I’ve wasted far too many tears
On seeds that don’t believe
Caressing memories
And yet I’m trying to scoop them up
Bury them in my bosom
Carry them in my sleeves
Preparing for yet another forecast of rain
But I can’t
And I try
But I can’t
Remembering how to cry is foreign
So I watch as tears crawl downwards
Between my fingers in search of another
To welcome them home
Cause I don’t anymore
For I can only see
the orange-crimson haze
Peeking from the earth’s edge
Patting the ground dry
Absorbing my anxiety
Wrestling with my storms
Holding them at bay
And telling me
To hurry
Run away
Walk on by
Walk on by the past
Open your eyes to this day
© Erika Gresham 12/18/09
Friday, December 18, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Real Poets Love Anyway :)
I'm a little frustrated about what I should do next. I'm debating on continiuing to post to this blog. I've been writing but not posting. I'm also frustrated about the way poets who have been around for a while tend to crush the spirit of newcomers, while newcomers tend to get angry and disrespect those before them. So what to do.....just write anyway.....
Real Poets Love Anyway
There is a rumor floating around town
that the “real” poets have ceased to breathe
Cause they don’t always speak of
love and peace
That their lungs have collapsed
filled with dust
but allowed lips
to continue flapping in the breeze
Reciting some cryptic code
that is plainly stated
but still can’t be seen
because too many “truths”
yours, his, and hers
are vying for the front seat
So now we’re left with
hearts ripped from cords
once tied to the community
Dial them up and the only
answer you’ll receive is
“Sorry, I’m no longer a part of
that travesty - I mean industry”
But I beg to differ
because who among us
has the authority
or perfection
to take and crown
without some type of
bias or
clique-like
admiration-election
“The One”
I mean really who has that power?
For even democracies have
imperfections
ballot tampering
recounts
stolen elections
So I ask you, when did YOU become the mouthpiece for the masses
For the beauty of this craft
I thought
was not the handful of accolades
head nods or throbbing members
we may receive
But a place of refuge
from the complicated truth
and manifested lies
that sleep beside us each night
Not to prove if we’re black or white
but answer an emotion and just write
Fulfilling a number of needs
To fight the legions of demons
that escape from beneath
or those that walk upright
laughing and singing beside us
Some begging us to trust
adoration thrown at us
Not for the words we use
the knowledge we spit
But maybe for the thought
of just how we might fuck
And then for others
Its just simply a device
to keep our ass out of trouble
like cutters slicing through flesh
we often use these words to release the stress
not always understood by others
often relying on the open arms of
our poetic sisters and brothers
But now even they can’t be relied on
So now I stand alone
Writing to cleanse my own hurt
or trying to understand a situation
Cause if I don’t cut myself sometimes
these ink clots in my pen will surely
cause me to die
and I don’t want that
So I do what
I thought
real poets did
Collect up my hesitations
and agitations
Take out my utensils
Spread them on sheets
like butter
and wait for someone to ingest them
swallowing what parts they recognize
as their own plight
But not everyone
Because some will
mince and mangle
what they can’t comprehend
fillet it
dissect it
piecing it back together like
a religious zealot
who quotes a few bible verses
to condemn
but never reads the
whole chapter
But proclaims he/she is
The Master
deciding what’s wrong
overlooking what’s right
Grab a trumpet
blow hot air
and profess
who’s not a real poet
and for me I’ll actually agree
I’m not
I’m a storyteller
One who draws on
what she sees
Old enough to
understand a few things
Wise enough to
know when to speak
Transparent enough
to allow you to
see through me
So the question now is
How real are you?
