Ugly Baby


I saw a funny looking child today.

He lay cradled in his mother’s arms,

protruding forehead of no consequence.

He turned to me and smiled,

and I believed in childlike innocence then. 

In the purity of self image and self conception

before the world paints him ugly

and teaches him to hate himself. 

He smiles, and I smile back,

and at that moment he is the most

beautiful thing I have ever seen. 

I will Sing You to Me


My attempt at Form Poetry…


I will sing you to me

My voice will ride the winds of time

And sound in the echoes of your desire

My love will tinkle softly like a child’s laugh

You will hear it in the silent midnight

I will sing and you will hear


My drum will be my heartbeat, hear

The boom boom boom of my desire

And strain your ears so you can hear me

My voice a light in the black midnight

A beacon that echoes across time

Listen to the future and hear us laugh


My love when I lay in the sweet dark of midnight

The quiet of the night my choir of desire

I sing you a song, I sing you to me

My voice is a brush and my canvas time

And for color I splatter it with a yellow laugh

The colors so bright surely you must hear


With my voice I paint you for all to hear

I sing the graceful curve of your neck I so desire

The flare of your royal nose as you laugh

And the ebon skin so much fairer that midnight

With my longing I call you to me

But can you hear, will my voice reach in time?


My beautiful love, I sing you to me.

With my voice I call for you to hear me.

My love, I will sing you to me and you will hear.




She walks hunched over

and has missing teeth in her smiling mouth. 

Her body is lined with the toils of years unspoken

and her face is a written epistle of burdens borne. 

We inhabit different worlds, her and I. 

Both of us getting glimpses of the exotic

people, places and things of the other world. 

From her tongue the liquid spilling over rocks 

that is her mother tongue pours forth

battering my deaf ears in hopes of understanding

but my walls are hard and it is to no avail.

So we exchange the few words we share like precious gifts

of simplicity and though she is old and we are strangers, 

her blood pulses with mine and with my fathers

and illusive dream memories speak of a time, a different time. 

A time when we shared a world and had words, 

so many words like so many sunrises 

enough to waste and pour like water in a river. 

Words that are now hidden in some deep cave in my mind, 

back in the recess of my mind where I can remember

the scent of yellow rice cooking and the aromatic scent of home. 

The gleam of her smile in the ember light of the fire, then full and white

and the feel of her leather tough palms calloused by sacrifice holding me. 

But when technology came and took me away, 

my tongue was circumcised and replaced with a new and strange tongue. 

So now I sit here across the table from my grandmother, 

her deep dark eyes pools of wisdom from years unnumbered, 

I can only guess at the contents and try to divine some meaning

as does a charlatan searching tea leaves for an answer. 

So I stumble and shift like an amateur archaeologist with no Rosetta. 

But even though we live in different worlds,

when we pause to remember from whence we came

her prune like mouth splits open and her few teeth catch the light

and her deep wise eyes dance in the light of the fire

and I remember that sometimes we don’t have to understand.

Sometimes it is enough to simply see.  

A Poem For Faith (My Sister)


Sometimes life hits you hard, 

a sucker punch right to the heart

Sometimes the sun dims

and your nightmares come true

Sometimes your eyes are screaming

but no one can hear

Sometimes you look down and only

your steps mark the sand

Sometimes all you can do is cry

and hope for a better tomorrow


But remember you are never alone


Remember we only fall to remember

why standing is so sweet

Remember that all nightmares

must end when the sun come out

Remember who you are 

and what it is you believe

Remember that it is OK to cry

but never to give up hope

Remember your name

Remember above all else,

you are loved

Chocolate People (Written Version)


Do you remember when God made us from brown sugar, chocolate and molasses

And we danced with the sun and walked with moon?

Sang with the stars and made love to the night?

Do you remember when we were beautiful?

Do you remember when we walked, walked, danced to the beat of a different drummer,

The blood of giants coursing through our veins

And we ruled the world and were mighty, pyramids of stones raised to entomb our bones?

Do you remember when we were beautiful?

Do you remember when we were broken and captured,

Dancing in grotesque parodies of our birth dance, bound by chains of man,

Steel, stolen from our mother but our souls were free and knew we are kin of kings.

Do you remember when we were beautiful?

Do you remember when we broke the physical chains

Only to be bound by chains of self loathing and weakness,

Our pride broken and scars of shame crisscrossing our psyches,

And now our feet dance/shuffle to the white mans drum.                                                                                                                                                        But some of us still remember when we danced with the sun and walked with the moon.

