feline adventures

ok. so i got a kitten monday. after years of petlessness, he's a joy. and i've never raised one on my own, so that's fun, too.

his name is oludare (o-loo-dar-ray). it means "god has judged me right/innocent". he was part of an unwanted litter, so i figure his life could have been much worse.

he is cute, affectionate, playful, and fully housetrained (without much help from me, thank u very much...i just showed him where to go, and he went. i was skeptical about that cat-claim, but it's true, ladies & gents).

he is my first cat.

he also wakes me up at 2am.

if you've never had the distinct pleasure of being awakened by something non-human tugging at your hair, you should try it sometime.

it was also fun having him think that there was some toy under the covers when i rolled over. he pounced on my backside a few times.

the little nose between my shoulderblades was kinda cute, tho.

i sprayed him with water, picked him up and put him in his bed (which he hasn't touched...probably due to the heat), all to no avail. he just kept coming back for more.

he didn't even realize he could reach the bed until yesterday.

in an effort to keep him off at least most of the time, i close my bedroom door when i leave for work in the mornings.

see, my dog used to rotate. one night in my parents' room, one night in mine, another in my brother's, and so on.

i am the lone provider for this little sweetheart.

it'd be fine if he just slept...

but i'm happy he's there.

when i got this email about a 10-yr old kenyan girl and her baby the other day, i thought it was a joke. but after a quick google, i've found that it's not.

i understand that motherhood in africa is and has always been revered and held in the highest esteem, as it should be in all places.

however, as the blogger said:

...Gladys is still a primary school girl who must stay in school. That means that she will be a better mother for her young infant if Gladys herself is allowed to GROW UP FIRST to be a WOMAN who has an education that can enable her to live an independent and dignified life.

i am not one to inflict my mores on the cultures of others. but 10 years old, menstruation or not, is a BABY.

from another angle...14-16 year olds are still quite young, but i would think it's more likely that they some say in who they chose as a partner. not to mention being more physically ready for childbirth.

those 4-6 years make a big difference.

may the ancestors protect and shield these children from any more pain.

a sort of solidarity

you know, folks wanna talk shit about women like her, but no one is born doing what she did to get by.

honestly? i could have wound up where she is. after reading a little about her background, there wasn't much need to go farther. or pass judgement. i could see what was coming.

many women have been bumped and bruised far too early in life. we carry scars we can't show and don't know how to talk about. result: a need for love, acceptance and validation, often expressed by usin what you've got to get what you want.

i often say that, had i not had the parents, family, and friends i did, my life could have taken a far different route. fortunately i was able to find myself in a overwhelmingly healthy, productive way.

but a lot of us are only one relationship or left turn away...

i don't envy her struggles or the karma she's built up over the years. but i understand her--at least to a point.

will i be buying her book? no.

but i support her struggle to redeem her womanhood.

sapphire does an excellent job of describing the fallout without the name dropping glitz.

karrine & sapphire are rather extreme sides of the same coin...but there are plenty of us who fall somewhere in the middle.

a little something from last year

it's been twilight all day.
shades of gray and shadowy breezes
threaten what little sunlight
dares to show

i feel
liquid cement walls closing in
if i try to swim out
i’ll stick
suffocate slowly
become a permanent part
of the landscape

this isn’t
of my making

scribbling rushed poems
out of an overworked hand
slivers of pain
racing down my arm
warning against my attempt
to stifle sacred transmission

phone calls and bills
forced to wait
while i institutionalize myself
with linguistic nurses and
verbal doctors
lingering in the base of my spine
making knots for my lover
to untie
but he can’t get here often enough

i fall back into myself
my dreams the staircase
i tumble down

times are hard
creativity is harder

master who
won’t stay out of my quarters
mistress who
never spares the whip

nothing i do pleases
sates
contents
i never even get a smile
just more work
more messages
more words

(c) 2005 l.a.m.

spirit notes

you know, since i've put up my altar, interesting things have been happening.