That you find the need
to speak ill of me
when all you had to do was ask me
and I’ll tell you
exactly why I do what I do
how I see what I see
You know, He did bless
more than a few of us
with the intelligence
to understand
that you and I
may not have the same taste
But my mama raised me
not to piss on another’s plate
So I mind my manners
slide a chair to your table
taste the shit you serving
and love you anyway
cause isn’t that what
“real” poets are
suppose to do?
love anyway
© 12/2009 Erika Gresham
Real Poets Love Anyway
There is a rumor floating around town
that the “real” poets have ceased to breathe
Cause they don’t always speak of
love and peace
That their lungs have collapsed
filled with dust
but allowed lips
to continue flapping in the breeze
Reciting some cryptic code
that is plainly stated
but still can’t be seen
because too many “truths”
yours, his, and hers
are vying for the front seat
So now we’re left with
hearts ripped from cords
once tied to the community
Dial them up and the only
answer you’ll receive is
“Sorry, I’m no longer a part of
that travesty - I mean industry”
But I beg to differ
because who among us
has the authority
or perfection
to take and crown
without some type of
bias or
clique-like
admiration-election
“The One”
I mean really who has that power?
For even democracies have
imperfections
ballot tampering
recounts
stolen elections
So I ask you, when did YOU become the mouthpiece for the masses
For the beauty of this craft
I thought
was not the handful of accolades
head nods or throbbing members
we may receive
But a place of refuge
from the complicated truth
and manifested lies
that sleep beside us each night
Not to prove if we’re black or white
but answer an emotion and just write
Fulfilling a number of needs
To fight the legions of demons
that escape from beneath
or those that walk upright
laughing and singing beside us
Some begging us to trust
adoration thrown at us
Not for the words we use
the knowledge we spit
But maybe for the thought
of just how we might fuck
And then for others
Its just simply a device
to keep our ass out of trouble
like cutters slicing through flesh
we often use these words to release the stress
not always understood by others
often relying on the open arms of
our poetic sisters and brothers
But now even they can’t be relied on
So now I stand alone
Writing to cleanse my own hurt
or trying to understand a situation
Cause if I don’t cut myself sometimes
these ink clots in my pen will surely
cause me to die
and I don’t want that
So I do what
I thought
real poets did
Collect up my hesitations
and agitations
Take out my utensils
Spread them on sheets
like butter
and wait for someone to ingest them
swallowing what parts they recognize
as their own plight
But not everyone
Because some will
mince and mangle
what they can’t comprehend
fillet it
dissect it
piecing it back together like
a religious zealot
who quotes a few bible verses
to condemn
but never reads the
whole chapter
But proclaims he/she is
The Master
deciding what’s wrong
overlooking what’s right
Grab a trumpet
blow hot air
and profess
who’s not a real poet
and for me I’ll actually agree
I’m not
I’m a storyteller
One who draws on
what she sees
Old enough to
understand a few things
Wise enough to
know when to speak
Transparent enough
to allow you to
see through me
So the question now is
How real are you?
That you find the need
to speak ill of me
when all you had to do was ask me
and I’ll tell you
exactly why I do what I do
how I see what I see
You know, He did bless
more than a few of us
with the intelligence
to understand
that you and I
may not have the same taste
But my mama raised me
not to piss on another’s plate
So I mind my manners
slide a chair to your table
taste the shit you serving
and love you anyway
cause isn’t that what
“real” poets are
suppose to do?
love anyway
© 12/2009 Erika Gresham
Sunday, September 20, 2009
LUV & TEARZ presents SOULZ SPEAK @ SPACE Atlanta
Hey Beautiful Ones,
Checking in with a few updates.....
First things first, if you haven't been keeping up, I'm no longer at The Blackwood :-(. Not to worry though, you will still see me around town at a few different places. But before I get into that, I just did my 1st feature ThursdayNight at Urban Grind! YAYYYYY!!! It was all rainy out so of course that slowed us down, but once we got started, it was on and popping :-). I've also been asked to perform for an event held by the Alpha Tau Chapter (Emory Univiversity) of the Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc next month along with hosting a birthday/jam session. So although I don't claim to be a spoken word artist....I seem to be turning into a little bit of one. lol. Anywho, I'll tell you more about those things when the time is near. :-) For now, I just want to let everyone know about the new venue I'll be hosting at Tuesday. So read on......
New name, new time, new vibe, new SPACE…come chill with us as we bring you some of the ATL’s finest musicians, singers and spoken word artists all under 1 roof in 1 SPACE. SPACE Atlanta is the Historic West End’s newest neighborhood getaway for a relaxing evening filled with good friends and soulstirring sounds.
