Life's Not So Rare Lessons, Dec. 14, 2011

Failure is hard to stomach.  Especially once you've tried something and it doesn't seem to work out.  Remember that time you first started learning to ride a bike?  Falling off and scraping needs seemed like reasons to give up.  I recall watching my son try to build something out of blocks.  He kept stacking and stacking, but eventually the blocks would fall.

He would push the blocks aside, lower his head, and pout.

"What's the matter?" I'd always ask.

"I can't do it!!" he'd say, in the cutest little voice.

"Keep trying, baby, and you'll get it."

I remember giving him that advice, hoping he'd take it to heart.  Because I know that after a while, it's a lesson we all forget.

Keep trying.  It eventually pays off.

For the last three years, I've been unemployed.  I've searched high and low, in multiple cities, to find an employer that would hire me.  I've gone to interviews, presented the best me I could possibly present, only to have them all tell me the same thing.  We're sorry, but you're not the candidate we're looking for.

The frustration that builds from repetitive failures will often make you want to give up.  But I'm glad something within me kept pushing, kept believing in that advice I'd given my two year old son.

I'm am glad to say that as of today, I am once again employed.  I am thankful for the opportunity and believe even more adamantly that trying does eventually reap benefits.  So, to anyone out there considering quitting something, all because it hasn't gone according to plans, stop.  Step back and observe the situation.  Learn what you can from those failures, then put your best foot forward and try again.

Pretty soon, success will be waiting.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Life's Not So Rare Lessons, Dec. 3, 2011

Sometimes, something comes to you that really isn't for you.  This is one of those moments.  Whoever this is for, I pray that it reaches you.

I'm a people watcher, a shameless one, in fact, because I feel we learn so much from observation.  I try not to be creepy, staring hazardously at random folks.  At some point this would make them uncomfortable.  A few subtle glances.  Sometimes, listening to conversations.  It's interesting some of the things you'll notice about others that leads you to noticing something about yourself.

One thing I've wondered about people is how they deal with their varying moods.  Have you ever seen someone so overwhelmingly sad that it makes you sad, and suddenly you wish you could give them a hug?  I'm certain that's not just me.  It's interesting how our moods rub off on others, but I'll examine that in another post.  This one is about depression. 

In all of my life, even while enduring some extremely difficult things, I can thankfully say I've never been depressed.  Sure, I've found myself dangling close to the threshold, that invisible  place where sadness is so close to becoming a gloom that you just can't shake.  But luckily, I found some way to pull myself up again.

Family, close friends, work, writing, etc....there were several factors that helped me escape.  But some people don't have those outlets.  So I've been racking my brain for the last few moments, trying to figure out what they can do, and how I might possibly help them.

Most people have heard the saying 'there's light at the end of the tunnel'.  But what if the tunnel is so dark and long that the end seems nowhere in sight?  Then, it takes something within to make a person continue to move forward.  Suicide has always seemed like an odd concept to me, but I understand why some people struggle with it.  If I wasn't blessed with all the wonderful things that keep me motivated and going, the idea might have crossed my mind at times.  From being teased relentlessly as a child to dealing with seizures that my doctors couldn't find cause for, there have been moments in my life where I easily could have given up hope.

But I always remembered one thing.

Every life is worth living.  

There is someone out there battling with something right now and they're feeling like it has the best of them.  They've cried so many tears and fought as hard as they could, but somehow that hardship keeps winning.  And right now, they're considering ending their life, as the only way to cope.  But I'm hoping they don't do it.  Because every life, no matter how hard or desperate or unbearable it seems, is worth living.  From the pastor to the prostitute.  The extremely rich and the extremely poor.  Every single life is a valuable one, because it's the only one you get.

And while this might not solve your problem, I'm hoping it's enough to make you consider a real solution.  There are crisis centers, guidance counselors, or even the pastor at a local church, willing to talk to you and offer help.  My email address is therarepoet@yahoo.com, and you can email me at any time.  

I don't know who this message is intended for, but I was moved to write it.  I feel that if we're nice to each other, offer a smile, and try to be more concerned with the lives of others, then everybody will eventually understand that every life is worth living.

Blessings to everyone out there.  Make somebody feel worthwhile today.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet 

Monday Oh So Dope Award, Nov. 28, 2011 (Yes, I'm Feeling Dope!!)

