Father Dearest

So my older half sister texts me last night to say that it was the 20th anniversary of our father's death. It was kind of an eerie feeling to say the least, I mean I didn't have any memories of the man anyway, because he was never around. This fact alone was the reason why I didn't even know about this particular date. Just when I begin to feel at ease and come to terms with never knowing him, something like this brings about issues that have never been resolved and begins to sit on my aura for a minute. I know I'm a trooper and this too will pass, but I do know his birthday is coming up soon too, so just more to deal with. But what can I do? You can't change the past, so it's better to reflect on it and then move on I suppose.

That being said I decided to repost a poem that I wrote years ago to express some of the feeling I was having about Bio dad:


If the sins of the Father, are revisited on the son,
then there should be no doubt in my mind
that my life is destined to be a chaotic one.

Some may not understand,
and then there will be those that who will surely comprehend
from the extent of my astonishment from of reflection of myself,
not only on the outside but deep within

How can I continue to ignore this feeling of despair -
that comes face to face
In my reflection through the mirror.

A reflection of my life, with a piece missing from the puzzle
of someone not known, but apart of me still
this reflection brings up questions and theories
of my existence, sometimes making me ill

The fact that although I am grown-
up to be the man that I am,
but how could one visualize
a man not known

Sure, a picture here or there I may possess,
but what secrets do these photos hold?
Or should I be grateful from the stories told,
by those that he had known

But who are THEY?
The same ones who claim to know me and my identity?
They being the ones that do not have to go through
the constant avoidance and disillusion of an everyday mirror
because of the knowing and expectation that some days,
at least once, they won't be staring at themselves,
but of something or someone that is apart of you,
but at the same time is not you.

A constant reminder -
of feelings that will never be shared or expressed.
This reflection that I encounter
Is the image and lack of knowledge of an unknown father.

Never mind the true idea that I look and stare into his eyes
every time I glance into the mirror,
But how can one look like the man that indulges my fear.
Frightened by the time lost that can never be retrieved,
By someone , shall I say a stranger whom helped give
me life, my identity, the way I think and breathe.

Looking like the person I have to love because of life,
but despising him at the same time, because he wasn't apart of my life, right?
How could it possibly be, that I can remember the one person I can't see
and thru the mere fact of nature I love, but on nurture I despise?
Being honest with my inner-self we have the same nose, lips, and
even back to the eyes -
Those eyes that look as if they hold a general history or detailed story.
Did they hide the same anguish or a little bit of lost glory?

Now what seems to bother me about this sin:
Is that the mirror is a reflection of the physical appearance we share,
but what of other similar traits that we possess from within?
Could the way I talk or listen be shared?
How about the way I laugh, when something is amusing
Maybe even the same body language when mad, upset, or when something is confusing

The bigger questions have nothing to do with actions or words
but that of future outcomes which to some may be absurd
But what genetic codes and flaws might he have had, plagues that I may pass
to my future sons born into this world whom I will not let be subjected
to the same turmoil that has claimed my consciousness

Although I may make some mistakes along the way
when he looks at his reflection, he won't be confused at what he's seeing
cuz what he sees will be me having his back everyday throughout his life

The mirror won't be a haunting reflection that I've had to carry with the ghost of my past
Maybe there will come a day that all I would ever see is the reflective image
of my own being, the man I've become through the looking glass!

Theme for English B

I figured with my last post, Some Days that a few people would know whom I was speaking of right of the bat, and some that wouldn't, but was even more surprised and flattered when someone else thought I was talking about myself. However, the person that I was referring to was none other than the Poet Laureate himself, Mr. Langston Hughes. I have been a fan of his poetry and his writings since I was a kid. He was sort of an accidental discovery, but one that inspired me to one day become a great writer, which is still a work in progress.

It had to be in middle school, but during one of those English classes where we were reading the chapters aloud, I had read ahead (mainly out of boredom, but also sheer disgust that she picked yet another classmate that read slower than molasses, "the word is THE, damnit!")and started flipping thru the book, and found that there was a poetry section towards the back. I read a few of them, and although all of them were good, there was only one that stood out in my mind called, Theme For English B. I think more so, because it was apparent that the person that wrote it, this Langston Hughes was a Black man. Wanting to know more I used my next chance to go to the Library (it was the early 90's, so no damn internet)and find out about Mr. Hughes. From the moment I started researching him, I knew this was someone that I would always want to learn about, and thru the years, epsecially now that I am an adult and a few other things have come to light, I now know that it was not only the poetry, the writings, the interesting life, but a few other things that drew me to Langston in the first place. I also fell in love with the time period that he lived in. If there was ever a time in history I could travel back to, it would be during the Harlem Renaissance.

To this day, my favorite poem by Langston Hughes is:

Harlem Sweeties

Have you dug the spill
Of Sugar Hill?
Cast your gims
On this sepia thrill:
Brown sugar lassie,
Caramel treat,
Honey-gold baby
Sweet enough to eat.
Peach-skinned girlie,
Coffee and cream,
Chocolate darling
Out of a dream.
Walnut tinted
Or cocoa brown,
Pomegranate-lipped
Pride of the town.
Rich cream-colored
To plum-tinted black,
Feminine sweetness
In Harlem’s no lack.
Glow of the quince
To blush of the rose.
Persimmon bronze
To cinnamon toes.
Blackberry cordial,
Virginia Dare wine—
All those sweet colors
Flavor Harlem of mine!
Walnut or cocoa,
Let me repeat:
Caramel, brown sugar,
A chocolate treat.
Molasses taffy,
Coffee and cream,
Licorice, clove, cinnamon
To a honey-brown dream.
Ginger, wine-gold,
Persimmon, blackberry,
All through the spectrum
Harlem girls vary—
So if you want to know beauty’s
Rainbow-sweet thrill,
Stroll down luscious,
Delicious, fine Sugar Hill.