This week's feature:
CREA, a beautiful acoustic guitar stroking songtress, that will dazzle your eardrum...
DJ LOWE KI will keep you finger snapping and toe tapping as he takes you back in time and brings you into the future
Free Admission w/your support of the venue
$2 Tuesdays Food & Drink Specials b4 9pm
Open Mic signup at 7pm, Show 7:30pm -10:00
(Signup early for preferred spot)
Free Parking
Free WiFi
Pet Friendly Patio
1310 White Street
(off Ralph David Abernathy b4 Cascade)
(off Ralph David Abernathy b4 Cascade)
Atlanta, 30310
Venue Website: http://www.spaceatlanta.com/
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Erotica or Just Damn Nasty??? and some other stuff
Hello Beautiful!
A while back I figured this blog would become a combo of my writings and my little change on the poetry scene here in Atlanta. I started this post about a week ago but held off on publishing it because I felt something was in the air. Now that it has come and gone, in light of recent changes and this being a portion of why the change...today's topic is erotica vs f$ck poetry :-)
Once we stop using descriptive words, metaphors, and the like erotic poetry crosses over the line and becomes something else. Many poets refer to it as "f$ck poetry". Some will say there is nothing artistic about it, while others will beg for more. Love it or hate it, that is the world we live in.
When I first began writing I think every other piece I penned was a "sex poem". Until my dad pulled my shirt tail and asked is that how I want to be known as a writer because it was overshadowing everything else I had written. Not only that, it drew attention that I really wasn't seeking or was I? Hmm. Jon Goode has a piece "No More Pu$$y Poems" that expresses this well. So after talking to other writers, I realized that not only was my dad right but I needed to grow. If the only thing I knew how to write well was a sex poem than really I wasn't a writer but someone sharing too much. Because as expressed to me by several experienced spoken word artists and poets, "Anyone can write about their nastiest thoughts?"
So how much is too much folks?? Do you want to know in great explicit detail my dirty thoughts? As many of you know, I was given the opportunity to host a weekly open mic at Blackwood that I simply called Open Mic Nites. Because I hosted and promoted it, I became the sounding board for everything from service in the restaurant to content of the show. At one point, the manager over entertainment was complaining to me that the show was getting too nasty. At that time I understood his concern, but for the most part everyone seemed to stay within the boundaries of erotica and it was entertaining. Which is something the owner was interested in when I first began. However, I did believe that maybe the two should be separated somehow. There's an audience for everything, but not necessarily the same audience. The other issue is that it rules out a number of artists that have perfected their craft who are diverse but not erotic. But lately the show began to develop into a launching pad for everything sex. Now I don't mean a little bit kinky sex. Nope, I'm talking full throttle anything you can imagine or 'step outside yourself and think about sex'. Which normally, doesn't phase me. Afterall poetry, spoken word, etc is expression of self and is often at its best served raw. However, I must agree that some raw is too raw. To that note, I received an email from a loyal customer of the Blackwood that described last week as very disappointing. She stated that she was looking forward to more from the Maliks, Tommys, Sinceres, DJs, Truths and others that she had become use to enjoying. She invited some people to come out but was embarassed that she had promoted what she felt was a quality show and got something else. Someone else asked did I notice some people walk out? There were other remarks and comments made to me, but none that indicated they were feeling the show even though there were 20+ performances that night with some coming form Tha Songbird, Ken J., Warrior, Mz. Skribble, b.s'm0ne, etc. Now on the flip, I found out later that the owner was told by customers how much they enjoyed the erotic/f$ck poems. So what to do?? Simple - blend the two, and try to balance it all or so I thought.
The owner said he wanted to go in a different direction that my crowd was not growing and they weren't buying. So making a business move and being more hands on, the owner is incorporating more of the erotic style poetry and not censoring. They are changing it up. It's a new show with a new host, etc. Which should answer all the questions I've been getting hit with.
As far as Open Mic Nites go...hmm, let's just say look for an invite. Oh and I do perform erotica, but I prefer the teaser kind. MUAH!! Until we meet again...journey light.