And here is yet another return to one of my favorite recurring themes in this blog:  the Monday Oh So Dope Award!!  Everyone know's that Monday is that day of the week somehow vilified by all.  Whether it's the start of the work week, the beginning of the school week, or that moment that reminds you the fun and games of the weekend are over, Monday seems to get a bad rep among the days (only Wednesday gets nearly as harsh treatment).

But everyday can't be Friday.  And every Monday isn't bad.  That's why I started this portion of the blog.  To remind us that there are always some cool and uplifting things going on.  Even on Mondays.

Today's award goes to leftover Thanksgiving dinner.

Sure, you said you were sick of them.  You've protested, having spent all weekend eating turkey sandwiches and gorging yourself with cakes and pies.  But come Monday, when the holiday vibes seem to finally be fading and the world is back to slowly getting on your nerves, you open the fridge and smile. One more night won't hurt you.  And it kind of makes this Monday seem even more worthwhile.

So go ahead, enjoy a dope helping of leftovers.  And remember to enjoy today!

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Life's Not So Rare Lessons, Nov. 28, 2011

Sunday morning, I was recuperating from a bit of sickness, and happened to catch an episode of Super Soul Sunday on OWN.  It was an interesting show with Oprah Winfrey talking to Mark Nepo, the author of The Book of Awakening, a daily companion book to 'help people meet their days and inhabit their lives.'  Nepo, who published the book in 2000 following a battle with cancer, said the book turned out to be a spiritual first-aid kit.  The Book of Awakening catapulted to fame in 2010, when Oprah listed it as one of her favorite things.

During Sunday's show, Oprah read one of her favorite passages from the book, which I'll share here.

After hearing the passage, an ancient Hindu teaching, it really made me think.  So often in our lives, we are confronted by pain and don't really know how to bear it.  But the profound message behind the teaching is that pain, like everything else in our lives much be taken in context.

Putting our experiences into perspective will allow us to deal with them better.

This might seem hard to do at first.  Often times, especially with negative situations, it's hard to get past how uncomfortable they are.  We forget to think about the bigger picture and only focus on how we're immediately affected.  But everything functions within a broader spectrum.  And that amount of pain, discomfort, heartache, or whatever, is serving a purpose within the broader spectrum of you.  I think what the teaching was trying to say is that unless we understand that we extend beyond the pain, we will always succumb to its bitterness.

Be a lake, not a glass.

The smaller the receptacle, the more force or impact anything that comes in contact with it has.  By being a lake, or expanding ourselves outside of the moment and seeing everything as a whole, we lessen how much we're impacted by pain.

I think being the lake is key in positive situations too.  So often, we get caught up in our successes and joys, so much so that we forget to keep them into perspective.  We become stagnant, because we get stuck in the moment, instead of stretching ourselves towards the bigger picture.

Once we learn to take things into perspective, we'll live fuller lives.  And isn't that a step towards happiness?

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Life's Not So Rare Lessons, Nov. 25, 2011

Life is what you make of it.

Sometimes, life really sneaks up on you.

This was something I was told in a conversation that really made me think.  When you hear this, it probably conjures up images of life overtaking you, most likely for the worse.  But it doesn't have to be that way.  Even when life sneaks up on you and you start to realize that things aren't going the way you want them to, it's best to look at it as an opportunity.

This is the chance to get life back on track.  Look at how your life is going, and if you don't like it, figure out why.  From there, look for opportunities where you can implement changes for the better.  Don't let it overwhelm you.  If someone had told me I'd be 30 years old, unemployed, and trying my best to just hold it together, I probably would have panicked.  But I've looked at my life and realize there are plenty of opportunities for change.  I'm learning new skills, meeting new people, and still pushing my way towards my dream.  I'm learning about myself as well.  I'm stronger than I once believed.  I'm wiser than I used to be.  And I've developed a ton of patience, the kind necessary to achieve what I want for my life.

Yes, life has been sneaking up on me.  There are things I assumed I would have done by now.  There are places I expected to be.  But the best part about it is, I'm not looking at this as defeat.  I'm still striving.  And who said there's a time limit on getting to exactly where you want to be?

In less than a month, I'll turn 31.  According to my teenage self, I should be a multimillionaire by now.  But Rome wasn't built in a day, as the saying goes, and a life you're completely happy to live is worthwhile, regardless of how long it takes you to get there.

Keep believing in yourself, keep reaching for those goals, and keep seeking ways to make yourself happier.  When it's the life that you know you want, you'll enjoy every second of it.