for one, an outlet in my mother's house that has NEVER worked started working a little while after i restructured my altar space.

i've also been running into people i never see and really don't have much to say to...one is my father's sister. i'm sure i've mentioned before that i don't deal with my dad's side of the family much, although i look a lot like them. running into my aunt has been....surreal at best. i pass her house daily going to work, and i live maybe 10 minutes from her. but i've never run into her until very recently.

the other is a girl i was close with years ago, but who i lost touch with almost immediately after we left high school. she hasn't been well ever since a breakdown she had around sophomore year of college. she's a distant relative through my mother's stepfather...no blood at all, although she used to harp on the fact that we were "cousins".

i have no idea why i would be seeing them. do they need to see me for some reason? what could i possibly have to offer them at this stage? it doesn't seem to make sense.

another thing: my grandmother was fond of scotch, so i wanted some to put on her side of the table. i had asked my mother to find out what brand she drank.

strangely enough, my mother told me on saturday. why weird? because (a) during my closing prayer/thank you at the end of the fast, i asked my egungun to let me know if they needed anything and (b) mom told me she'd found out what brand she drank a few weeks ago, but just thought to tell me saturday, the day after i mentioned it.

i'm keeping my eyes open...i just don't know if i'm seeing from the right angle.

while we're bringin up old stuff

..and by old stuff i mean emmett till and edgar ray...

i'm reminded of how my grandmother--courtesy of her not-even-cafeaulait complexion--was one of the first black people to work in one of the big department stores downtown.

my grandfather being relegated to waiting out world war 2 in guam. not to mention his less than dignified experiences working summers in ocean city.

the buried children in my great grandmother's basement.

my mother's memories of going to visit her grandfather in new jersey and taking enough to eat for the entire journey. 'cause, well, you know. nowhere to stop on the way.

apparently, it ain't over yet.

billy graham as bill cosby

now y'all know i'm not one for christian platitudes, but this excerpt from the current issue of black commentator is on point. johnathan scott, decided to, in his words, preach "...the sermon that Reverend Billy Graham would have delivered on to the heads of white America had he forgotten, for just a day or two, his own whiteness – if he had been a white Bill Cosby.":

Ford Field, Detroit, Michigan

70,000 people in attendance, June 5, 2005

Reverend Billy Graham , Preaching a Sermon titled “Now Explain That to Jesus”

Brothers and sisters, today we are living through the worst moral crisis that’s ever threatened our Christian nation. Tonight I want to be like Jesus and get right to the heart of the matter. We need to stop blaming the victims. That’s right. We need to look at ourselves first, at where we’re at today morally.

I know many of you are unaccustomed to hearing such language from your leaders, and in particular from me. Yes, Brothers and sisters, I come to you tonight as a sinner. I have been silent about the sin of racism. I have supported immoral wars; these wars I supported were wars of aggression against innocent people, against poor people fighting for independence and a way out of poverty. I supported the war in Vietnam and I was wrong. I supported the war against Nicaragua and I was wrong. I supported South Africa when they practiced apartheid and I was wrong. I supported the first Gulf War and I was wrong. I supported the current war in Iraq and I was wrong (stunned silence).

I have given my consent to an endless war on terror that is a sham and a waste of lives, that is weakening every day the foundation of our Christian democracy and is embarrassing us around the world as a Christian nation. Urinating on a Holy Book! We have become a nation of heathens and the whole world is watching! And God is watching the whole world! Tonight, brothers and sisters, I want to talk in plain terms about our democracy and who is threatening our democracy.

Brothers and sisters, WE are threatening our democracy! It’s just us! Nobody else. The black comedian Richard Pryor used to have a joke about the American criminal justice system (a few gasps from the audience). He said, “I went to the courthouse to get some justice and all I saw there was just us” (confusion is breaking out). Brothers and sisters, do you understand? Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, “Woe unto you that are rich! Ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you that laugh now! For ye shall mourn and weep.” This was Jesus Christ’s most important sermon and I have ignored it for forty years. But this morning I came out of the wilderness and into the light! Praise God! Jesus was never wrong and if he was then I don’t want to be right! (a few amens, the crowd is beginning to warm up).

