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…

I am the deepening mystery
I am the weighted blanket that enfolds in midnights
I am a force of Nature
I am the morning coo-ing at daybreak
I am a dew covered field of
swaying wheatgrass
I am bluebonnets by the side of a
little used road
I am fall leaves underfoot
I am a sudden rain shower
I am hightide in a full moon
I am ocean waves crashing the rocks
I am a gently flowing stream
I am the slow breeze that softly
kisses the neck
I am the hard and high wind that leaves one grasping for purchase
I am the lightning storm that ends a scorching day
I am the scorching day
I am an electromagnetic field
I am a solar flare
I am the hazy stillness before the earthquake... and
Every now and again
I am the mothaphuckin earthquake

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 ***

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’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…

All of my mothers have gone...
I'm sure their spirits live on
somewhere
but it feels like not here sometimes,  ya see...
ALL
of my mothers
FEEL gone...even
the ones
that I didn't particularly care for and
right now...
right now...
I really would like
to... maybe...
have at least one'a dem bodies
with fleshy arms and
warm soft bosoms
to pull me in as only
full women with fleshy arms and
warm soft bosoms can-
kiss my forehead and
tell me
no matter HOW it feels in THIS moment Baby
it's gon BE alright...
cuz you come from ME... and
MY strong mama and
HER strong mama and
HER strong mama and
HER strong mama...
so
before it gets too late
before somethin in me breaks...
I'ma wrap my own fleshy arms
around my own full *****
embracin my own self... and
know that I know that I know that
the spirits of all my mothers
even the ones that I didn't particularly care for
are ridin wit me
and I'ma hafta make up my mind
to be
comforted
with that

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…

Easing from the center of a
Six foot ever-green hedge
As if thru an invisible doorway
From Zombie-land
Head first
Eyes like headlights
With high-beams on
Swiveling on too thin neck
Checking the scene
For a victim...
Emaciated shoulders
Pointy knee
Stretches
Ragged pant legs and
Ashy ankles
Flopping shoes… with
Empty lace-holes
Until finally
An entire man
Or what used to be one
Spies me…
But not before I see…
Just trying to get to work
But it’s the two-legged animals
That one must
Beware of
At five a.m.
In the city

≈

Police car cruising
The complex parking lot
Spotlight shines
But I don’t mind
Check me out Mr. Officer…
If you need to …
Cuz I’m not the one you are looking for
So he passes… as
Dusty Perpetrator
Rises
From inside
The dumpster across the way…
Scabby,
Crafty face
Uncomfortably resting under
Debris filled hair
Turns on
Boney neck… and
Spies me…
But not before I see…
Casually shut the door… and
Engage the locks
Cuz it’s the two-legged animals
That one must
Beware of
When the door **** jiggles
In the city

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...

Just alright are e-books  and
just okay are e-zines
I suppose they have their place in the
natural progression of things
but I
love Books...

Old books and new books
soft books and hard books
to sniff an stroke and even listen to  
when antiquated stiff bindings moan
after sitting unopened for far too long
I just love books...

to pile up beside my bed... and
trip over in the night
to scan and browse and finger  titles
and check dates of copyrights

to feel the vibrations
from cover to cover of
previous generations of
fellow book lovers

to peruse
for forbidden doodles and
marginal ramblings
personal rememberances
and briefly noted things

purposely yet
inadvertently left
for future word finders
like myself

Okay... so...  e-books  and even e-zines
now have their space  
in the way of things
but I still hold
a special place
for
Books...

i missed my calling
but not my window
ive lived to tolerate
innuendo
about my age
and my grays
and better days
but its okay
cuz my best days are
right now...

window still wide open
letting in and out
my flow...
champagne
and peaceful chaos
and sultry ****
alchemy
from all the years of
**** i know

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

i see his strength as a compliment to my weaknesses/the both of us together a solar flare/an electromagnetic field/a brush fire

he sees my strength as a dimming of his own light/with me blocking the spotlight/the both of us together/a partial eclipse with me the moon/a shade pulled halfway the window/with me the shade

i only cry a little/as i give up/unable to stopper the well spring that is my vibration/and unwilling to even try

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…

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.

