Deny Death

Who will care when you’re no longer here?

When you’re not around

Who will miss the sound of your voice?

Who will miss the words let loose from your lips?

Will anyone claim to miss my words

Will anyone say, “I didn’t care for her

But her words evoke feelings I didn’t realize were there.”

Will someone care you’re not there?

Who will miss your fair face, blue eyes, and thinning hair?

Who will care when you’re no longer here 

Who remaining behind will tear their hair,

Who will cut their hair to mourn my spirit

Hoping for square deals, praying life is more than bones,

Blood warms, veins running through life’s crosshairs

Submit, omit, in charge none subsist. Ageist cloud co-exists, gray doubt settles near

Who will care when you’re no longer here?

When you die who will care, desolate discontent, wander

Who will care your power exceeds mine

Santa Maria, High Priestess of Soul spoke, “Who will miss you when you’ve not here? …

When I die,” She boasted, “people will mourn my spiritual powers. Unlike you, I have many followers, you see?”

Unimpressed, hurt by words undo and rescue me since birth,

I ponder her claim to followers and my lack of them.

My words require breath of invigorating air recalls escaping words

Follow the words you can’t see, can’t hear song they daren’t breathe?

Dig it! What if they tax the air we breathe, claim it’s ok cause there’s a shortage of breathable air.

What will they think of next?

Do you really care if anyone here remembers your words become … prayers

Do you struggle with each word like a long lost lover you ache for final touch

Do you really care if people plough through, don’t remember nor feel you’re no longer here?

Unhealed by moonlight, like lost stars dissolved, exploded, imploded

Time passes, no one reads your words, remembers you were words …

They don’t recall Santa Maria either. Pretenses abound people worship an empty ideal

Who will remember?

Who will delight in memories revived by a sip of moonlight glow

Memories know, slowly fade … die

Attempts to forget fail, why’s be gone

Why we harbor death while we’re still alive

You're No Good Baby

I just wrote this and I hear the song in my head each line from an old song to be sung exactly the way it was sung back in the day.

Baby you’re no good, you’re no good, you’re no good,

Baby you’re no good

You snore like a wild boar sleeping winter away

Eyes wide open you pretend you’re awake

Dirty little secrets tucked away

Hide behind waves of nausea

Send me off the deep end

While you snore the winter away

Night and day night and day never awake

You snore day and night away

Pretending you’re alive while I live the dream

Dream a little dream for me

You insist to break my heart snore

Away your life in a misty gleeful mess

Liking life on the edge

The very thought of you makes me cringe

Life on the edge while searching for a way to hedge climbing the ledge to a new nice ice way while climatic shards whip my heart into shape

The very thought of you

Brings me to the edge

Breaking up is hard to do

Ah, Ah Ah, Ah Yeah yeah

Yiyaye hehahay, Ah ah

My heart fakes desire like a wind up car

Eat my cake and like it too

Cause breaking up is hard to do

You’re no good, you’re no good, you’re no good

Baby you’re no good

My breaking heart and I agree we were never meant to

You hide behind walls of deceit, pretend you’re awake when you’re barely alive

I cry, “Baby please, please hear my pleas! Baby please!”

Too smart for our own goods, we waver endlessly to the beat set before us,

You hide, we glide on angel’s wings

Each day obsessing over beginning, find a new way to start each day

The very thought of you   (fade out)

Left Brain Right Brain

Drawing psychology class - defining left brain right brain functions.

Ode to Wellington

My Daddy was a complex man

A pianist and musician

Tinkled the ivories, up and down scales his hands ran

A father, a member of the church board

A teacher, a member of the community

Daddy created performance opportunities

Daddy loved music, played piano with passion

His performances received many ovations

His love for music didn’t follow current fashion

Daddy loved opera, show music, Beethoven, Chopin

Daddy sent me chocolate and carrot cake from Omaha Steaks

Daddy had a big personality combined with

An even bigger voice

Daddy liked to knock back vodka Stolis

His poison of choice

Daddy said recently, “Son I don’t drink anymore,”

I laughed later; putting away meats he’d sent me shopping for

Lying in the freezer was his prized Stolichnaya Vodka   (stol-ich-na-ya)

My Daddy liked to knock back the Vodka Stolis

Quality vodka from Russia Papa liked

Daddy liked to talk, carried a conversation

My Daddy was only human, like the rest of us

Daddy liked to party and partied hardy till the end

With his many friends

A few days before his death he'd planned

A big birthday celebration, a yearly event, at a nearby hotel

Everyone came to party with Daddy

This years’ event happened without my Daddy

He wanted to go but couldn’t get out of bed

Who would’ve though two weeks later he’d be dead

Daddy forgot to invite me but I didn’t mind

Luckily Lia was there to find out why he hadn’t arrived

That final party was short lived

Memories shared survive in my heart crash-dived

Daddy passed down his love for music to me

The love for art ran deep through both sides of my family

Dad wasn’t all bad; he wasn’t all good
He was my dad and I loved him for all that he was

I've helped several people by writing Mother or Father poems after their loved one passed on. Here's another poem for a my husband's loss.

