Let’s Eat Cake

Cake..cake..cake..cake
Image Credit: Iheartnaptime.net

Let us eat cake

No dollars in the bank, No coins in the couch cushions, No pennies in the jar and I’m all out of ideas..

The mortgage is late and the fridge is empty; No meat, cheese, nor bread.
No liquor in the cabinet, No pills in the drawer, and No hidden stashes.

No gas in the car, and even if there were, there’s No money to go anywhere

The silver is tarnished and can’t be polished… and we sold all that we could sell.                   The phones are ringing and the mailman has a job…so (he) won’t quit

The laundry basket is overflowing and there’s No laundry detergent, No dish liquid, and No soap…

SO..there’s No undies, No socks, No shirts, and No pants                                                          Just Bare backs and bare bottoms..

Bare Feet and Bare Breasts,

Bare Faces and Bared of Ego

Bare to the essential..

Naked, unbiased, unprejudiced, simple and free, and honestly choiceless.

But, there’s YOU…

…and ME

and WE can make CAKE.

Let’s eat cake :-) It truly is the sweetest and the most fulfilling part of life.

 

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Red Robin

red robin

red robin

Red…Red Robin…why won’t you come on over and play with me?

Red…Red Robin…why won’t you please come over and play with me?

The Hawk is long gone.

The Cat’s are sleeping.

The Mice are hiding.

Oh..please..Pretty Please. Red Robbin..will you come and play today. I promise you won’t have to stay.

 

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Night Navigator

"Concorde" subway station by night @ Paris
"Concorde" subway station by night @ Paris

Image Credit : °Doudou°

 

 

 

 

 

 

Night train.. rolling over hills, and drifts, winding roads..and worn metal.

11:16 pm.

Take the Eastbound train. Exit at Stadium Subway.

Head West to 4th street. Pass the Ball Park, 2 blocks ahead, on the other side of the highway.

Down the Street. Around the corner. Behind the alley. Past the iron gate. To the right.   (Inside) of Blazes Blues Bar.

Upstairs. Past the pool table, at the far left corner, keep going. Through the red curtain.

The First Door on the left.  Knock. Turn. Push. Peak. Step. Inside.  Step. Behind. Shut.

(your here)

1 purse down on the dresser to the right. 7 steps ahead. 1-2-3-4-5-6 buttons unbuttoned.

1 nude knee. 1 flat hand. 1 nude knee. 1 flat hand.

1 Open chest

2 Twilight Smiles

What took you so long?”

1 loose laugh.

“I lost myself at the bar...glad you found me.”

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Stuck

can't get you off my mind

can't get you off my mind

I never meant for you to stay…But, you have.

I never thought you to be what I wanted…I only planned for you to be (just) what I needed for a short time. You were meant to be a band-aid, a temporary vice, a handkerchief ..a meaningless yet special secret.

You were meant to stay invisible… far away from my view…but now (YOU) are all I see.

I never really meant for you to stay…But, you  have.

Stuck.

You’re stuck in my thoughts. Stuck between the pages of my work. Stuck in my morning, and cemented in my night. Trapped in my sheets and pillowcases. On top of me when I shower..hovering when I apply my lipstick.

You have attached yourself to my temples, lying along my forehead. Twirled around my bang. Curled within my brow. You crowd my space, my thoughts my words, my breath…

You’re here..trapped between my fingers, encased in my fingernails.

You’re right here..smeared on my thighs, shined on my shoulders, on the inside of my elbows.  You’re pasted on my wrists…Ruby red on my hip. Your blue on my toe and white at my lips. Cool and moist on my belly, lined at my breast and pierced to my nipple.

You’re here..Right here at my ear lobes. Dangled around my neck. Dripped along my sides..You’re here..Right here..

Nestled between my legs and rested on my back.

You’re here..Right here.. tugging my hair and holding my hand, fastened and lodged deep into my chest

You’re all over me..Coloring me, Marking me, Naming me, and Calling me..”YOURS”.