And that's what happiness really is.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Something Worth Sharing

This was sent to me in an email via Hope Clark over at FundsforWriters.  It really made me think about how our actions impact others.  Think about this the next time you interact with someone.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

A short story I hope you enjoy . . . one I hope strikes home . . . one that hopefully makes us appreciate what we have and what we have to offer. Happy Thanksgiving, friends. 

 

~Hope

 

 

 

 

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books.
I thought to myself, 'Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd.'
I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.
As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him...
He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes . My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.
As I handed him his glasses, I said, 'Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives.'
' He looked at me and said, 'Hey thanks!'
There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.
I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now.
I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.
He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my friends . He said yes.
We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.
Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, 'Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!
' He just laughed and handed me half the books.'
The next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors we began to think about college.  Kyle decided onGeorgetown and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never
Be a problem. He was going to be a doctor and I was going for business on a football scholarship. Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd.
He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak .
Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school.
He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.
Boy, sometimes I was jealous! Today was one of those days.
I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, 'Hey, big guy, you'll be great!'
He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled....' Thanks,' he said.
As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began ...
'Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years.
Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends....
I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them.
I am going to tell you a story.'
I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the first day we met.
He had planned to kill himself over the weekend.
He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile.
'Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable.'
I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. 
I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile.
Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.
Never underestimate the power of your actions.
With one small gesture you can change a person's life. For better or for worse.

God puts us all in each others lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in others.

Thankful

This morning, I read my Thanksgiving post from last year.

A lot of things have changed since then.  I've relocated to a new city and am still trying to adjust to the area.  I've started to more ambitiously pursue my writing career, although the process is going a bit slower than I anticipated.  I've made some new friends and fallen in love and tried to become a better person.

But one thing remains the same.  I am overwhelmingly thankful.  For every good thing in my life.  For the moments that challenge me.  For the growing pains and tears.  I'm learning to be content, as well as striving for greater plateaus.

For my life.  My health.  My family, friends, and the ones I love.

I remain thankful.

And when I wake up each morning, thanking God for another day and all of these wonderful people and things in my life, it feels good to have reasons to be thankful.

Even if you can't be with the people you love today, give thanks that they are out there.  If that job you love hasn't come through yet, give thanks for the day it arrives.  If you have a dream that hasn't quite come into fruition, give thanks for all the moments building up to it.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone out there.  Let's continue to use each day to make this world a better place.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Mental Escape #7

(pic via Ferrari Sheppard)

I picture myself, all the way at the top, a

cigarette lit,

legs dangling, contemplating

everything and nothing.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

A Heart Beats in Carolina

369 miles.

It feels like an insurmountable distance.  I picture him daily, doing things, and wonder how he's been.  For a parent, to not see your child is an emotional solitude words can't properly describe.  

I wonder if his misses me.  I replay the phone conversations in my mind, feeling they are few and far between.  I hope that he knows I love him.  I hope he knows how I want to see him soon.  I wish I could shrink myself in miniature, and hitch a ride on the next good breeze, arriving at his pillow.  Just to let him know how much I care.

Granted, for the most part, I am certain that my son love's me very much.  That he knows I love him with every ounce of me, and would be there if I could.  But there's that inkling of doubt, perhaps growing from too many seconds where I can't lift him in my arms.  Too many pivotal moments in his nearly three year old existence that I have been forced to guess about.  The last time I saw him, it was mid summer.  I fear winter will be brimming before I see him again.  I hope the ache isn't unbearable.  I hope he can understand.

This is Solace, my son.  He is truly the love of my life, and it pains me that I can't be with him.  I hope my physical absence doesn't rob him of the peace his name entails.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

  

Because It's How She Makes Me Feel

Love is….

The flutter. 

The sway. 

The swell of chest that mocks your heart

for not previously beating properly.

The absent sighs, and random grins.  The moments when the wind

mimics a hug.

How everything suddenly matters.  And nothing else seems to matter.  And how

the two combine, into a telling collage that lips and ears

and eyes can’t quit painting.

On nights, together alone, how you curl so close

you can feel their breath, and even taste it. 

It hangs at the roof of mouth, slips

over smiling lip, and gets tangled in your hair.

 

On nights, when they are not there, the very

presence seems plastered everywhere.  In the dimples

of your pillow.  In the tassels of the blanket, all reaching like

fingers.  In the way the ceiling hangs, above you,

lowering like a body greeting.

In radio songs.  And commercial songs.  And the songs your

mind can’t stop singing.  La la lala la.  Lala lala la

And you know they are singing the very next line.

A lightning strike that crashes against your sternum.

The thunder that rolls in the pit of your stomach.

