INSPIRED BY BILLY PAUL
BLACKBERRY BLUES WINE
Blackberry Blues Wine drawn from the Vine
pouring thru the veins, dripping on stained pages
in AMERIKKAN BOOKS.
Revealing, reveling in blatant inhumane atrocity.
So as the hanging tree bled, We fled our Wasteland.
Previously dis-illusioned ShareCropper’s Tokenism (extortion)
fast forward past our demise, and Forced Migration.
Slowed down to a crawl pace, synonymous with a crawl space
along the UNDERGROUND RAILROAD.
Talking about Imminent Domain, stamped fate presented by a KKK Hoodie
and/or, a Knights of Columbus Cape.
Narrow escape, or so my Elders thought, while re-occurring haunting, became
my awakened nightmares and resurfaced as challenges, which brought me to a
posture of sobering, righteous indignation.
Promoting equal to, or, as good, if not better than, any other, of The Creator’s Creation.
Soul Child learning free, running, Young Buck wild.
Of course~ Heritage fed~ freed~ flow, go as I go, grow as I may, as long as I stay,
Roots Connected, and not Severed, cut off by bruised, blemished, trespassing Transgressors.
Let my Prisoners pick Blackberry Blues Wine.
Ripe in season on fruitful vine, never to be soured by bitter twist, nor hatred acts
p.s. as paraphrased/ told @ International House of Philadelphia
twenty -eight better ways
twenty-eight better days
to learn how to love the gaze
and sort thru the maze
you call your personality
that’s all the time between
us and a month of hello’s
crude blush and gentle touch
of today, and little remembrance
of yesterday…..sequestered boredom
requited by hope of tomorrow’s
countdown….I stand up….. you laydown
your burden’s calendar and pre-catious
glance, sleep knows no beauty… until sunrise
dawn has swept away… fears… leading to another
day in between, the month between us
to settle the score, maybe
move greater heights
and love you again
28 settles the score
in most months anyway.
I like to get stuck on day 27
with both panic and
The first two days go to
indecision and hyperactivity,
however there is never time wasted.
|—||Dream Hampton (via somofosoulful)|
I am the MIND BENDER
Not the PRETENDER,
sent from the ORIGINAL SENDER
no need to defend her justice,
I have some FREEDOM to Lend
only when she feels free, being HERSELF
and not less than MYSELF.
The Baddest Girl in the World can also be the Saddest Girl in the World
I know..I used to date her.
This is not my usual post. But it’s something I had to share. As you read this, imagine how your reaction would differ if this story were being told by a woman, talking about how her husband treated her.
I have been separated from my wife for over a year, though we continue to share a house. We live on separate floors. We share the house because we need to parent our son together, and because we can’t afford to maintain two households.
I’d like to tell you a story, illustrating one reason why I am divorcing her. This is an example of the treatment I have received over the past fourteen years.
This evening, while she was drinking her wine, my estranged wife took exception to the fact that I wanted to talk about how tense she’s been. She said she didn’t want to talk about it.
I left the room (so as to comply with her request).
I went upstairs to use our tiny guest bathroom. She began to yell and throw things around the kitchen, then eventually charged up the stairs and into the bathroom, just as I was finishing and getting ready to leave. She confronted me there, holding her half-full wine glass in her hand. Her voice got louder, her gestures wilder.
She complained that I had upset her by wanting to talk when she had told me she didn’t want to talk. As I began to feel uncomfortable, I said, “You’re saying it’s my fault you can’t express your emotions responsibly like an adult?”
She said, “Yes!! It’s because you want to go off and take a vacation with your girlfriend!” Then she threw the contents of her glass in my face and smashed it against my bare chest.
The results are pictured here.
I stood there, with shattered glass at my feet, glass shards sticking in my skin, bleeding, for five minutes or so. I asked her to move so that I could leave. She waved the broken stem of the glass in the air and said, “Leave!! Who’s stopping you?”
I told her she was standing between me and the door. I felt threatened.
She laughed and said, “You’re 6 foot 3 and 250 pounds! You can’t feel threatened by me!”
I said, “You just broke a glass on my chest and cut me. You’re standing there with the stem in your hands. Yes. I feel threatened.”
She said, “No, you don’t.”
I asked her to move out of the way and let me pass. I didn’t want her to think I was pushing her or threatening her.
She held her ground, waved the broken stem and shouted, “Go on! Leave! I’m not stopping you!”
After I asked her repeatedly, she finally moved a bit and I left, carefully stepping over the broken glass.
I have posted this here as evidence, and to help those who may think that size and gender make a difference when abuse is concerned. People who, like my estranged, think some have permission to feel threatened and some don’t.
Abusers come in all sizes and genders.
She and I went to a half dozen therapists over the years. At each initial session, every therapist took a look at me, then at her (5’4” 150 lbs.). Then he or she would gravely ask my wife, “Do you feel safe?”
None ever thought to ask me.
Thanks for listening.
No way is this woman stable I suspect that she drinks that wine regularly and if she is anxious she combines a prescribed medication with that to say the least!
Not only is she a danger to you, but herself and especially your child her defense of course is the therapy sessions
Freedom may be limited based on restricted views and translations of, less than Liberal Existence.
May be constricted by syntax and semantics and may be linguistically different…Somebody call my Grandmah and just forget about e.e. cummings and all of the broken, yet
Masterful Wordsmiths with a varied idealogical essence, that transcends translation.
The common denominator ranging from formal to informal self expression, which knows no bounds, says Helen Keller…I hear, feel, and speak to the Heartfelt, but to the Cruel and Learned Folks, those, I give inaudible grunts, that send fears and Shockwaves of disconnection.
Reflecting their utter desperation to repair my impairments, which have been my
Barricaded by need , infiltrated, only if they succeed.
Try as they may, to set up
language arts as an elementary game, that’s played with unsuspecting minor children.
My communications are by reverberations, bouncing in circumferences of their shallow portals of hollow dictation, leading to selective indoctrination of Indigenous People.
Cover space and time, definitely not in the same place and rhyme.
I’ll probably catch up in another stanza of better yet, in a zigzag haiku,
whichever, suits the Listener’s fancy.
Heck I’ll recite with my back to the audience like Miles Davis…never dreaming of being embellished by many, nor IGNORED BY MOST.
Right now I’m freestylin’ in CYBERSPACE