sagaciously is...

September 21, 2006

For Jamal, Mike, Darryl…

For Jamal, Mike, Darryl…

I heard him barge in the door, as I lay in the bed freshly showered, Toss his keys unto the counter, plodding heavily toward the bedroom…

And as I looked up at the scowl embedded unto his face
I inquired "Rough day?"
He silently climbed into the bed and buried his face into my chest.

And I smelled the frustration emanating from him,
And as a lone tear collapsed from his cheek unto my breast

I uttered immediately "I understand":

(To all my brothers out there in the struggle);

I understand…

Chuckling incomprehensibly at your boss's unfunny fable regarding his
inability to dribble/much less shoot a basketball/and the awe/reverence he
holds for Michael Jordan/Magic Johnson/ Allen Iverson/
Latrell Sprewell(?!)'s ability and how well "you people" seem to be at
sports….

(His father forced him to study and he never had time for games)

All the while deep inside that you wished your father had been around to
keep you off the streets/ away from those dimly lit midnight courts/
that might've saved you from those two semesters of academic probation/
and the one year trip to junior college…

I understand…

Hitting the glass door/ceiling (sic) at 120 mph/after the spectacular
phone interview/when "Megan" (she didn't become Ms. Fischer until she saw
you) finally realized that yes, you are THE Mr. Hughes/
THE Mr. Hughes she's supposed to see at 10:30 am sharp/
by the confusion on her face I'd say the 9:30 sharp got the job…

I understand…

Working 8,10,12,14 hour days of hard/monotonous/tedious/backbreaking/
physical labor in the hot sun slinging pallets/installing drywall/
tearing down sheet rock/breaking rocks/picking cotton/as your foreman/
overseer/pats you on the /shoulder/head/ass/and shouts "Good Job"/
and the "BOY!" hangs swinging in the air…
And you hang on to that piece of a job/despite the 1250 you busted your
ass for on your SAT/despite the sonnets (raps) you write constantly in
your head/despite your girl/wife/family/peeps encouraging/goading/pushing/
screaming at you/telling you that you can do better/
because the bottom line is/you need that check

I understand…

The cop who pulled you over because the Eastsidaz/Wu-Tang Clan/
Jagged Edge/O-Jays/Al Green/Yolanda Adams playing in your '99 Navigator/
96 Camry/91 Firebird/87 Regal/83 Nova/62 Benz was too loud/
and you praying to yourself/that at the end of the encounter/conversation
with Officer Whomthefuckever/all you want is to be able to go home safe/
alive to your family

I understand…

How it felt when the elderly Caucasian lady/clutched her purse tighter
to her side in the elevator/crossed the street as you passed/peeked at you
suspiciously in the checkout line at the grocery store/(right after she
told you how "exotic-looking" you were/you blushing with guilty pleasure)/
and all because your $95 MECCA/Esco/Iceberg/Sean John/Tommy jeans are big
enough for you to carry your 9mm concealed/
so that Black Mike/lil' Man/Dre/Rashad/and 'dem up the block/
don't catch you slippin'

I understand…

Sistahs gave you NO LOVE in school/'cause you were smart/'cause your
clothes was busted/'cause you were serious about your schoolwork/
'cause you weren't good at sports/'cause you didn't sell drugs/
'cause you couldn't be down

And now sistahs STILL give you NO LOVE at work/'cause you're getting paid
very well/'cause your clothes are fly/'cause you drive a nice car/
'cause you play harder than you work/'cause you embody
everything they can't have/'cause you are everything their man ain't/
and they're still hating on you 40-50 hours a week

I understand…

You spend more time/energy away from home/than at home/and the time you
spend away from home/society/your community/your own people/
spend that time emasculating/castrating you/telling you repeatedly/
you don't fit into their American Pie/you don't measure up
to their Standard of Living/you don't represent their New World Order/
you don't count/can't count/will never count

Yet, I also understand…
That if you lay your head upon my breast/as I run my hands through your/
tousled, curly black hair/long thick dreads/over your smooth bald scalp

