New Woman

Two degrees, no father, dreams stifled for a sleep
She steps at dawn, cell phone ringing, fully booked,--
hooked on improvement.

'The modern woman'
cutting lines in the sidewalk
She hurries to get the kids
you slipping memory like rainbow, yet
She has no longing to leave you, following

She swaying
pocketbook against the wind, behind
moving to the clamour of the job market
Empress in nylons, She on her way
quickening to get that raise

Now you swallowing gin to understand
how She flexing, unrestrained, menacing,
needing, but shunning you
She ain’t your mother
She moving too fast

No fling for cajoling, pushing you
you talking son to carry-on name
She saying tight schedule, more manhood
less bitching
She demanding you pay attention.

PMSing aint the deal
It's the weight of her lungs
the heave for status that keep
her going, on the go, stomping tradition
She flying red in darkness, still

Ain’t no falling short--'xcept maybe on the sex.

But We Already Knew THAT

The Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan

Black male endangered

"The black male is in a very particular place of endangerment not only by environmental factors, but the Black man's attitude, our ignorance, our savagery, are all lending to a plan, a conspiracy. The scientists say that when a species is endangered, the next stage is extinction. If the condition of the Black Male in particular is not checked and if God does not intervene, we will soon be extinct" ("The Final Call", April 7, 2009 issue, pg. 21).

Black middle class, crabs in a barrel

"Some of us look around at American society and we see some Blacks doing well, making what we think is progress and wealth and prestige, and we say, "We're moving on up now. Things aren't so bad. Why look at Oprah, Barack Obama, P. Diddy, Tiger Woods, Clarence Thomas. Look at Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice. Aren't they clear signs of progress?" Much has been said about the growth of the Black middle class and how it appears we have finally turned the corner in our quest to attain the American dream. But is this real? .... In reality we have the illusion, the trappings of progress, but little else to show for our 452 years in bondage as slaves and now as free slaves in North America.

Now, if we look at the proverbial crabs in a barrel, the crabs are trying to get up, but another crab is pulling the crab down. But just suppose somebody is at the top of the barrel looking at the crabs, watching the drama of the crabs. And suppose he or she says, "come, let us deal wisely with those crabs. Let's take a few out of the barrel and put them at the top of the barrel and let them look back down on the other struggling crabs. If we do that it will give the other crabs the notion that they, too, can get out." But the crabs at the top of the barrel didn't get out because of his own talent and ability alone. The crab got out because the master took him out and allowed him out for the master's purpose!

Now, let's look at the wealthy and the famous among us. They have become a buffer between the angry Black masses and White people of power and influence that have us looking at our own rich as though they have betrayed us, when the wise demons behind them have used them as buffer to protect them from the anger of the poor White, the poor Black and the poor Brown. That is why you can never be an effective spokesperson for the hurt of your people because if you displease the crab barrel master, you are afraid that he might put you back in the barrel and not pluck you out again" ("The Final Call", April 7, 2009 issue, pg. 22).


My thoughts exactly; i could not have said it better. I am still waiting for those phone calls btw. You know, those calls, after the interviews.

Slow Motion

I spread my thighs
you enter, My Style
full-sized, full-eyed
slow breathing exercise
lips charred. We cool

High moon, we spoon
deep, slow, solid
hips arching toward desire
hands naming what's required

You stake out landscape, yes
easy, open, body places
call each entry. Faces
masked in salt and tears

It's a shame there are boundaries
checking reality
no further skills-,
balancing budget, doing dishes,
treating me like a lady

I am a woman, with deep desire
deeper than my parts
wider than the space between my breast
come, come, come inside
my unborn, "about to happen"

Bring your paycheck, bring flowers
a smile; caring eyes
bring good reason and common sense
Diploma in Intuition.
Bring desire to segregate mood
swings, and calls for belly rub

35 Things I am Sick and Tired of, But Which Are Here to Stay

(1) Monotony

(2) Poverty

(3) Cellulite

(4) Pretentious people

(5) The devaluation of education

(6) Illiteracy

(7) Domestic abuse

(8) Weight loss commercials

(9) Polite racism

(10) Black peoples' historical inheritance of "doubleness"