I have been preaching Born Again Christianity for fifty years now and you know what? I was not the first. I have been reading the sermons of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King and he was calling on the people to be born again before I knew what it really meant. What did Dr. King mean? (murmurs from the audience: he called him Dr. King?) He meant a moral transformation, brothers and sisters, from a state of sinfulness to a state of grace. And how did that happen? By being right by God. By being right by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. What would Jesus think of you if he came back tonight? That’s the question Dr. King was always asking his congregations and they responded to it. Yes, brothers and sisters, they responded by taking to the streets, by marching for their God-given rights to live as decent human beings on this earth, protected by the Christian laws of the land, to love your neighbor as you love yourself. But first they chastised their own sinners and made them get right by God.

Brothers and sisters, I’ve been studying closely the situation of our Christian nation. Every day I read the news on the Internet and every day I become more revolted by what I see. Tonight we’re going to talk about ourselves. Tonight we’re not going to talk about Muslims, teenage mothers, atheistic liberals, environmentalists, abortion doctors, gays, or the feminists. Tonight we’re going to talk about our own sin (you could hear a pin drop). Tonight we’re going to come out into the light of self-criticism. Tonight we’re going to name names and come clean with ourselves. Tonight we’re going to question ourselves, as Jesus did himself on the Cross of Calvary.

I read yesterday in the Detroit Free Press that the white people of a suburb called Grosse Pointe are expelling the black students from their school district because they say black parents are falsely claiming residence there. Brothers and sisters, I ask you: is this what Jesus would do? These parents are trying to get their children the best possible education and the white people there are opposing the education of children. That’s immoral and we need to call out those white people for being un-Christian and anti-American (a heavy silence).

Have you seen the facts, brothers and sisters? Our schools are being resegregated. Today 80 percent of white students go to all-white schools. Wealthy white schools get the most money and they hire the best teachers and have the best facilities, computers for every student, send them to the best colleges so they get the best jobs. Yet in black and Hispanic schools, the average career-span of a teacher is less than three years. Brothers and sisters, why is that? Is it because the children don’t want to learn? Is that how you would answer Jesus? Or is it because the pay is so low, the funds have been cut off, and the facilities are built like prisons not educational institutions? What would you tell Jesus?

Let’s talk about prisons, brothers and sisters. We need to speak honestly now about one the greatest dangers facing our Christian nation – crime. In states like Illinois, Michigan, New York, and California, nearly 90 percent of the inmates are black and Hispanic. Is it because blacks and Hispanics commit more crimes than whites? Is that how you would answer Jesus? Would you lie to your own Maker and the Savior of your own filthy soul?

I was studying the state of Illinois. Last year, the state of Illinois graduated less than 900 African American students from its public colleges and universities yet released from prison 8,000 on drug-selling offenses. Are African Americans the only people who sell drugs? Not according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. They calculate drug use trends from data gathered through the federal National Household Survey on Drug Abuse (NHSDA).

Stay with me now, people, I know you’re not used to facts, listening to Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter all the time. But listen to the facts. In a report based on NHSDA data, SAMHSA estimates 3,727,680 whites use cocaine compared to 720,130 blacks.

Why, then, are the prisons filled with black people instead of white people? If Jesus asked you, what would you tell him?

Let me tell you how I would answer Jesus. I would site for him a vital statistic. Thirty-seven percent of all people arrested on drug charges are black yet black people use drugs five times less than whites do. I would tell Jesus, it’s an example of white skin privilege – of “black robes and white justice,” as the honorable African American judge Bruce Wright has said (whispering is heard).

No, we cannot lie to our Maker and the Savior of our filthy souls, especially here tonight where we have gathered together to come clean in His presence. You see, brothers and sisters, we have been protecting drug addicts and drug sellers in our own communities merely because they’re white. We have allowed our Christian communities to become dens of sin, where people traffic in drugs and prostitution openly and freely because they have white skin. Our obsession with skin is the sin! We must drive out these white criminals! How can you allow this to happen in your own neighborhoods? Now how would you explain that to Jesus?

