“Anyone who has ever struggled with poverty knows how extremely expensive it is to be poor.”
– James Baldwin (Fifth Avenue, Uptown. Esquire)
Tag: writing
Guest Feature – Barter
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up
Holding wonder in a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.
“Barter”
by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
To Write Your Life
“When writing the story of your life, don’t let anyone else hold the pen.”
Goodnight 2014
The wind has released itself from its chambers and spreads its body over the earth. A blanket of hammers slamming low temperatures into the atmosphere, it carries the clouds; full and dark with storms they are coddled into position. The sun has set and is nestled inside the crook of fire in the west wing of the heavens until it is time to renew itself again. The trees expose its private parts except the fourteen or so that do not lose its leaves to the whistling death sentence of winter. In less than a week from now, when the stars loiter on top the sky amidst the backdrop of midnight, people will decorate themselves with the image of change and resolutions, and make intoxicated promises they will never keep. Maybe it is just the warmth of liquor wrapping its arms around their spines, cooling their blood, and pulling at their heart strings. Suddenly it will happen, that moment when the bullet is separated from its shell, the parties burst into confetti, and this moment hushed into a lullaby. Right here, in the middle of a dead winter; everything cold and stiff and silent and yet loud inside a lowering orb of momentary bliss. This is the excited murmur of a new era and it is the canvas to which they will usher in a new year.
Be careful out there.
Wasted Words
Have you ever felt like you are doing something for nothing? That it is all in vain? Sometimes I regret bathing in the blank wake of my passion. I do not wish to follow Strands advice; I am not kissed by white paper. I know that my words will just fall unmercifully on death ears like falling stars praying for repentance that will never come. They will fall like the leaves of trees upon the ground like death and rot around my feet. I will be filled to the brim with excitement and anticipation of sunlight before the reality of wasted words darkens the skies and fills the clouds with storms. I will push forth in determination, only to be reminded by splashes of thunder that the droplets of failure have already proceeded to gush forth. I am not the one to give up (let’s not get that deep!), but judge me not for my lack of enthusiasm today. I am human after all; made up of emotions, flesh and bone. I get tired sometimes too.
The First Time
The first time we made love was when you walked into my classroom
your eyes danced and moved graciously inside mine like
dancers carefully twirling to the sound of their own heart beats
and
we were young-er
got lost in your mind and day dreamed about your beauty
could not wait to get to class the next day so that I may immerse myself in your intelligence
and like books I was open
(No wonder I like to read)
If loving you meant I couldn’t go beyond the pupils of your eyelids
I didn’t mind
cause
your lips spoke confidently and proud
so that I hung onto every word
swinging back and forth I was a kid at a playground
your beauty was biblical
from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet this was prophecy
thought the teacher was a waitress asked her if I could have another round of you
let’s be realistic
this thing was futuristic like foresight
every time you opened your mouth I took road trips into your memories
and for my blood racing I could not hide the joy
trying to catch my breath after falling into your smile
we were connected
too young to understand this love at first sight sensation I could have been dreaming
or maybe it was “Just my Imagination”
cause I was dancing
moon walking into complete relaxation
your last name should have been Jackson
cause you was a hit
and I could not lie
cause I ran home just to go to bed and wake up to the sun rise
cause it reminded me of you
you didn’t know it but my nose was so open I took notes
I was singing,
a sucka to every sound of the harmonious humility that escaped like convicts from your lips
I was convicted
cause I loved you too early…
Writer’s Quote Wednesday
My entry for Silver Threading’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday this week is from Zora Neale Hurston’s Dust Tracks on a Road:
“I have been in Sorrow’s kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and a sword in my hands.”
– Zora Neale Hurston, Dust Tracks on a Road
I love using imagery and symbolism with my writing so this quote is very inspiring to me. I love the way she lends us a pictorial version of the words. The up close and personal relationship with grief contrasted against the achievement of ones dreams by having climbed the highest mountain, and the added serenity of being wrapped in rainbows. And while there is music, there is still a pending fight to endure, so she balances the music with a weapon of war.
http://silverthreading.com/2014/12/17/writers-quote-wednesday-121714-c-s-lewis/
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