Featured Writer: Political Mistress​

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Creative Talents Unleashed

Goodbye Was The Lie

Perhaps you already have enough

and my love is too much
like a noisy distraction
or an unwanted touch
so you’ve said
I must be mad to disbelieve
is it just my desire my imagination
my doubt and my dreams
my hope to survive hopelessness
or a faith which remains
stubborn despite
the unseen
the hunch
that gut level punch without nary
a contact between fist and stomach

unrevealed and secret
yet one swears
declares
testifies
the truth
of these ghosts in the mind
that one insists must exist
but the doctors drone on
airily dismiss
wave away
the mind’s impenetrability
irrationality
willful
quirks & tricks
when confronted with loss
with unendurable
shock at reality’s cruel
capriciousness

yet I see you
with sight unerringly precise
and I feel that rage inside that
you fail to conceal
(you’ve never successfully hidden much from me)
perhaps to some…

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Hallway Echoes at the Roadway Inn

into this life we come alone

to be fed upon myth of kin and kith and illusion of hearth and home

tis naught but a tale grown folk ought be too canny than believe

for still art thou alone comest daytime’s eve

tis no riddle, nor glass darkly if you would but see

the
heart
doth
beat
that
you
may
bleed

X Heart/X Mind

You have moved on
and now I can be free
so why should I miss you
when you don’t miss me
Still I am willing to bet
you block my letters
and turn your back

yet for all that you still don’t forget

I dream of peace
an to end the war
when we say to each other
”i am angry no more”
just to sigh and relax
finally be at ease
 becalmed as the waves
skimmed by a gentle breeze
upon the great silent sea
that separates you so far from me
and, finally, then  there will be no harm
to look back
to luxuriate in those old memories
 we’ve said goodbye
 and walked away
even if I don’t understand —
— if I didn’t want it to be that way
I can respect your choice
But perhaps one day
when we’ve grown and changed
we can talk about
why you chose to go away
so the love has gone
 still that is okay
but friendship is forever
if you cherish it that way
Because you were special
and we were friends first
and we laughed a lot
before the time of the hurts
love and memory and friendship
are like a fisherman’s giant net:
you cannot get free of
 what you cannot forget
it’s impossible to keep hating
because love is
far stronger
 than pride
which is why it’s so difficult
never to look back when saying goodbye
when you’ve caused pain and hurt to a friend
the sense memories remain
upon the flesh within
tho you wish to pretend
that turning your back means the end
and yet who
 can explain
why the mind
never ceases looking back
as if  hoping to meet up once more
with the past
 it was only a ruse designed to trick our hearts
that we said
”fuck you. forget you. you’re not my problem”
you were never a problem
you made me smile
in a world of tears

you were so worth the while

i tell you this
not for you to reply
only so you know that
still
you cross my mind
i miss you, my friend
i wish you well
but I have so many stories
that I want to  tell you
moving on means
telling someone else
but it’s never the same
as telling you yourself
be well, dear
i still miss you sometimes
 you once crossed my heart
and now
 forever crossing my mind

Grand Designs

I wandered away off the main road
into the meadows that turned into desert
but not so far that I couldn’t hear voices call
my name in curiosity then in worry then with
frantic impatience and fear
I wasn’t far but just distant enough to be alone
and then kept travelling til I was far far from home
I made a wrong turn despite better advice
despite knowing all too well that this
was dereliction and vice
but sometimes you have to journey
away beyond the rules and the familiar
voices you know
sometimes you have to chance that
faith and foolishness are united in design
all their own

Desert Heat and the Devil’s Whip

Sometimes you have that melancholy feeling
that you just can’t shake no matter how hard you try
and you fight it and try to run it away
You work your body hard fucking fighting then praying
“take this away, take it off of me Lord”
though you’ve never been observant of Him before
But the feeling has hold and won’t be denied
it’s the power that controls and you are merely
the animal it drives
whence you  know not
Yet you find yourself hundreds of miles
galaxies and millennia so far from home
the devil is riding you backwards
in speed and spite, no choice but to comply
the self that was you is
submerged into desert windstorms
the devil’s heat, perversity of the divine
and just enough stamina left physically
for your soul to unwillingly survive

Lone Soul

a lonely feeling spread
deep & wide
across my chest into my mind
holds my heart in a vise-like grip
squeezes a rhythm, a stuttering beat
pitches a high note of regret
that scars my sadness and pierces the flesh
an ache that sings in perfect time
if I could free me from
this emotionlessness
this numbness and doubt
I would escape myself
dash my body into the sea,
into the sky
into a universal emotion
and consciousness

where the spirits would float
and whisper to my soul
then I would disperse
like an atom
or a beam of starlight
or a shadowy mist

…and then I would become whole

 

On Trump

Trump is about to revisit a form of racism on black folks with 19th century realness and our white brothers and sisters have decided that’s perfectly okay. I’m over the delusion that Hillary can save us. Black and brown people are the sacrifical lambs of this election. We’ve been sold down the river again.

I don’t know if I can adequately explain how fearful it is in any era  to be  black or brown. The fear of America is something we live with daily but in my lifetime I’ve never seen such a collective nervous breakdown of the white mind to compare to this. We have always had to fear white people and even with the election of President Obama we’ve seen him accomodate the baser natures of haters over the love and hope of black folks whom he took for granted with shocking ease. The price of this democratic experiment has always been at the expense of every black or brown soul in this country.