Some Days

There are days when I feel like this.....

------IMPASSE
I could tell you
If I wanted to,
What makes me
What I am

But I don't
really want to -
And you don't
give a damn.


And then there are other days when it's more like this....

-------MOTTO
I play it cool
And dig all jive -
That's the reason
I stay alive.

My motto,
As I live and learn
Is Dig and be Dug
In return.

These simple poems say it all. Can any of you guess who wrote these? C'mon it's really easy; but remains one of the most influential people I have ever had the pleasure of learning about.

I'll explain why in my next post.

Peace

Unemployed

So I have only 3 days left until my current job comes to an end. Funding ran out for my position. Hey in the non-profit world it happens. I'm still searching for something, but not too stressed out about it, since I can probably get away with not having anything for at least 2 months, maybe a little more. But as I continue this search, I couldn't help but find something I wrote a few years ago, when I was working somewhere I particulary didn't like at the time. Hell my life was all kinds of crazy now that I think of it.

Here it goes, tell me what you think.

I'm tired of this struggle,
This struggle that I go thru
on a monthly, naw weekly, hell even on a daily basis.
While I sift thru the rubble
of what I call my life
Tryin so hard not to be mellow-dramatic
and say that my life is in shambles
But what's the point
maybe I should develop an addiction
go out and just gamble,
throw it all away
but don't really have material possessions
at least none to call my own
sometimes mind just wanders
and I enter a trance, some sort of zone
I just want the best out of life
I know damn well I'm not alone
5 Years spent.......Okay, maybe 6
Don't look at me that way, like you on some otha shit!
Okay, Like I was sayin 6 years spent
gettin that higher education
But job after job with no one really hirin'
It's just added fuel to the fire of my frustration
Having to make this struggle from a kid with no worries
to an adult all while life keeps me down with economic castration.
And yeah that shit hurts, like you can't even imagine.
But it could be worse, you know what I'm sayin
I spent 5,
Damn Yall!!! Ok 6!!!
6 years learnin, but for what?
So I can be lookin out, not knowin if I will be able to make it
with my next lousey check
and things I want just keep me yearnin
for more chances to finally get in that door
that door they call success
but knowing that I have to be patient
but ain't that a bitch...
when I've been taught I shouldn't except nothin less
But here I am makin less than I know I'm worth
Spent those, yes 6 long ass years puttin in the work
to just be in the same place I could've been in
without the higher education, drama and sort.
© April 2005

Reflection

Since it's Father's Day I thought I'd share a poem I wrote a few years back.

If the sins of the Father, are revisited on the son,
then there should be no doubt in my mind
that my life is destined to be a chaotic one.

Some may not understand,
and then there will be those that who will surely comprehend
from the extent of my astonishment from of reflection of myself,
not only on the outside but deep within

How can I continue to ignore this feeling of despair -
that comes face to face
In my reflection through the mirror.

A reflection of my life, with a piece missing from the puzzle
of someone not known, but apart of me still
this reflection brings up questions and theories
of my existence, sometimes making me ill

The fact that although I am grown-
up to be the man that I am,
but how could one visualize
a man not known

Sure, a picture here or there I may possess,
but what secrets do these photos hold?
Or should I be grateful from the stories told,
by those that he had known

But who are THEY?
The same ones who claim to know me and my identity?
They being the ones that do not have to go through
the constant avoidance and disillusion of an everyday mirror
because of the knowing and expectation that some days,
at least once, they won't be staring at themselves,
but of something or someone that is apart of you,
but at the same time is not you.

A constant reminder -
of feelings that will never be shared or expressed.
This reflection that I encounter
Is the image and lack of knowledge of an unknown father.

Never mind the true idea that I look and stare into his eyes
everytime I glance into the mirror,
But how can one look like the man that indulges my fear.
Frightened by the time lost that can never be retrieved,
By someone , shall I say a stranger whom helped give
me life, my identity, the way I think and breathe.

Looking like the person I have to love because of life,
but despising him at the same time, because he wasn't apart of my life, right?
How could it possibly be, that I can remember the one person I can't see
and thru the mere fact of nature I love, but on nuture I despise?
Being honest with my inner-self we have the same nose, lips, and
even back to the eyes -
Those eyes that look as if they hold a general history or detailed story.
Did they hide the same anguish or a little bit of lost glory?

Now what seems to bother me about this sin:
Is that the mirror is a reflection of the physical appearance we share,
but what of other similar traits that we possess from within?
Could the way I talk or listen be shared?
How about the way I laugh, when something is amuzing
Maybe even the same body language when mad, upset, or when something is confusing

The bigger questions have nothing to do with actions or words
but that of future outcomes which to some may be absurd
But what genetic codes and flaws might he have had, plagues that I may pass
to my future sons born into this world whom I will not let be subjected
to the same turmoil that has claimed my consciousness

Although I may make some mistakes along the way
when he looks at his reflection, he won't be confused at what he's seeing
cuz what he sees will be me having his back everyday throughout his life

The mirror won't be a haunting reflection that I've had to carry with the ghost of my past
Maybe there will come a day that all I would ever see is the reflective image
of my own being, the man I've become through the looking glass!