The cute hellos.  Extensive goodbyes.  The way

you always wish they’d be there.

The flutter.  The sway.  The fear of falling, combined

with the leaps you faithfully take.

Skin seeking skin.  That perfect embrace that

you both hope never ends.

The constant throb of hearts beating.  Lungs expanding.

Veins on edge, requesting injection.

The fill and the feel.

The sounds of words like ‘whole’ and ‘forever’.

That first second when you noticed how
the blood rushes through you,

realizing just how much

you expand.

Life's Not So Rare Lessons, Nov. 4, 2011

If you've read my previous post, then you know that my will to blog is back.  Yaaaaaaaay!!!  It feels good to be back at it again.  And it just felt good to introduce a new recurring portion of the blog.

All the time, I hear people, when comparing life tales or discussing their experiences, talk as if they have been stranded in some isolated portion of the cosmos and whatever is occurring is only happening to them.  But one of the biggest concepts we can grasp as human beings is how interconnected our lives and experiences really are.  There's a good possibility that, if you're going through it, someone else has done so as well.  It's recognizing this connection, and taking something from that recognition, that makes us truly human.

So I decided to start writing about things that we can all relate to.  And the first thing that came to me was love.

Love is simply love.  Or at least, it should be.

Chances are, if you've been living on this planet for at least a handful of years, you're experienced some form of love or another.  Even the most miserable people manage to soften their heart for someone.  But often we take love for granted, exploit it for selfish reasons, or never really grasp its power or potential, until it is far too late.

I've been in each of these instances, and have come to understand a life lesson that we all should embrace.  Love is given, period.  It shouldn't need to be reciprocated, returned, justified, validated, or any of the other one-sided things we are constantly guilty of doing to it.  When you love somebody, like Nike, you just do it.  

Now don't get me wrong.  It sucks to love someone who doesn't love you back.  But if your love is genuine, it still remains.  Even when you can't be with a person you love, it doesn't erase it.  I think one of the biggest flaws in the way we love is that we place expectations on it, which immediately diminishes it.  I still have love for all of my ex's, even though it's not the same type of love.  I still have love for family members who I haven't seen in years.  Love can change.  There's no law that says you have to love someone the same way forever.  If you do, you're probably loving wrong.

I think this picture kind of sums it up.  The heart is love, or our capacity of love, and the water represents all of our expectations and presumptions about how love should be.  But the more we cover our love with those things, the more it washes it away.  Until soon, we're left with nothing, except a whole lot of longing.

Love is a powerful thing.  It motivates our actions, alters our moods, and factors into our measure of our life as a whole.  But until we learn to love, wholeheartedly and without presumption, we are cheating ourselves out of life's most rewarding experience.

Love.  Without exception.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

My Will to Blog Restored

Hello to all of the faithful readers who've been checking out my blog since its short existence, and any new readers who've stopped by from time to time.  When I started this, I was really amped, excited about sharing a bit of myself with anyone willing to listen.  But over this short period of time, something happened.  Blogging became a chore that I didn't like completing, much like laundry or taking out the trash.  It was something I felt like I had to do, but didn't enjoy at all.

Fortunately, something within me has been renewed.

Somewhere along the way, I started giving blogging, and writing in general, the cold shoulder.  But it's embedded in me, because it is truly a part of me.  So my icy disposition has lifted, and all of my reservations have thawed.  Today marks another new beginning, and the initial steps of taking this part of me to the next level.  Why?  Because it deserves it.  If we can't give our best, why give at all?

So to those of you who are still with me, thank you.  For continued support and helping me understand that this really makes a difference.  Here's to more rare moments to come.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Mental Escape #6

This is the ultimate writing place in my mind.  I can see me, resting at

the water's edge, with a notebook in

my hand.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Just a Bit of Randomness (Maybe)

I think I'm on Plan H right about now.  But still staying cool.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Because Even in Your Absence, I Feel You

This poem is dedicated to my father, Jacob Jamison.  May you forever rest, in peace.

Wrestling Angels

for Jacob

It is daybreak.

My heart now limps through here,

torn at the hip of your

absence.  Last night

I wrestled with the syllables

of your name.

To wrench them from my longing, a

battle I couldn’t win.  But you

blessed me.

If merely by knowing.  I am

your legacy, breathing, still

living and flourishing. 

I am your breath, your

impression and blood.

Your countenance smiles through me

like God.

Just a Bit of Randomness (Maybe)

I applaud their efforts.