In my reading over the past year, I have made other discoveries that revolt me. Unemployment among blacks is more than double that for whites, 10.8 percent versus 5.2 percent in 2003 – a wider gap than in 1972. Black infant mortality is also greater today than in 1970. In 2001, the black infant mortality rate was 14 deaths per 1,000 live births, 146 percent higher than the white rate. The gap in infant mortality rates was 37 percent less in 1970. Now how would you explain that to Jesus?

I would tell Jesus that it’s because for every dollar of white income, African Americans have 57 cents. At the rate we’re going, it’ll take 581 years to achieve income equality between God’s people here in America. Do you think Jesus is going to wait 581 more years for you all to stop this immorality?

I would tell Jesus that the average black college graduate will earn $500,000 less in his or her lifetime than an average white college graduate, for doing the same work. Is this how YOU would explain to Jesus that his black babies die 146 percent times more often than his white babies die? You better be right by Him when he asks you these questions on Judgment Day. You have to be right by God! What did you do to stop this genocide? You better have a good answer, brothers and sisters.

Now we need to talk about sex. Yes, brothers and sisters, we have to speak openly about sex, as Jesus did himself. We cast stones at others for sexual immorality but how would you explain to Jesus the fact that pornography is a multi-billion dollar industry? Ninety-five percent of Americans call themselves Christian and pornography expands every day. Who here does not look at pornography (a flurry of hands are raised in the air)? Who here has never purchased pornography (the same hands in the air)? Then how would you explain to Jesus the thousands of Internet porno sites that exploit young women? Have you ever imagined your own daughters in those same positions?

These are crimes against God, and so we need to return to our discussion of crime. Ken Lay says that by stealing hundreds of millions of dollars from working people’s pension funds he was doing the work of God. That’s right, he said that. How would you explain to Jesus that this criminal has been allowed to go unpunished for blaspheming the name of the Lord? Why haven’t you organized a citizens council to judge him and sentence him to Christian justice the same way you’ve always carried out vigilante justice against innocent blacks? How would you explain to Jesus that, instead of sentencing Lay, you elected a close friend of his to the presidency of the United States of America?!

Yes, brothers and sisters, now we need to talk about our Christian president George W. Bush, one of Ken Lay’s best friends. He calls him Kenny Boy. Thou shalt not lie. It’s time we admit publicly, together tonight, that George W. Bush lied again and again to the Christian people of our nation. He lied by saying Saddam Hussein was behind 9/11. Then he lied even worse by saying Saddam Hussein was plotting to destroy America with weapons of mass destruction. But these were weapons of mass deception! And you re-elected him! Now how would you explain that to Jesus?

These are President Bush’s worst lies but there are many others, saying that Social Security is bankrupt. Why, the U.S. government’s own Congressional Budget Office says that Social Security has the funds to pay every benefit owed through 2048. Why is he lying like this, brothers and sisters? What is his purpose? Could it be to enrich the tiny minority of multi-millionaires who got him into office?

I’ve been reading the facts, brothers and sisters. I’ve come out of the wilderness and into the light, the light of self-criticism. I told you I was wrong. Now here tonight I want you to confess your own wrongs. How many of you have witnessed racism and did nothing about it? How many of you ignore your children and watch television instead of helping them with their homework? How many of you worship sports stars? How many of you spend money on a new car instead of books for you and your children? When was the last time you took your grandmother out to lunch and talked with her? How many of you know a language other than English? Jesus loved all the children of the world and you don’t even love your own children! You send them to daycare and hire nannies to raise them so you can play golf and drink martinis!