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…

Today I’ve decided
To rush my weeks no more
I’ve chosen, from now on,
To be happy…
When-ever I am
No more depression on Sunday
Dreading Monday
No more “Can’t wait ‘til the weekend!”
While in Wednesday’s traffic jam

Because for each of us
The moment will come,
When we’ve consumed
Our respective allocated days,
That we will leave this life
With what may possibly amount to
No drama… Nothing exciting
A singular non-event…
Merely go out… quietly
No glorious blaze…

You see…
I’ve had an epiphany...

I don’t want to find
That when it’s my time
My last thoughts are of all the things I
Should have done

Like

Hugged each baby
Especially when life was crazy
Been a little less busy
Had a hellava lot more fun

Made more recitals
Missed more meetings
Told more jokes
Gave more enthused greetings

Asked “How are you doing?”
And actually waited for the reply
If you were doing well… Rejoice
And if you were doing poorly…Cry
With you…

I still have time…

To stare into the fire
Crackling in the fireplace
To kiss his neck while he’s sleeping
And take in his much loved face
To rest my hand upon his wrist
While we’re riding in the car
To laugh ‘til I cry at his made up songs
To accompany him
By guitar…

I’ve always wanted to learn to play guitar…

So today
I’ve decided
To rush my weeks no more

I’ve chosen, from now on,
To be happy… where I am

And live each day

Maybe not
As if it is my last...

But possibly
The day before

Hypothetical question inevitably comes to mind-

When we are old and past our prime

Should “they” decide that it’s our time and take upon themselves to douse the flame?

While we cry for our beloved… cuz those that are supposed to know…

Say it’s time to let her go… and

Mourn... cuz four legged people, are people just the same…

She’s just old... as most people hope to one day be… So may

She not moan… Or

Be in pain... and

Let her ease away in loving arms with none to blame… cuz

Good four legged people,

Are good people just the same…*

.

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...

I want you to know Edward
That I took a hit for you…
Jumped under and between
To stay the song of that
Accursed four inch strap
Took it in my fist
Wrapped it around my arm… and
Tried to pull hers out of socket.. cuz
She was addicted… and
You were only four

I want you to know Edward
That I wrestled you into the bathtub…
Disregarded your panicked cries
Scrubbed your little body
‘til you were four shades lighter… cuz
There was four inches
Of stagnant water
In the bathtub  at your house…
And you ran four times faster
Without the dirt
Weighing you down…

I wish you could know Edward
Wherever you are…
That I cooked for you…
Poured milk to go with your dinner… and you
Were afraid to ask for more
At first… then…
You went back four times
And you were happy…
Cuz she left you with me
While she just went to get cigarettes… and
Was gone for four days

Funny how it works out…
That the way to keep
Loving you
Is to
Love you less…
Withdraw…
Back up…
Reel in
My emotions… cuz
With unmet expectations
Comes pain…and

I don’t do pain…

Funny…
How I’ve found
That to stay
Requires
A spiritual
Lessening…

No more
Laying open of the core of

Me… for you to peruse
At your leisure…
No more
Early morning lips
Down your spine
From between those
Fabulous shoulders
To the patch of hair above
My favorite place…
These intimacies
Just too much
To bear…

Funny…
That the idea of
No more
Secret smiles… and
No more
Private jokes… and
No more
Sssexy
Oh so
Sssslow Drags
To
No external music… just
The dizzying smell of you…

Is really not
All that
Funny…

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…

.

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

Stir and 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…

.

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

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

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?