Luv & Tearz
Now I edited this post based on a heart to heart I had with Sincere and a disagreement that arose between those responding. When I blog it's usually not that serious and I purposely make it so with "lol" and other symbols. Because this is a mix of entertainment and business, I feel I need to say to the readers, I do not have a personal issue with the owner. He and I did not communicate often. He placed someone else in that role. And I have come to realize that he trusted someone to handle some things for him and with that came good and bad information. The owner knows that and I know that....hence him being more hands on now and making some changes.
A while back I figured this blog would become a combo of my writings and my little change on the poetry scene here in Atlanta. I started this post about a week ago but held off on publishing it because I felt something was in the air. Now that it has come and gone, in light of recent changes and this being a portion of why the change...today's topic is erotica vs f$ck poetry :-)
Once we stop using descriptive words, metaphors, and the like erotic poetry crosses over the line and becomes something else. Many poets refer to it as "f$ck poetry". Some will say there is nothing artistic about it, while others will beg for more. Love it or hate it, that is the world we live in.
When I first began writing I think every other piece I penned was a "sex poem". Until my dad pulled my shirt tail and asked is that how I want to be known as a writer because it was overshadowing everything else I had written. Not only that, it drew attention that I really wasn't seeking or was I? Hmm. Jon Goode has a piece "No More Pu$$y Poems" that expresses this well. So after talking to other writers, I realized that not only was my dad right but I needed to grow. If the only thing I knew how to write well was a sex poem than really I wasn't a writer but someone sharing too much. Because as expressed to me by several experienced spoken word artists and poets, "Anyone can write about their nastiest thoughts?"
So how much is too much folks?? Do you want to know in great explicit detail my dirty thoughts? As many of you know, I was given the opportunity to host a weekly open mic at Blackwood that I simply called Open Mic Nites. Because I hosted and promoted it, I became the sounding board for everything from service in the restaurant to content of the show. At one point, the manager over entertainment was complaining to me that the show was getting too nasty. At that time I understood his concern, but for the most part everyone seemed to stay within the boundaries of erotica and it was entertaining. Which is something the owner was interested in when I first began. However, I did believe that maybe the two should be separated somehow. There's an audience for everything, but not necessarily the same audience. The other issue is that it rules out a number of artists that have perfected their craft who are diverse but not erotic. But lately the show began to develop into a launching pad for everything sex. Now I don't mean a little bit kinky sex. Nope, I'm talking full throttle anything you can imagine or 'step outside yourself and think about sex'. Which normally, doesn't phase me. Afterall poetry, spoken word, etc is expression of self and is often at its best served raw. However, I must agree that some raw is too raw. To that note, I received an email from a loyal customer of the Blackwood that described last week as very disappointing. She stated that she was looking forward to more from the Maliks, Tommys, Sinceres, DJs, Truths and others that she had become use to enjoying. She invited some people to come out but was embarassed that she had promoted what she felt was a quality show and got something else. Someone else asked did I notice some people walk out? There were other remarks and comments made to me, but none that indicated they were feeling the show even though there were 20+ performances that night with some coming form Tha Songbird, Ken J., Warrior, Mz. Skribble, b.s'm0ne, etc. Now on the flip, I found out later that the owner was told by customers how much they enjoyed the erotic/f$ck poems. So what to do?? Simple - blend the two, and try to balance it all or so I thought.
The owner said he wanted to go in a different direction that my crowd was not growing and they weren't buying. So making a business move and being more hands on, the owner is incorporating more of the erotic style poetry and not censoring. They are changing it up. It's a new show with a new host, etc. Which should answer all the questions I've been getting hit with.
As far as Open Mic Nites go...hmm, let's just say look for an invite. Oh and I do perform erotica, but I prefer the teaser kind. MUAH!! Until we meet again...journey light.