REMINISCENCES

            Memories Linger. I always liked hanging out will Willa Dean because Willa hardly ever thought about food. At first, I didn’t realize that this was because she was too busy thinking about hard drugs.  I was happy to be around someone who never seemed to think or obsess about what she was going to eat next, like me.  I really had an appreciation for that because I was always worried about my weight being generally obsessive-compulsive with food addiction. Hanging with her was a device that helped me keep my addiction under control.

            At first, I didn’t realize that the reason she was never hungry was because she preferred drugs. I would’ve never guessed that her drug of choice was cocaine either.  Hanging with Willa was great fun; she was dramatic, enthusiastic, had class and style plus was intelligent. It was a boon that in addition to having an engaging entertaining accomplice; being with her helped me keep my weight down. There was always an element of excitement that sometimes was flavored with fear and wrought with danger.  That can be fun until you see the alternate perils invited to consume you.

            I know Willa for almost twenty years. She owned the first health food store in our neighborhood.  One day in the store, she came over to my son and offered him a slice of dry pineapple she was busy packaging. That is the way to any mother’s heart. Just give something to their child and you’ve won them over. After that, I became a regular customer and we exchanged pleasantries on a regular basis both in the store and on the street. Later, after our initial greetings, we’d discuss children or relationships and share our views.

            One day I ran into Willa on the street and we exchanged greetings.

She said, “You really are the most smilingist person I know besides me.” We both laughed because it was true, I always walk around smiling at everyone. “Are you busy right now?” 

I said, “No, why?” 

“Well, can you walk me to pick up my laundry? It’s right there,” and she pointed about to halfway down the block.

 “Why not?” I replied and that’s how it began.  Afterward, we went to her house, where she kept rummaging around under her couch pillows, lifting them, and digging with her hand.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I had a small amount of marijuana that I put here this morning. I think maybe my husband clandestinely figured out where it was and he took it for himself, or my girls found it and trashed it.”

Either way, we just had glasses of water and looked at each other

“Hold on, maybe I can find it here.” She led me to a small room off the kitchen and began searching in there. “This is my private room. When I want to be alone I come in here and my husband and daughters know to leave me alone. These apartment buildings are old and I think back in the day most people used this room for the maid but this is my room.” She searched under the pillow and blankets then pulled out drawers and looked underneath. This search failed too”

            She led me back to the living room. “Do you like football?” she asked muting the T.V

“No not particularly interested in any sport.”

“I got into it when my husband insisted on watching and can follow the game pretty much but mostly I watch to see their asses. I discovered it turned me on.”

“It’s ok with me if you want to keep it on,” I said.

After several moments of silence, Willa began in her throaty whisper. To hear what she was saying, I had to lean closer to her.  That was part of her art of enchantment.  I felt like she was sharing her most intimate secrets.  And she did.  Once she got started, there was no stopping her.  She’d go on for a minimum of two hours, and later when I got to know her better, three hours and more. She was never boring.

            Willa didn’t let me know about the hard drugs at first. I kept wondering over the ten years I intermittently hung out with Willa, how does Willa do this?  How does she blow all her household cash on nose candy and then impart the desire to get educated to her children? I definitely admired her skills. Willa was educated. Willa had her masters in English Lit from one of the biggest and most respected black universities in the states. She’d graduated from Spelman and her husband from Morehouse. Willa Dean was bright, engaging, and entertaining. She was witty and made me laugh. Her husband Dwayne was the opposite, quiet and withdrawn. She was often annoyed with him. I guess that her dissatisfaction is what made her take a lover. I never personally experienced her anger but I once saw her yell at a long-time friend who I had experienced as a hell of a pushy broad. 

          Once when we were hanging out at pushy broad's apartment, she said insisted I was tense and needed a massage. I had to yell to make her stop because she was actually hurting me. I probably was very tense. The gal was married to a famous jazz musician and we went to their house to bring them the drugs Willa had picked up for them. I didn’t understand why Willa never told her how annoying she was. Willa and I were straight out with each other. We talked freely and we always were respectful to each other. We also shared things like clothes and costume jewelry. When I started work, she gave me a few beautiful work skirts she claimed she had picked up in Macy's wholesale outlet in Atlanta. That helped me a lot. After I'd worked a while and bought some Betsey Johnson dresses at eighty percent off she begged me for one. I remember how hard that was to find the one that she liked best and that I was willing to let go of. Up till now, I'd been so poor this was the first time I'd ever had money to buy anything except a pair of jeans or a sweater in the $10 Store.