(photo via CNN)

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Because She Taught Me How to Cope With Things

Tiptoeing

for my mother

when your voice became afraid, and sawed itself

in half, worried that the pain would

seep through its timbre

I would peel off the bandaged layers of my sleep,

keep one ear lifted, up off the pillow, firmly

attuned to sounds from your bed

I needed to hear the steady breathing.

there are attributes the heart uses to

mend itself.  wisdom becomes salve and

strength, an adhesive.

You were always busy, taping self together again.

Many nights, I’d tiptoe

from my bed, towards the shadows, stick

cheek to cold door and listen

for your tears.  But I could tell

you were not really crying.  You were refilling

those things that had drained

To What We Both Buried

Chthonic

we buried in this dirt

a love we couldn’t shake

and are haunted by the

memories,

they keep on screaming

the spirit of that union

moans beneath the surface,

most days

I long to run to it

until I recall, how I ran

and you willingly released me,

depositing our love

into the grave

of your belly

some things are apt to die,

and others go more

begrudgingly 

It Is Time We Listen

Plea, to My People

we are open pediment

missing our base,

struggling to discover where

we lost foundation

we are mirrored woes,

staring us in the face,

yet this countenance of sorrow

hasn’t united generations

we are two wrong turns

and two left shoes,

always stumbling upon ourselves,

still going in circles

but there comes a time

to wake up and move on,

remembering all the moments

when we were treated as sediment

left to drift off, or

left to burn, expected

to drown in our own undoing,

our truth

was in the way that we’d rise

Because Sometimes, Silence is a Cop-Out

At first, I wasn't going to write anything about Troy Davis.  If you've been black in America, or underprivileged, or poor, then it's an ongoing current that has flowed throughout the years.  Sometimes, you don't want to even think about it.  But not thinking has never made anything go away.

I was impressed by the outcry from people like me, who feel that injustices like these cannot go without reprieve.  I long for a day of accountability, or even more for a day when things like this will cease to be.  If you're confused by what I been let me clarify:  The state of Georgia killed a man.  A man who they couldn't prove had done anything wrong.  Even through a cloud of doubt, with witnessing recanting their statements, they decided that Troy Davis needed to die.

What does that say about America?  This so called land of freedom and justice for all.  A few nights ago, I embarked on a journey, to witness some of the monuments that symbolize the freedom of this land.  I recall while being at the Jefferson Memorial, reading something that made me think.

Those familiar with these words, know that they are a combination of key phrases from the Declaration of Independence.  Most of us are equally aware that when this document was drafted, those like myself, Troy Davis, and far too many others, were not taken into consideration.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal..."

Unless you are black, or poor, or any other minority that causes discomfort to our unsympathetic majority.  Then you are baggage.  An easily dispensable casualty.  

I don't know what happened on the night that the off-duty police officer was killed.  All I know it that Troy Davis maintained his innocence.  That seven of the eyewitnesses signed affidavits recanting all or some of their testimony.  I know that the state of Georgia has granted clemency to other men, white men, who have confirmed their guilt and had physical evidence tying them to the crime.  But for Troy Davis, no such clemency came.  I am touched by one of his final statements, but saddened by the truth that lies within it:

“The struggle for justice doesn’t end with me. This struggle is for all the Troy Davises who came before me and all the ones who will come after me. I’m in good spirits and I’m prayerful and at peace. But I will not stop fighting until I’ve taken my last breath.” - Troy Daivs, September 20, 2011

There will be more Troy Davises.  As long as we live in a country that still refuses to accept the words it was founded upon.  There is still no justice.  True freedom is marginalized to a few.

I am Troy Davis.  And that makes me doubtful of the future.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

The Need to Make Some Changes

It's been a while since I posted.  And I'm becoming more and more aware that this has become an alarming trend.  I remember when I first started blogging and would post multiple times a day.  Now, it seems a bit like a chore.   Which means something needs to change.  So I'm about to undertake a reflective look at this blog and what I want it to represent.  I may do a massive design change, or even create a new and improved blog.  I appreciate all the great readers I've come into contact with over such a short period of time.  You are the ones who make this even more worthwhile.  So bear with me as I reevaluate things.  And as always much love to every rare one of you.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

This is Where It Begins

ORIGINS

deep in your cheeks
your specific laughter owns
all things south of the ghosts
we once were.  straight ahead

the memory beckons from the future
you and I a tribe of colours
this song  that dance
godlike rhythms to birth
footsteps of memory
the very soul aspires to. Songs

of origins songs of constant beginnings
what is this thing called
love

                                       ---   Keorapetse Kgositsile

Unfortunately, Sometimes This is What We Find

Pavement

I have watched it for a while,

cold and hard,

sitting there, waiting.

