When, how or where we are born
Matters in which we have no choice… and
Dying is something we do
All alone…
At the appointed time...

In the when and the why of the thing,
We may or may not
Have a voice

But it is these
Hard and Wonder-full
Seconds… Minutes… Hours… Days…
Between
The moment we’re born
And
The moment we die
This accumulation of lessons and experiences
Known as
Life

These are the moments
To make a difference!
To share smiles and tears
To halve our worries
To help shoulder our loads
To make lighter
The Moments of Strife

Don’t give me flowers
When I am dead
Give me my flowers
Now

And don’t be heart-broken
When I leave
If in your heart
When I arrive
There is no smile

Don’t “fall out” or swoon... or
Hug my casket and wail
Rent your clothes... and with ash,
Your head,
Anoint

Because
If you have the chance to be loving
Right now
But do not…

Could be supportive
Right now
But choose to not…

Beloved
You’re missing the point...

I’ve got nothing but love
And will love just as much
And for just as long
As allowed…

So don’t give me flowers when I am dead
Give me my flowers
Now

Busy people…
Oh so busy people….
You step real hard when you walk real fast
With your busy scowls on your busy faces
Making busy wrinkles in your busy forehead
From thinking all those
Wondrous… and
Special…
Busy thoughts…

**** sho too busy to
Make small talk… or
Ask about… or
Even be pleasant to
Us regular people…
Oh so busy…
Would make an old man wait for 6 hours
For the answer to a 5 minute question…

Cuz you busy…

Too busy to even answer the phone
Especially…  If you know who’s callin’…
Sho too busy…Way too busy…
To answer
For the likes of me… or even him… cuz
That’s not what you busy people do…
We should all
Just be happy
To have your
Wondrous… and
Special… and
Busy self
To be
Ignored by

But Oh Mr. Busy…
One day…
Mayhap…
You will look up from your busy-ness… and
Find that there are
No more some bodies
To step past real hard… or
To dismiss… as unimportant
With your busy scowl and busy wrinkled forehead
No more callers
To  ignore… or un-pleasantries to share
Cuz you,  yourself,  have gotten
Unpleasantly old
And every body else

Is just too busy…

Read, watched, Listened for snippets
Wore the buttons,
Devoured anything…
Apartheid

Had my own personal
Bedroom Revolution...
Jumped high…In place… with the best of them
Little balled up fists…
Pumping…
Chanted the chants
Sang the song

Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa

And I meant it!  
Oh My God I meant it from my
young revolutionary soul
Cried adolescent girl cries
For our South African brothers and sisters
All of the martyrs
Known and unknown

STOP APARTHIED!
STOP APARTHIED!

Free Nelson Mandela!!

To this very day

I love me some Nelson Mandela

Love the man he is
Mourn the man he was
Big Fine Educated Pugilistic
African
Man
Passionate
Compassionate
On that serious mission

Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality
Gave his life
To promote the cessation of
An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide
In that Death
Seldom came quickly
A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade
In that it was not based economically

Therefore ALL the
“Kaffers”
Could be maimed or die
And it wouldn’t cost a thing…
Monetarily speaking

A society wherein
Each Black death  
Someone’s Job… or
Someone’s Entertainment
Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to
Douse fuel on the already
Brightly burning fire of
Hate and torture and hate

I love Nelson Mandela

For making like David
And having the *****
To take on the Goliath
Apartheid

Satan is creative
His minions resourceful
We will never know the indignities;
Can only imagine the violations
My Nelson was forced to endure
Imprisoned for 27 years

I love
Nelson Mandela
For having the strength
To keep living
When so many others couldn’t
Still able to put
One
In front of
The other
Albeit gingerly
But still locomoting
Out of hell
On his own two feet…
That alone makes him a hero
To me

In my heart he will always be
The

Big
Fine
Educated
Pugilistic
Passionate
Compassionate
Hero
­
That the young revolutionary in me
sings about…

Okay…
So…
my kids ain't all that regular
thats cuz my kids
didn’t get no regular mama
/ My kids got a / way making / hard working / kid feeding / plant growing  
/ source loving / puppy hugging / kitten saving / truth telling
/ baby kissing / spell casting / candle lighting / hymn singing / literature chewing
/ jambalaya cooking / *** kicking / loud laughing / soft hearted / hard drinking
/ powder digging / dream weaving / moon dancing / braid wearing /  barefooted
/ hippy of a poet-mama…
And I ain't sad that I’m peculiar…
cuz I’m the only me we got…

Without effort… not even trying… I used to see poems everywhere…

While sitting in my yard of a summer eve… there were poems in the sway of trees… and in the flight of the hummingbird… and in mother cat and her babies … and little girls holding intense conversations… and kids chasing dogs and dogs chasing kids… and little boys ***** from a hard day's play big-eyed and determined to talk to me…

poems… everywhere…

While standing on the bus stop in the hood… there were poems in the kitchen smells calling to me from each little house… and in the swagger of them in training talking loud and testing the waters of manhood… and in the tired face of the tired old woman who should mostly likely have been retired just trying to make it home one plodding step at a time…

poems… everywhere…

Then too much death and illness and suffering… clogged my flow…

So…

I had to make a conscious effort…  to SEE again.. so that I wouldn’t die myself… of obstruction of the expression gate… or collapse from a deficiency of thought originality… or succumb to an overdose of banality… or break down under the weight of too much…ORDINARY

It was hard… but it had to be done… and a poet like me does not give in… a poet like me
can’t help but SEE… eventually…so I looked and I looked…  with an eye toward the esoteric… an eye toward the eclectic… and the beauty... and the color… and it’s working… I’m getting there… I’m getting there… I’m starting to see… though while not… EVERYWHERE… I once again thank The Creator who flows through me that… I do see …

poems ALMOST everywhere…

Black Texas dirt
With Grandfather Trees
That the sun shines through
In dust moted streaks…and
Ponds and Creeks
That
I use stones
To cross with
Big
Sometimes slippery
Gray stones…
Covered in moss… with
Bluebonnets
Sharing space with frogs
And trailing ivy
And bee hives in logs
And butterflies
That flutter by
And vie
For attention
With hungry hummingbirds
And COUNTRY Mockingbirds
That can’t DO
Car alarm…