Luv & Tearz
Now I edited this post based on a heart to heart I had with Sincere and a disagreement that arose between those responding. When I blog it's usually not that serious and I purposely make it so with "lol" and other symbols. Because this is a mix of entertainment and business, I feel I need to say to the readers, I do not have a personal issue with the owner. He and I did not communicate often. He placed someone else in that role. And I have come to realize that he trusted someone to handle some things for him and with that came good and bad information. The owner knows that and I know that....hence him being more hands on now and making some changes.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Misplaced Love
I’m standing here
straining to hear the wind
as it rushes from your parched lips
the lifeless I will always love you's
And something about me never trusting you
and as my mind somersaults over flashbacks
of this unrehearsed yet flawless waltz we’re moving to
and the serenade of violins with broken strings to dance to
I only ask that you give me my time to speak
My time to refresh your broken flawed memory
and without words allow me to lie pressed against your back
so that you may feel my heart as it melts into your skin
transmitting those things you seem to have forgotten
but I still carry without intention deep within
not just some of it but all of it
because you seemed to have misplaced my loving you
A time that by you has been wiped away
like the wind stretching its hand across the sky’s canvas
wiping away at my love, lust, admiration, and passion
and I get that you don’t want to be left with the remnants
of a lover's pain on your conscience
knowing that it was I who truly gave you love's devotion
but I will not allow you the freedom from that daily struggle
because I want you no I need you to remember me
For I know that I was the epitome of heaven
on earth as you had all of me
so let me correct this obvious misunderstanding
that you loved more than me
because in fact I gave you all 5’2” of me
and not just everything between my heart and my knees
but I granted you dominion over my everything
So permit me the chance to give my testimony
of how I prayed to God that you would always love me
and how I thought marrying you edified me
and that He would bless the seeds you placed within me
offering my body to become the resting place for your legacy
allowing your nameplate to be pressed throughout history
that my hands be used to bring pleasure to thee
caressing your face, your back, and other things
that my food would not only nourish but enlighten thee
and that resting your head between my legs
well that that was a delicacy
that you yourself got on your knees and praised daily
So let’s not act as if we only had a chance encounter
a passing of time
because it doesn’t match your words now
you can’t say I will always love you
and look for a way out
it’s contradictory
you can’t say that I am like your hummingbird
and close the window on my singing
nor be thankful for the sun
but never open your eyes for seeing
shouting out your prayers
but not truly ever believing
that we would transcend this world
admonishing times restrictions on our thinking
loving without destinations or scenery
because our only argument would be
that you loved more than me
And I now face the revelation
that you were not blessed with the capacity
to love anyone naturally
because the clashing of your ego
against your manhood is what has brought
us to this spiritless assembly
and in fact I now pity you
for this is not the man I so desperately
wanted to remain connected to in this life
and the one we were to come back to
So without sympathy I mourn the passing
of what resembled love for you
and your zombie-like existence
for being wrapped in a cloak of darkness
never being able to feel the
passion of love’s divineness
Not loving me the way you should have
This cannot be the life that you envisioned
but I will leave you with the fallacy
that you will always love me
even though you don’t know what it feels like
and even though I know that you never loved
more than me
© 2009 Erika G.