Impact is expected

I wonder if it means to scare me.  Make me

think of open scars and broken

bones.  The kind where

mending

is never an option.

I reach for it gingerly, a chalk line love

that I hope past tears won’t

wash like rain.

But I know

it plans to erase me.  Make me

nothing more than

another indentation.

Your heart is an

impenetrable pavement.

It refuses to let me

through.

Because Ultimately, It's What We All Want

Quick intro:  No, this wasn't inspired by the Lil Wayne song....I can't stand most of his music and feel like the song, as catchy as it is, was nothing more than a gimmick to sell more records (which I don't believe he really sold...lol)  This poem came from finally figuring out the wrong ways to love a woman.  Maybe there is hope for me, yet.  Enjoy.

How to Love

Be quick.  Only use

assured fingers and steady hands.

Stay calm.  Ignore your beating chest.  Try to keep

those steady hands.  

Seize this moment gently,

as if it were a sliver of tentative flesh.

She will be hesitant. 

The best ones usually are, having endured

those rushes that lead to breaking.

Avoid snapping on fetters of adulation.

Be quick but polite, and don’t stare

at her heart’s scars.

Remember conversations are emotional foreplay.

Anything useless is left behind.  Unoriginal

is the same as

unremembered.   Keep this

at the back of your mind.

Just tell her your name.  Introductions mean

everything when they are the only thing.

It doesn’t need to be perfect.  Simply create

the perfect need.  Let it linger. 

Tell her your name.

Then watch her tuck it in a favorite corner of her mind.

Pay attention and follow her cues.

Your compass will be her eyes.

Up usually means that you’ve

already lost her, and down is something even worse.

When they lock on yours

the door is open.  Abandon yourself. 

Rush inside.

Don’t curse yourself with boring obscurity.

Explain your intentions as soon as you can.

Let her know her mere presence

has sculpted a curiosity.  You are clay.

She is Rodin.  Prepare to be

molded in a manner that allows her

to be comfortable letting you in.

Understand guarded is not the same

as uninterested.  Respect those places

she refuses to bend.  Be

patient.  Explain to her

there is no rush.

You are ready.  The hardest part

is over.  

Little Things Allow Us to Remember

I Forget Sometimes

I forget sometimes

    to set my clock’s alarm, my body a spring of coils on these mornings

I forget sometimes

               

                the day of the week, recollection muddled by the moment it’s found in

I forget sometimes

                the names of old lovers, now merely bedspreads, shadows, and sounds of

    indifference

I forget sometimes

                when I was 5 years old, a six-pack of glass bottles, mounted on my tricycle, gifted 

                me my first 13 stitches

I forget sometimes

                the man I long to be, too immersed with my consuming, never heading the 

                warnings

I forget sometimes

                that if I hold completely still, breathless, eyes grappling a pulsing night sky, there 

                are seconds when I swear my entire being blends

I forget sometimes

                what I know of God, until blindsided by overwhelming waves of magnificence

I forget sometimes

                that girl from the park, and how when she kisses, or lies, her left index finger 

                twitches

I forget sometimes

                the birthdays and appointments, anniversaries, song lyrics, and special occasions

I forget sometimes

                my mother’s smile, having been granted a view of Heaven, and thus, taken it 

                for granted

I forget sometimes

                my undeniable momentum, too often forced, by this world, to sit still

I forget sometimes

                the names of old teachers, who saw something in me the faulty mirrors 

                wouldn't reveal

I forget sometimes

                the laws of this nature, like in order for growth to happen, something 

                must be planted

I forget sometimes

                the random holding of my breath, giggling incessantly, being fearless 

                while afraid, licking this life like new fallen snow, and all the other things that 

                are considered childish sensations      

I forget sometimes

                little things I’m glad to have, too caught up in my trials to focus on the treasures

I forget sometimes

                this pleasure derived from words, until its intensity fills me, awesome and 

                unmeasured

I forget sometimes

                old stanzas of my life, full of repetitive mistakes, where I couldn’t refrain

I forget sometimes

                the bench where I used to sit, back in my hometown, off the corner of 

                Vance and Main

I forget sometimes

               

                the simple and complex,

                the beginnings, the ends, and middles, in-between,

                the seemingly insignificant, as well as the essential

                and the truth, about what this all means

I forget sometimes

but sometimes, I can remember