Tired, he slept. The breath of a cool breeze passing. The wind swept across banana leaves ablaze golden red ashes burning as grey smoke pours from the remnants of the fire. The aroma of ripe jackfruit taints the Smokey air.

Turquoise- blue, Ocean; waves riding the current. Tidal waves drowning the shoreline, consuming it one rip-tide at a time. Baby Blue-***** racing frantically. Claw tracks marking, as they paw against the damp beach sand. Palm trees swaying, leaves dancing in the breeze. Seagulls soaring, as their wings expand, gliding on bands of the wind.

******* ain't **** in 2000's i don't trust em
they show they ***** so **** 'em
buck 'em down smack downs with the gun in hand
leave a permanent frown in school i was a clown
after the money the green crack scene king
everything turned reality from a dream
now a loc on the loose lookin' for a caboose
so i can tap it like rabbit smokin' jokerslike a bad habit
show up boy if ya want to watch these slugs dump up on you
still a ***** been real since i was an embryo
don't matter the scenery or scenario down for my barrios
turn 15 keys to 75 G's nigguh please 
i don't mean to brag but i got street cred **** the feds
and cops to 502's tryna get a brother on a catch 22
learned game from the wise my eyes
filled with blood from **** im tokin'
throwin' a peck harder than woody woulda
carvin' haters with barbed wire
im Crazy never lazy with my trigger aim high not low
hop in the blue midnight 64 pinin' the baddest cabbage
raw savage spittin' cavi flow open up ya holes
with my hallows ya swallow casket follow
but ain't no love lost toss out the best of 'em
now they sleepin' with the rest of 'em
ti's the retunr of the G me replica of the E
they may forget you i but imma keep you alive
though ya dead and gone
im continue stompin' much luv from Texas to Compton

So what the ****? ****** bumpin' gums
talkin' loud but sound like they got ***
in their mouth watch ya mouth boy
i ain't comin' to play
deals from Montego Bay parlay in the streets Texas to LA
i smoke muthaphukkaz like a philly
get off the ***** silly crazier than a hillbilly
fuedin' cities show none pities
to muthaphuckaz the world is a ****** up place
too many after the paper chase
from ladies to hoes rich to poors weak trend to populace fashion shows
i opened doors
thats locked dont give a **** thats why i keep the pistol cocked
knocked off'd another now ya blood on the concrete
duck nigguh! now ya *** a sleep a creep
on the real thought really doe
i don't rock diamonds or pretentious jewels
just man made rules **** religion along with a stool pigeon
my hands itchin'
cuz im urgin' for another ****** plan with the pistol hand
to **** propaganda can't tha
stupid *** media nothing but ******* hidin'
behind tubes muthaphukkaz
come out come out so i can show ya what the
hallow points about
i may get killed for keepin' to real
i put that on my kids and my biz
by the way my muthaphukkin' name is!!!
_

Born in Beverley, to Holme on spalding Moor
Leven and Knaresborough opened up the door
Ripon was the first time to leave my home so true
Parents to New Zealand Boo hoo Boo hoo Boo hoo
Auckland to Tauranga and finally home to stay
Southport and York not quite montego bay
on to the edge of the world at kingston upon Hull
before the move to Bridlington to live a life so full
and then the move that made all moves Liverpool it was
I love the life of the mersey it really is the boss
I'm so made up to feel the love and life of the Mersey beat
Tuebrook Toxteth and wavertree are places I've moved my feet
I am really privilaged to see the windows of the world
from Singapore and Scotland and Australia's fields of gold
I've been to Canada, America and Luxemburg as well
The windows of the world in a small nut shell

So if you want to know upfront,
Then, you should know
That a reasoned selection process was used,
The music was cherry-picked,
Three perfect compact discs,
Hanging there from the branch,
(Actually CD stack storage)
And me, with a sativa buzz,
Working nicely, grazie mille.
I sit down to write another one of my “fakakta” poems.
The music?
Three crystal gems
Liquid pearls, all of great price.
To wit: (1) “The Best of Joe Cocker,”
(Joe died last year, and
Don’t we/Shouldn’t we
Consider him a close associate,
A kid we grew up with?)
(2) “A Twist of Marley,”
A “Verve Music” product,
Brilliant conception!
Montego Bay gone South Chicago,
A sweet instrumental miscegenation--
A potent, wicked fusion of reggae & jazz--
Manifested by Dave Grusin,
Gerald Albright, Lee Ritenour, & Others.
And last, but not even close to being least,
(3) “MILES DAVIS Kind of Blue.”
Lest we forget Norman Jewison’s
Homage to Mambo Brooklyn Italiano
Cher & her wacky greaseball family:
The Castorinis.
The Cammareri.
The Cappomaggios.
Did I hear someone say “*** Stereotype?”
Bam! A double “Moonstruck” slap,
Just to remind you:
“I’m talkin’ here.”