The man always met the enemy at the threshold
Lays down a carpet… grabs his crooked hand… and
Escorts him in
Clears a space for him to sit… and
Like an apostle
Cleans his busy feet of road dust
Garnered while traveling  to and fro
Seeking whom he may devour…

Then… giving him a high place…
Strained to Listen
As he whispered…
Yet is somehow still surprised
When his world is aflame… and he curses the enemy
Gives him all the blame
And the enemy laughs…
As yet another foolish man
Gives him the Credit, the Glory, the Joy and the Power

he says he loves me
and im not sayin that he doesn't...
im just sayin
that I have no evidence
to suggest that he does... and
have more evidence that sustains that he does not
in fact
give one **** for the amazin yet complicated being that is me...
i am far too jaded
for blind allegiances... and
******* sticks like hot grits
...that bears repeating
******* sticks like hot grits

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…

Cuz I know that a mind is a terrible thing sometimes… the way it can turn on ya…. I sit here tryin not to judge…  but  can’t help but see in the corner of my eye… and oh no… tell myself that I don’t … see her face… all screnched up… lookin like a car done parked on her foot… all screnched up… lookin like she got a helluva Charlie- Horse in her left *** cheek… as she tilts her head and digs in her scalp… diggin like she tryin to get through… to herself… in some newly discovered way… and keep on diggin… and keep on diggin…  til she finally come up with somethin… and right there… in our too crowded office… she… with relish… and with gusto… in slow motion seem like…  deposits her newly found treasure… Into. Her. Mouth… and with a loud and wet POP… then with a satisfied sigh… finishes her memo like this is nothing... no thing at all... a regular occurance… leavin me right now starin straight ahead… writin a poem... and "blessin-the-goddess"glad... that it ain’t me... partakin of… untraditional snacks… cuz life can be rough and cold like sidewalk concrete in winter… and if you hit the wrong way... sidewalk concrete in winter... somethin just might break... and obviously there is a... not so readily obvious problem here… so I decide that… I ain’t one to judge…  just act like I don’t see… and  finish my own **** memo…

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…

For the last few months
At least twice a week
It was…
I gotta go do this for him
I needta go and cook for him
I needta call him…
Then life got in the way

Now he’s gone… the way of
So many others before him… and
As the years go by there are more of them
We look at all the Slides… and
Pics and videos
And laugh or cry…
Long for days gone by
Enough to make me shake my head
And say…

If I had to do it all again
I would do things differently
I would live life… always…
On purpose… cuz
Not one second is promised
No time to waste
Give every thing
To every day…

If that still small voice says
Cook for them or hug them
I will fry up whatever the hell there is…
Wrap my arms around them
Say "I love you" if I love them…
No time…
To be too busy
Or too angry or too prideful
Or too sleepy… I can sleep when I’m dead
When they’ll be putting ME away…

But until then… and
While I’m vertical…
With
No chance to do it over…
No chance to do it all again…
I pound my fist on the table…
With the other over this bruised heart… and
Make this vow today…

Going forward I WILL do things differently
I will live life… always…
On Purpose… cuz
Not one second is promised
Can’t let these fleeting moments get away
Don’t wait until later…or tomorrow…
Yesterday’s tomorrow… is today…

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

When
doors open with no breeze
chimes sing with no wind
ya blunts keep goin out… and
Candle flames sputter
You’ll know it’s me
Passin through
to color your aura blue
raise your vibration and leave
my scent in your shirt
palo santo or eucalyptus
In the air…
just
breathe deeply Baby…
exhale slowly Darlin…
and feel betta
cuz it’s just me
Carla-Marie
to get on your nerves
or make you smile
or both
as per usual

See…
This is private reverence
Basic and primitive
Surging through my soul
Not open to debate or explanation… and
I don’t even care
Who might think it’s silly
To dance like I do
Don’t nobody have to understand
My praise…
Don’t have to agree
With my spirit’s celebration…  
Or feel at all
like dancin with me this mornin.. cuz
I think... this time...
I'll dance
All by myself … it’s
My praise
Hallelujah
And I’ll
Dance all by myself

