There is always
one more dead body
to make us sigh!

We fret at every little thing
We cry when, we should be laughing
And laugh when we should be crying:

Our humanistic way  of coping with life:
How Old Is Mrs. Claus? Mrs. Claus is 1,136 years young!
We will never grieve for the Mr. and Mrs. Claus

They will forever live in our hearts,
Fictional but pleasing to the young
We celebrated another Christmas once again
We cheer, we reminisce, and we hesitate about them

However,

**This is my wish for you: peace of mind, prosperity through the year, happiness that multiplies health for you and yours, fun around every corner, energy to chase your dreams, joy to fill your holidays!” — D.M. Dellinger: Quote

Give A Little : I take a Little

I am the daughter of a sharecropper
I am the real granddaughter of Netta
I am the element of surprises
Sadness and gladness is a part of my being
I give a little, I take a little and I
Pay the price and make the sacrifice:

I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
Back on the hills where the zephyr winds only
Last, for a nanosecond: while
Hiding away from the warm air:
this young child survive:

I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
I sing the songs of the old calypsonians
In memories of my ancestors as they
Sings and mocked their slave masters
Even beyond the grave:

Sadness and gladness is a part of their memories
I give a little, I take a little and I
Pay the price and make the sacrifice,
I have the scars to justified,
the other man white lies:
I felt the pain, in the cold rain,

I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
The granddaughter of Netta,
The element of surprises,
Here I am today still feuding with my choices
that I have come to make...….

Let a fool be a fool
Matthew 7:6
Do not give dogs what is holy; do not throw your pearls before swine.
If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.

I think a lot about the character in some people
The character of a person in
the dictionary sense of the word:
Is not the character in my book: per say:

Writing reflects the character of a person like nothing else.’

The characters in my poems, is never about me
it's about my wiliness to come to term with them:
For the past two years, I took on this character
Who am I, what was I thinking and who told me that I could
have taken on such a huge responsibility:

Friendship is better for business than business is for friendship.*
I have proven this quote to be so true:
I have always appreciated when someone give me something:
I would cherish they gift to the end:

Years ago when I was a teenager,
When things were rough, my cousin and I would
borrowed each other stuff… clothing etc.
I remember my favorite blouse, I lend it to her
I spend almost all my wages just to buy the top
She took forever to return it to me:
So one day I build up the courage to asked her for it
She promises that in a week time she would return it:
a week passed, joined by another and another,
I took it upon myself to go to her house
To bring home my favorite yellow expensive top
There and behold as I walk in her back yard: in the sink
I set my eyes on my yellow silk top: in a pile of *****
Dingy laundry, my heart stop for a moment
green and moldy, lying there,
Crying out to me: rescue me!
I just couldn’t believe my eyes:

She never had respect me or other people belongings:
It has been over thirty years, and I still have the pink
robe my boss had given me after the birth
Of my first daughter, I cherish it,
I appreciated the thought behind her wonderful gift
When someone give us something:
We have to considered how that person care
Enough to get us a little something:
a token of their love

I thinks a lot about the character of some people
How they like to used us, and when you can’t
Come through for them, they sulked
They feed on others sympathy:
Don't help people who won't help themselves:
Just walked away: take it from this character:

The past is never too far behind:
We can never live it down
According to Doctor B . Ford
It’s unbearable:
It’s haunting, it’s inerasable:
For the victims to relived
those terrible nightmare:
in hopes that it they will go away

Somehow it never does
The worst is to see your attackers
Smiling, and moving on to higher ranks

Youth was wasted on the young,
Privilege children: overindulgence few
Not so wealth, not so wise
Today their party until dawn
In the future they wouldn’t remember
An old folks saying
What sweeten the goat mouth?
Would burn its tail end
The higher the monkey climbs
His tail becomes visible:
As you move up the ladder,
Your party buddies will grudge you
Your past will haunts you
Your hidden secret will be found:
Youth is wasted on the young,

Changes
As people we are always asking for changes;
Spiritual, politically or just spontaneously
During the election a number of folks asked
and some even vote for changes
We hate, we love, and we deplore acts of violence
then and now:  Now it haunts most people:
Some even would still consider shaking his hand:
Some got what their asked for, and some still undecided:

Let Us Not Become the Evil We Deplore.” By Amy Goodman

He never goes under the covers: he just love to be exposed
A ***** is a *****: in his eyes: He might asked to see the
Birth certificate, but not the death certificate:
but never the **** kit, the yearbook inputs or the
country clubs initial membership lists:
Birth for him meant still in control: death gone from one’s sight:

I was chatting to a friend one day, I said to him imagine
that everybody on this earth woke up one day
To find zillion of dollars in their procession:
What would that meant to others: the loss of the power:
Money is the leveler that runs the world
The bad things that we done in our youngers years
Will one day comes back to haunts us

The statutes of limitation is just the statue
Time will not be forgotten: Memories lingers
The pain, the shame of being in a humiliated situation
we are living in a divided country
Because, of so much greed and bigotry:

A change is coming: and it's coming soon
who run the worlds Girls!!!

Treading on the fallen echoes
                      of silence that no
                   longer tread on the
              ground, only imprints
             of what was yesterday.

There was a stead, rag and bones
                      showing its last gasp.
                         falling silent before
                         its unrested silence.
Now white tombs show its resting.



Nothing else matters,
                only the wind sings between
                its memory, chimes of agony
                through hollow moments now
                remember its cruel resting place.