Lest we forget:
Coltrane blew tenor sax
Both March & April 1959 sessions,
Columbia 30th Street Studio,
New York City.
And if you've heard
"Freddie Freeloader," a
Sizzler solid 9 minutes & 49 seconds,
I think it’s probably a good time
To go check to see if you
Left the garden hose on.
BAM!
Now do I have your attention?

We pensive Boomers--
We take stock.
We ponder the clock, a
Vexatious tick-tock
Arctic soundtrack,
Music in the key of winter of
Our discontent/content.
YOU MUST CHOOSE ONE!
Time to script your buggering off,
Time to settle in
On an exit strategy.
“Yes, hurry up, it's time.” screams T.S. Eliot,
From an English major’s
Vast wasteland archive.
The scoreboard reads 4th Quarter now.
We ruminant Boomers,
Facing up to it at last, are we?
To be or not: a serene letting go, or
“Rage against the dying of the light?”
Dylan chimes in:
Thomas, meet Thomas.
Oprah, Uma.

So you should know upfront,
I got a great buzz on.
The music is groovy.
This poem ends here.

Love was a mystery to me
therapist says it started when i was three
with a kissin' cousin who was blonde and handsome
this started when we were both very young.

To love and to marry
that was our plan
when I was a woman
and he was a man.

Our time together was swimmin', and fishin'
no blood did we share, just huggin and kissin'
cousins, skin so bare, someone had to know,  
what was going on when we would go....

Too young for ceremonies
even pregnancy or jail.
Too attracted to one another
to let family hatred prevail.

Can't help but wonder
what started our curiosity?
How it grew to be so...
intense, sexually?
What did we see?

I have pondered for years
through the pain and the tears
whether we were right or wrong?
I have rationalized, made excuses and lied
been therapeutic, accepting and cried.
Tried to release the loss in the words of a song,
but it always came out all wrong.

I never felt guilt
nor ***** or a *****.
But a nightmare remains when i was a bit older
when i had screamed and said no more!

Still he wouldn't let me go,
I'd squeezed with all my might
I tried to keep him out
to stop what wasn't right.
And my father couldn't hear
he'd been drinkin' and wasn't near.

Anger remains for my mother when told,
she became unbelieving and cold.
Doesn't understand my hatred still to this day,
doesn't remember her inaction made me this way.

So now he's a grandpa...in an old shack
where he likes to tinker and hide
I saw him once when i visited there
after my aunt had died,
that's one time that I really tried.

It is quiet when i am around
in his mourning and sadness
we don't make a sound
the silence is like madness.

No police were ever told, no testifying,
i was promiscuous, and must be lying.
My mother and father were to blame,
my childhood would never be the same.

I learned to keep quiet,
to protect family, prevent the riot.
My loss i thought, to never be his wife,
my pain was not worth caging another's life.

So, last year I kissed him on the cheek
and then I told him his grandbaby was sweet
and to call if he ever needed anything
and somehow fixed my broken wing.

Because I hopped in my car,
wished upon a star
and while I slowly drove away
thought of Montego Bay
and stared at my ring
and started to sing!





Poem Comments
(17)

Add a Comment:

Insideme commented on Innocent Love

04-25-2011
    The pain of it being ignored or looked past, the coming to terms with what happened, and then this.....So, last year I kissed him on the cheek and then I told him his grandbaby was sweet and to call if he ever needed anything and somehow fixed my broken wing. Forgiveness is the only way to move foward and it sounds like maybe you have a bit of compassion and understanding about his situation too...good for you, hate is a strangling rope that hangs us when we hang on to it. love and freewill to you beautiful one!
    Reply to Comment

Tempestlady

06/12/2011
    YOUR WORDS ARE SO GRACIOUS AND VERY APPRECIATED. Hope you and yours are well. Tlady

spbsdude commented on Innocent Love

02-20-2011
    Were you only three when this all happened? Or was that where it just started Takes a lot of courage to write and publish one like this. I have written one called "In My Ten Year Old Bed" of my experience as a youth. Maybe I'll post it here. Alll the best, Spbsdude.
    Reply to Comment