Perhaps a summer cabin
Or even
Working farm
House
With wrap-around porch
Flanked by Four O’Clocks
Shielded by Climbing Roses
Guarded by Morning Glories
Shading two big dogs
With cold wet noses
Pressed to my face
That wake me
And shake me
Back to this reality…
Which is oh so far from
My mind’s dream place
And I’m somewhat dismayed…
But it’s still okay…
Cuz there’s
Nothing wrong with dreaming…
Nothing wrong with dreaming…

How did I get to this place?
Desperately ask myself
As under the quilt in my lap
I point a 38 at
The man that I
Once thought was
The One-
That I don't take his life
Can only be
Grace
Shining on ME
Cuz my heart suddenly knows
It is not worth my soul
To hurry him
On his relentless journey to hell-
He will surely get there on his own
It is Grace
That saves us BOTH this day
Grace that he won't miss until it's gone
~~~
The old man across the street
Talks to his old wife
Like she's got bird ****
Smeared across her face-
I'm sure it didn't start out this way
I'm sure that once upon a day
She was shown a modicum of loving kindness
A sweetness commensurate with the Grace
With which she
Used to
Walk
But now with which she
Bears the never ending insult
That her life has become
Grace that the old man
Does not appreciate
Grace that he won't miss until it's gone
~~~
She leaves her baby in the car
While she steps into the bar
For just a minute-
Time not only flies
When you're having fun
But also when addiction lies
And sez you are-
So baby-girl
Waits
But it is Grace
That sends mom outside to *****
At the very moment
Mr. Predator
Spies’ baby-girl alone
It is Grace that mom won't, in her haze, even notice
Grace that she won't miss until it's gone
~~~
This old world can be a cold dark place
Would be darker still
Were it not for Grace
Someone once said
"T'was Grace that brought me safe and through..."
~~~
For all the Lovely and the Good
There will be the Ugly and the Evil
But Ugly and Evil
Can NEVER do more
Than
Amazing Grace
Can do

It seems that after
Thousands
Of words
Hundreds of thousands
Of expressions
My fount has
Finally
Dried up
Maybe it’s hormonal…
(cuz this happens)
Or
Maybe I’m depressed… and
Need some ice-cream
(cuz ice-cream always makes things better)
But
I just don’t feel like writing anything at all…
No thing inspires me
To expound upon it
Can’t even seem to write
A bad poem
Unless I count this one
And I don’t
But I do admit
It is bad
So I will re-start
This bad non-poem
And not talk about
Hormones or depression or ice-cream
(even tho ice-cream always makes things better)
I’ll not expound upon
How I am un-inspired
To ever again
Wax poetic…
But will instead merely query~
Has my fount
Truly
Dried up?

Just wonderin’… if surrounded… as you are… by the ramblins… of visitors… and the offerins… of hangers-on… and the jokes… of the wanna-be-funny… and the excitement… of your beloved basketball… and the rowdy…  of your down-and-***** football… even tennis… when it’s Venus… and her earthy growls…  and ya girl Serena… with her thigh-strainin’ swing… hell… even hockey… if that’s all there is... playin’ in the background… mixin’ just fine… with children laughin'… and he still flirtin’… after all these years… talkin’ a little *****… after all this water… under the bridge… makin’ you smile… coaxin’ you to…  hang in there baby… to take…  just one more bite… to take…  just one more sip… to smile…  just one more time… I’m just wonderin’… how are you gonna do… when they put you in that place… for sick people… with no loud children… no beloved husband… no bad jokes… no fried chicken in the air… no sports commentators… no big band drums… no somebody screamin’ TOUCHDOWN… for you to… if only for a few precious minutes… wake up to… how are you gonna do…in all of that silence…?

History has shown
They will **** their own
Before living with others in peace
Have no doubt
That hatred is as nourishment
Sustenance
Subsistence
A necessity for existence
They can not do without

Burning hot as fire within the wretched souls
Of those
Whose evil knows
No bounds
Would **** you
As soon as kick you
Because your skin is Olive or Brown
Or you pray to a Deity
That your life revolves around
The depravity
The corruption
Never cease to be astounded
By

Those that NEED someone to hate

Who would these mongers hate
If successful in their efforts
To eradicate
Everyone who was, from themselves, different?

If they knifed all the *******,
Burned all the *******,
Chopped up all the chinks
Would this, their hate, augment?

If they tortured the towel heads
Killed the catholics
Hanged the homos
Would this, finally, curb discontent?

Or

Would the haters implode
And begin to feed upon themselves

Would short people
Shoot tall people?

Would merely looking at skinny
Make fatty incensed?

Would brown-eyed people
**** blue-eyed people?

Would red hair and freckles
Be a stoning offense?

Would black-haired people
Break blond-haired people?

This is a hate poem…

And hate seldom makes sense…

But sensical or no…
Seems the real status quo
Matters love that we show
There will always be those
That just plain NEED

Someone to hate

I’m trying to have a

Pity Party…

But people just won’t leave me alone…

I’ve got all the necessary accoutrement...

A bottle of Richard’s Wild Irish Rose...

Flannel Pajamas with oddly shaped holes

In all the wrong places...

A proper toothache ensuring my face is

Properly lumpy…

Worked ******* this body now properly bumpy

From too much soul food

That is... Food For The Soul

Such as

Pizza… and

Pudding…and

Tater Chips and Dips… and

Coco Puffs by the large serving bowl...

Donuts

And the holes to go with them...

Lifetime Channel already tuned in...

Blinds pulled down...

Unplugged my phone…

But these people!

They just won’t leave me alone!

Being all supportive and huggy and lovey and clean-y

I don’t see…

Why they don’t see…

That now is just not the time…

They need to get on out’a here

And let me drink my wine… cuz

I’m trying to have

A Pity Party!

But I swear they just won’t leave me alone…

NOW HEAR THIS!

NOW HEAR THIS!


Would

All

Pity

Party

Poopers

Please

Just Go Home!