Don’t want to reach up

To that dusty shelf

In the locked closet of my mind

And pull it all out

Blow it off

look at it and analyze

figure out the hows and whys

Hell no

I won’t go

Don’t shrink my head…



Don’t want my head shrunk

Leave it big like it is

Let the mess stay

repressed

Or if one prefers…

suppressed

Better left un-

expressed

Maybe I’ll be

depressed

but oh well…

Time will tell…

Don’t shrink my head

With regard to this grieving process…
how is this supposed work…?
is it okay to be sad for me…
but happy for her…
cuz Cancer
(with a capital “C”  
outta respect)
is a low-down cruel *****…
But she gave that low-down cruel *****…
A run for her money…
A hellava fight…
And now her race is run…
And it’s a win/win …
Or maybe it’s a no brainer…
And I’m sure that there is at least one more cliché that I can use here
But **** it…
It’ll  hafta come to me later…
Cuz my skin itches…
and I keep looking over my shoulder…
feeling as if someone is there…

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

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

No my dear… I don’t want to go
not fishin or shoppin or sight seein… NO
I want to stay home ****…
Looking crazy… in a doo rag… and plaids and strips…
And look at the caller id… and still not answer the phone…
and talk to myself… and/or
Scratch in inappropriate places…
I want to eat leftover spaghetti... for breakfast…
I want to pretend like I’m cleanin my room…
and 4 hours later realize it’s still messy… and not mind at all…
I want to walk into that other room… and turn around and walk back out…
I want to lay down… and get up… and lay back down again…
Then listen to some music… really loudly…and sing… really badly… and
Talk to my plants… so that they don’t feel neglected
cuz I spent all morning talkin to myself… and
stand in the front doorway… and look out of the glass screen…
and open it up… just to feel the temperature outside…. And
then shut it back…
and lock it
It’s just one’a them days… So No…
I don’t want to go…
And go… and go...
You feel me...?
Today...

I just want to stay home…

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…?

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 don’t pretend to understand

your reasoning or reasons for un-embracing

Leaving broken and unsure and having to learn

the hard way

how to do it…

I don’t pretend to comprehend your

outspoken pride

in my enlightenment

as to the true nature of aloneness- of alone defined;

abandoned; forsaken; deserted; solo…

but I learned dear mother…

A minnow… in an ocean of sharks…

I learned…

Without your guidance or assistance in any way…

To survive

To walk like a woman

To spot evil

To spot evil

To spot evil

I almost didn’t live through that one

But I lived dear mother…

Without your aid or comfort in any way…

I lived…

My heart kept beating… sometimes to my chagrin and dismay

I awoke every **** morning and began each day with

Anger and distrust comfortably in place...

Until after way too many years

I realized…

Just because you gave me life

Does not mean that you owe me anything more…

Maybe in some nice holiday story or on the hallmark channel

Do loved ones actually love each other

But not in our reality dear mother

Not in our reality…

So I load my clothes and my spirit

some fried chicken and my beloved

(yes dear mother… the universe has given me true love)

into our all-terrain vehicle

and prepare to make this thousand mile trek to your beside…

still pained… but even now

the dutiful daughter

even now…

as you die…

What lessons will I learn from this dear mother…?

Without your disdain or hindrance in any way

What lessons will I learn…?

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…

you're the oldest in the line
you're now the matriarch
exclaimed my beloveds...
**** how'd this happen?!
I thought with a start- cuz
this is not a part
that i tried for
expected or vied for
All i did was keep livin...
didn't even do it
to my own satisfaction
but all of my mothers are long gone... and
i had to learn to
be my own caution sign
listen to my own still small voice
hug myself when necessary... and
it's taken quite some time
to reconcile me with me
come to grips with my nature
find my
Individuals Peace
which is good... ultimately...
Cuz all of my mothers
are gone

I avert my eye

To give a man his privacy and his pride

To not see you cry for her

Deep and heartbreaking

Chest rumbling sobs that

Vibrate the bones… and

Steal the breath…



And make a note to self…



You were the children of best friends together...

To become lovers when you noticed each other with lover’s eyes

You were the children of farmer’s together…

To become rich… only to forget to be camels… and

Get through the eye of a needle together… so

I avert my eye

To give a man his privacy and his pride



To not see you

Desperately in love... and

Frantically desperate

In her final agonizing days

To make up for lost time…

To find the breadcrumbs

That will lead you back home…

To find the path

That you strayed from…

To find it again… too late



I avert my eye

And make a note to self

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…

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…