even talking to you.” And off it went.

For Sha

I think if patient I could be
a silent mouse
a quiet tree
if I could firm my mouth and shut
oh how happy we could be
but I cannot
my innermost still marshals on
to fight the war within and out
my solemn pump resists the day
the changing of the tides
the timid tremble of your tears
the treble of your lies
me. 11-19-2001

Of Life Through My Scripture

I was very intent on writing something else here; but venus overruled vulcan, and venus victrix decided it best to wait it out a few more hours, hear an explanation, and see where it goes from there. better to be mature than hasty. better to be deliberate than childish. or so one would like to think.side bar: bokeem woodbine is a horrifying actor. no jokes, no witty remarks. just absolutely terrible.

“Venus was the Roman equivalent of Aphrodite, the Greek love goddess. Venus was the daughter of Jupiter and Dione, although sometimes portayed as being created by Uranus from the foam of the sea at the moment of his death. As the goddess of love, she is the “queen of pleasure” and mother of the Roman people. She was married to Vulcan, the lame god of the forge, and mother of Cupid, Hymen, Priapus and Aeneas. It was Venus who recovered her son Aeneas’spear during his fight with the Italian champion Tumus, thus saving his life. Venus is also associated with her lover, Mars the god of war. Considered a nature goddess, associated with the arrival of spring. Venus is the bringer of joy to gods and humans.” [ed. note: quick, what sun signs are ruled by venus? and which by vulcan? muy muy interesante, si?]

“I’m heart-broke but I’m still loc’ed…” – Calvin Broadus

“Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;…
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.”

Sisyphean Soliloquy

…so I betrayed myself. I should have held out for longer, but could not. Weak-willed bastard that I was, my need to be near her superceded my desire for growth.with hair askew
wild-eyed star children
two more alike than not
sad eyes and soft kisses
soft skin and saddened heart
weak-willed with strong souls
depth of perception and understanding of others
damn near blind to the obvious
short-sighted in their need for

shit, I can’t even write anymore. its just not coming to me. my creativity is being drowned. gotta find a happy medium.

1st-4-Life and LDP

Distance equals space. As God requires space, God creates it. As children of God, we do the same, creating our space or our distance as required, either tangibly, in terms of feet or miles, or intangibly, in terms of aloofness and silence. This is our connection to the heavens, not a book, not words, not stained glass and gold leaf. Our abilities, to create life, to create death, to make light, to create space where there is none; these are our imitations of the divine.So the space increases. Distance to protect us. Emptiness dividing our individual fullness. Born of us.

Actus Reus

I think I am going to write a post every day from class (when I go, shhhh, don’t tell my professors, por favore) just to maintain the legal aspect of this lil’ journal o’ mine. So, in honor of this idea, let’s talk about criminal law. I am a second year law student, let’s begin with that. It is usually not the case that a second year student is in criminal law, as that is a first year course, but due to the unique circumstances surrounding both my first year and my particular law school, I was required to take criminal law not in my first year but in my second. As a second year student, I am blessed with what I consider to be a singular opportunity to peer through a window of sorts onto the in-class minds and experiences of the first year students. And frankly, I feel for them. This professor, while she seems both an intelligent and engaging sort, clearly has no feel for the pacing and method required to teach the course. We are never where we are supposed to be in the course, and additionally, we very rarely are given a clear understanding for the core ideas at the root of criminal law. I am not aware if she has ever taught before, I will be sure to do some research to find out, but if I were to guess, I would suppose the negative.

Ok, you know what? Maybe I won’t write a post every day from class. The whole idea sounds boring. And I don’t think I would write anything particular interesting, unless I get especially catty and start making snide personal comments about the people and characters in my classes. And I don’t think that is particularly wise, for a variety of reasons. So Imma chill, m’kay?

Except for the taxi driver guy in our class. That never gets old.

Like sunlight sitting next to me
Her attention fixed on the front
Glowing with her growing understanding
White shirt, violet scarf, blue jeans
Dark hair, brown eyes, black boots
These fail to capture the wonder of the sun
Rays, yellow, and round aren’t words enough
To circumscribe its awesome glory

Malcolm X & Hors D’oeurves

Professor is workin’ it today. He has talked now for 15 straight minutes, and I think I have written down a total of 7 words. He just said he is going to work on our syllabus today. Yes, you are correct, sir, it is 3 weeks into the semester. Nice to see him taking interest in his job.This is my second class of the day. The first was a fascinating study in sleep deprivation and gentle mockery as well. My classmate (one of my absolute favs, though if she is reading this, please inform her that I truly despise her. And she takes up too much desk space.) made mention of the fact that she had taken an opportunity to visit the site of yours truly (yes, this very page!) over the weekend. She felt like she was intruding or something, like she was spying on my life. And she was, in a way. So here is my word, once more. For friends and associates, you may just want to avoid this page all together. Why? Because you are destined to fail to understand the most basic of all things blogadocious – the phrase that pays: “Sometimes a post is just a post.” It doesn’t have to mean anything deeper than the author’s exercise of his or her own mental conditioning, stretching themselves, reaching for a greater understanding of their own abilities. In short, fiction, baby. Dig?

And even knowledge of this is still not enough to avoid the reflex. Natural response to any online vitriol: “Is [he/she] talking about me?” Maybe. Maybe not. But does it help or hinder your life one way or the other? [note to self: practice what you preach]

That said, I was thoroughly flattered that she even read my page. I don’t know who does or doesn’t, or even that anyone does or doesn’t. So if you can stand to be all up in my business, than please, read on, black woman, read on.

And as we say in poker, ante up.– Warner Lawson

There are more things between heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.– Willie Shakespeare

I am so damned lost in this class. I think I am a 3L a year too early, I already am chillin’ all semester and buying beaucoup study aids at the end, to learn the subject for the exam. Not good. Indiscriminate blogging during class isn’t exactly helping things. I am feelin’ a jones to create, baby. I gotta get this monkey off my back. Man with the Golden Arm, baby. My professor is illustrating complex legal issues with Shoe comic strips. Do we look that simple minded? And does my professor really read Shoe on the regular? Does anyone?

By the by, Monya, lookin’ good, darlin’, as always. Love that green shirt on you. Ciao.

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