They were so not interested when the brother was so very available
Lonely even and longing to be needed longing to be loved it
Didn’t seem like it cuz he could be so very surly but desperately longing
To laugh out loud and secretly longing to dance to no music but that which
was in his lover’s heart but they would have had to but didn’t care to
dig under the bravado or be lurking behind the door to his otherwise
empty sanctuary when he locked out the needy and narcissistic and
peeled the ess offa his chest before hanging his all-purpose multi tool belt
on the all-purpose multi tool belt nail and became
merely his naked self to see that what he truly had to offer could
not be built or repaired or paid for or driven or
traded for the promise of some ***** which he would have settled for in
lieu of real companionship cuz that’s all people seem to be about these days and
*** is easy and love is hard and therefore a fella could hardly hope
for something that songs are written about  and hope deferred
is unpretty at  best  and ****** tragic at worst  so imagine
their surprise when one day he walked in with his large workman’s hand wrapped
around a smaller softer hand and he was suddenly not so surly maybe joyful even
and they wondered how they didn’t notice how **** he is and they
asked themselves did he grow two inches cuz he sure seems taller and
they don’t understand when he no longer comes just cuz they call and they find
that for some reason they hate that ***** that he is with and she ain’t so cute
so why is he not noticing how he is now coveted or catching the
obvious and disrespectfully thrown  hint… and
in their selfishness would see him unhappy before seeing him
with her before seeing him not sniffing around them
trying and hoping to be noticed and their arrogance
dictates to them that he is not unavailable… not truly…  that she is just a
passing whim and their ignorance whispers to them that he has forgotten
how not so long ago and for years and years
they were so not interested
…now ain’t that somethin

I’m on my way… to my own personal… on the inside…
Celebration… ya know?
Cuz I realized… I already did the tuffest jobs I’ll ever do…
I done raised my kids…
loved my loves…
bumped my head…
learned my lessons…
fought my fights…
forgiven my foes…
and finally…finally…
forgiven…
my… self..

And I’ve come far…
A long loooong way…
But I know I still got a long way to go…
So
I just might get me a push-up bra…
and a low-cut blouse…
And maybe a weave… and some New Journey shoes…
For my new journey.. some new high heels will
Certainly do…
Heels high enuf to make my
Thighs stand out… and
My ankle turn just so... and
My Hips sway when I step… and
My skirt tail snap when I pass… and
When I pass…
I’ma give a little look over my shoulder… like this…

So you can see…
That I saw you see me…

But I’m just gon give a LITTLE look
Cuz I can’t look BACK
For TOO long!
See, I might be tempted to TURN back…
An try to
re-do somethin’… or
explain somethin’... or
fix somethin’… or
cry over somethin’…

And I’ve just plain come too far!!!
Baby… I’ve
Come too far to turn back now…
And still got a long long way to go…


Come Too Far To Turn Back Now
Carla Marie 2012

Though the date may be late… and
Those type things don’t happen anymore…MUCH…dare I say

Those type things don’t happen MUCH anymore… (yes I dared)
It is nevertheless ingrained…

No matter the age or the date
However young or old…
It is in our DNA… and
Our DNA does not forget
Will not allow us
As other cultures will
To easily enjoy
The remote loveliness… and
Maniacally flowering greenery… and
Beauteous quiet of this
Southern forest… this
Confederate lake…  
Without our spirits
Sadly counting
The cumulative number of
Hundreds of years of
Fertilization by
Black Men’s bones…

But like my father and his father before him
We show up anyway…
Albeit somewhat uneasily…
While the native good-ole-boys
Stand stock still and stare
Actin’ like they never seen one’a us before… and
Though we arrived obviously prepared for what we came to do
They still stare… as if
wondering what we could possibly be doing here…
or maybe… how dare we enjoy God’s green earth with our brown selfs…

And my beautiful Black Man
with ease of motion
Audaciously pays the Black Tax
(the quoted price over what the sign says the price is)
As I bait my line in defiance
Albeit somewhat uneasily… and
Cast it out into this confederate lake

And my beautiful Black Man
Also stands… broad shoulders back… and
Pointedly does not acknowledge the presence of the natives
As they stand stock still and stare
But it is there
(We will NOT be afraid… and we will NOT go away)
Unspoken between us... But
Always in the back of the mind…
The recesses of the consciousness…
Preparation for this day… and the worst that it can bring…
Is ingrained…

My Sweetie,
My Baby,
My Love…

Crashing through the morning
Like a
Bull in a china shop
Like a
White man in a jungle movie

**** chest-rumbling eleven- o’clock-pm voice
Echoing, echoing in the six o’clock am sunrise

Clearing the mist…
Scattering the dew…

Disturbing… the… peace…

Would never hurt his feelings and say
Baby please don’t walk with me

Although I can’t see myself causing him pain
At times I want to make it plain
And say-

Honey…
Shut the hell up…

You’re scaring all the animals away
Mr. Woodpecker’s not pecking,
Ms. Mockingbird’s not mocking,
And I haven’t seen my young squirrel friend today
Then I missed the opening of the Morning Glories,
Cuz you were standing in the way.

But alas
These things to my dear sweetie
I know I’ll never say

Cuz my loud baby
Loves me
And THAT,
Much more than my early morning walk,
Is what gets me through my day.

…i have learned my lesson / One should not give the impression / of being too happy / as you don’t do

happy / you and angry / are comfortable / misery / your longtime friend / but with happy / you are

unacquainted / and / too much joviality / for too long a period / puts the proverbial underpants in a bunch /

too much free-range fondling / and unnecessary emotion / is a commotion / that puts the Neanderthal in

you / into uncharted territory / off the clear and obvious path / with a virtual stick / banging the bushes of

my spirit / waiting to see what emerges / and surprisingly / you are surprised / that what emerges is /

seldom what you expect / but what do you expect? / That i will continually ride this / histrionic

rollercoaster? / apprehensively peaking hills? / uncertainly braving valleys? / stop the maniacal ups and

downs i think i want to get off / on you / and with you / but that just wont do / cuz you / fail to realize /

that I am / percolating and oozing / straight inundated with / sweetness / and to get the full overflow / of

said sweetness / is a privilege… / and not a right… / therefore / to the benefit of no one / and as a

consequence of your / vacillation and inconstancy / i have made the determination / to Cap this most

fundamental Well / sadly / i have learned my lesson…

In the hard and cold city
There were no
Two a.m. train whistles…
Sometimes
Window rattling hip-hop woofers…
The occasional
Tequila soaked domestic dispute… and the like…
Leaving me now
Laying in the darkened silence feeling
Vintage…
Imaginary whispers of Brook Benton
“…feel like it’s rainin all ova the world”
Subliminal theme music
Setting the ambiance for
Trying to think of something
Not cliché to say about the
Two a.m. train whistle in the distance...
Cuz I still
Often wake to the
Absences of
Warbling sirens of high speed chases … and
Fusion of passing dialects beneath my window
That I never really heard…until I didn’t hear them …
Replaced with
Fat plops
Of nocturnal rain drops…
Far away clack-a-lack of iron wheel on rail…
Silence…
...and that lonely
Two a.m. train whistle in the distance…