How would you explain to Jesus that you allow a ruling class to govern you that spends more money on weapons than it does to fight poverty? Now how would you explain to Jesus, right here tonight, that you do nothing about the fact that 3,000 African children died today of hunger? How would you explain to Jesus that you have allowed the rich, who according to Jesus will have a very hard time entering the gates of heaven, a harder time than a camel has passing through the eye of a needle, to enrich themselves even more than they already are? You have the power! You are the majority! Everything you do affects the whole nation and the world! You could end all this disgusting immorality tomorrow!

Brothers and sisters, you need to march! What do you think Jesus would tell you to do? Did he not march against the Romans? Are you Romans pretending to be Christians or are you Christians trying to be like the Romans?

I fear, brothers and sisters, I fear every day, that if Jesus came back tonight he’d strike us all down. He’d destroy me and you gathered here together tonight. His wrath would be furious. All this slovenliness, this obesity, this collaboration with oppression and narrow-minded racism, this over-consumption, this gluttony, this lazy lethargy, this willful ignorance, this smug self-satisfaction.

Do you think Jesus doesn’t know we consume 25 percent of all the earth’s resources yet we are only 5 percent of the world’s population? Jesus is watching you, brothers and sisters. The whole world is watching and God is watching the whole world. Now is the time to come clean before the Lord!

herbal haze

the shaman was in my dreams again...

i have no name for him. it's an elder, and he's native american. he's shown up in my dreams before. and, if i'm not mistaken, at least one other time it's been when i smoked a particular herbal blend (crystal ball). it mellows you out generally, but if you smoke it just before a nap/bedtime, it puts you into a rather deep sleep.

and i dream about him. and various other strange things.

he was reading my tarot...showing me how to lay it out. how to read it. i haven't read tarot cards since college, and then only once in the midst of some sort of spike in my psychic energy.

i have some cards i bought for their aesthetic value, but i have no connection to them whatsoever. they have remained in the bottom of various dresser drawers since i bought them in, say, 1999.

there was other information i can't remember. i should have written it down this morning, but i didn't think about it until i emailed a friend.

he's always teaching me. telling me how to see patterns in my life.

his dress isn't stereotypical...i think last night he was in jeans and a button-down shirt. he has long, steel-gray, braided hair. and he's obviously of some kind of native/indigenous descent.

sometimes i think he's an ancestor. other times i think he might be the spirit guide i've taken to calling "adam", who i've never intuited any visual for.

in the next room, the new pope (god only knows why...i'm nowhere near catholic) who looks much younger than he should was waiting for me to finish with the shaman so he could do some kind of mediation between myself, my best friend, and another friend of ours.

...ok. that doesn't really make sense w/out the background.

the three of us were the three musketeers. except we were black & female. then life--not to mention marriages, babies, and some more shit--got in the way, and three went down to two.

so here's the pope and the three of us in a room, sitting on the floor going over our friendship and what went wrong...

i guess i need to make some phone calls.

defies description

sometimes a small family is a blessing.

the service yesterday was beyond tacky. generic preaching, a blank program. not even any music piping in as you were settling.

i've been to memorials at funeral homes that were more personalized.

let's be real: any time the pastor starts in on scripture even i know?? all those kids/grown grandchildren, and no one bothered to sit down with him and tell him at least something about the woman? a few anecdotes? (bless his heart...he did the best he could with a (literally) blank program).

the damn funeral home people didn't even know what to do.

don't even get me started in my aunt in the prom dress from 1980something.

and i've seen it before.

if anyone put me away like that? i'd haunt them for the next 20 years.

granted, she passed suddenly, but they had a whole weekend to get things together. it was a memorial service, essentially. there was a brief viewing (who knew?), but no body there. she was cremated. i'm sure the church knew someone who could have donated some time to play the piano/organ. if they'd been given notice.

they had 2 people there who could sing...they seemed to get up when the pastor asked for various things...so i'm assuming they knew they were expected to get up and when.

i am so thankful i said my goodbyes in the hospital and saw her spirit smile. that satisfied me.

bless her life, and may her walk among the ancestors be a peaceful one.

ashe.

first love

it was 1992...

