Hex Code for Lonesome

Color me lonesome in pale and bold reds
then dip me in chocolate and take me to bed
I miss you when dreaming – breathing – awake
And I pine for you – melancholy –  all thru the day 
I am covetous & greedy craving your presence
   like  glow- tones pulsing violently iridescent 
I miss you even though I tried to think you away
Still the shade of longing is indescribably vague

Lament for a Stone Cold Lover

The first poem I ever wrote circa age 20

Sorrow came over and sat snug in my lap
Said he was staying and what did I think about that?
Wanted to know did I miss him while he was away?
Had I been faithful, had I protected his love, the punnany?
He rapped and he whispered his blues all night long.
He promised to hold me and never leave home.
And while he rocked into me I felt my heart growing cold.
His love felt so wrong that I feared for my soul.
Because now I know that Sorrow’s a thief
He’s a devilish-trickster and a-lying-ass cheat.
He got so cozy in my home, he thought he belonged.
But he has worn out his welcome and he needs to go on.
When I told him to leave, he laughed til he cried.
He opened his mouth and started his lies:
“You can’t evict me! You the one who invited me in!
Your triflin hospitality is a stone ugly sin.”
“I bet yo manners be polite and refined,
When you be hugged up to Love like he’s all divine!
I am hurt and offended by yo spite and yo hate
Which I have endured and suffered of late!”
Like always, Sorrow broke me down and down into tears
I was alone and empty, I was depressed and a’wearied .
To save my soul I had to act as I shall never regret:
Because I packed up my bags I stone cold left.
Because Sorrow’s a deceiver, a hustler and a thief.
He will rob your spirit and your joy,
your calm and your peace.
He would not go when I asked him to leave
So I left that curse of a man: I had to break free

Yet  I wonder did I hurt him when I left him alone?

Does he despise the tender heart he nearly turned into stone?
And, sometimes I am troubled in my new lover’s arms
Haunted by Doubt, Sorrow’s irresistible charm

These Things Which Are Mine to Keep

Love is
a dis-ease
in the blood
lies dormant
incubates & debilitates
the heart, muscle, nerves
mind, the dis-ease
it longs to roam
it desires to thrive
no cure
for this can be dispensed
by pharmacists and shrinks
yet the suffering
Increases:
longing, desperation, and thirst
Drink: poison
from a lover’s lipsWhispered secrets
-gently, gently-
the merest caress
(lies)
Soft, as a kiss
Sing, my foolishness
my delusion
my melody of weakness
of heart, of body
that craved & pined
for the poverty of your love, true

I was chasing my dragon;
I was mainlining you

Antidote Unknown
they say it is Time
the pain lingers, never lessens
throbs & whines
to an hysterical beat
late in the night
in wakefulness and fatigue
pulses and weeps
sighs, begs, calls
“come back to me”

Missing the pressure
of your love
pressed onto mine
your distance
your absence
in the night
my soul calling to yours
with panicked
cries

alleviate this sickness
kiss me again
as when you loved me before

the way you did back then

Afterward to your ghost
I plead
Just leave me.
Please let me rest.
Go away let me
be among the whispers
of the past
no matter
if they be perceptible
only to me

Here, amidst my treasures,
that I hold deep inside
where that broken love
so long bereft
lives on
in spite of your abandonment

This: my love: my deepest secret

These memories are mine,
these secret lover’s oaths
all have been breached
they are fractured, unhealed
in broken disrepair
yet to memory’s senses
fresh, still aware
these, too, are mine
they belong to me
to have
to hold
to obey
to cherish and keep

Sightless Doings in Flightless Nights

Times are strange. Everything is upside down. People will say to me “What are you doing now? What are you DOING?” in that way that suggests that if they don’t see the doings and if they don’t hear about the doings then you must exist in oblivion. I’m doing Life. All the crummy little details.Some  not so crummy but  of no interest or importance to anyone beyond myself or family. Sometimes you have to live life quietly out of the stratosphere. It gets scary to look up and think that all your friends are whizzing about Up There and you’re all by yourself Down Here on Earth Alone.