Blanket of diva fireflies… celebration of Summer Dusk… silently

dancing… their flashy dance… syncopated rhythm… six inches

above… the bobbing heads… of too tall grass… twinkling… twirling...

ebbing… flowing… ‘til Mr. Moon shows up… and tries to wreck this party...

but it ain’t over… cuz the crickets… always in the mood to

jam… bust out with that sweet percussion… while... cicadas come in

softly… then crest... then moan... those serious background

vocals… the alley cats howl a funky refrain… and the night owls

work the chorus…

seducing me to join…

but…

since I’m…

not flashy… not rhythmic… can’t howl… and don’t moan…


I just bring some sweet tea… lie in the too tall grass…

and enjoy the show...



Come Too Far To Turn Back Now
Carla Marie 2012

You watch too much tv…

I am not what you see.. on

cop dramas…Or

reality shows…or even… at this point...

B E T

I don’t use

“is” in inappropriate places

Nor do I finish sentences with prepositional phrases

Such as “who you is?” or “Where my coat at?”

I don’t do elaborate handshakes

I don’t work my neck

I don’t purse my lips… constantly sneer… or

“go off” at the drop of a hat

I do walk with quiet dignity… and

Shake off your devilish ways with God given grace

I do have a life… a peaceful “unbroken” place to go home to

Hence the serenity that you see on my face

Leaving you nonplussed-

That I have no desire to be you… and

You find yourself… trying to bond by

Putting the word “be”

Where no “be” should be… cuz you’re

Trying too hard to understand me…

And I

Wear this faint professional smile.. though my eyes do not

Which (as an aside) you don’t even see

Use all of my vowels and consonants

Never acknowledge any flirtatious compliments

As I render unto Caesar what Caesar’s should be… and

Escape to my loves…And

read something… or

grow something… or

learn something…

Now that’s the me that I don’t mind if you see… but

You’re not interested in THAT reality… cuz

It would wreck your notions preconceived…

So I've concluded... by your manners… or the lack thereof… that

You obviously just watch too much tv



.

A ***** deserves respect
When she can break you down
To her level
Whether you want to go
Or not
When just the PROMISE of her arrival
Shakes one to the core
And when in the REALITY of her arrival
One is faced with but two choices-
UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER… or
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH
She’s so bad… That...
She can decimate an entire family… One by one…
Or show up where she is least expected… in a surprise attack…
And I do not like her… And she don’t RUN things here… but
She IS given respect…In that
This low-down cruel ***** will
make a believer out of the hardest man
make your life... and the lives of your loved ones
revolve solely around her
make you break your bank
make you drive miles and miles
for unproven remedies… and
experimental relief
make you try ANYTHING
from crystal necklaces to copper bracelets...
to banish her evil self... and
I DO NOT LIKE HER…
but whether I like her or not...
she DOES command a ******-up sort of
respect
So I always capitalize the C in Cancer... cuz
She is my enemy… and
One should never
underestimate
the enemy

In a past life… I’m sure of it… I was exceedingly

Grandiose…

And as grand as myself… each entrance-

Pausing in doorways

To give each and every head the privilege

To turn and peruse the

Magnificence that was me…

And with each exit

Shatter champagne glass… and

Slowly… hip swayingly….

Drag full length mink along the floor….

But not this time around… No…

This phenomenal, prosaic, and unpretentious time around

If I drag full length mink…

Some heifer would accidentally… or purposely

Be guaranteed to step on it.. making me hafta

Step to her…

(get off’a mah coat!)

And no good can ever come

From two grown women…

Rolling in gutter gum

And miscellaneous sidewalk debris

‘til the cops show… and I catch a case…  

With footprints on my coat…  

gum in my hair… and

My spirit of woe…

Cuz it wasn’t s’posed to go

Down like that… not the way I saw my

Grand Exit at all…

So…

I’ve concluded … evidently… by the way it seems like i should roll…

Not this time around… but in a past life…

Surely… I was exceedingly

Grandiose

How disconcerting…


Brace for a fight

Lace up the gloves

Vaseline the soft spots

Turn corners on two wheels

Arrive and

Kick in the doors

To find that

The Enemy

Is no longer in existence

Already vanquished

By an even greater enemy

Leaving in its wake

A pitiable thing

Arousing in a decent soul

Compassion…and

Prayers...


For one’s self--

Strength

And for the other--

Mercy…


Nothing honorably left to do

BUT pray

For one ’s self---

Only that God notices

This quiet sacrifice

Cuz there will be no

Forgive-me’s… or

Thank-you’s…or

I-love-you’s… or even

Closure

When one unlaces the gloves

Washes the face

Rolls up the sleeves

And returns

For cruelty

Compassion

For ill will

Tenderness

For Indifference

Clemency

And for Unkindness

Humanity…


And pray

For the other---

Only

Mercy…

Have Mercy…

Have Mercy Lord…

It’s complicated…


And comes in

Varying shades of gray…


Up the scale

To sweaty FUSCHIA

Or down the scale

To dismal BLACK


Let it be

What it be…

Because

It is…

What it is…


Don’t overthink it

Don’t micro analyze it… or

Make excuses for it… or

For the lack of it…

Because…


It’s complicated

Love is…


And comes in

Varying shades of gray

It wasn’t always this way
She was lovely once…
A beauty to make a brothers
Chest ache… And
Breath come short...