he was tall with deep brown skin and high cheekbones. goofy, almost-handsome. sweet. with the highest hightop fade i'd ever seen.


at 14, i was just as goofy.
but he thought i was beautiful.


we met thru a mutual friend and spent the next four years growing up together. planning weddings, naming children. valentine's cards and birthday hugs.


he got me through some of the worst times in my life. there were times when i treated him like shit, but, through it all, he stayed. and loved.


if it weren't for him, i don't even know if i'd be here today.


i outgrew him first. he ran to my friends for advice. i ran to another man a hundred miles away. i thought he was prince charming for real.


he wasn't.


but after he got over his broken heart, we got back in touch and managed to remain friends.


he can (still) pluck my last good nerve on occasion, but i'll always love him.


happy birthday, j.

land of liberty

america is
the little sister
who bakes you a cake
"all by herself"
with
not enough sugar
and
too many eggs
that you must
choke down,
smiling,
and call
delicious.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.

cam(oflage)-pain

the ending still hasn't come together...it feels about as frustrated as i do lately, so i suppose that's saying something.

i am starting a crusade against
black-is-beautiful poems

i am tired of
having to restate the obvious
and
take brown skin lady breaks at work
to remind myself that
somewhere
there is a beholder
who deems me
perfection

no more
nubian queens & kingmen
...and not just 'cause
we can't all be royalty
but 'cause trayvon can't read
and keisha's pregnant
by mama's new man

that ain't
nowhere near hotep

read me
agricultural poetry
i wanna learn
how to grow food that
won't kill my babies

i wanna write sonnets
on basket weaving and
garment sewing
sing the songs i should have tried
to learn
when mommy sang them to me

'cause if we can ever put down
the xbox long enough and
tune out the false prophets and
corrupted griots and
get brave
start the revolution

(of picking up a book
of raising--not just loving-- our children
of loving ourselves
of fighting our enemies
of redefining our miseducation)

all them pretty words
won't fill our bellies

uncompromising self-love
ain't always profitable
nor does it keep up appearances
when company comes

we got to be ready
we got to be strong
we got to be useful
like the ancestors' art

make beauty
serve us
...slaves to vanity
are so 1984

we are
already
beautiful


(c) 2005 l.a.m.

nekhena evans vs. madame cj walker

just when i'm feeling like shit, enter my mother with the job/hair connection.

(every now and then she'll sneak that into conversation)

well you know what? fuck 'em. i'm tired of the lie. our hair isn't straight. get over it. it doesn't always lie down, it doesn't flip whimsically off our shoulders.

and if more of "them" knew what we went thru to make that seem natural, they'd probably deem us insane.

...well, maybe not. considering the popularity of taking botulism shots to the face.

still, if they think shit about me because i refuse to allow their standards to dominate me, fuck 'em.

most folks don't even spend time thinking about this on any conscious level. and they wouldn't really get it if the topic arose. so i really don't think it's that serious.

of course, mom's set in her ways and was raised in a house that didn't allow afros. so if an intelligent, young black woman like myself can't seem to get a job, it must be because my hair isn't bone straight.

forget the current economy, last hired first fired, overqualification for the bullshit that passes as gainful employment these days, the intimidation factor of an intelligent blk female, etc., etc.

but i digress.

the more of us there are, the more they will be forced to accept our true form when it appears. or they will show their true colors and turn up their noses at it. in which case we will just have to make our own way, something we should have made a priority years ago anyway. self-determination.

why should we buy into the bullshit anymore? it's been too long. and you can only lead by example.

all i have is my self-expression. if i lose that, if i give that up, i give up my soul. i won't compromise my soul. it's bad enough i have to fit myself in all these boxes to begin with.

i suppose God'll just have to make a way. i have so little in the way of freedom sometimes...i have to take what i can get. how else am i supposed to stay sane?

no matter how you look at it, it's an element of struggle.

i can accept that.

voices

birthed 2 different days under 2 different circumstances...still trying to figure out a place for them.