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Love Activism

Hidden in the Open

In this designated month (February) of reflection on Black History
(which includes American History and World History), the Superbowl, Valentines Day, and the upcoming Presidential Primary Election, I’ve done a bit of my own musing.
I’ve been wrestling and self-debating between two strong entities: Love and Activism.

Love (to me) is something unconditional. A strong adoration and affection that can not be ignored or changed. An unconditional passion for a person, child, or thing.

Activism (According to Reference.com):
the doctrine or practice of vigorous action or involvement as a means of achieving political or other goals, sometimes by demonstrations, protests, etc.

In the past, February was one of my busiest times of the year. I was constantly active. Participating and Organizing Rallies against Social Injustices. Marching for Political Change and as commemorative protest. I recited poetry at Black History celebrations and sang strong warrior songs. I held African-American story time for local libraries and then passed out fliers and pamphlets about Bills, Propositions, and Promising Candidates to children, “Give this to your Mommy and Daddy, okay honey?” I hung “Social Change” signs on the doors of Super Bowl parties and even came up with a slogan “After your done kicking the ball, let’s kick the hell out of WAR!” (lol). It sounds funny to me now, even condescending and preposterous. But (WE), me and my college buddies, and other “Green Meanies”: Bandana wearing, camouflage pants, Say Something T-shirts, and boots (Cowboy or Military)”Green Natural Gangstas”; we thought we were doing something. We were A.A.A. (Aggressive About Activism) which in layman terms meant we were aggressive and scary. However, when it came to love or anything that had to do with Valentine’s Day, we were quite passive. “No time for Media Propaganda and Retail Hype”.

I remember this guy I dated who would say, “It’s just another way “they” wanna get your money. If only “they” would put that much effort and dollars into the world’s problems then we wouldn’t be out here protesting all the time.” I remember frowning at him, and giving him a side-eye look and thinking “Yeah right. You’ll be out here marching against Potato Chip companies if they start slicing the chips too thin. AND who the hell is “They”?” Ain’t they “We”?

Well, 20 something years later. The month of February has changed for me. Instead of everyday being and event, I only take part in a select few. I teach African-American History, Politics, World History, Sports, and whatever is pressing at the time, year round. Not just a day or a few. I’m apprehensive about anything that is specified as for “Black, Women, War, Change, Gay, Animal”. Mainly, because I feel that everything that I do should include those things. These “Causes” mean something to me. Hunger is important to me, Senseless Deaths are important to me, Women Rights are important to me, ending discrimination IS important to me. Notice I say ME! Because what I realize NOW is that its me that makes the change. I live my life according to how I see the world. I am HISTORY! I am CHANGE! I am ACTIVISM! Everything that I want to change in the world..I do in my life. I’ve learned that in order for the world to be what I want it to be..there has to be an example. The Great Leaders that we learn about were Great Leaders because they were who they were. They did what they wanted to do. Harry Belafonte, did what he loved and if he broke barriers in the process..(so be it). Mother Teresa did what she loved! If she taught someone else because of it, it was only by example.

We are bombarded everyday by negative, aggressive, demeaning, defaming, and outrageous campaigning. Self campaigning. Ads written by and produced by ONE single person that states “WE” should, “WE” ought to..”Let’s HEAL the world”. Okay. Let me see “YOU” do it. An image (no words) of YOU helping. A LOVE-filled image. A LOVE act. A LOVE deed. I want to see it. Show me how and I’ll do it. Then (WE) WILL be doing it. Each one has to do individual work in order to be (Fully) seen as a collective. Otherwise, the action is just what it is..Meaningless. But..if LOVE is infused then..you have MOVEMENT.

LOVE ACTIVISM: Acting out of LOVE. With and through LOVE. Vigorously loving in an act of achieving political, social or personal goals. Using Love as the essence of action. Love as a Movement. Love Revolution. The Love Process.

Valentines Day?! Shouldn’t just be a day, everyday should be a day of showcasing Love. We are who we are when we are passionate about what makes us (us). That uniqueness is what makes us Great. Greatness can only come from LOVE.

“What can I do to make the world better?” Simply. Be better. Don’t try to stop the ills of world..heal it. “How do I heal the world?” Simply. LOVE.