Before
Too  many dreams deferred
Deadened a too free spirit
Too many pains
Damaged a too big heart
Too many losses and not enough gains
Too much liver killing corn whiskey
And soul stealing violent man
Made it now easy
For her to enfold herself
In the tragedy of the day

Anguished runny jaundiced eyes
Sunken under fake lashes that
Look too heavy for the job
Her late idea of beautification
Trying to work with what shes got
Only to accentuate the misery
In the much worn brown face where
Cheap foundation
Does a backwards slide
Into tale-telling lines that
Scream louder a narrative
Of brokenness

And she sits… alone
Always
On that stool
In a dark and dingy
Numbing place
Leaned on one elbow
Slightly to the left
Blond wig perched on her head
Like a church lady’s pillbox hat
Only this ain’t no church
And she ain’t no lady
Not no more…

But it wasn’t always this way
She was lovely once...

I am going to love you…
For
Commonality
******* In its intensity
Midnight whisper songs… and
Puns and metaphors
Gently passed between fits
Of giggles and almost morning breath…
For
Private Jokes… and
Running gags
Shouting matches… and
Makeup ***
Discarded baggage… and
Tender kisses
For screen doors
Hickory floors
Fishing reels… and
Ill-timed poems
For being unafraid
To grow old… encumbered and entwined…
I am going to love you
For right now… and
For all
the right nows
to come

It appears that I am now
At that age…

The age at which
The older folks of my youth
Shook their heads and talked softly together and
Pat-hugged each other and held hands with sad eyes... and
From the corner of my young ear
Without full comprehension or understanding~
“If there is anything I can do…”
Or
“I’m so sorry for your loss…”
Or
“Bless your heart…”

Then time got away … and
Here we are… and
Somehow surprised to be…

At the age at which
Every other body’s
Mom or Dad or Parents
Are merely needful
Or dying
Or dead… and
We are now the
Caregivers… or
Caretakers… whether
Primary or In Addition To…
Enthusiastically or Reluctantly… it is now
Our turn…
With
Every other body
To shake our heads and talk softly together and
Pat-hug each other and hold hands with sad direct eyes and
Complete and Profound understanding~
“If there is anything I can do…”
Or
“I’m so sorry for your loss…”
Or
“Bless your heart…”

For sadly
We are now
At
That Age

I mourned the loss of US that died suddenly...
Lowered the flag to half mast
Rent my clothes
Donned sack cloth and ashes
Covered the mirrors with black satin… and
Lovingly prepared green bean casserole and pound cake
Gifted  it to and comforted and assured
myself… that
everything’s gonna be alright…
Offered to myself
Condolences
Which I graciously accepted
yes…
US will be missed
yes…
US was so nice
No…
I didn’t even know that US was sick… and
I mourn US that died suddenly
But not for too long…
After a respectable period of time
****** the satin off of my mirrors
To better see me twirl in my hot red dress
After I lean in… and kiss myself
Throw the green bean casserole out… cuz I hate it
Eat all the pound cake… cuz I love it
Laugh out loud… cuz I am
Comforted and assured… that
Everything’s gonna be alright… and then
…Raise and Let My Free Flag Fly!

This poem is
Of me
Something I have birthed
Been blessed to give life to
As surely as I have been blessed
To give other life and
Without this poem
As with
Without the other
I would surely die

I could do
Without you
Before I could do without
This poem
Even if removing you
Would leave me
An amputee
Spiritually speaking…

I have enuf love to cover you both~
You should not make me choose
Between this poem
And you
Tho I do love you so
You will lose

Perplexed and amazed… and maybe it’s my fault
Probably my fault even…
that it doesn’t appear  to occur to some folks
that there is even a possibility
that I am really NOT thinking about them…
or worrying why
Someone is crying or mad or why the ‘tude
Or if they are hungry or rested or had a fight
Or what they plan to do about their latest dilemma…
Hell… Today… I don’t even need to know the good news…  
Sometimes I've just got things on my mind…  
Like
Who’s gonna do my next pedicure… or
What will be the outcome of this next test… and
today is the anniversary of my mother’s last breath… or how
I wish he was here to kiss my neck… cuz
I do love the way he kisses my neck… and I
Wonder if there is any of that fried fish left…
Ya see…  today I just do not care
What’s going on in their world… cuz I choose... today...
To be about my world and the sound of my own heartbeat… and
I think that I plan to have more of these “about me days” and I don’t
give a **** who doesn’t get it… or feels put upon cuz
It shows that I’m disconnected…
Cuz everybody on this whole spinning rock is so into just themselves
and if I’m into you…  and you into you… then who's into me…?
and perhaps I’m breaking some cardinal rule
by determining at this late date to be
About my own personal thoughts… but I’ma build this mental wall
to protect them from intruders… cuz it is what it is…  and I don’t even feel like explaining that
Sometimes I’ve just got things on my mind…

Promises to myself …
This is the last time...
Walk as far away as my will
Will take me
But the ****
Like Bell
Has long distance capability
Turn off my ear
But
My Jones
Like the Postman
Rain Snow Sleet or Hail
Always gets through
Making me do
Things I said
I would not do
In places I said
I would not go
And I know
That I’m wrong...
Too got-dam old
For this foolishness… and
Getting older by
The sack… or
The line… or
The bump… and
I promise myself
I’m gon stop…
This is the last time… and
I mean it this time
Just like I mean it
Every time
Until the
Next time
But before I know...
Today’s perfect drain
Eases yesterday’s pain
And my heart is racing
To beat
The hair now standing
On the
Back of my neck
To the top of my head...

And everything is okay…
All is well…
With the whole ****** world…

On through the night... and
Well into
Day
With a
Kamikaze Nose-Dive Crash
Into reality
And I hate me again… and make
Promises to myself…
This is the last time...
Walk as far away as my will
Will take me
But the ****
Like Bell
Has long distance capability
Turn off my ear
But my Jones…




Come Too Far To Turn Back Now
Carla Marie 2011

miss
the smell of baby neck and
***** handprints at **** level from
damp and funky hugs fresh from outside...
two against one
wrestling matches and
hide-and-go-seek in
closets and clothes hampers with
indian war paint
made of toothpaste...
Lifetime-Channel-cries (for her)
with crab legs and scrimps... and
steak and Stone Cold Steve Austin (for him)
cuz "real men (even little ones) eat beef"... and
don't do Lifetime Channel...
the sometimes uncomfortable feel
of heartfelt children's advice
as only they can give it
basic and to the point...
laughing... and sometimes crying
but laughing again
eventually...
oh
how i do miss
that which was
in its time
so taken for granted...
gone for good
into their audacious
adulthood

Raindrops on glass and

Rumbling thunder

Lazy,

**** days

Snuggling up under

Cover…

Naked with you lover…

Butter *** pound cakes

With pecan ice creams

Whispering naughty wishes

And

Sharing the nice dreams

That only comfortable lovers share…

While

Storms end’s drip...and

Roll from eaves

We listen to drops

Falling from trees...and

Throw back the shutters

Hug the sun

Touch the breeze

Feel the spring

Smell the love in the air...