straining to hear the wind
as it rushes from your parched lips
the lifeless I will always love you's
And something about me never trusting you
and as my mind somersaults over flashbacks
of this unrehearsed yet flawless waltz we’re moving to
and the serenade of violins with broken strings to dance to
I only ask that you give me my time to speak
My time to refresh your broken flawed memory
and without words allow me to lie pressed against your back
so that you may feel my heart as it melts into your skin
transmitting those things you seem to have forgotten
but I still carry without intention deep within
not just some of it but all of it
because you seemed to have misplaced my loving you
A time that by you has been wiped away
like the wind stretching its hand across the sky’s canvas
wiping away at my love, lust, admiration, and passion
and I get that you don’t want to be left with the remnants
of a lover's pain on your conscience
knowing that it was I who truly gave you love's devotion
but I will not allow you the freedom from that daily struggle
because I want you no I need you to remember me
For I know that I was the epitome of heaven
on earth as you had all of me
so let me correct this obvious misunderstanding
that you loved more than me
because in fact I gave you all 5’2” of me
and not just everything between my heart and my knees
but I granted you dominion over my everything
So permit me the chance to give my testimony
of how I prayed to God that you would always love me
and how I thought marrying you edified me
and that He would bless the seeds you placed within me
offering my body to become the resting place for your legacy
allowing your nameplate to be pressed throughout history
that my hands be used to bring pleasure to thee
caressing your face, your back, and other things
that my food would not only nourish but enlighten thee
and that resting your head between my legs
well that that was a delicacy
that you yourself got on your knees and praised daily
So let’s not act as if we only had a chance encounter
a passing of time
because it doesn’t match your words now
you can’t say I will always love you
and look for a way out
it’s contradictory
you can’t say that I am like your hummingbird
and close the window on my singing
nor be thankful for the sun
but never open your eyes for seeing
shouting out your prayers
but not truly ever believing
that we would transcend this world
admonishing times restrictions on our thinking
loving without destinations or scenery
because our only argument would be
that you loved more than me
And I now face the revelation
that you were not blessed with the capacity
to love anyone naturally
because the clashing of your ego
against your manhood is what has brought
us to this spiritless assembly
and in fact I now pity you
for this is not the man I so desperately
wanted to remain connected to in this life
and the one we were to come back to
So without sympathy I mourn the passing
of what resembled love for you
and your zombie-like existence
for being wrapped in a cloak of darkness
never being able to feel the
passion of love’s divineness
Not loving me the way you should have
This cannot be the life that you envisioned
but I will leave you with the fallacy
that you will always love me
even though you don’t know what it feels like
and even though I know that you never loved
more than me
© 2009 Erika G.
Innocence
hopes
dreams
optimism
idealistic
beliefs
words spoken softly
mouth playfully grinning
eyes bright & glittering
earlobes virgin
and
unspoiled
skin glistening naturally
cheekbones high and rosy
perfectly sculpted breasts
hips full and curving
smooth perfection
bronzed and
picturesque
sacred
territory
never
traveled
untouched
unspoiled
not bruised
not trodden
sweetly scented of
gardenias and orchids
rivers flowing briskly with
the delightful liquors of femininity
juices flourishing with enticement like pure honey
anticipating your first touch and prospective tour of my body
laying before your excellence, at your feet I wait nervously but
patiently for you to teach me, as I came to you in my innocence
© 2006 Erika G.
dreams
optimism
idealistic
beliefs
words spoken softly
mouth playfully grinning
eyes bright & glittering
earlobes virgin
and
unspoiled
skin glistening naturally
cheekbones high and rosy
perfectly sculpted breasts
hips full and curving
smooth perfection
bronzed and
picturesque
sacred
territory
never
traveled
untouched
unspoiled
not bruised
not trodden
sweetly scented of
gardenias and orchids
rivers flowing briskly with
the delightful liquors of femininity
juices flourishing with enticement like pure honey
anticipating your first touch and prospective tour of my body
laying before your excellence, at your feet I wait nervously but
patiently for you to teach me, as I came to you in my innocence
© 2006 Erika G.
A Valley Unknown
I awaken
wandering through a valley
unfamiliar to my senses
Somewhere in the recesses of darkness
your voice whispers
my name
In the shadows
your figure beckons me
into a realm I have never experienced
but I happen to recognize it’s origin
As I follow
my foot
does not stumble
sidestepping lingering emotions
maneuvering around cautionary thoughts
dodging fleeting memories from another time and place
finally springing over obstacles that I knew would be there
awaiting my arrival
As I trudge down this path
determination guides me
yet it’s blended with angst
I continue to survey my surroundings
evoking whispers in my mind
reminding me that this place is unknown
I see you now
standing there at the opening
of yet another strange land
and this one I do not know
so I inquire,
"Shall I fear it?"
and you respond without pause,
"Yes, you should"
as you extend your hand for me to follow
and intrigued still
I dismiss the words from your lips
and follow the gaze of your eyes
into the dark chasm of your world
that I am unsure of
yet willing
to travel.