Here’s a bit of Healing:

Historian and Love Activist, Trent Kelly has collected 146 rare vintage photographs of black male couples from the past 140 years. To view the complete collection of the  photos go to Flickr: Hidden in the Open
A Photographic Essay of Afro-American Male Couples
from the Distant Past

“I was once asked why I don’t participate in anti-war demonstrations. I said that I will never do that, but as soon as you have a pro-peace rally, I’ll be there.” ~ Mother Teresa

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Escape of the Loons

Image Credit: Clare and Holly

“How can I move on..when I’m still stuck to you?”

(Two Troublesome Loons Sticky and Glued………..Heavyhearted, Torn, and Blue…………………Love struck,  and Confused…………… Hated and Weighted…………….. Dizzy and Sedated……………. Painfully plucking away each others feathers..but so salty the tears, they bind the Leather Tether even more…tightly together)

 

My Date Night

New dress

New shoes

New stockings.

                      New do.

New China Red Lipstick for shiny red lips.

                                                         New practiced glide and New extra sway of hips.

A promised date on an outdated calendar.

A long-awaited Escape to something grander. Something better or Greener, Tender and  maybe Finer.

A long bath, manicure and pretty toe.

                                                              A rose oiled rub-down for a sun-kissed glow.

A New flirty scent with honey flavored powder.

                                                        A hopeful tasty treat for the suitor of the hour

A diamond g-string with matching push-up bra.

                                       A desired finished product..free of blemish nor hint of flaw.

A full frontal view, a rear view and side……

                                                         but in the mirror the chain can’t hide.

Bulky and mismatched.

                              Out of place yet still attached….

His Date Night..

A drive to comfort… a familiar caw. A hiked skirt with hidden claw. A One night proposal or maybe a lifetime. A dream of stability, loyalty, trust, and finally fidelity.  A friendship wished upon and a love never torn.  A likeness of self and hopes of something easy and never felt.

Delighted he watched her, and secretly checked off his prized requirement list. But, as the night ensued..her perfectness became strangeness. Her motives became questionable.  No longer tempted his mind wandered…and instantly….

My Night (Continued)

….It drags from room to room, clings and clangs.  It sticks to my heels and no matter how hard I kick..it always hangs.  Dangling, pulling and tugging. Yanking, suckling, and hugging.

It trips me up….. then knocks me down.

Now..just look at me!  All dressed and ready..just to lay on the ground.

But..not for long..cause when I fell..It yanked him too.  A tumbling, and bumping, through Heaven and Hell he flew..right back to me…stuck like glue.

Now..here we are sit, two Crazy Loons. Fools for searching for what we already knew.

It always ends up the same way, no matter how far we THINK we may be able to stray…It’s just US..

…………Tight forever…with hopes of never…escaping the safety of the cage that we built from each others feather… and the love-struck leather; infused with the blood and sweat of our relationship… is the tether.

 

 

I can’t get over you babe..

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Flute

flute
"Flute"

Image by Lori Lee

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blow
…Blow

through bitten lips. Tight and clung…wisps through teeth. Hollow, curved and turned. Flung around tongue, wrapped around jaws.

Open loose

Blow.
Blow.

Stretched through me. Opened air
breezy
cold

Blow.
Blow.

on top
inside

throughout and round about

Wide, long, and puffed.

…Played

Flute

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Red Door

Red Door

Breaking, cracking, sinking, sunk.

Dunked, and stuck.

Stagnate and unmovable.

Red Door. Locked. No entry.

Neon green. Bright and effervescent.

Feverish, flailed and flipped

Back door. Enter. Unseen, Uncared, gaped and black.

Unashamed and free

 

They all scuffle through

A busy highway..the bustling metro…a crowded stairway. Locked and chained.