One day
My children will
Stop by
On their way
To somewhere else…

To
Kiss their old mama
See what I need
Fuss at me
For not eatin’ right… or
Stayin'
Out or Up
Too late…

If
By chance
I don’t open the door
Cuz I’m busy
With
A Good Smelling Man… and
Aretha Frankin

Sippin’ wine …And
Smokin’ Cigarillos…

They will blow up my phone…
And be all upset... Reprimandin’
My old self
When I finally answer
Speech softly slurred

(Aretha... moanin’ in the background)

Cuz I didn’t check in
In a timely manner...

Makin’ folks worry…

I will simply smile the learned smile
Of tried and tested mothers …
And have
A little more wine…
And
A little more Aretha…
And
A little more good smellin’ man…
One day…

When you got the
Whats-the-use’s
cuz ole' Scratch
done pulled off yet another coup…

Remember to remind yourself to
keep on…

When you don’t think you can…
When you feel so alone…
Dig out… from under…
cuz if we stay
down
then wrong will win…

Yes…
it is a long and dusty road...

but let us not lay prostrate
no matter how tempting
in the aftermath... and
seemingly well worn path
of insanity's destruction...

get up
Beloved…

Lift your eyes to the hills
From whence your help comes… and
Speak a word
To your self…
Encourage
Your self...
Lay hands on
Your self...
Dust your own self off… and
Keep on… keep on…
Run On!

I heard the singer say
“I think I’m gonna run on, to see what the end is gonna be… “
And that feels
mighty good to my soul… so
Let’s run on…
And see what the end is gonna be…

Take my hand
Beloved…
Let's run on
Together…

And see what the end
Is gonna be…

I want to leave something
When I die
To show that I was here
Of course I’ve got young people
And my sweet lover
And various keepsakes
That I hold dear
But
This bequest must be
Of poetic design
As melodious as my spirit
As lyrical as my mind
Buried like hidden treasure
For future word finders to find
Small portions of me
To know me by
Left behind
To discover
After I die

On the crowded bus / from my nice downtown job / looking expensive… and smelling expensive… cuz I am / expensive that is…/ and I’m immediately ****** / cuz I’ve had a long day and I’m tired / and this homeless brother is in the back / talking loud / to his Invisible Confidante / and / without a sign or a signal / but nevertheless as a group / we do not see him…
He is to be ignored…

But my ears do not comply as he sez

It’s one thing to fight to be who you are- and another to fight just to be

And I’m like / ****… that was deep / and the poet in me needs to write this down / cuz “Crazy” follows with

My mother wasn’t nothing- wasn’t no kinda woman at all / Homeless since fifteen how do you explain that? / Nobody’s got the answers to the questions I ask / so I fight in the war / now what’s our new Black president gonna do for me? / When am I gonna get mine?

I sense a burgeoning forgiveness in the crowd / this boy’s… a Vet / but an irritation in my own spirit blossoms because forgiveness / I’m sure / is not real high on the list of all this boy needs / and I suddenly feel like I’ve been somehow negligent*

His Invisible Confidante must have interjected / as he replies

Because… / Big people don’t care about us /  David shuda gave everybody a slingshot / and if they got too big we could **** ‘em / We don’t want to have to look AFTER each other / or even AT each other / can’t even spare a dollar / Tell me to go get a job / like I didn’t try /  It’s hard to fit a camel through the eye of a needle /  So I’ma take my time / Take my time /  Take… take… take… sumthin / Just try to stay modest… just a modest sum is all I need.

The bus has slowly / gotten quieter / all pretending to be ignoring this eloquent schizophrenic / as he merges the holy bible with the u.s. constitution / and adds

Farmers usta run thangs but now Man and God together made satan / I know what I did for my country but what’s my country gonna do for me?

And by now he’s making a jacked-up kind of sense / to more than just me alone... / as he continues

It’s always the black people who think they cool with whitey / I go to the justice center / and they say "leave us alone” / it makes ‘em feel so good / that they could quit THEIR OWN jobs.
  
Which brought to mind the last time WE had to ask for help / Caught myself just in time-- cuz I’se classy now / But I almost said out loud “Say That!” / And he was on a roll…

“I’m sorry” / they say / “go to church” / they say / and at the same time they lookin’ at me / and I know I could never be part’a they church

Somewhere in the front / a sistah couldn’t hold it / and said "Ump!" / In agreement / as only a Black Woman can

And he was speaking…

They say / “I give to charity” / but charities don’t give to the likes of ME… / but people gon be people / so I aint trippin' off that  

I need time and I need help / But I’m a take my time… take… take… my time.  Yeah…

At this point / there is no pretense / we are all actively listening to this accidental poet / this inadvertent incentive to being your brothers keeper / as he says

They act like my mental defect is THEIR disability  

****… that’s ****** up

And so I guess I’m supposed to go downtown / and be all nasty and ***** / just so I can get their little piece of paper / and- smoke- some- cigs- and- smoke- some- crack-and- be happy / is that it?
but they don’t know / In the end it’s not about gettin’ high /  it’s about gettin’ by
Right …? / Yeah…

Here / he finally / mercifully / signals his stop / and prepares to leave his Invisible Confidante with

Thanks for lettin’ me free my mind, baby /  Like inna waffle house… / drinking so much coffee… /  I just wanna be inna room again… / Maybe even a cell… / Where I can read a paper and think deep about today

Wow... / With that one / we collectively exhale / and look at / our hands / or our laps / or out of our respective windows