© 2006 Erika G.
wandering through a valley
unfamiliar to my senses
Somewhere in the recesses of darkness
your voice whispers
my name
In the shadows
your figure beckons me
into a realm I have never experienced
but I happen to recognize it’s origin
As I follow
my foot
does not stumble
sidestepping lingering emotions
maneuvering around cautionary thoughts
dodging fleeting memories from another time and place
finally springing over obstacles that I knew would be there
awaiting my arrival
As I trudge down this path
determination guides me
yet it’s blended with angst
I continue to survey my surroundings
evoking whispers in my mind
reminding me that this place is unknown
I see you now
standing there at the opening
of yet another strange land
and this one I do not know
so I inquire,
"Shall I fear it?"
and you respond without pause,
"Yes, you should"
as you extend your hand for me to follow
and intrigued still
I dismiss the words from your lips
and follow the gaze of your eyes
into the dark chasm of your world
that I am unsure of
yet willing
to travel.
© 2006 Erika G.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Luv & Tearz presents Open Mic Nites @ The Blackwood
Hey Beautiful Ones,
I recently began hosting an open mic series in South Fulton at The Blackwood Pizza Bar. Open Mic Nites @ The Blackwood is South Fulton's New.Sexy.Soulful.Spoken Word Hotspot featuring the ATL's finest musicians, singers and spoken word artists each Tuesday.
These last few weeks the stage has been graced by Tommy Bottoms, Urban Light, Nfared, SEE the Poet, Tha Songbird, Cola Rum, Verse the Truth, Jon Goode, Sincere, I.C.O.N, Queen Sheba, and so many more. The KJ Project recently came by and blew everyone away with a soothing creation made by the pairing of strings from the violin and acoustic guitar.
So schedule us on your calendar every Tuesday and set your watch to 8:00pm. Join us as we celebrate art through poetry and music. The signup list opens at 8:00pm, and at 8:30pm it's just like church. You may laugh, cry, or become inspired, as the the artists bless the mic with spoken word, acoustic sounds, neosoul, gospel, and smooth R&B.
See ya at The Blackwood,
DrkTearz
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
When the Past Returns
As she walked in the door, Monica predicted that tonight would be one to remember. She quickly surveyed the room and spotted Brian sitting at a semi-private table. Although she had never met him in person, the pictures he sent her did not lie. In fact, they seemed to do him no justice at all. ‘This brother was definitely much better looking in the flesh’ she thought as he walked over to greet her. As Brian extended his hand and pronounced every syllable of his name distinctly, Monica continued to inspect him. ‘Wow, look at his hands, ooh and those arms! Oh my God, something has to be wrong with him!?’ At that moment, Brian smiled showing each tooth perfectly aligned with the others. Monica felt herself about to melt in his chocolate dipped hand, when she immediately returned his handshake with the firm grip she was accustomed to using with her male counterparts at the office. “Hi Monica, I finally get to put the picture and lovely voice with the beautiful woman who owns them. And I must add you are more beautiful in person.” Monica felt herself blushing as Brian seemed to have just snatched the role of inspector right from under her. She found herself trying to smooth out the wrinkles in her capris that had been created by the groove in her thighs while driving. Brian seemed to notice her uneasiness and looked away for a moment. When he returned his gaze, he asked did she want something to drink. It took all she had to say “a mojito would be nice, extra mint please” without stumbling over her words. Relieved by the opportunity to regain her composure and breathe, Monica mouthed the words ‘Thank you Lord” as she watched Brian walk over to the bar.
Since they were attending her friend Leslie’s Annual Labor Day Party, they both agreed to wear white joking about how they should get it in now before it became a fashion faux pas and find themselves in someone’s magazine with the red stripe over their eyes. Usually, Monica didn’t care for linen on a man. It was either too wrinkled, too large, or it just simply made her feel like she was dating one of her father’s friends. But as she watched Brian maneuver his way through the small crowd that had begun to gather in the popular yet small lounge, she was more than appreciative of his choice of wardrobe. The white linen in contrast to his ebony skin reminded her of the first snow back home. The way the edge of his sleeve rested at his wrist was much like the earth peeking from beneath the edge of the snow. The material draped his body more like silk than linen revealing that he was definitely a man that cared about his body. She found herself wondering how he would smell the first time they would hold one another close. Would it be that earthy, wood like smell found in most men’s fragrances or his personal aroma that served as a natural aphrodisiac causing her to forget all that she knew NOT to do on the first date. He began to make his way back to her and she continued to imagine. As she studied his dark eyebrows, the strong line of his square jaw and the width of the V dip in his full lips, she began to wonder what he tastes like. But that thought was soon interrupted when she felt someone glide their hand gently across the small of her back, with lips barely touch her ear and whispered, “Hey baby, I’ve missed you.”
