I saw my reflection in the glass that I lifted to my face. It was the
reflection of a drunken disappointment, and this red wine tasted
like loneliness and sad poetry. I don't know what you did to
Hemingway, Neruda and Fitzgerald all went down in history,
and I'm starting to understand why.Unrequited love. One more sip
and the next drunken poet is me.
A star fell down from heaven and into the world on 17 of January 1927, a wonder to behold
She was known as Eartha Mae born in the small town of North in the The Palmetto State
Her childhood even a mystery that she wished to forget from suffering abuse and neglect all because of her skin color - a light pale complexion - commonly referred as "yella"
She was of fair complexion due to the racial mix of African-American, European, and Cherokee Native American descent
Eartha was poorly treated and abandoned by others till she was saved by a Good Samaritan and taken to New York
Nurtured and raised into the Big Apple flair, she flourished and sprouted like flowers from the Earth
Charismatic and mysterious, she was like her name - spiritual and intuitive, she had a deep connection to the Great Mother (Earth)
The elements on Earth resided within her
Earth is the body, Water set in blood, Air is in the breath, and Fire ruled a free spirit
As a dancer with the legendary teacher, Katherine Dunham, who motivated the shy young girl to blossom and shine
She learned new languages and traveled to far and wide exotic places soaking up foreign cultures and faces
She was always searching for love and acceptance and enjoyed it though short and brief until she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that she affectionately named Kitt
Eartha's life was now complete now that she had her child - someone to cherish and love
Both were different as night and day but their love ran deeper and stronger than skin and others noticed the powerul bond that couldn't be severed
Eartha had a subtle sensuality with a rich silky velvet speaking voice that turned vibrant, versatile, and passionate whenever she sang
A commanding powerful stage presence with a royal and noble aura - she possessed the carriage of a divinely queen
Outspoken and bold, she was not afraid to tell the truth - it nearly cost her career and left her exiled out of America until her triumphant return to Broadway in 1978, when she performed in the play, Timbuktu!
Her career was resurrected and skyrocketed once more and led her to many more places and open doors bringing fans from old generations and new, the queen had returned and was living life rich and fully
A strong social activist, she fought racism and injustice bringing unity and peace in numerous subtle ways from dance to social causes, she was admired and loved for being different and a vocal advocate for the outcast and rejected
On Christmas Day 2008, she left the world behind with Kitt by her side
Although she's gone, she will never be forgotten - her legacy lives on in her music and lives she touched
Farewell, Eartha Kitt
Eartha Mae Kitt is Eartha's real name
"Yella"(High yellow) is a negative term depicting any light skinned black as "golden and fairskinned". It is a color reference to the golden skin tone of some mixed-race people. The term was in common use in the United States at the end of the 19th century and the early decades of the 20th century, but is now considered obsolete and sometimes offensive.
Orson Welles once called her the "most exciting woman in the world."
Kitt keeps her mother's legacy alive with the home décor business, Simply Eartha, in her way to honor her mother's memory
A thousand years hence, we lose our identity.
Never did a genius come for rescue activity.
Never had seen the world since the aftermath,
That deprived us of fresh air to breathe.
At some point of time did our world collapse,
With the forces of nature, burried as corpse,
Except the Dome of a burried temple, yet to be filled,
With a holy Trishul over it - so got another temple built-
The only clue left for our deliverance,
But became the means of worship for the masses.
Clashing with misfortune, nothingness is what we gained,
No one, better than us, can bear the pain,
Of being burried deep under,
Above which people now walk by, cars rush over.
Dreaming a barren hope for an excavation,
With the likes of Mohenjo-daro, Harappan civilization.
Ready to wait for thousand years more,
For the fruit of patience cannot be sour,
That will one day discover a long-lost heritage,
Revealing the descendent of an emerging human race.
i've always had a peculiar affair with history
history is a woman draped in red silk
with vixen eyes and sharpened claws
carefully picking out the hearts to break
and stories to keep
one day i'll arrive in her velvet palms
until then i am but another spectator
aligning myself with what has come to pass
i felt so deeply for the lost souls
souls history deemed unworthy to chronicle
i often wonder about the stories of fossils
of what love laid in the bones below me
of the life shared in worn out alleyways
i often remember all the sadness
the war that plagued the world around me
the death of kings the rise of nations
being affiliated with history is one way to come to it
to sympathize with all her victims
to love so much you love even what is done
the fall of rome broke my heart
for if an empire could fall
how much more i
to remember so much even what you never knew
i feared the flood that carried noah
for if all those quiet beings never reached that ark
who was to say i would've as well
i weeped for the library of alexandria
and all the parts of history left astray
for if that much life could burn
i am already ash
i find it hard to let bygones be bygones
when i am forever hanging on history's clavicles
somehow reaching for her and never quite making it
as i am a lost soul ripe and wary of her place
in a muse as big as history's heart
A leaf doesn't know it is a part of tree,
so please let us keep on growing.
is taught to the ones who've fallen.
They see a tree, the ground, the grass
the sky above
they leave, they travel
they live free and die.
The Florentine man in an ivory cape
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession; subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew
sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
Lanterns hung on bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors
stepping stones and iron bells
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulchers
dragon cane for horse drawn tours
castle turret and archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo
ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified
battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war
gargoyles flock the terrace slope
pearly gates to bring on hope
serpents, snakes and burning ash
the lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
i'm sure his story
differs greatly from mine
as yours was and always
will be from this time.
now i hate to remind
myself about our history
because two's a company
and three brought me misery.
so i thought that since last year
was shrouded in mystery,
i will divulge my past fear
was you becoming a sister to me
but now it is feeling like you
© Matthew Harlovic
They say you should own change,
one of our few possessions,
having to pay for the past,
though changes never last.
It's said its as good as a rest,
but don't we fear some changes.
Who benefits is the test,
and who looses history erases.
So they're always taking away.
We're ren ting, repenting the present,
dissenting form changes and loss,
for loss is a change, as we pay.
The blank, the dark waves
I am losing
The war, the will
ashes and wind
for dead tyrants and the blessed alike,
the truth, the difference
is in the shadow of belief.
a kings coloring book,
an idiots guide.
Beguiled and crooked
we stumble when we should fly.
We, the footless peasant
We all pray that kings
colored inside the lines.
Some of us chuckle....
The only crayons he ever had
were green and red