But then you start to notice the little things closer to you on the ground. There’s all kinds of things to learn. I get worried because there’s so much I want to know and learn and it seems that there’s so little time. And then sometimes I have this sense of intuition that says “Do this now. You’ll be too busy later.” Will I? What will I be doing Later? WHEN is Later? Why do things feel so lonely? Because you’re living and learning and doing, and those lessons and doings are for you alone. Lessons especially made for you and no one else. If someone doesn’t see you being taught it doesn’t mean you aren’t learning? Just because someone doesn’t see or appreciate your work doesn’t mean you didn’t do it. Just because you don’t FEEL as if you are flying doesn’t mean that you have no wings

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Evolution of a Superstar Lost in Orbit

READER’S NOTE: This is the introduction to a proposal for a book of women’s essays called The Vanity: Reflections that I conceived about a year ago. The idea is to collect the thoughts and stories of women still in the process of making their dreams come true. The essays would be written from the perspective of a woman seated at her vanity, looking into the three-way mirror of past, present and future. What do you see? What will come of all the labor, sorrows, hard work, unexpected joy and laughter along the way. I wrote this piece to a group of women whom I admire regarding my own journey. It serves as an invitation for women to submit their own personal essays for The Vanity, a project that I still hope to produce. Talk to me and tell me your story of life orbiting your personal sun.

INTRODUCTION TO THE VANITY

There are times in one’s life when it is only possible to look forward, then there times that one spends looking back and then there are strange episodes when one is compelled to look in both directions at once. It’s a curious vertiginous feeling, set with much turbulent emotion and most of all uncertainty.

 
When I conceived this project it was motivated by a desperate need inside me to call out and to hear voices answering back. I am in a stage of life that is foreign to me,

experiencing things that I never anticipated, that I feel inadequately prepared for. Most of all I feel entirely unequal to these tasks, which call for something, someone else, but certainly not me. imaginebyphoeberudomino

Nevertheless this is the hand I’ve been dealt and the road I must walk and the the shoes I am traveling in at present though they are pretty, dainty types. The kind that look stunning for a party lasting well into the night while swilling champagne. The fact is that right now I need work boots. There is much to be done and there is no one else for the task. For better or for worse I am the one who must do it. So enough of the bellyaching. Excuse me while I change. It’s best to start early and work hard particularly when you can’t be sure of what challenges you may encounter.

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Politrixie and I turned 40 years old last Saturday. I am no longer the young girl I can see so clearly in pictures and in my mind’s eye but I am far from old. The biological clock is definitely ringing….LOUDLY with great URGENCY but I have time. Time to create the family I want. Time to find a husband if that is my desire. Time to bear children and become a mother which is a deeply important role I wish to experience, the warmth of baby fat against my skin, seeing the physical features of a new soul that has been birthed through my own body.

But somehow I have reached a strange DETOUR in my life. I must have strayed from the main road without realizing it somewhere….back there. I ambled off the paved lit glamorous city streets in my sexy but tasteful pumps, and like Dorothy on her journey to Oz have found myself traveling a road quite unfamiliar to me in a pair of exceptionally unsuitable footwear. I know that when I began my journey, when I left home at the age of 18 for my dream city, for New York City where I would attend college and graduate I was heading in the direction toward…..well super-stardom of course.

No. Not as an actress or a performer (but aren’t we all performers in Life?) Certainly not as a reality star that new breed of celebrity that validates the narcissism of our culture since MTV’s “The Real World” premiered twenty some odd years ago. But I was a superstar to my family. A smart girl, an ambitious girl, a girl with the weight of her family expectations and her proud racial history preparing to unleash my intellectual talents on the world. After all I had always been taught that the World was MY oyster, and was I not a pearl in formation? So I was energetic and joyful, eager to please and ready to work hard to prove myself in order to earn the glorious fruits that can be materially gleaned from meretricious labor. Because that’s what happens to people who do a good job in life, is it not? You do your duty. You meet the sun each day and work hard at your chosen trade or profession and you are rewarded with a glorious life ever after.

In pursuit of that dream I graduated from college the class of 1999. In January of 2000 I proceeded starry-eyed to Washington DC in my new professional wardrobe and sensibly fashionable Salvatore Ferragamo heels. I was working on Capitol Hill to serve the lords of government. It was like all the beloved trash novels and romances I fed upon from the time I was eleven years old. I was a courtier at the end of the 20th century in the most powerful court of the world. President Clinton was King, and the nation was still rich and frivolously happy in its wealth unaware that in one year, on a single day, the world would change forever and everything that occurred before that fateful day would render a sepia toned nostalgia to that past.