Tempestlady

02/21/2011
    Started when i was three, ended about 6th grade. Yeah, courage, but nobody in my family cares enough to read my **** and try to get to know the real me, and I'll never meet most of you so its a pretty safe releasing place. Thanks for the understanding comments and for stoping by to read. I really appreciate it. Write on.................Tlady

Mareann commented on Innocent Love

02-10-2011
    The way in which you shared your pain , is delivered in a wonderful poem, well written and expressed. Blessings to you, Mary
    Reply to Comment

Tempestlady

02/11/2011
    Thank you for your time and generous comments. Tlady

jec commented on Innocent Love

02-07-2011
    Very personal I know ... and well done ... I have a desire to read the book that follows this poetic introduction ... I believe that may not be your choice ... thanks for writing and sharing ... jec
    Reply to Comment

Tempestlady

02/09/2011
    Think I should write a book about it? What a concept, never even considered it before, Thanks for the idea, and for reading and rating............write on................Tlady

stellar commented on Innocent Love

01-14-2011
    so innocent indeed...and again love how you expressed this unusual happenings...i find these lines so cute...Too young for ceremonies even pregnancy or jail. Too attracted to one another to let family hatred prevail.
    Reply to Comment

Tempestlady

01/14/2011
        The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.
    Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

This body;
This temple of one;
Cursed to some;
Sinister to many.

This body;
This temple of one;
Scarred by struggle;
Consumed by fear.

Conditioned to be wary;
Scavenging at the weakest links
Of destiny's food chain.

As the lions roam free,
Higher up.
Raising kin to be kings,
To break this body;
This temple of one,
With impunity.

This body was lynched in Montgomery,
***** in Rome.
Poisoned by Derby's dose
In Montego Bay.
And fed to bull gators in Jacksonville.

This body was stripped in Rio;
Feathered in Saint Kitts;
Beheaded in Berbice;
And tarred in Tennessee.

This body was shot In Chicago;
Shot in Charlotte.
Shot in Missouri.
Shot in the Bronx.

Shot.
Shot.
Shot.
Shot.

This body;
This temple of one;
This ******* child of the universe
Is sick of being
Shot.

Of dying young.
Of rotting in cell block 9
And sealed boxes underground.

While the lions roam free,
Higher up.
Raising kin to be kings,
To break this body;
This temple of one,
With impunity.

~ P
#This_Body
2/10/2017

Never have I seen such a fine immaculate thing such as yourself.
With impeccable features on every part of you.
Intricate hairlines with the same latitude as Montego Bay.
Wavy curls that go like the Pacific Ocean.
Soft and tiny hands with moisture abound that make my skin tingle at your touch.
Your scent – lingers around you like a fresh rose: thorn-free and beautiful. It intoxicates me and exhilarates my senses, refreshing my mind and bringing me into overdrive.
This is how you are.

(lunarlullubies)

The tax man is coming to town
he wants to put all of us down,
he'll tell you what taxes are due and
then shake the cash out of you.

I'm hiding my money away,in
the Cayman's or Montego Bay,
let him go looking
like I did today, for somewhere
to squirrel my money away.

Don't think that he is your friend,
his means is a way to your end,
if you've got money
I suggest that you spend
the lot.

The Jamaica Jewel's sails are full with skull & bones on high mast,
canons thunder, I pillage & plunder with a trim keel my ship is fast.
My boots and vest are leather black with sword & buckles of gold,
when sunlight reflects, landlubber's quake & their blood runs cold.
I always dress in black except from my hat a plume of vermillion,
A pirate's chest full of treasure and pieces of eight by the million.

Just the sound of my name sends shivers to timbers of all,
I am Capitan Blood Head, on mermaid lips and ports-o-call.
On sand & beach Capitan Blood Head wanted alive or dead,
where rivers become waterfalls posters for bounty is what's read.
So the legend lives on, from Key Largo, San Juan & St. Kitts Cay,
from Trinidad and Tobago to Saint John and Montego Bay.

Don't you dare cross Capitan Blood Head and his Scallywags,
and don't even think about The Capitan's favorite Sea Hags,
or walk the plank to Davy Jones' locker you sank. AGRRR!!!

marooned in writer’s den
with empty thoughts
and a pen.
raindrops pitter pattin’
morse cues from heaven.

nina simone blowin’
baltimore blues
through my soul.

soon similes start a flowin’
like tropical waves over
montego bay,
infusing my muse
with sunshine lyrics
on a rainy day.

cryptic blocks dissipate
as the water breaks,
and a new song
is born.

ayo!

~ P