© 2009 Erika G.
Mental Seduction
He mentally
seduces
me
Vexed I have no
explanation nor
rationalization
for craving
this man’s
time
His words caress me as
they encircle me and
protect me from
a world I was
once afraid
to try
It’s as though he has performed surgery
on my mind reached into my soul
studied my heart though
he’s never ventured
into my eyes but
I feel like he
knows me
intimately
No physical fruition, but mental penetration
provided to me daily keeping me lost in
thought guessing what he may say next
praying that thoughts trapped in a
cyclone will soon be released
to roam the land of promise
where his vision and
my vision soon
shall meet
Upon my arrival, I desire to taste the waters
of completion that flow freely from
the fountain designed by his pen
for he is the author of this
chapter in my life
to which I speak
and I pray that
our story
never
ends
© 2006 Erika G.
seduces
me
Vexed I have no
explanation nor
rationalization
for craving
this man’s
time
His words caress me as
they encircle me and
protect me from
a world I was
once afraid
to try
It’s as though he has performed surgery
on my mind reached into my soul
studied my heart though
he’s never ventured
into my eyes but
I feel like he
knows me
intimately
No physical fruition, but mental penetration
provided to me daily keeping me lost in
thought guessing what he may say next
praying that thoughts trapped in a
cyclone will soon be released
to roam the land of promise
where his vision and
my vision soon
shall meet
Upon my arrival, I desire to taste the waters
of completion that flow freely from
the fountain designed by his pen
for he is the author of this
chapter in my life
to which I speak
and I pray that
our story
never
ends
© 2006 Erika G.
Word Power
A word etched on the mind has infinite possibilities
Enthralling one to sit motionless at its complexity
Or possibly awestruck by its simplicity
A word released provides hope for those in despair
Freeing one to realize the epitome of their potential
Allowing them to revel in a renewed body, mind and spirit
A word articulated opens gateways to personal achievement
Demystifying a world lost in silent thought and limited dialogue
Providing the opportunity and liberty to speak my mind
A word cultivated provides the seedling for future endeavors
Sprouting courage and strength to express aspirations
Revealing new dreams where old ones use to reside
What is a word?
A word can be a multitude of things
It can cleanse the soul of sadness, defeat, and broken promises
A word can be me
© 2006 Erika G.
Enthralling one to sit motionless at its complexity
Or possibly awestruck by its simplicity
A word released provides hope for those in despair
Freeing one to realize the epitome of their potential
Allowing them to revel in a renewed body, mind and spirit
A word articulated opens gateways to personal achievement
Demystifying a world lost in silent thought and limited dialogue
Providing the opportunity and liberty to speak my mind
A word cultivated provides the seedling for future endeavors
Sprouting courage and strength to express aspirations
Revealing new dreams where old ones use to reside
What is a word?
A word can be a multitude of things
It can cleanse the soul of sadness, defeat, and broken promises
A word can be me
© 2006 Erika G.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Destiny's Command
My thoughts are of lovemaking,
slow motion and sensual
Overlooking the earth and its moon,
views that are multidimensional
Far above the summits our spirits travel
to a serene destination
summoned to join in a sensual dance
of heavenly jubilation
Your groans and my moans,
the angels attempt to mimic the sounds
Your voice and my voice,
between us an unknown language expounds
On this enticing revelation
our bodies have stumbled upon
A mind altering experience
divine intensity spawns
A legion of titillating visions
lust-filled creations
Filled with exuberance
brimming with anticipation
Few words can be uttered
to make the world understand
our uninhibited pleasure
is destiny’s command
© 2006 Erika. G
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