I listened to her complain about her husband.  She’d get high and then she say “I’m gonna go home and get me some.” I never knew if she meant her husband or her lover, so I’d ask. It seemed at that time, it could go either way. Sometimes she seemed surprised that I didn’t know which one she meant.

           

            I got to see things I had never seen before with Willa. She showed me how she had a hole in the cartilage in her nose from snorting coke. I didn’t believe her when she first said it so she took a Qtip while I looked inside her nose and so the tip from the opposite side. I met the world-famous jazz musician who lives not far from Columbia and watched him and his wife get high. Another time, she took me to the Ritz on 5^th Avenue to work as a dresser for some high-class fashion shows. It was amazing. I dressed world famous models plus got paid a hundred fifty bucks plus got a designer belt and gloves too. You really couldn’t take more because they watched and counted everything afterward on a big long list that they checked everything off of, which took another hour or so more after the show was over. I also got to see cocaine apartments in my neighborhood.  You walk into an apartment building and there’s a guy who escorts you up the stairs. Once you get inside the apartment, there’s no nothing there except another guy sitting on a chair, a table with a scale, and the drugs. That’s it! I was shocked the first time I saw this.

In spite of her crazy behavior, Willa was very sweet and engaging.  Funny enough, Willa often had dinner together and prepared for her husband by the time he got home. She was a master at throwing leftovers together and using up odds and ends to make an attractive dish. She’d speak in whispers describing her feelings, her lovers, her adventures, and her daughters. What amazed me the most was how Willa could actually separate out her strengths and capabilities from all her craziness and addiction. She accomplished her motherly chores astonishingly well. Both her daughters were well-mannered and got good grades in high school. They were bright and both graduated college a year apart and afterward got steady work. I was impressed. During this time her husband and she closed the health food store and Dwayne became a cab driver. Later, Willa had some jobs on and off doing retail in clothing stores. At this point, I lost touch with Willa. I became busy with my full-time job and helping my son. I ran into her bossy friend at a Board of Education annual meeting. Bossy told me she’d become a licensed teacher. I asked about Willa saying I’d lost contact. She told me that Willa’s two daughters had moved out the year before and got a place together in New Jersey and that after her daughters moved out, Willa moved out and left her husband and moved in with her lover. After Willa left Dwayne, he eventually lost the apartment and went back to Georgia to live with his family. I miss Willa Dean and wonder where she is. I hope she’s still alive.

Japan: Frying Dutchman - HumanError -- Society's Child -- Sott.net

Japan: Frying Dutchman - HumanError -- Society's Child -- Sott.net: 

http://www.sott.net/article/241306-Japan-Frying-Dutchman-HumanError

Someone as crazy as me ranting like me trying to get the dead who inhabit our earth to wake up and see the sunlight before it is too late. The strength and emotion is very powerful. Now I understand how it feels when someone tells me they came out on a Saturday, their day off, for entertainment and though they find it very interesting and like it, they want something a little different too. 

The words and music did make me cry.

See Clearly Abundant Obstacles

Purple luminescent moon, deep florescent blue-sky

mirror eyes refuse to judge and see

I become one of them

I am one of them

The ones who have done wrongs

I am one of them

The one who sees the right

Moons up high in a golden sky

Up high, purple, not golden, I see it - violet, not yellow

One love one world one desire

Nature no longer pure

No one can fight the flow of love 

the truth will set me free 

the truth is set before me but I only see 

what they put there for me to see 

in control of xyz, who’s in control in domain e 

I can’t see but what is put before me 

I only see what they want me to see,
like Fox news on TV, 

I’ve become part of what they let me see

Please let me see

Fear the answer in deed

The truth will set me free

Truth wind and fire, free desire

I’m on fire tonight

What a sign a sight of Taweret       (prounouced D-aww-waH-Ray)

Seshat made me ride the dragon

Turned tides trite keep the darned lamp lit

I know where to sit plus I gave you my turn

Reality begs the question to answer

Com’on and give me some loving keep it tight tonight

Give me some of that sweet loving tonight

Found a man to do me right

Give me some of that sweet sweet loving tonight

The very sight of you makes me cry

remember the night you first invited me to join you

Sweet cheat in my heart

Eyes Wide Open I see the magic mysteries of trees

Easy to see magic in trees, adorned and leaves bereft, 

flowers and other foliage carried away in the storm 

I can’t digest the storm in my heart

Thunders with discontent

Doors close, all alone, listening to word play, 

new words mist to old, the saxophone wails 

while my heart fails to close, 

beg for mercy feel snow flakes falling on my head

Silver branches reverie, a starlit night, stark bare branches

crystalized icy leaves twinkle bright on a bitter chill night

November ends red and violet changes to gold caprice and yellow

mystified by how simple a delight

Ice my shivers, silver dragon fantasies



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Seshat: Ancient Egyptian goddess of wisdom, knowledge and writing
Twaret: Protective ancient Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility.