Very Lonely Places...

Words informed by travel and travail.

Pictures of Pain - Series 1

If I...

If I could have one Thanksgiving wish it would be for everyone to go to sleep tomorrow with a full stomach.

Pictures of Pain - Series 1

Shine Thru...

Attempting to write these words that make you want to come closer... That make you want to shine thru...

You Are My Own...

My first pain was a white man's hand across my ass. My second was a black man who let me down... My third was a white teacher who taught me "class"...

ACS. Do you remember? All if it? Not just the end. Every act of creation is first an act of destruction... An ugly beauty. Observation and possession.

Weeping women are my favorite. Thank you Mother.

Though Pain... You are my own.

I'm convinced.... Common sense will not accomplish great things... So my search continues.

On the verge of influential... and tears.

But not for that April 12, I might have wasted my life. No longer afflicted with a sense of wandering, EYE EMERGE.

I fancy it a kind of symbolic death.

This message is bloody. And FOREVER.

Flowers Are So Contradictory!

Student of pain.

Sun of man.

Hope of many.

Notebook in hand.

Pen in He-Art.

I grew up.

And grew in.

To protect the childhood I never had.

In order to live forever.

Dancing in the middle of the ocean to my own heart-beat.

I love lonely. And she loves me back (most of the time).

I can feel you smiling.

She was born the same time as the sun.

She perfumes my planet.

And lights up my life.

Thank you

If Sorrow Was Snow...

It's cold tonight... I don't feel any pressure but there's an upward motion of air carrying voices of doubt. It's snowing here. But rather than shovel it - tonight we make snow angels. If sorrow were snow then my MOMENTARY LAPSE OF REASON would be colored PINK and covered and beautified by it's blanket. Tonight's dinner is a three course meal prepared by Alexander Faulkner Shand, including: fear, anger, and joy.

I cling to repair.
Are those snowflakes or tears?

Pity taste like April 12th (which is one part sorrow, one part joy).

Bittersweet.

I hope my heart finds it's way home tonight.

I hope.

Love me.

“Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

After the rain - John Coltrane

Current Soundtrack - John Coltrane's "After the Rain"

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes...

I realized that what I love does not belong to me...

And I still love it!

I live in a time capsule.

Defending my curse.

I write to right.

The poem and the poet.

My journal is a battlefield of moral conflict.

But I don't expect to be justified. Ever.

My pain unspeaks an uneasy resolution.

Words articulating emotions articulating words articulating emotions.

My hope comes to me in softly hued vibrations

That sound like a broken heart beating in 4/4 time

With Lauryn Hill rhyming over it and Lena Horne singing the hook.

The car empties on my John Col-Train of thought...

It's been a long road traveled...

Many Miles to reach my MONK period.

So I live alone. Laughing in solitary.

The irony is...

It's only after taking GIANT STEPS forward that we realize how small the shoes we walk in are...

if The Night Has a Thousand Eyes, than EYE pray you SEE that...

You must find yourself.

That is part of it.

Burying who you were to discover who you could be.

Body and Soul.

Thank you for your thoughts...

Hello World,

Please enjoy this piece of writing. I just stumbled across it. I hope it touches you the way it has touched me.

Thank you KH. Our lack of communication pains me. But I know everything is... JUST FOR A TIME. Thank you for everything.

Dear Beautiful Self,

A woman in her life has only one goal she needs to accomplish before her time is up-- to prothect her truth from being broken (not even once). My experience has shown me that people wait around every corner to break us down, whether it be through hate, lies, violence, or invalidation. They want nothing more than to see us break down and fall under their misconceptions, false expectations, and maniacally oppressive stereotypes. The oppressor jeopardizes our beauty by creating and demanding an unrealistic reality. But he will never jeopardize our dignity-- we will be called bitches and hoes and still stand tall with our faces tilted towards the sky. There is a place in us that he can't touch, a wisdom, a beauty... our TRUTH.A woman needs to love and forgive at the same moment, to nurture and defend with the same hands, love unconditionally and conditionally forget, balance sanity and insanity with the same mind, appeal and appease with the same words.The entire spectrum of truth fits into one work of art-- the woman.

Peace Anthony.
By k huds on A Man In His Life... on 11/27/07

Little Susie...

Don't let them kill the little girl in you.
The one that sings that heavenly tune.
You left home.
You lost your way to find yourself.
And it helped.