(one)
poetry calls
at the strangest times

like
after midnight
with work in the morning

after too much smoke
and not enough love

creeping under doors
repeatedly smudged against
intruders and unpleasantness

for instance,
when all i want
is for the ache in my side
to go away
i find myself
forced to pick up
paper and pens
sketch out thoughts
until watercolors
drip
drop
from white blue and black
alone

i've been trying
to write all weekend
but i mistook
brown skin for metaphor and
warm hands for synonyms

sometimes
takes me a moment to realize
what all that energy
is for

searching for inspiration in
mere acquaintances
is never enough
a muse
must love you exclusively
and
my lovers
are far too conflicted

i'm considering
remodeling
breaking myself down
to have something to do
a project
a worthy hobby

building a black girl
inch by inch
a reality show
few would watch

...shutting us down is the main attraction.


(two)
halting steps taken
in the
lost-found rhythm
of a groove i last heard
when someone mistook me
for a 1/2 white girl

my heart bleeds black
roots of hair
reddened by
nevershouldhavebeen nights
nights my memory
forces into herbal hazes

i am an addict
with no drug

exile
with no homeland

simply
out of place

a lit cigarette
becomes a microcosm
of the earth's core
in my hands
yet
i am nothing more
than a lost note or two
wafting in the breeze

my presence makes for
pleasant nostalgia
but my place in the present
is more than uncertain.


(c) 2009 l.a.m.

pressure cooker

my mother has always been fond of saying, "those babies didn't ask to come here". meaning, parents should never expect their children to save them. their responsibility is to raise them to the best of their ability, then allow the child his or her own life.

it is one of the most important lessons she has taught me.

children should not be used to correct your frustrations, only the last generation's mistakes. they are not (always) you incarnate. and if they appear to be, it is to teach you a lesson. i don't believe it is necessary to force their roundness into the square peg you should have fit.

our babies can only save us if we allow them the freedom to become their own unique selves.

the man of the house is never your 10 year old.

we have to find a better way to handle the fracturing of our families.

how many times have you witnessed a situation where everything's all good until a child begins to assert herself...and if she's not precisely what we groomed her to be, we reject her. no one bothered to take the time to see who she was, what she wanted. and, sometimes, she hasn't allowed herself to know, for fear of that rejection. only to have it happen anyway.

one glimmer of promise, and common sense goes out the window.

expect the best, yes. discipline, certainly. but do not forget balance.

you did not give birth to a protegee. a protegee comes to you of her own free will once she has decided what it is she wants to be in life.

you gave birth to a human being who has her own role and purpose to fulfill in this life, a role that one day will take her beyond being your baby.

nurture her in the world you make for her, but learn to let her go. be there when she falls, but don't cover her in padding so she's numb to the pain.

yeah...i can hear you now. "you don't have any babies...what do you know?"

ok.

but if/when i do, i can only teach them what i've been taught.

and this is one lesson i plan on passing on.

thoughts on (various different kinds of) hunger

(penned 8/14/04)

stuck on broke
drivin on E
tryin to make it thru
just one more trip
to the market
'cause a sista's gotta eat

maybe i need some kinda
shaolin monk martial arts diet
make a meal outta air & sunlight
like an indian guru

but i ain't that slick

tired of righteous living
lockeed martin's hirin'
why not kill a few babies
to get some healthcare
job security
and a close to living wage?

too bad
i'm allergic to babylon

scribblin in this notebook
isn't gonna make me dinner

bout to take my last $20 and
go to the farmer's market
with a prayer
go raw foodist overnight
pretend i'm performing a cleansing
pull a scarlett
and refuse to go hungry
ever again

is it mandatory
that poets experience
instability and pain and
pay twice the dues?

but my day's on its way...
(c) 2004 l.a.m.

pseudonym

my silence will not save me.