The memories of my time in Washington DC are a whirlwind of parties that we lowly staff assistants attended in order to eat and drink for free because we were quite poorly paid. No one of importance bothered our class of staffers, we were insignificant. But there were a large number of insignificant individuals to have fun with all between the ages of 20 to 40. I realized on my third day of work that I would never make a politician, and my experience of that world during the outgoing year of President Clinton and the incoming of President George W Bush is one of disillusioned principles and deflated dreams where I was forced to accept the truths of power and money over the idealistic illusions of We the People.

So I moved on from the great royal court to a new setting. My father had instilled in me a sense of success that addicted me to high achievement in order to participate in the glittering circles that he esteemed. Washington DC’s courtier/politico lifestyle had been a part of that dream he had for me. Only one more stone needed to be set in the crown of glory, as he saw it, which is what lead me to the Ivy League. For a black woman, steeped in the history of my culture and knowing that these exclusive circles had always been far beyond the limitations set for even the most brilliant and wealthy individuals of my culture, it was the final gift of good-girl, obedient, meritorious achievements that I could give my father. I earned a Masters degree in 20th century American History.

It would seem that my road had been paved in gold. I had every key for entry into the hallowed and esteemed halls of that diaphanous and fickle thing we call Success. I was walking the best road attired in the best clothes, the best shoes, the most flawless jewels. Every honor that had been bestowed upon me, every reference who vouched for me, every THING declared that I was A+ person who deserved an A+ life.

Is that not the definition of a super-star? I was the great hope of my family who would firmly plant our lineage and future generations upon the exclusive planes and private roads that hide the best people from the ugliness of the worst lives. No poverty for me. No unemployment. I had never known want. I had been privileged in my growing up. And now I had earned every certificate of validation to guarantee that I would now be able to travel First Class because that’s how a star travels. Unfettered. Untroubled by the worries and meanness of the lives of the 99%.

I was going to live a super star’s life of comfort, luxury, beauty and gentility. Because I was an A+ person. I was among the rising glitterati of my generation. True I hadn’t yet settled into that life but I had every right to believe — based on what I had been told…by everyone….parents, teachers, preachers, friends, even strangers — I had every right to believe that the life I desired was mine for the taking.

And then….everything went wrong. Somewhere I strayed from the grid-mapped streets that were familiar to me. I wandered into a place with no streets at all. No signs declaring THIS WAY NEXT EXIT.

artist-karol-bak
Artist Karol Bak

I was alone. In the dark. Afraid. And it didn’t matter one bit what I was wearing because alone in the darkness the primeval fear that clutches your heart makes irrelevant your fashion or style sense. How the hell did I get so far from where I began? Could I ever find my way back? Or was I stranded here in this strange disorienting alien land forever?

Now I was being challenged with everything I knew. Being forced to learn new skills, apply unknown remedies to unfamiliar problems. But I learned. I adapted. I grew up and acquired skills, talents, and sense I had not reckoned on. But still I am lost and still I feel that I dont know where I am going nor where I will end up.

I could tell you in detail of the amazingly intense moment when I lost consciousness alone in my apartment in Philadelphia and nearly died. I could tell you how I have lost many family members to old age and cancer. My father died two years ago and I have learned for myself what my grandmother once warned me, that a woman with no father and no husband is a vulnerable woman.

I could tell you of how my mother was swindled and her life’s savings evaporated as if it never existed. The despair at selling the family home, yet so many more lost their homes foreclosure from disreputable banks. We were lucky enough to actually obtain our asking price. I could tell you of my dear mother’s suffering health from our severely reduced circumstances. I could tell you how I, Daddy’s little Princess, the super star, the One Who Would Succeed, learned of delirious hunger as hallucinations of exquisitely gorgeous chamber music played in my head and the colors danced across my eyes.

I could tell you of my mind as it was seduced by the euphoria and despair of bipolar disorder.

I could tell you of these things but the stories are not unique and the suffering I have experienced is little more than what more than 90% of the humans on this planet endure over a lifetime.