(11) Winter

(12) "The Market"

(13) The increasing cost of living

(14) Hearing, "these are the last days"

(15) Unethical practices

(16) Long line-ups

(17) Underemployment

(18) Diseases

(19) Excuses

(20) Fear

(21) Explaining blackness

(22) Single motherhood

(23) Broken homes

(24) Hardened hearts

(25) Carrying the weight of black stereotyping and misrepresentation

(26) Irresponsibility

(27) Inadequate men

(28) Pain and suffering

(29) Discrimination

(30) The unending death and criminalization of YBM

(31) Barriers to success

(32) Pollution

(33) Stretch marks

(34) War

(35) Hunger

Gentle reminder to self, courtesy of an old friend:
"the world owes me nothing, it was here first"

Chill pills, and a few other things, would set this country straight

Did someone say recession?

Happy Pills by Son of Groucho

Warmth, equal opportunity for all and chill pills every other month would put us right back on track. Anti-discrimination practices served with a smile could also do the trick. Maybe good drinking water, that means lead-free, and the elimination of all man-made products that cause cancer. Oh, i almost forgot, lottery winnings for the poor!; no, seriously, the elimination of poverty would give this recession a kick in the rear. But, then again, how do you declare everyone rich in a depression? We're screwed! Take a pill.

Upon Arrival

Money, Power, Cement--
owners of Front Street
huddle together, pavement
and traffic lights under siege
old men nest like rodents on
banks below

Imperial, her majesty
Royal, in Trust
In whose trust?
financial interbreeding, fine dining
fancy mirrors, access
to capital gains. Scotia
spurns credit for sleeping
doormen in bags, subzero

Power on Front Street
is Progress, brick by brick
Home for old men, dreaming
a space,
head disjointed, no
Money to rest--

Should history record the
nightmare, ill-delusion. Seclusion
Power molded in sandstone
Red light, Green Night
shrieking alarm

Front streets ain't only
on Front Street
They in welfare offices
on subway benches and living
room couches
caseworkers and passersby smell
the stench,
have grown accustomed to the
indifference,
the unholy Divide
between ivory and calico

Photograph of My Mother as a Young Woman

Age-old scented paper
glaring
eyes piercing souls in the story
Behind the eyes are shadows
of generations--
maids, butlers, seamstresses
Big mamas nursing babies

Callow, slim, angled neckline
hold steady
"that's the nose i got!"
chiseled to suits the senses
Frozen truth in black and white

Hardened, broken, splintered
lips
a photograph of my mother
untold stories laid to rest
Silently spoken, haunting

Sparsely-cut black hairdo
askew to jawline
cheekbone
Frilly top shifting memory--
mother's mother
six Sundays ago

Healing After Heartache

During the past year, i have had four friends / family members who have had suffered heartbreak. The culprit? Men who just do not give a damn. I, however, have a strong sense of justice in words because the language we speak can be very powerful; words carry more weight than anything we can do to "fight back". I have always looked to words as a blueprint for healing. I suggested reading and writing to those hurting. Some prefer music and fine wine.

If i could create a language for healing after heartache, it would transpose a voice of strength, integrity and good humour. It would unveil the vein of truth that pumps a lifeline of emotion to that shielded organ we call "heart". It would clarify for us what we really feel, want and don't give a shit about. It would convey the will to rise above and beyond human folly and flaw--that which make us, at once, both human and monster. It would sound like...

It's okay, i get it. I like the absence; it's a nice dose of reality. Reality beats me into becoming a woman. A strong woman; a woman who understands what it really feels like to be low and out, but who is also able to learn, grow and live freely.

The way i "do things" is:

I care for people; i am sympathetic towards others and i feel other people's pain. I wear my heart on my sleeve, not because i want to, but because i am real. I am a real person. I am nobody's fool; i am witty. I am kind. I have a lot going for me. If you are real i can deal with you. What do i value the most? Honesty.

I am glad that i have made you a better person (assuming you no longer burn rice and you take your health seriously). You have made me a better person as well; in so many ways, i am wiser and stronger. My family means the world to me. My family is my world. I can be your friend. The challenge is yours to take.