I Heard The Blues In Her Eyes

Her tears only dripped when my eyes closed.
I pretended not to hear them
but I listened,

I listened to the clutch of her heart
whisper an apology asking for the forgiveness/of my hunger.

I wasn’t mad at mama,
she was younger;

younger than most mother’s.

Twenty-one  years of age
standing in welfare lines
reaching
for free cheese and powdered milk
to go with the half empty jar of mayonnaise
and three slices of bread
sealed with a rubber band
to protect
from the rats and roaches.

I didn’t like when mama cried

because I knew how hard she tried

to hide the desperation that strangled her;
to fight back against the deep kicks of poverty
that was like a bully on a playground
laughing and tripping
until she was just tired of falling --

but she kept strong for me,

because a five year old didn’t know
the strange man at the door
was there to shut off the gas

and a five year old didn’t know
the rent was two months late
because the fifty seven dollars

worth

of food stamps just weren’t enough
to keep food on my plate

and a five year old didn’t know
his daddy was just a ***** donor,
more like a dead beat cloner.

I didn’t like when mama cried

            but She did

and didn’t hide her tears
to well…because her eyes
always would sing to me

the blues

andt they told me, with a soft voice,

that things would be alright
and they eventually were

because  my eyes were enough

to give her the lyrics of strength; lyrics
which created a song still echoing

and spinning on the turntable of life

I’ll always remember mama’s tears.
They flowed to give me a future;
a future built off struggle and commitment
and those tears were the fuel
that energized our survival
but still,

I didn’t like when mama cried

because even within the silence of her smile,
I heard the blues in her eyes.

© 2009
Tarringo T Vaughan
www.TarringoVaughan.Net

Son, I have but a few words for you
and it is only going to take a few minutes of your time –
Boy as I look down upon you from the heavens
of my new journey’s horizon, I can still feel the joyful pain
from the day I released you into this world.  The many hours
of excruciating labor gave birth to a miracle
and from the very moment you were put into my arms
I knew
You were special and you still are special
and just because I’m not here now
I will always be that presence in your heart.

Now son, I don’t want to see any more tears
because as I now look into your eyes I see a journey
of determination; I see fight, dedication
and a belief in yourself that has made
you the fine man you are today, but don’t you go thinking
that you would stop ever being mama’s little boy

because no matter how old
in years you get; no matter how independent
your life has become; no matter how wise
you have grown; my memory will always be those open arms

of warmth, nurture and protection.  Although my physical
presence has left you, that bond
is a connection that will live on through the genetics
of your soul.  You see son, the day I died, I gave birth to you
again.  I watched you cry, survive and grow
internally.  I watched you succeed, release your fears
which has lead you to be freed
all the pain you have grieved.  As I leave you,
I just want to take these few minutes
to let you know I am here
and that you will always be
mama’s little boy – as I now rest free and filled with joy.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan
http://www.tarringovaughan.net
http://www.flexwriterscreativenetwork.net

Sometimes you can forget
where you came from, but that somewhere
will never forget you.  Memories triggered
by glimpses of familiar faces.  Smiles I once knew
and eyes I once recognized
repainted a portrait of childhood
over twenty years aged, but never faded
on the canvas of yesterday’s past.

They were reminders of who I used to be,
just a child exploring the playground of life, unafraid;
filled with laughter, much to be taught
and together we all learned
how to grow and how to fear, how to fail
and how to care
on the street’s of yesterday’s past.

Together, we were the reunion of innocence
as I looked into each eye.  I was reminded
of how we each wanted to reach the sky,
some of us never left the ground,
while others fly high.
But we will always be connected,
each of us a product of a place that will
never forget our name, a place where each of us
is a vision of yesterday’s past.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan
http://www.tarringovaughan.net
http://www.flexwriterscreativenetwork.net

Borrowed Time

I wouldn’t say I am one for sitting on bar stools
in empty ***** bars studying time, but here I am/
all alone/ staring out a stainless glass window
watching life happen and wondering about
the sublime.

So many heartbeats out there strive for greatness;
so many dreams colliding while searching
for possibilities hidden inside shells of moral
capabilities.  Some lead with eyes wide open/blind
to the finely crafted ******* of rhetorical motivation
and some are the followers who waggle
just slightly behind inspired by historical innovations
and there are some, who drink alone/like me,
who search for truth in a half empty glass
of optimism slightly buzzed.

It’s funny how when you are drinking everything
makes a little more since.
Sometimes you need the alone time
to hear what your thoughts are saying.   Sometimes
you need to be away from everything out there
to understand the true ideals of individualism
because we are fascinated by difference
even when we think we are afraid
of not fitting in.  We seek shelter in handcrafted
cliques just to delay the inevitable of standing
on our own.  

We all embrace that maybe tomorrow entitlement
of procrastination, that daily hesitation that makes
everything around us happen….eventually
and maybe I’ve just had too much to drink/swirling
around ice in a empty glass once filtered by Tanguary
and a twist of tonic while still studying the sobriety
of a drunken society of hopeful prosperity.
Life makes a nice drink
because it is a bunch of nonsense we intake
until we’re intoxicated in the mind and stumbling
just to stay on our feet/stuck in time; a time that ticks
slowly when we’re in pain
and fast when we’re entertained
but at times, like now, it does pause
reminding us that we are on borrowed time
sipping on life with imitations of the sublime.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan
http://www.tarringovaughan.net