stuck between
rocky shores and
ancestral hard places
i'm standing
waiting for someone
to give me a voice

waiting for someone
to shout for me
because i'm a lady
and cannot raise my voice
with dignity

if i forego obsolete conclusions
and shout
i lose 98%
of my femininity

someone should have told me that
before i learned to
praise my
own name

like he does

(and not only in bed)

(c) 2004 l.a.m.

love's shadow

Declaration:
I trust You.
I trust my path.
I trust myself.
I trust Universal Law.
I trust Nature.
I trust in Love, Peace, & Joy. I trust in my ability to manifest these things in my life.
I trust that I am Blessed.
I trust that everything I need will be provided for me.
I trust the Divinity within and the abundance of the Universe.
I trust that my prayers are heard and that the Creator knows my heart.
I trust my gifts.
I trust in the power of my Being.

As it is
So shall it be done.

Ashe
Ashe
Ashe

i wrote that somewhere inbetween all the other thoughts i was trying to get down and work out. things i've been trying to work out for months now.

i had a lot to think about last night...i still have a lot to think about today.

i'm hoping that maybe if i let go and truly allow myself to trust in these things, everything else will fall into place.

i read the song of songs before i went to sleep last night. i was trying to keep in mind the beauty of love, not all the dark things it can bring out of people.

i've always liked that book of the bible, 'cause it seemed like it shouldn't have been there. my jaw dropped the first time i read it...

i don't dig how people are always trying to make it into a god/israel thing. why not take this as literally as everything else?

the sensuality of it alone--the myrrh, honey, flowers--is wonderful.

verse 5, chapter 6 made me think:

I opened for my lover,
but my lover had left; he was gone.
My heart sank at his departure.
I looked for him but did not find him.
I called him but he did not answer.

been feeling like that a lot lately.

you know, i started this entry in the spirit of negativity...and in a assbackwards way at that.

i'm glad i turned it into this instead.

renewal

every seven years you get a new body.

birthdays divisible by seven, they say, are usually important in some way. generally it's expected that you will experiencing some sort of major transition or change.

i'm still 2 years away from my next "seven birthday", but i feel like it could be tomorrow.

i'm hoping that means things will be smoother and less chaotic by that time. but who knows.

one can only hope, right?

this sign gives me hope for the world. :)

d.c. eats her young

.
the flutter of a desert fly's wings
reverberates
on the concrete
of my front stairs

the capital building
is ground zero

sins committed there
echo in the ears of children
with griot blood
who have not yet learned
how to ignore
their birthright

grandchildren of priestesses
in a godless land
reaping the harvest
sown by
demoralized parents
crooked systems
and apathetic idolatry

if we continue
to allow madness
in our house
it is our children
who will embrace it
desperate for
love and lessons
we've become too complacent to teach

like any gift,
they can be
stolen
returned
exchanged

we are
failing the test
god is not
on our side
and the sooner we realize it
the sooner we can heal.

II.
the prayers and curses
of a thousand lips
are blowing typhoon winds
into the center of chocolate city
escorting misery
to your doorstep
but your babies are the only ones
conscious enough
to hear her knocking

rage flows like water
rocking their souls to sleep
like you refused to do
for fear of spoiling them

we will lose
the war
at home or abroad
as long as we ignore the obvious
allow our youth
to play with razor blades
and walk barefoot
on broken glass

we kill them with our lies
confuse with our hypocrisy

suffer the little children

the leaders of the 60s
are returning as brilliant hoodlums
draped in white tees
they're trying to shape into priestly robes

suffer the little children

open your eyes
to the play on the asphalt stage

the ancestors will keep sending warriors
until we remember how to teach them to fight

but all we can think to do
is build more battlefields
for them to die defenseless on.

III.
blood spilled there
will fall on our heads here

the world
is not flat
and we are not
an island

the golden rule
doesn't stop applying
just 'cause you cross the border

fool me once
(vietnam)
shame on you

fool me twice
(iraq)
shame on me.

IV.
the flutter
of a desert fly's wings
is sending ripples
thru the streets
of concrete jungles
light years away.

(c) 2009 l.a.m.