But as a young woman at the tail end of Generation X I cannot help but look around and wonder. Is this my hallucination? Am I the only one to be experiencing these soul wrenching changes of such unexpected violence. Nothing in my life has prepared me, the A+ student, for these tests. Besides being incapable of mind reading I cannot know of what other women are experiencing in these turbulent times. And there is the secret shame that many former superstars hold so vigilantly, they mask the shame and disappointment of not having obtained what they were told was THEIRS. SUCCESS was our possession even before we earned it, we were told.

And now I cannot help but wonder: What is Success? What has the Journey up to this point been for others? I am passionately committed to discovering what answers have been learned from all the other A+ students, the superstars, and wunderkinds that I have known.

Perhaps if we pool our knowledge we can find our way from the lost city and the roads that dead end….back into the light. Maybe we can find our way back home from this existential desolation. Maybe we can learn together and accept with gratitude the truths that the material world is fraught with danger and deception, but there are other beautiful and worthy fruits that nourish and complete the body, the mind and the soul.

So these are the thoughts and ideas that have pushed me into discussion with you. You are all women I admire and respect. I am reaching out from my darkness to listen to you. I wish to pool the tiny light I have with your own that we can create a bonfire of warmth and illumination.

Talk to me. Tell me your story now. Every story is a gem and our tales are the treasure that shines light upon our lives. Talk to me now. I’m listening.

I Can Do Bad All By Myself

You gave me very little and I said it was good
When you asked for much, I stole all that I could
Unbalanced affections never bothered me much
The smallest sip of love potion made me reeling drunk
And I never noticed the heaping portions I poured into your cup
Hardly addled your mind, barely swelled your emotionYou were the strongest moonshine making my head turn
But you never swooned for my love
My gaze never caused you to burnBy the time I recognized that my poverty was extreme
That your wealth was so great (just like your greed)
I was a beggar, on the streets, but you owned my life
Little enough good it has done for me and the storm inside me rages in strife
because possession, they say, is nine-tenths of the law

So I sold you my heart a 90% markdown on sale
And now that I see how rich and fat you’ve grown from my love
A freezing in my veins and desire is deadened and numbed
When here I am poor and cold
I don’t want you or need you

I’m cold to the bone because I can do bad all by myself, all alone

Occupation of Nihilistic Spaces

Occupation of nihilistic spaces
deadens naivete and births the jaded
kills cool judgement, revives outrages
chaos reigns when order is betrayed
where once pulsed joy without pain
soon failed, gave way
so the demise of order swayed and madness freed
atmosphere rife with confusion and panic and nightmare dreams
hope faith and love were soon allayed
cometh now the darkness
the hunger
want of peace want of light
for want of action to stop the madness the multitudes knelt and prayed

Image: Dream Theory by Archan Nair

 

 

Signs & Language

Just as a ship to water is bound to current, wave and tide
as a nimbus cloud is painted upon shell pink sky
my heart beats with my flesh and my blood
it cleaves to love
it cleaves to loveYet when an echoing heart answers
endeavors to make its own love
nature’s aphrodisiacs fueling passion
in a selective rhythm beat and rhyme
inherent to the soul that becomes like one
to which two inseparable bodies are tied
the space for love exists beyond, outside
reason & space & time
thus emotion conquers and translates to code
precious and sacred murmurs,
of hurts and thrills, of pleasure and pain, and the meaning of each sigh
is a language all their own,
a complete world of understanding manifested in unique & secret signs                        communication conducted in a perfection of                                                                                   silence transmitted by lovers’ eyes

Shade Samurai Girl Knight of the Mind

Shade Ninja I am called
dark, comely
Daughter of Night, Mother of Fall
by sword I bring dawn
by dusk they go on
by this blade I live life
by the blood I have drawn
I answer to the name Shade
Dark Side of the Son
I have read you
I have bled you
And now I have won
In semidarkness and undertone
I come in silence
as a spectre and a phantasm
a sabre with flechettes’ keenness
and sharpness of wit
thusly, I protect and I serve
do me no wrong,
you shall remain unharmed
the commands of Justice
the demands of Vigilantes
the codes of the Shadow World and its laws
I obey
I surrender
I am Danger’s reddest embers
with my steel I remind
by sharpest edge I remember
Duty
Passion
Blood Drawn in Winter
I am the Shade Samurai
Girl Knight of the Mind
through penetrating Darkness
I seek and I find