My arms will always embrace you/and if you let them they will hold you up

My heart will always be your shelter/with no glass ceilings/walls/doors/i
f you'll only step over the threshold

My soul yearns to dwell with you/through all eternity/in peace and harmony/
without the everysecond drama that being brown/red/yellow/butter pecan/
caramel/cappuccino/off-white/mahogany/beige/café au lait/black can bring

Every fiber in my being/while not fully experiencing what it is to be you
Black Man/empathizes/sympathizes/synthesizes/supports/encourages/
agrees/considers/comforts/tenders solace/proposes compassion

And in my mind the least/most/all that I can say is

I understand…

And as Jamal/Mike/Darryl lay on top of me, head heavy on my chest,
frustration palpable in the air

I appreciated that single tear

© 2006 ~ Sagacious Media

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February 22, 2006

First Tanka

Thanks to a writing colleague - Timothy Stelly, Sr. - I was inspired to try my hand at Tanka (and vent my frustration). Your thoughts?

Madness

Yes, of course
I’d like to tell you
what I really think of you
but I am afraid
that I would be unable
to control my rage
and would blow your head clean off
with a solitary glance

the end

you pack belongings
silently wishing me hope
and I stand idle
hoping u at last
find love somewhere, else
I, hoping you come back to
find it here, u hoping that
I give u one last chance to

Softness

White sheets fluttering
Kissing softly at my back
Flowing gently at window

Dove lands slow
Peering at me as
I lay, head back, back arched
my legs spread wide quivering
and u raise ur head to smile

Strength

Nuff
Enuff now
I have had enuff I said

Money talks, bullshyt walks and
I have had enuff of this
Holding up the world
Juggling everything that gets
Thrown at me
While having little to show
for it, so I’m dropping the
world
Ain’t jugglin’ shyt else until
I get what is coming to me

© Sagacious Media

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December 22, 2005

violence

As I type this, I'm somewhat at a loss for words. My daughter, theChaos, was recently a victim of a home invasion. I can't say much about it, except to say that she's ok, and that she knew her assailants. As do I.

So, instead - I'm writing this open letter to her assailant, and any other previous/potential assailants in the universe, considering engaging in the act. I invite them to first think...

---

violence

More outraged than surprised, I held her in my arms
too tightly
allowing her pepper-spray laced tears to sting
my eyes
watched the manhood in her man
swell proportionately
and tasting the copper-laced flavor
of vengeance
in my own mouth

I mentally checked where I last laid my arms, preparing to bear them again

but the sage in me knows

that fear doesn't inspire respect
that conflict doesn't resolve problems
that war is not the answer
that my pride in her ability to stand up
is tempered by my mama-worry that something will knock her down
that pride goeth before a fall
that being conscious is about understanding your own truths first
as much it is being aware of things around you
that you cannot put faith, fate or respect
in the hands of someone who has none and doesn't believe in any
that while some causes are worth dying for
an impedence is not worth a 20-year bid
that this hurts, so much worse
coming from "one of your own"
that while I'd cut off my right arm to save my baby
I'm not trying to bury anyone, or put money on anyone's books
that as I'm thinking this, someone out there will come to a decision
different than mine
and the outcome will be bloody

and that my daughter's life
is worth more
than satisfying the thirst for vengeance

so I mentally laid my arms down

© 2005, Sagacious Media

---

My most sincere, fervent, passionate wish for this Christmas, is that this conflict ends with no further violence.

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July 16, 2005

insomnia

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June 30, 2005

wishing I had a poet in me...

ok, honestly - I think my writing sucks. A big fat one.

Everytime I read something I wrote, even if I think it was hot at the time, like when I re-read....

I found the divine in the words of a poet
And I'm afraid that my tongue, my imagination
cannot do/give that poet justice

I want my tongue to give love, life
to raise stars in the heavens...

...and in the four walls of a reading
the spirits descended
ancestors walked
more beauty than the average heart can perceive
the poets started the revolution
which will NOT be televised
but wrapped in the loving arms of an unbroken home
the revolution lies in a gathering of caramel, cocoa
and coffee colored faces
no blood shed
nor degradation, nor misogyny
just poets, giving intelligence energy
and poetically shattering someone's conventions, stereotypes
and dirpoving the myth
that tells the lie
and I...