Changed

By one of our own
Surprisingly well groomed
Oddly articulate
But deeply wounded
Sons

As he
Head hanging
Shoulders slumped
Disembarks from the number twenty-three city bus
And leaves on us
The residue
Of his melancholy…
  

Note:  Usually when the "Crazy" leaves the bus-  a vocal "Whew, I'm glad that's over!" circulates.  But when this broken young man was gone... no one made a sound.  Not a cellular phone or side conversation... nothing. We rode on in silence…

There are elevated thick spots
Directly beneath the finger next to the pinky…
From my share… and on occasion
Other folk’s shares of
Hard work… and
I don’t mind…
These aged hands… that
Once gestured prettily to
Wave away a swoon… or
Disperse the heat… or
Point a direction… or
Pat him on his chest while
Girlishly giggling “boy you so craaazy…”
Now with their
Raised and rugged veins… a
Narrative of my life… like
My Mother’s hands… and
My Mother’s Mother’s hands… and
I don’t mind these aged hands… that have
Patted the babies… and
Held faces to kiss away tears… and
Spanked some tail so the police would never have to…
No-  I don’t mind…
These hands that have
Stroked… and
Rubbed… and
Massaged…and
scrubbed… are now
No longer so pretty…
No longer so dainty…  but like
My Mother’s hands… and
My Mother’s Mother’s hands…
Each line is a tale of it’s own… and
Every ache an account of the past… and
Every callous a memoir… and
I have lived a love filled life… and
The years have given so much to these aged hands …so
I don’t mind…

I have been advised (“…now don’t take this the wrong way”)
That I
Am too RAW…

It was suggested (“…merely a suggestion”)
That I
Water down my art…
Dilute it…
Make it more palatable…
Sugar coat
What may be bitter…
Make what is not nice
Nicer…
For the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”

Don’t expound upon
Addiction or Anger or The Streets
Politics, Passion, ******* or Love Gone Bad
Don’t say
****… or ***… or Hell… or ****…
Bottom line…
In the name of Money… and
In an attempt to reach a wider suburban demographic
Tone it down… sweeten it up…
Sell out….

And you know…
He’s probably right…
Commerciality does sell…

My dilemma… if I took out the
Politics, Passion, Anger, and The Streets… the
Damns , *****, Hells and *****
I may as well be Doctor Seuss…and
A cute and flowery poet~  I am not

I am what I am (a woman fully grown)
I’ve done what I’ve done (some things only Me and God know)
I’ve seen what I’ve seen (I’ll tell you about it one day)
I write about life … and

Not only is life not always palatable
It can be quite bitter...

Not only is it sometimes not nice
It is sometimes not even
Sanitary...

And if the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”
Can’t get with it…
Then
**** their ***** to hell
Let ‘em watch a ******* TV

Cardinal Number…  The product of ten and five... or
Degrees of temperature… or half’a century … or the amount of feet
I be screamin for folks  to
Back up and give me
labor pains… and mental strain… Losses…  Gains…   and I’m still sane and baby
I’ve paid my dues…  yes sir I’ve paid some dues… and at times…
Paid a coupla other folks dues too… rememberin
stretchin the hell out some red beans & rice…
candle lit camp outs in the livin room… laughin our way through unpaid bills… rememberin
hiding behind bushes… jumping from tree to tree…  so they think they’re
trick or treatin by themselves… thinkin
Can you say “TEENAGER”…  I sho can… both bein one…  and raisin some…
shootin from the hip tryin ta figure it all out…
Young folks askin you the meanin of life… and YOU don’t even know yet what it’s all about...
Gettin mad when HER teacher gave YOUR science project a C… cuz you know YOU do A work...
Sittin off by yourself as he walks across the stage… cuz this moment is to be savored...
Learnin the difference between ALONE and LONELY…  
Learnin that **** is not something you take off or put on… ******, **** just is…
Learnin to work with what you got...
Learnin that nobody can MAKE you happy… you got to find that for yourself...
Learnin to see the Big Picture and pick out whats important… cuz
It’s tough to get to Fifty…
That’s why a lotta folks don’t make it….
All the moments… good and bad…
break ups…
break downs…
and breakthroughs...
It’s Fifty…
And by Fifty
We’ve all paid our dues…
Yes, Fifty
You've paid your dues…  and if you're lucky…  and livin right…
Paid a coupla other folks dues too

Cuz there is power in being a woman… power in being the mrs… and
Cuz he is the type of man that will still do it… even if I don’t…
I may one day… on the grounds that he has forgotten to appreciate me… just quit my job… and
refuse to think of anything more strenuous than
How i would love to punch Judge Judy cuz she's rude... I will
Get up each morning… put on my face…and something casually chic…
Fluff out my hair… clip on some earrings… and when I am all dressed...
Sit at the table and drink coffee…
For as long as I feel like it…
Then I will stare at the walls
for so long that I begin to see pictures in the
texture of the paint…
become a closet horticulturist… and grow things…
lots of things… and write poem… after poem… after poem…
until I’m exhausted and have to go to bed… and that will be the only place
that I put in real work… there I will allow him to run his hands over and through my
rolls and creases… lick all the sticky nasty places… that he can’t lick on just anybody… drip sweat
on me…  and ****** loudly…  cuz it’s good… and he can’t help it… and
finally when he has my juices from his eyebrows and his beard… to his chest and his thighs…
he will be snoring… and
my real work will be done…
I may then get up… slip on satin… and fix him one’a those
Spell casting louisiana dinners… if he’s been sweet to me… or
If he has again forgotten to appreciate me… and
Cuz there is power in being a woman… power in being the mrs
I may just sit at the table and drink coffee
For as long as I feel like it…
and grow things…
lots of things...
And write poem … after poem…

Days gone by… by this point…  I’da been
Toasted
Buttered
Three Sheets To The Wind
Toe’ –up from the flo’- up
and
Highly Intoxicated
But that was then and this is now…
NOW… I don’t smoke… I don’t drink… and I don’t get high
Not no more…
BUT I DO COOK!!  And loooove my own good cooking!!
AND I DO EAT!! And loooove that too!!
With that said... here is my confession...

on the day my mother died… I consumed…
2 deep fried chicken sandwiches… a Hostess Ding ****… a Snicker Bar
And enough Apple Jacks to need an intervention and a visit to A.J.A.
Apple Jack Anonymous

So today... I repent... Say 3 Hail Mary's... and eat a salad...