For a brief eight years the myth of the post racial era has been the delusion of white liberals to the rage of white conservatives. When George W. Bush won the second time I was in shock but that doesn’t compare to the cold insidious nature of this election. This election was always Hillay’s to lose and with four days to go it appears she’s done it. I was never under illusion that she would be some gift to black folks because even Obama denied us the justice and compassion that was so needed to address the sins of the white fathers and brothers and sisters, but the horror I feel at the likely reign of President Trump is all encompassing.

The dirty secret of race in America is that black folk and brown folk  and white folk have never trusted one another and the proof exists in the superficial fabric deep through to the very soul of this country.

I dont think anyone in my generation has ever seen this kind of rank and overt distuption to the point that a majority of Americans have decided not to even pretend to  respect the polite eyes-averted semblance of mutual peace, that pretense of equality that we rely on to interact with one another.

If you don’t speak out against atrocity then you implicitly support it; if you voted for Trump you explicitly support it. The only power that we have is the power of our voices and the screaming is set to begin. Holla if you hear me and don’t stop. What do you have to lose he asked and the answer was always self evident; the least of the of those losses is that transparent film of (dis)trust because we know where we stand now if we never did: black folks were a subjugated people before and that’s where some feel we belong.

November UnTitled

You must learn to walk
the hard road
 while feet are bare,
over hot rocks
and cobblestone stairs.
 to kneel upon sand
for years at a stretch;
and, still the clock,
for you
will never learn love nor respect;
*
 you may catch your reflection
now if you’re swift,
and your shadow may dance
against the wall of what’s done
 just as we must learn
to wish all our wishes
into the sun
because fire is catching
in every way.
burn down the fear –
to absence-
a negative space-
filled by the lessons
hard-earned 
and spare
of hunger’s true strength 

Becoming a Soul Mistress: Black Women on a Journey out of Hell

More Thoughts on the maligned Angry Black Woman: From Self Destructor to Survivor

The next hurdle to be conquered  by  the much maligned  Angry Black Women can only be won by harnessing that passionate energy and directing one’s  intensity for creative and productive purpose. The passion is anger, pain, desperation, the unrequited love that we feel for our families, lovers, our country. Allowed to fester it is our greatest danger, our most dreaded enemy; if it is not re-directed in a positive fashion it can eat you alive. Witness already vulnerable  black women imperil themselves with excessive weight and food addictions, crippling depression and other untreated mental illness, as well as other chronic medical ailments like diabetes, heart disease, pelvic pain. Allowed to turn inward, that passion destroys the Self, and in the meantime it can make everyone around  that woman  miserable as well. 

The grief of watching mothers, sisters, wives, daughters killing themselves slowly by supping on anger is a familiar experience to black men and women.There is a great well of power within black women who are the most expert survivors in American culture. But we are experts in suicidal behavior as well, which is what swallowed pain, anger and despair amounts to. If we look at some of the great icons of black creativity  like  Ntozake Shange, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Iyanla Vanzant, Oprah, Michelle Obama we see women who  have grappled with these issues of self destructiveness in their personal lives, but they have managed to harness some of that energy into positive  creativity via art, writing, spirituality and social outreach. These roads of creativity are the ultimate saviours, saving us from ourselves.

What is the quick and easy way to analyze one’s anger, to change it into productivity?

Is there a formula for this? In short: NO there is no formula, there is no EASY way to positivity and productivity. Many women – myself included – are often taken to the brink of death before they learn that in order to survive the only choice in life is change.

And it is a terrifying journey, that Only Choice/ Change issue. It is a lonely journey. But the spirit improves over time. You develop greater strength, even when  the terrain becomes daunting the deeper you travel into  previously unexplored territory….

We,  the Angry Black Women, are seekers in the quest  for Validation. Acceptance. Success. Creativity. Spirituality. Safety. Security. Unconditional Love.We are seeking Peace. But the Truth that you must contend with before these gifts can ever be attained is that  only YOU are responsible for your own success or failure.

Those virtues are attainable. Yet, no one denies that the road is long and hard. Just the fight for stability in one’s life amidst the struggles with bills, under-employment at low wage jobs, student loans, and family responsibility threaten us with overwhelming despair in the face of one’s fragile and newly formed determination. These challenges are the  mundane  distractions, real and frustrating, difficulties that we all face.

But the first task in developing and strengthening that spiritual determination is a simple one: begin  each day in the soft quiet embrace of meditation. Focus in complete silence and get in touch with one’s soul. In this way you begin to take responsibility for your well being and discover the whys and wherefores of one’s  anger and other emotions as well. This is the essential first step. Prepare to be surprised continuously once you begin this journey. Make room for a new friend in your life; make room for the side of your Self  that you have never seen before.

The holy grail that you seek upon  this visionquest is  Peace. From the outside forces beyond our control. From racism and sexism. From ourselves. And we are seeking the comfort of that Self that we know exists inside though it has hidden itself away in fear.

This is the journey out of hell.

It is travel from the suicidal pact of self  destruction to the ultimate freedom that accompanies self- mastery. Every black woman who has experienced suffering –through racism, sexism, the demons of addiction, and the heartbreaking  routine of inane “work” which provides little income yet still denies one the opportunity of true expression — is on a journey.

Your final destination — like Alice’s trek across Wonderland to the Eighth Square —  ends at the place where you shall be crowned in majesty as the Soul Mistress of power and love that is inside. The gift is the return to Self.

What every black woman seeks is to become the Mistress of her own Fate and  Queen of her Soul.