...I found the divine in the words of a poet
and I fear that my tongue, my imagination
cannot do/give that poet justice.

my head wants to just spit: "pah...that just SUCKS. That's gotta be the most contrived piece of crap I've ever read. yugh."

red devil on my left shoulder, shaking it's head: "you really should stop trying to write, and move on to something you're better at. like folding sweaters at Rich's. Or birthing babies..."
angel on my left shoulder, hitting devil with her tamborine: "oh shaddup - you are forever throwing salt in her game. That was hot sweetie, really. As good, if not better than most of the poems I've ever heard"
red devil: "gawd, you're such a suckup. quit babying her."
angel: "negative a$$. you're forever beating her up, and for some odd-a$$ reason, she listens to your non-creative self. that's why she's got writer's block now"
me: "dayum, it's no wonder I can't dayum write, for all this noise in my head..sheesh. And since when are angels violent?!!!"

and then I'm my own dayum nay-sayer. Part of me is like - false humility. Maybe you're just seeking validation. The other part is really like, you're your own worst critic. Maybe you just need some objectivity.

I dunno. Alls I know is...I'se stuck.

What do y'all do when you're stuck?

ps. I know that whole interaction was very Three Faces of Eve-ish. I don't think I ever claimed sanity. I told y'all before I talk to myself...that sometimes that's the only intelligent person I can find to have a conversation with...you prolly didn't believe me...

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staccato

and then it's over

© 2004 ~ Sagacious Media

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April 29, 2005

enuff

I found my sensuality between the cushions of my couch
Along with a quarter, a dime, a penny
Some cookie crumbs,
and a black HotWheels Firebird with flames on its hood…

I found it at 3am, eyes half-closed
A rerun of 8 Mile on Starz

I brushed my hand against it while lying on the couch

And it wasn’t in the whisper of some sepia toned brother
Vocalizing his amazement at the deliciousness
Of my damp milk-chocolate colored skin lit only by candlelight,
Or by my eyes, and his informing me
“…they’re not black, but a pretty dark brown”
as he stares into their bottomless depths

I didn’t find it in the open-mouthed gawk of my best male friend’s
Sudden epiphany
“your lips are perfectly shaped just like a heart”
on my rare pink-lipsticked occasion

I thought I’d given it away to someone
Who never deserved it
And I, never to regain it
Some nameless faceless Other
Who would sporadically drop by to
Sate my hunger with some cotton candy and a pixie stix
Leaving me to wonder whether he’d ever give it back

Whether I could find in a bouquet of wildflowers
he gave me on my birthday
(he knows I hate roses)
or whether after sweaty episodes
he’d leave it on my nightstand

I found my beauty
In the soft caress of my own eyelashes
against my own cheek
tender forearm brush against breast
pad of index finger stroking the nape of my own neck
and realized

I was cute, before I knew what cute was
Beautiful before I knew what true beauty is
Before I knew what boys where
Before I knew that I lived in a culture that would eventually confirm
That I’m not “enuff”
Not
Thin enuff
Light enuff
Long-haired enuff
Even-toned-skin enuff
Butt not round enuff
Muscles not toned enuff
Nails not long enuff
Heels not high enuff
Not tall enuff
Not short enuff
Not soft enuff
Hair not straight enuff
Hooch enuff
Prim enuff
Vulnerable enuff
Complacent enuff
Feminine enuff
Acquiescent enuff
Just not enuff

And when I realized it, again
I hardly recognized it
it had been so long
Since I saw it
My beauty, my sensuality, my sexuality
I didn’t know how to even reclaim it
Other than to say
Enuff is enuff
And pull it out from between the cushions