Sometimes we don’t
Even realize it but we die
A million times over and over,
Reincarnation, we keep trying
To do it right, they keep getting
It wrong: walking through the
Exit to the left, and enter
Through the right:
And there you are trap again,
Inside the body of a ****:
Begging for your life:
You want to turn around
And take another door with
The golden logo: you must
Never knock, just open that
Door and walk in with
Confident:  what happened?
Next, depend on the first face
You encounter, never look directly
into the eyes of any one, never smile
Let the new subjects called
Your name, did your name
Sound like a boy name or
A girl name:  was it easy to
Remember: it’s a new beginning
Impurities from the old you:
Born again: it time to latch on


**Pray to God with tears in your eyes whenever you want illumination or find yourself faced with any doubt or difficulty.

You must never **** the spiders,
While, they are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder?
Kidnapped the poets, instead of the poems
Therefore, I asked of you to stop all useless riots
On poetry, read them, embrace them, and
Learn from them: poetry is disciplined
And disciplined is the most misunderstanding word
In the dictionary: but somehow it is said that

riots is the language of the unheard:
we must never embrace racial riots,
or racial profiling: reach out to racial equity
stop allowing the messages of hate to go viral
plants row of trees, in the name of love,
I recently came across, ants yes, I said ants

When army ants need to cross a large gap, they simply build a bridge - with their own bodies. Linking together, the ants can move their living bridge from its original point, allowing them to cross gaps and create shortcuts across rainforests in Central and South America.

I recently saw human fighting each other, I recently read somewhere
Where children were locked away in cages
,
McALLEN, Texas (AP) — inside an old warehouse in South Texas, hundreds of immigrant children wait in a series of cages created by metal fencing. One cage had 20 children inside. Scattered about are bottles of water, bags of chips and large foil sheets intended to serve as blankets.

We must never **** the spiders,
While, there are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder..

Narrative Reportage for 8/2/2018

Home is the word we love to hear:
The dreams are never over,
They are always a break through: after the tears:
An x is lodge in our heads was it the,
rock, a tree, or the hidden board,
Time welt serve: time to cash in
Time uproot the rocks
that tree and those loose boards
would this be a happy ending?

You had choose the life of crime
The crime didn’t nail itself
Every day a black man
Under the age of twenty
Pulls the trigger, they turned off the light
He longs to return to his mother womb:
I see the love of their mothers
While she holds their hands at age three
at age twenty three I see the replacement :
the chrome bracelets: the resentment
Neflex the new society wants us to believe that orange is the new black:
“Our ancestors have invented, we can at least innovate.”
― Amit Kalantri

**“Oh Child
Look within
Find your ForeMothers
Find them
Find them”
― Malebo Sephodi

However I wasted my younger days
Wherever I wiled away precious hours
Whenever I gazed at the moon and stars
Whatever games that we played and pondered
Whichever adventure we went on then
Is exactly where my mind still wanders

Whoever I kissed and then held hands with
Whatever the spell from the sounds and smells
Whenever my heart was soundly broken
However I try silencing this hell
Wherever that loss is newly spoken
Whichever place causes the freshest pain

Whenever I think of the time in flight
By mistake flew into forbidden space
When 2 jets flanking me motioned us down
How they saw us as Eco-Terrorists
Flying to LosAlamos Power Plant
Where it is strictly restricted airspace

Whenever dad left-once on Christmas eve
However it unfolded felt tragic
Whatever Christmas comes around again
Whoever toasts to the joy of the day
Whatever the chance, gone was the magic
Whichever way we celebrate today

Whichever day Mother's Day comes around
Whoever I'm with matters not a bit
However I remember that morning
While feeding our son, “I love you”, you said
Then later, “I don't want to be married...
Anymore.”  That pain floods like tsunamis

However I try to stay in the now
Whenever the calendar reminds me
How my favorite youngest brother died
Whatever the details I sorely pine
Thinking of Sam this 4th of July
When he would have been turning 59

However my days have been wiled away
How often revealing one simple truth
*Where your treasure is, will your heart be, too  (Matthew 6:21)

Next to her silks petticoats
my mother’s  brown stocking lay there
on the bed: on the iron board was her
Crispy iron Sunday dress,
on the dresser was her favorite perfume
and talcum powder. And this meant only thing
it was Sunday morning service:

This morning I remember her routine,
I never got into the habit of the military habits
My free will soul would never allow it:

I remember passing the Police exams
As I was about to go for my training
My mother discourage me from going
She based it all on my small petite figure

Her exact words: you think you can fight
Off those big men: Those criminals out there
In the big streets.. I never got to prove her wrong
So, I turn down the police academy recruit training:

And trade in a trip to South America in nineteen eighty three:
I remember that last night before I got on America Airline

My last old year’s night party at the Hilton Hotel,
The loud music, the co-workers, and there I was with
Mixed emotions of being Happy and Sad:

I wish they had a word for being happy and sad
at the same time because that's what I feel every time I was with him:
my other true love< E.B
I still have that **** gold and black spaghetti straps dress
I wore that night, each time I fallen back
To my old habits.. I would take it out and take
One more look at it…and whisper my past
And ask myself why I am holding on to this
Dress for so long: we didn’t had the internet or the Bajan tube
To look back on:  but by seeing that dress. I saw the younger me
With vivid  moments of happiness, and bad decisions:

Today I lay here in my bed with my memories
As I divided them in happiness and sadness sections
Have I proceed with my plans in law enforcement
Would I be alive today to write this poem
Have I not attended the office party
Would the scars of that night still frets me
At each place, in time some of us stop
To picked a rose, or even smell a rose
That why I love this quote:

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: ‘It is the time you have wasted for
your rose that makes your rose so important.’, Anne B...

because, it have seem like I have made some loser that was in my life seem important:
Did I do it for him or for me? Now that is the question..