A Trip Down Memory Lane

I miss you. We had good times together. I remember when we took the 2 to Grand Concourse, and you noticed I was down and gave me words of encouragement
when I didn’t have any else to talk to. I remember when we rode our bikes to Yankee Stadium, but we didn’t have enough money to get in to watch the game, so we just hung out outside and listened to the announcer and the roars of the crowd. Remember the time we rode push scooters to Pelham Parkway and ended up at Pelham Bay Park? The week after, they stole the bike you had recently gotten for your birthday; I’m still angry about that. Ralph told me to let it go, but I looked up and down for it for weeks and never found it. I recall your favorite snack, two slices and a pineapple soda or a meat and cheese calzone if you felt like switching it up on any particular day. The pizza shop on Burke Ave, was a block favorite. You unknowingly gave me strength. So many memories; and now you rest with the angels. You are loved. You are remembered, always.

Sade – Maureen

The Final Revelation

I loved you, but you didn’t love me. Me eyes deceived me, and my heart kept it from me. It wasn’t until the day I drowned in my despair and you stood and watched me coldly without a care—that I knew. Your misandry escaped me; in my agony I lamented that you presented your true self to me not so subtly—but in that stark revelation, were the cornerstones of my salvation. In my heart your name became a byword for treachery and indifference. The lacerations of my emotions were for so long revealed in every sentence. I release myself from you. I purge you from my system. Truly, physically you are beautiful, but your heart is poison. I understand now that you are who you are, and have been from your inception. I do not seek your approval; I have no want nor need of your acceptance. Unawares, you drown and are consumed in your own uninhibited wantonness. Upon hearing the news of your inevitable imbroglio, I will be dispassionate and listless.

Temper, My Heart

Temper, my heart, lest you give yourself away too soon
And tell her that you love her, and that you would die for her.
Preserve the mystery, do not give your secrets away so quickly;
Do not cast aside the cloak that covers your desires.
Hold back your true feelings until it is the right time;
Perhaps with rose petals scattered on white linen tables
Furnished with delicious entrees and Riesling wine.
Be careful not to startle her mid sentence with talk of
Falling in love and adherence;
Your words must be delivered as smoothly as silk
in the truth of forthrightness.
Talk of long held feelings, and compliment her beauty
At least twice during the evening;
Preferably, in the beginning, and at the end tell her again.
Do not be sheepish in your approach;
Draw out of her words she might not normally convey,
But do it tactfully and respectfully.
Remember she is a flower and must be handled delicately.
Inquire about her family and ask her about her favorite recipe;
Speak to her lovingly, and infer that you see her in your destiny.
Finally, be humorous, and in the tone of her laughter
Seek the secrets of her soul and the substance of her beauty;
Caress her with reassuring words that appeal to her feminine sensitivity.

Black waterfalls flow over brown contours
That cover the inlets of her spine;
The moon’s light shines on shimmering skin
In gorgeous twilight divine;
Her eyes are the mysteries of
One hundred thousand years;
Her mind is the intricacy of laughter
And the sorrow of tears.
Diamond chandelier earrings shadow the
Femininity of her neck;
Her own natural beauty is the essence of her adornment.
Her lips are the softness of honey butter,
And the sweetness of strawberry nectar.
Her beauty is the delicacy of the petals
Of burgundy rose flowers.
At the bottom of the depths of her soul
Are sweet and peaceful waters;
From her inception she was a shining star
Among many daughters.
Her undying love is the core of her being,
Surpassing the superficial and transcending
Into the ethereal realm.
None were created like her on the earth
Or under the heavens.
Many men desire to draw
From the depths of her water;
She was born in the winter with a heart of fire,
And is the obsession of secret desires.

For Breonna

From brown eyes spilled tears, and in the blood that ran, was love, courage, hope, anger, passion and the sorrow of many years. In the throes of death, what words are spoken in the last moments of breath? The last tears that fall are the essence of the preciousness of her soul. Heaven knows the injustice that will follow; heaven knows that the words from the executioners foul breath will ring hollow. The slaying of black innocence is rarely recompensed. An accounting for the shedding of blood is seldom witnessed. What then of the heavens? Do we not fervently cry out for vengeance? Do we not cast ourselves on the alter of justice and weep in sincerity and reverence? They feign solidarity with us, yet within the blinking of an eye they would unjustly kill us; their words are meaningless and their souls, dark and cancerous. Behold, the face of the slain. Let us look upon the countenance of an angel one last time and kiss her, before the world uses her name in vain, and with prejudiced disdain, dismiss her. Her memory now lives in us, and we are its keeper; we will not relent. We will not falter. Her soul dwells in celestial light forever, and with a crown of rose gold adorned with white diamonds, she smiles in her beauty and walks the vast halls of her fathers.