© 2004 Sagacious Media

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April 23, 2005

the thing I refuse to name

I want so badly to put this thing down
this longing
that is at once enticing, and abhorrent
it brings me nervous butterflies & tears as its offerings
and seemingly asks only for my fealty in return

this thing is tangible this longing palpable a lump in my throat, that I cannot swallow I'm choking on it its flavor a rancid memory of a love I once knew now sicked up, bitter

and me torn between gratitude that I can still feel and resentment that the thing manages to exist manages to have this unearthly hold over me part of me longs to stand naked in the rain and wash it all away

and part of me wants to embrace it, fully caress it like the soft down on the inside of a thigh nuzzle it like the nape of a neck blow sweet kisses, warm breath on it breathe passion into it, likening it to an ember without fear of becoming obsessed with its elusiveness without thinking it will run away from me, or consume me

I watch it from a distance, this thing running through the woods running to be free its only instinct, running to breathe, to live to love and I hold the long cold steel barrel loosely by my right side and resist the urge watching and still want to put this thing down

© 2004 ~ Sagacious Media

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April 19, 2005

humanity

excuse me, but i was wondering if
you’d let my humanity, touch your humanity
if we could meet and let our souls intertwine
for one brief, blisteringly shining moment
may i, let down my guard, and reveal my essence
will you, in turn, show me, why you smile

my life in a world that is
brief, hard, dry, sharp, and bitter
filled with fullness, packed with distractions
gradually, and at once, so busy and empty

i
needing to find something
long, soft, slow, sweet and wet

while wanting for the happily,
and the ever after
also longing for the lengthy glance,
intimate eye contact, and uncomfortable butterflies

in your brief hello, i noticed that the sun rose, and sparrows sang
and, in your smile i found the truth that is truly love
as you held the door open for me
you headed to your world, your life
me, heading to mine
it struck me that we spend all our time, too much
creating distance
when time was always supposed to be about
connecting
filling the spaces between the seconds with life, love

so

if you don’t mind
i’d love for your spirit, to share my spirit’s space
for at least a moment
i’m not necessarily looking for forever
(hell, you may not even be worthy of my forever)
but i’d like for my Right Now to mean more than
Just This Very Second
and while you think you know what you want
i’m more concerned with what you need
and i need

for your humanity, to touch my humanity
and if you don’t mind
i’d love for your spirit, to share my spirit’s space
for at least a moment…
and for your smile to sit down next to
my smile...

© 2004 Sagacious Media

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March 13, 2005

the categories:: saga's got some 'splainin' to do...

yeah, there's a method to my madness. so to make the whole thing clear as fog:

• about me, sagaciously:: all personal stuff, all the time. what I'm thinking, listening to, etc.


• baconstraw:: sometimes, things just don't make no kinda sense. Like a straw made of bacon. And they're not supposed to.


• culture:: Have I seen any hot movies? Read a good book? Stared longingly at a Romare Bearden? You'll read about it here.


• current events:: If Halle decides to dump Michael Ealy, and he seeks solace in my arms, or I glance lustily at the latest felon to shut down Georgia's streets, yes - it'll end up here.


• hair - nappy that is:: nappiness for 5+ years and counting. read all the ups & downs here.


• motherhood:: I raise children, therefore I am.


• parties & bullshyt:: ok, I know you're thinking - wth? But 50Cent & the Game are involved in a shootout at a radio station, then later declare a widely publicized "truce"? Str8 bullshyt - you feel me.


• poetry:: I'm moving the old ones here, and writing some new ones. Feeback (+/-) is greatly appreciated.


• politricks:: I'm just a regular working-stiff, trying to make sense of political issues that affect me. This is usually a tricky business. Well, on an emotionally level I'm leery of politicians in general, so hence also the name.


• work:: ok, a caution - this category will be much lighter than the other ones. I can't HELP but write about it since it takes up 80% of my life, but the names wil be changed to protect the guilty.

A few more caveats - even though I'm a displaced Yankee, living in the hottness - Atlanta is all over this biyotch. I'm amazed sometimes how things go down, down hea - but that sentiment hits all categories, hence no one thang for Hotlanta. And yes, being African-American colors my perception of everything. So, all categories are painted in shades of blackness - some things more obviously than others.

Now that you've read the primer - go forth, and blogtiply. (Maybe I shoulda had a category for corn?)

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