What I cannot find… but am determined… to get back to…

Is not to be confused with

Flavor…

Like hot sauce or vanilla… which can be found at any market…

No…

What I seem to have misplaced is

My Flava

Spelled F-L-A-V-A

And is one of a kind… gifted to me only…

Not to be confused with any other FLAVA

Cuz it is mine…

And without it…

Can barely string a sentence together… and am lost…

As from this springs my issue… and

Without my issue… just don’t know…

Whether to rhyme or to flow…

Wax melodic or staccato…

Iambic pentameter to coax you to

Come with / me and / and be / my love…No- wait...

That’s not it at all-

Have no need of

You being my love… or loving my being…

Which is where FLAVA comes in…

Cuz FLAVA don’t give a ****…

Flava just is…

Unlike consciousness…

Or the awareness of one’s own

Existence…that just wants not to be a

Casualty… and die with the other dead ones…

Who were (by the way) dead long before they

Resigned themselves to undertake the responsibility

Of laying the hell down…

But FLAVA…

FLAVA cannot die… so

I know it’s there… it’s just…

Hiding subliminally…

Under some old debris…

Beneath the ruins of what used to be me…and

When I find it…will then add some FLAVOR

(not to be confused with FLAVA)

…sprinkle some Cayenne Pepper… make it even HOTTER

…fold in some Cinnamon… make it even SEXIER… and

Continue to season…

‘til it feels like ME again…

One of a kind FLAVA…

Gifted to me only…

Gotta get back to it… Cuz it is mine…

Gotta get back to it… Cuz it is me…

Gotta get back to me…

.

This is for the old brother...
the seasoned brother... who made it
(you made it baby)
to have pretty much gone everywhere he had to go and
did every thing he had to do
for every body he had to do it for and
now rises each day and shaves and dresses and
dons his hat to gather down to the
barbershop or general store or shade tree or park to
play checkers or chess or bones or spades...
tell tall tales and short lies...
about how and when and with whom it was back then...
but stops
as i walk by and
breathes deeply as if to
enjoy a whiff of womanly me... and tips his hat and
holds the door and smiles a smile that even now
under the ravages of
time and being black in america
is still **** and kinda sweet..
while the others softly co-sign...
"ump, ump UMP!" or
"my, my, my.." or
"Miss Butterworth!"
and makes a well-rounded old girl like me
smile her own kinda sweet smile....
and thats enuf
this age old ritual
is enuf somehow
for now…

I talk to myself

I talk to myself and that’s okay cuz

I like myself

I know what to expect from myself

I’m never ever rude to myself

Or even a little bit sarcastic with myself

I have been known to deceive myself

And do occasionally surprise myself

Though I can usually predict

What’s going to happen with myself

Every now and again I let myself

Down

But that’s to be expected as myself

Is only human

So when it is necessary

To get a grip on myself

I set aside

A little time

To

Talk to myself




...To The Things That I've Learned Along The Way
Carla Marie 2011

Always "THIISSSS close"

"Missed it by THAT much"

"If it hadda been a snake-    I wudda been bit"

Oh so tired of "AALLMOST  made it"

Missin' it "by a hair"...

That I must ALWAYS miss the mark-   needta know where it's been writ

Don’t mind if God’s just testing me, with that I have no quarrel

Just begta know when, this test, I'll finally pass...

Cuz

Always gittin' THIISSS  close

And

Missin' it by THAT  much

Is really REALLY startin' ta

Chap my ***

Some time ago.. I decided
To not allow
Your problems
To be
My problems
You gon hafta pull that wagon by yourself…

Hell… my own load is heavy… sometimes real heavy…
And I just can’t pull yours and mine too… though I do sometimes try…

But I’ve found that when I try… for too long…
I start to droppin’ stuff… and then I feel bad…If it’s your stuff…
And I feel worse... if it’s my stuff…
Then it’s not just heavy…
But it’s heavy and dropped stuff… and

I’m scramblin’
Tryin' to make sense of it all… or fix it… or patch it... or clean it up… and
It’s affectin' me… and my head aches… and my stomach hurts… and
I’m wonderin’… why…? and
I’m countin’… how long…? and
I’m wishin’ somebody would come along… to help me…
To pull this load…
Until finally…
It came to me…

I need not allow
Your problems
To be
My problems
You gon hafta pull that wagon by yourself…

Seems my life’s things
Have been disremembered…
Either
Accidently just
Fell away
Or purposely
With focus and enthusiasm
Put away
As things of
Middle Aged People
Sometimes are

Noticed today that
Our room smells like
Old People…
Like dust and
Things sitting
Too long in one place
Reluctantly forgotten
Yet stubbornly retained…
I’ma fix this...
Cuz I’m not there yet…

It’s okay… in my opinion… to go home to glory… with some things

left unsaid.. cuz some things are better left unsaid… and I may

never run that marathon… that for at least... five years...  

I’ve been preparing for… in my head… and should I meet my maker...

carrying that last twenty pounds… that I’ve been lying about losing … well…

let’s just say… that… since my maker made me… I don’t see a problem… and

if the Creator should call before I learned to play guitar…. cuz

I’ve always wanted to learn to play guitar… I admit it will be a

disappointment… but not as big a disappointment as it would be… if

I died with my bedroom looking like this…

I left you today…

It’s over…

I’m DONE!

MOVED OUT!

In a spring shower’s end

on foot…

Walkin’ Hard and Fast

Down a dampened street

(Workin’ my neck even…)

Lookin’ crazy…

Talkin’ to myself… bout **** I don’t hafta take

Out loud

(Low down and SELFISH!)

I can FIND me somebody ELSE to drive me cross country to see my mama

(I can’t STAND him!)

I can FIND me somebody ELSE to help me take down my weave

(Makes me SICK…!)

I can FIND me somebody ELSE

To rub lotion on my back… and

To sing me silly songs… and

To make love to me… and

To rub my feet

To rub my feet

Somebody else to rub my feet… like you do…

And…  I will too…

I will…

Just right now…

My feet do ache a little… and

I need to show you

This new umbrella I bought