 

Crippled and drunk

stiff drinks and creased pants

lipsticks and compacts

short skirts and broken zippers

clean mirrors with foggy reflections

a peek from the corner

Midnight black lash, curled and fluffed

Her eyes, dark lined and smudged

an out-of-place mole, Dangled peacock feather

and fringed waist

a rip of netted stocking and red patent leather shoes

Butterfly Wings flap at shoulders

wet chins

sour lips

and dirty collars

empty pockets

dew dropped glasses

bare floor

silent jukebox

her arm in my sleeve..

vacant stairway, empty metro and deserted highway

One key

Red Door…Open

 

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Lipstick

lipstick on dresser

Cold, tight hands lift..hair wrung…pulled through fingers.

Fallen fabric at the ankle…

Toes on tips and stretched..heels up, tight calve..long, high and tilted under neck..tugging thin pieces of skin bitten between teeth..

Tasting every space.

a flash of time..

a flicker of light

suspended in Now..

the moment

a float

a hover

a jolt

you and me..                      just us two…

Blushed, Flushed….Berried

Breathless

………….Ruby chin; stained from my lipstick.

Silver wrought iron post, smudged from your grip.

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Juniper’s Toss Up

Juniper play

Juniper-play

A peek of the red lace fluffed from my blouse. London plaid skirt clung to my waist… then pleated down my upper thigh. Black knee-length combat boots..tightly laced. My hair pulled back in rippled ponytail and bright red lipstick. I carried my favorite Burberry Journal just to top the look off.  It was my ode to Great Britain.

Not my usual attire for the library, but I knew he’d be there. His monthly lecture on “The New Developments In Medicine.” was just wrapping up.. The stiffs, shuffling out the room. Stale musky air on their backs. Tan and Beige wool coats..gray and blue polyester slacks, and wide flat leather shoes.

When they leave, I shout “So, is this your way of getting more money?…Clever” I snare; with a half raised smile.

“Of course not.” he remarks (slyly) “You know me better than that.”

I laugh…”Exactly.”

“So, how have you been?”

“Just fine sir… Simply Dandy.”  while spinning and giving him a whirl of my skirt.

“I see that”…he smiles.

Gathering his things, he moves closer. “So.. (lingering) What can I do you for?”

“Hmm.” I smile.  “I just came by to see you. Can’t I do that?

“Sure, but that’s not something that you ever do.”

(Giving him a naughty look, and folding my arms) “Oh..that’s not nice.  I’m always up to see you.”

“Right.” He adamantly sparks and walks away toward the rest of his stuff.

Acknowledging his tone, I ask..”Are you mad at me?

“I wouldn’t say that I was mad.  I’m just not into this game you keep playing.”

“What game?” I frown.

“The game where your all over me for a day or two..then I can’t get a hold of you for months.  Then you text me..or pop up..like everything is fine.”

He shuffles his papers and books.

“It’s too much of a roller coaster. I told you I liked you, June.  But, if you keep doing this.   I don’t want to see you.”

“Aww, baby”..I pout.  I’m sorry. I guess I thought you were just talking..I didn’t think you were (THAT) serious.

“WHAT!” his voice raises.  “What do you mean..that Serious?!  June..this is not a joke.  We’ve been messing around for almost 2 years now.  Are you kidding?”

I nervously, chuckle.  “Nope…I’m not kidding.  I know we like each others company, but I didn’t want to assume it was more than that. Sorry, that’s  just what I thought.”

“Dammit” he whispers. Hovering over me and bending to my face. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Eye to eye, now.  “I’ve helped you all I can, Juniper..  I can’t do it anymore. Bye.” and  He heads for the door.

He’s serious.  I huff and exhale.  “Wait” I mumble uneasily.  Oh no, he is serious. “Wait!” I screamed; following behind him.  He turned and gave me the meanest look.

Back in my face…”Juniper! We are in a library!” he glances around..”This is my job and reputation, don’t do this, here.”  His lips were wrinkled and twisted..His voice was stern and bitter.

He was indeed MAD.

I touch his hand. Bow my head and say “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry”  in a soft innocent voice.

He looks at me, darts his eyes toward the door.. Yanks his hand away and turns.

Once he reaches the door, he motions for me to follow.

On his heels, I skip.

Around the back of the building and into the parking lot, we go.

He pops the trunk..throws his things in.and slams the hood. I stand silently the entire time..

He opens the back car door..”Get in!”  I look with wide-eyes.

“Kids sit in the backseat.” he said.

I brush pass him..and climb in.   He climbs in too.

On top of me..he laughs.  We both laugh.

“You sure you still want to be a doctor?” I ask.  Cause I think you’ll make an Awesome Actor!  You really had me believing you.”  (l laugh) Oh, my god.. I even got chills.”

We both crack up..

“Are you wearing panties?”

I smile. “What do you think?”

 

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Sweet Talker

Image Credit: By Chockylit

Peppermint tongue with a Red Hot tip

Wet Liquorice lips

Cotton Candy breath and Sugar Daddy words

He’s a Sweet Talker

Strutting his Fifth Avenue walk

Spitting his Juicy Fruit talk

Flashing Charms on his Hershey wrists and golden Ring Pops on his Hot Tamale fingers

Pixie Stix, Jolly Ranchers and Life Savers bustle in his trousers

He’s a Sweet Talker

He said his name was Carmello and flexed his Hundred Grand chest

Twinkling  his Laffy Taffy smile

Winking , with his Cookies n’ Cream eye

Offering me a line of Jaw Breakers, Whoppers, and Bazookas

Blowing me Starburst kisses and dropping Pop Rocks in my ear

“Who does this Wachamacallit think I am? He must think I’m a Air Head, Lemon Head or Dum Dum!?”

I hold up my hand and say “Hey! Nutty Buddy, Take5!”   I’m not into all these Jujubes, Jelly Belly’s, and Tootsie Rolls. Peace out Mike & Ike” and I turn to walk a way.

Sweetly he stopped me, “Wait Buttercup, please? My bad.. Dove,  I mean.. (Rambling over his words)…I’m sorry for acting like a Junior Mint or Milk Dud. It’s just that you got me  all Twizzled up and my legs are like Gummy Worms.   He softly proclaimed…”I just wanna be your Wonka Bar.”

“Awww”..I turn to face him. His cheeks were like Haribo Twin Cherries. His face was pure like a Milky Way. He held in front of me; his assortment of  chocolates in a heart shaped box.  “I think I know what you like” he said.. and with his Butterfinger he fed me my favorite.. Chocolate Turtles.. (Yummy)

He’s  A Sweet Talker..But I like him.

 

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The Bell Tolls

cone12-28-07-3

At the nape of your neck.. my pale fingernails linger in thin curls..

softly pressing you into my cheek..

your ear to mine..

around my shoulders you rest..

tender grazing on soft sheets..we wrap each other..

we hold and console

carefully concealing one another..

tightly safeguarding…

At times, I am underneath you.. hiding and retreating, guarded, kept warm and protected

At times, I become your wings..stretching myself wide on top of you..allowing you to float..to relax..to drift

We take turns lifting each other

We take turns breathing for the other

Tender kisses blend with sour tears

pained and silent

………..we make love

While the walls are crashing to the ground

While bombs are blasting and shots are firing

amidst screams..

………..we make love

While fires are burning and corpse lie uncovered in the streets

………..we make love

with shell casings at the foot of the bed and war ravaged photographs on the pillow

………..we make love

with a black-hooded victim huddling in the corner; dawning torn feet and lacerated hands

with orphan children crying underneath the bed

while the floor boards are rattling and the earth is shaking

while the Regime is at the door and the sirens are wailing…

………..we make love

with hundreds of gas-masked covered faces..peering through the windows

………..we make love..

Desperately revolting against the hour

Fighting minutes by seconds to reclaim lost innocence

The ticks tock louder..and then… The Bell tolls…

(Times up)..with angst we face each other

I leap from the bed onto bloody execution stones..

grab the pistol, posters, banners, and bullhorn..

He grabs the vest, machetes, rifle, and phones..

….a blown kiss..and out separate windows we fly.

 

 

(“The Revolution WILL NOT be Televised”..just whispered through the hearts of the TRUE REVOLUTIONARIES.”

 

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