Tag: writing

The First Time

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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

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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.

 

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http://silverthreading.com/2014/12/17/writers-quote-wednesday-121714-c-s-lewis/

If You Forget Me | Pablo Neruda

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I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Before and After Blog Awards

I’m learning more and more about the blogosphere. One thing I recently learned more about is Blog Awards. My opinion about them is split into two categories: Before I knew what Blog Awards were and After I knew what blog awards were.

Before:

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Ah, those lovely things hanging on the sides of everyone’s blog. If I didn’t know any better, I’d sworn I’ve walked into the home of a very prestigious individual. You know the feeling, when you walk into the office of someone with hundreds of plaques on the wall; seems like they have a PhD in everything except your life. You scroll through a blogger with like 10,000 followers and 10 plaques to back it up. More than this, they are surely experts in their field. I am guaranteed that the “Whatever You Wanna Call It” Blog has been given the “Blog of the Year” award because of its capacity to understand whatever. I am rest assured that this person has worked long and hard to put out a product that has garnered him this award. Indeed, blog awards are a sight to see. It made the person’s blog look so official and so important because they had won. They had been recognized. They had been selected among the best of the best by the WordPress higher ups. Yea, blog awards are pretty neat.

 
After:

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But then I found out that Blog awards are not given out by the chairman of who knows what, but that they are actually given out by bloggers to other bloggers. That’s cool too. But understanding that they are made up awards by members of the blogging community does degrade my level of awe a bit. It’s like walking into that room with all the plaques on the wall and being told that they are made up certificates by the person’s best friend. It doesn’t make it look any less cool, but it does degrade the initial assumption of expertise. It’s almost like I initially thought they were accredited, and then I find out they were printed off a Word Document. I still think they’re awesome. Just not as awesome as when I thought they were given from the outside. So for those of you thinking of me, I would still accept it (plug).

I have an idea: What if a blogger created a Blog award that was actually based on something a tad bit deeper than recognition? An award created specifically for the bloggers who meet the qualifications and recognized Publically by WordPress or some other fancy guy in a suit. Something Bloggers can both hang to the sides of their blogs as well as on their walls at home. Something only those qualified bloggers can get so that it’s a real competition? Something unique that can become the global standard for Blog Awards; that thing bloggers actually work hard to get and strive to achieve? Now that would be awesome.

 

Guest Feature – Language

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Silence is one part of speech, the war cry
of wind down a mountain pass another.
a stranger’s voice echoing through lonely
valley’s, a lover’s voice rising so close
it’s your own tongue: these are the keys to cipher,
the way the hawk’s key unlocks the throat
of the sky and the coyote’s yip knocks
it shut, the way the aspens’ bells conform
to the breeze while the rapid’s drum defines
resistance. Sage speaks with one voice, pinyon
with another. Rock, wind her hand, water
her brush, spells and then scatters her demands.
some notes tear and pebble our paths. Some notes
gather: the bank we map our lives around.

 

– Camille T. Dungy

Social Media

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Social media has completely taken over the internet. Today there is pretty much nothing you can do that does not involve some kind of media outlet, or does not at least benefit in some way from its usage. Social media can be defined as any computer-mediated tool that allows people to create, share or exchange information, ideas, and pictures/videos in virtual communities. If social media was a real live place, where would you want to live and why?

 

I’m Sorry

death
it’s sting
produces a humility powerful enough

to find itself a home
even inside the heart of the one

who holds the cup of “I’m sorry’s”
hoping their voice is sad enough

to produce the kind of sympathy
that peels back the brick

that found itself a place

inside the gut of the bereaved
the lump
waiting inside their throats
is this “I’m Sorry” strong enough?
“I’m sorry”
makes me feel guilty
because I know that it is not enough,

in fact
it almost sounds cliché
how can this routine “I’m sorry”

ever guarantee the sincere apology I feel
for the woman
who lost her husband in the hands of doctors

with spines like jellyfish,
the inconsiderate “I’m sorry”

floating out the window of the hospital,
where his breath left it’s good bye on the table

without warning
didn’t want to wake her sleeping gorgeous
so he left in the middle of the night
just to see her smile one last time
for he knew that she would smile

in her dreams

Or the man
who lost his brother with the split of atoms
like storms breaking through to the clouds
like a mother’s arms spread wide enough

to capture his smiles in a bowl

but aint no rainbows today
cause grief
it convinces us that the world

has ceased existing
and molds its rotations to the contours of our hearts

“Why are you sorry?!”
screams the confused silence of my bones
or the unflinching expression of a man’s face

after a life-time of catastrophes
tainted love
chocking dreams

and memories like the scenic route to civil wars
& he wears it all

with a walk like a stone cold killer

and a face fit for poker
but his heart is pale with grief
I know
cause I heard it in his smile
he laughs
but only because his body weeps
too weak internally

to die physically too
so when he grieves
and when she grieves
when their pain is too deep

to find alongside the outline of their faces
too far to find within the pages of their past
but close enough to smell in the sorrow of their loss
in these bags
filled to the brim with all their stuff
what do you say
when the air isn’t pure enough to breathe
and a routine, “I’m sorry” is simply not enough
to convince them

that the world

still spins