The rally in his mouth no longer
His ante dotes no longer describe / how I feel
the flavor in his analogies offend me
cause he’s naked and happy,
I’m fully clothed and ready for another love war
I no longer desire the rhythm of his walk,
the gutsy bass of his laughter.
Our relationship is no longer melodic.
No more poetry.
We need to talk.
from the book, “Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips” – nikki skies
We need passion for life
We need passion like ancestral sweat on jungle spring African violets
We need passion like the quieting of an infant’s cries for his mother’s nipples
like the drying desire to drink
let us do what we do best
detach from the world and all it has to offer
like the fall of sky tall pine trees
like a Muslim nauseous at the smell of swine
let us get away from here!
Like we did the first time
let us hungrily read Genesis to Revelation
and discover one another
let me be imperfect
not what the music and magazine say
but who I am this very second
the extent of me and you in divine disguise
the scent of me in heat for some passion
Like a 4th of July dog scratching against the screen door
We need passion for life.
We need passion like surrendering in a rain shower,
like the uncontrollable moans of a multiple orgasm
let me get this out!
let me get this out!
like the vulgar urges of bulimia
let me get this out!
I yearn this
I yearn this like Thursday evening paychecks
want me like the smell of your mother’s kitchen on Sunday
protect me like a father holding his child’s hand
let us discover God together
We need passion
Like the heaving chest of a woman giving birth
Like the finger sore of BB strumming the blues
Like a poem with a thousand metaphors
Let us make love over and over and again
We need passion like, like, like…right now.
This quote came to me because EVERYBODY is an inspirational/motivational speaker these days. In my opinion, it is so exasperated with messages that the basics have been toppled over in attempts of people stating problems to their audience for profit seeking.
I thought this was simple and to the point. Have a great day!
One of the roles of the artist is to re-create life’s perception within a societal context. Some say the conditions of the moment define the creation of art through political, cultural and religious/philosophical terms. With that, there will always be an audience for our voices, so why do we torture ourselves with endless edits and insecurities of not being artistically accepted?
So many of us sit surrounded by genius pieces of art inspired by our immediate communities. Award winning poems and best selling novels. We have garage spaces and storage units full of paintings and sculptures that depict an opulence of emotions. And the fear of our vulnerability being labeled as weak disables us from sharing. And the masses of our culture in the states does not support our profession so we get a “regular job”. And turn our passion into a past time or extra way to make money.
Everyday of the week. In every situation in life. The individual in the position to persuade or that perceived the story will always have an audience that understands and supports them. As artists, we have to identify when in our lives we began to believe no one would appreciate our art and stop this. Because no matter what the discourse is from the expression, it will be perceived by someone that understands and folds our endless nights.
Without knowing, there are so many people addicted to being inspired. They must be surrounded with quotes, groups, t-shirts and inspirational videos and music. In no time, they are wrapped up in the sensationalism of being inspired. Unconsciously seeking outside of themselves for something greater. I find something dead about that.
I implore you to seek your own Sun today! Obey the rhythm of your heartbeat! Live your passion! YOU are the inspiration.
when I read this… it reassured
my breath became lighter
I didn’t see light at the end of the tunnel
the tunnel disappeared 🙂
from the root? from perception? from the experience? when does sugar become sweet?
For me it is from the experience. And it is probably this for most others since we are not physically sugar canes. Be that, when does art become good? When is a love affair over? When is enough enough? When am I a bad parent?
These are all boundaries I have created for myself. My own little box I keep painted and maintained to look like my body with smooth brown skin. Perhaps like my mother felt when rearing my sister, brother and I, she was doing the best she could. She was doing what she knew and felt best at that time. And at times her decisions were based on her personal needs and I encountered moments of disappointment. However, what made me feel this way? The root, the perception or the experience?
It is all.
My oldest niece lives with associate disorder. (I have accepted this is the nice way of saying early stages of schizophrenia.) She dissociates herself with authority. She is bold and impulsive and therefore dissociates herself with effect. I am her guardian and have experienced bouts of fear and anger and sadness with this realization. Even though my sweetheart is an honor roll student in middle school, she does not understand these conversations I have with her. I can tell by the narrowing of her eyes. She just knows she is being scolded for “something”. When does her sugar become sweet? At her root? Her perception? Her experience? Is there truly an impact for her to acquaint with when she, like everyone else, is simply living out her karma?
Fear is the unknown. And like any parent, I send myself in frenzied panic attacks over her future. But when free from ostentation, I can empty my mind and live with her sugar being sweet under all three possibilities. Therefore declaring her a whole person.
tenacious and stout would describe her love for him. or even, whole. this love predates all the great love stories. the kind that makes great movies and transcends love beyond the ordinary. their love defined truth, justice and righteousness.
it was not the contained love in a “faithful” box. in fact, it was not faithful. it evaded being self served and accepted deliverance for another being. it is the reciprocal love that most people say they deserve. There is no complete inscription of their relationship but they all seem to speak that Auset and her love, Ausar, had a legendary love.
The land of Egypt succeeded in enterprise under the leadership of Ausar. He provided laws and education and taught the people the art of agriculture. Auset championed the interest of his reign and they were both highly respected as rulers. When Ausar was murdered by his brother, Auset took to the land of Egypt to gather his body parts as he had been dismembered. She is primarily noted wearing a throne headdress to illustrate her representation of power. Auset is often called the Goddess of motherhood, magic and fertility.
Later in life I’ve realized how important it is to continue to wear my crown even in relationships. It is important to continue to revere my purpose in spite of who I am in a relationship with. This actualization came with maturity as I began to re-define what my societal constraints determined for me.
I have yet to feel safe and supported with my confidence to be an intelligent and sensual woman in a relationship. But when I observe the relationships around me that have survived both people remaining individuals, and not committing to the “relationship”, I know it can be accomplished. Some days I feel like Goddess Auset and breath fire and light for my love to come.
I spilled my heart here.
and in gym during 6th hour.
and in the parking lot of Dairy Queen.
and on the phone when long distance calling cost extra.
and I meant every word I said.
and for you I’d do it again.
for your smile.
for your time.
for the exchange of our secrets.
in the name of love.
Somebody had to do it. And somebody had to re-member. I was there. And it’s not that I want to be given some glory or plaque. I just want artists to know that it wasn’t 1961 when the Los Angeles poetry scene displayed this disproportionately approach to female poets. And now it is so natural for females to get features and travel but not too long ago we were blatantly denied this. And Jaha, Bridget, Rachel and I really changed the perception of when female poets should be allowed to eat.
Did we pave the way? Call it whatever feels good to you. But I know I was there when humiliation and doubt was given to us from our male peers. I was there when the men performers would get paid a different amount than us at the very same show. I was there when our male peers thought the best position for any of us would be next to them in a relationship and when he was denied he campaigned a “she’s gay” rally to save his reputation.
I saw Roni take poetry to the Hollywood comedy clubs.
I saw Sandra, Alice the Poet and MstMuze operate the longest running all female poetry venue in Los Angeles to date.
I saw Deana produce/host sold out poetry shows inside restaurants on Sunset Blvd.
And all I’m saying is, this happened after she/we shared stories and almost cried because we thought we were alone in feeling so indigent for expression. Some days I feel like a skyscraper in the Los Angeles poetry scene. Standing bold, cold and razor sharp with the moods of mother nature, not being erased from the series anytime soon. My love for Jaha, Rachel and Bridget is beyond an ordinary means of measurement. We were there, when it felt like 1961.