Some of us remember that when God made us brown it was a blessing not a curse

And we are beautiful, sweet and powerful beyond measure.

Some of us will remember breaking breaking the chains that bind us

And rising to become who we are, everyman king and every woman queen,

Dancing with the sun and walking with the moon,

Our black skin gleaming and our teeth full of meaning

As the river of our history rolls out and our children remember that we/they are beautiful.

So come with me and remember                                                                                                                                                                          Dance with me and remember                                                                                                                                                                                  Feel, hear the THUD THUD THUD of a black man’s drum heartbeat

And feel the power of our history thrumming in our bones and humming in our souls

And grasp the future that is what we make it.

Remember when God made us from brown sugar, chocolate and molasses

And we were brown and beautiful and we danced, danced,

Danced with the sun and walked with the moon.

Remember that you, you are beautiful.

You are my Sunshine, You make me happy when skies are grey….



And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. *drum roll* My first award. I was nominated for it by one of most fantastic people you will ever have the honor to meet on WordPress:

Go to her page, read and comment on her stuff. She is amazing! Personally I would re-nominate her for this award if that wasn’t against the rules…(is it?). I’m not really sure but since there are so many other bloggers who also deserve it I will have to hold out on her this time. 

Speaking of rules, here goes:

The Sunshine Award rules:

  • Include the award’s logo in a post or on your blog.
  • Answer 10 questions about yourself.
  • Nominate 10-12 other fabulous bloggers.
  • Link your nominees to this post and comment on their blogs, letting them know they have been nominated.
  • Share the love and link the person who nominated you.

And so the time has come for me to use all that wonderful education I recieved in college, the time has come for me to…Answer Questions!

  1. Favorite color? Up until recently I had convinced myself and everyone else that I didn’t have a favorite color. Turns out I was lying. Once I discovered royal purple I was hooked. Plus purple goes great with my skin so it’s a win.
  2. Favorite animal? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yea, I have no idea. Mosquitoes are probably my least favorite animal. I will have to go with pig cause bacon is delicious.
  3. Favorite number? Definitely 11. Though to be honest it was 7 for the longest time, but everyone’s favorite number is 7 so I decided I wanted to be unique. Plus 11 just looks cool.
  4. Favorite non-alcoholic drink? Water. Though I would kill for some cold White Cranberry Juice, or maybe a pineapple avocado blend. In the winter I love coffee and cocoa mixed in a mug of absolute bliss.
  5. Prefer Facebook or Twitter? I have over a thousand friends on facebook and not a single follower on twitter. I also don’t know my login info for twitter…
  6. My passion?  Food. Writing. Public Speaking. Singing. Laughing. Women. 
  7. Prefer getting or giving presents? Hmm I think it depends on the occasion. But almost always I prefer getting…
  8. Favorite pattern? Ceiling patterns that always change, they are great for starting stories in my head. Bathroom floor patterns that never change no matter which angle you try to look at them. Speech pattern. Biological patterns.
  9. Favorite day of the week? Today (Meaning everyday I am alive)!
  10. Favorite flower? Lotus. Haha, it’s a funny inside joke but there is only one person in the world who will get it. 


And now to meet the amazing blogs that I have stumbled across that definitely deserve this award:

I am supposed to pass to 10…but I haven’t been around long enough :/. But the one’s i have chosen are awesome and you should really check them out!!!! 

Thank you all for reading!

The Silver Wind


The leaf shivers in the silver wind

the life green color swimming through the breeze

weeping branches swaying lightly

and bowing softly as they whisper into the silence

the stream of air is thoughtful and slow

taking as it passes only the deepest secrets 

as the trees rustle sing them from the depths

a silent whisper of promise that echoes

and resounds from the roots of life and birth of potential

pregnant with secrets so potent the air is heavy

but also light as a feather of curiosity

dancing and flitting from branch to flower

to root to revive a dead brown leaf and teach it to dance

it is a laughing wind that knows enough

to know not to take anything too seriously

it smells of wisdom, birth and apple cinnamon

scent stolen from an unsuspecting girl

a bright wind, invisible silver in the midday sun

it murmurs and giggles and steals voices to tell stories

as it dances with the trees and sings with the leaves

and then leaves to steal more secret scents

but before it goes it circles the tree and whispers clearly

Be Free