I used to, on occasion, perceive others’ dark as a mendacious mode of false endearments they could put on a performative spectacle to lure passive onlookers like a siren’s song – I see now I see now peoples’ pain I see now how detractors bathe their reality in shame. – I see now the drugs […]
If I told you that you look like a slave you’d think me offensive but sadness droops down your face like the body has recognized its youth will never return. Regret and dishonesty is a very heavy feature to wear, so your face stretches farther from accountability
If your ears were not in his possession I’d tell you to run ‘til La Luna de Dominicana caress your curves, make melodies with your laughter, then build a nation with the force beating la tambora through your veins
But you don’t know better than being trapped You’ve made a normality out of your captivity Your bond to your owner is bondage in the end Goddess of forests and islands in savage hands
When I first saw you, the splits in your hair told me this man don’t take care of you. Honey, does he oil your scalp each night like your African Ancestors did to worship their gods? Darling, does he kiss your flesh like the sun kiss the Earth? Stopping only to move to another part begging for love. Sweetie, does he know you need more love? In every crevasse of your smooth melanin skin? Bella, does he make you moan so loud that the celestials hear and rejoice your purity? Your natural form. Love. Mi’ja, does this man know how to love your black body after taking all of your fruits? Una mujer elegante como tu. Una negra como tu.
Did you know a thriving line of your ancestry is annihilated each time you bring this gringo with you? La Luz de mia, you’re a slave. Nobody knows what hold he has on you. You refuse to know what curse this man is to you.
Let me tell you a story I have never told anyone, anyone, ever in my life before. About a year after my car accident, my bestest friend in the whole wide world at that time got hit by a speeding car. Him, a few other friends, and I were skateboarding down a street going to wherever the wind takes us. I was halfway down the block, and he was ahead of me–crossing to the next block already. The light had just turned green for him, but as he was crossing, a taxi driver sped through the intersection and hit him dead on. All I saw was him tumbling on top of the car until he fell to the ground. We all immediately rushed to him. He was alive. It was difficult for him to get up, but he did. With shaky legs and our support, he walked to the sidewalk, and waited there until the ambulance came. He spent one night in the ER and was back in full motion the next day.
Some time after that incident, him and I discussed the difference between our outcomes: him, one night in the ER vs. me, 11 days in a coma, with 7 months in and out of the hospital. He looked at me, and told me that he saw the car right before it hit him. In the fraction of a second before the car hit him, he told me he did a quick hop! That hop, plus him being on a skateboard, gave him some elevation–which (he concluded) was enough to put him at a height where he just tumbled up the windshield to the top of the car. As opposed to me, who was on foot, probably didn’t even see the car coming, and was hit dead on. Just a few inches in height; 48% chance of living vs 100% chance of walking out the hospital the next day. Snake Eyes.
Just a few inches in height; 48% chance of living vs 100% chance of walking out the hospital the next day. Snake Eyes.
let another blueballoon go just to seewhere it wouldup and driftoff to, then i reached up foryou like you weren’talready part of anew family, my feet are blisterstones and all iwant is to bethe air wherever youbreathe itfree. Grumpy Gormanigram: https://www.instagram.com/gèèrumpygorm image adapted from artwork here –https://fineartamerica.com/featured/dandelion-blue-balloon-artmarketjapan.html
I hope you all are having a wonderful day and week! I haven’t been posting poetry this week because I’m actually working on a small poetry book/series. It’s going to be free so I hope to be able to share it with as many of you as possible. Comment if you would like to have a copy of the series.
Anyways, while surfing the internet–searching for what’s out there–I came across this company that caught my attention: Keiken. I thought the name was interesting. Looking more into the organization, I became captivated by the work that they do.
I’ve never written about other companies on my pages before, but after checking out their page and reading about what they do, I decided to support them more. Additionally, what they do is right up my alley: support people’s creative endeavors. I have a brief summary of them below. Please, CHECK THEM OUT!!! 😀
Keiken Media is a digital creative agency that specializes in building clients an online presence. The company has a proven portfolio of crafting logos, websites, and social media content strategies from scratch to increase brand interaction and recognition within a desired audience.
Keiken Media delivers photography, videography, and creative direction with technical knowledge on all production ventures. With the new shift in the world the company has adapted from creating in physical locations to managing creativity in the digital space.
Inspired by life in Osaka Japan, Keiken; meaning “one’s own experience”, is infused with the electrical energy of two of America’s greatest cultural hubs, New York City and Atlanta. The world traveling team can always make an impromptu office on the coast line which allows for tranquility and fluidity over everything they produce.
Keiken Media does a broad range of things to support the creative community, and the environment. For the next few days, I will be posting more about them! Keep an eye out for that, and definitely check out Keikenmedia.org!
So this girl came up to MY FACE and said, “Charles, write me a poem”. My first reaction was how(tf) do you know you’re a poem?! Granted, she was. Awww man she IS a poem! One that walks with grace and security–her steps so firm it could be traced back to the African Ancestors that still don’t know how to put their heads down and give up. . You must have some stainless audacity to ask me to turn you into a poem though, because how do you know you’re a poem? YOU ARE a poem, but how do you know? 🤔 . If you listen very closely, you’ll hear my aunty in the background talking (screaming) on the phone. She is about three rooms away, and one of them is the living room. You see what I have to put up with when recording? 😭🤦🏾♂️🤦🏾♂️🤦🏾♂️
Consuming you be like… “¿¿¿CÓMO ESTÁÁÁSSS???” And you know I’m here, They know we’re here.
Your existence in the North, My joking through the South Our energy creates a balance. An importance that never misses out Although, they all miss, when out.
There’s a unique experience we carry That’s exclaimed into forms of incomprehensible beauty and art. If you haven’t been through it, You wouldn’t know. If you haven’t traveled in-between worlds to exist in the between of worlds, You can’t quite comprehend the existence of our Universe.
Consuming you be like I could reach out and touch you: Something delicate, yet not fragile.
Not too agile, but what’s a good story without Scars? So, dime. Cómo estás? Cuéntame tu historia
Writing poetry is strange Because I’ll have to… And in-take you-in
With all your beauty stamped by a warning sign: My smile is not a sign. Your beauty is not an invite. But the way you walk is a story. A fight. A flight. Strength drawn from your spine.
And that of your mother Your people. Mi gente. La cultura.
A song that does not make sense to most Yet, you play it so well. Break norms and expectations with what you tell. So we have reasons to judge and complain, Perhaps drive you insane.