Until I Caused It…

I got a note from my aunt once and I never really thought much of it. The note was written on a pretty paper and I kept it more so for the pretty print and the sentimental value but not the words she had written.

Then one day I thought about reusing the paper for a gift – it was so pretty! But I realized – because I had forgotten that something was written on it – that I could not use it and I was disappointed and threw it back down.

Much later I took it up and my blood ran cold and my heart skipped a beat:

” I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen but as the years wasted on nothing ever did, until I caused it to” – Charles Bukowski

How did she know? Did she known that she was giving me a gift and a burden? And I cried for the wasted years.

Now, where must I find the courage and how to stop waiting and make my extraordinary come true?

The Deferred Dream…

The Deferred Dream...

What happens to a dream deferred?


I am wasting here
in no man's land...

I have reached out for you 
grabbed at your garment

but collect only dirt...

I have tried to entice you
tempt you out of your trap

but you turn to it for comfort...

I have tried to lift you
spirit you away

but too weak I sag...

your burdens are too heavy for me...

Before you are consumed 
by what you lack grab me!

Your madness 
may explode!

Must I remain here?
Must I become dust too?
Must I watch as you struggle blindly -
watch you choke on your own bile
of regret?

Must I too die
in a ditch forgotten?

Must we both suffer because you lack divining?

That Day

That Day

           S.G

That day
I woke up and the sun was shining
and all was right with the world.
It was an ordinary day
just another day...

That day
I laughed
ate
and played
just like any other day...

Then my world stopped
that day
I was faced with death
that day my world shifted off Centre
and has never realigned...

Now doom is everywhere
Father time smiles no more
and I can hear no longer
my own childish laughter
nor feel
the beat of the wonder of young bloom.
In my web of doubt 
I am caught
and choke at my own uncertainties...

That day
not long ago
when you left me
you took a small bit of my soul...

Know Your Truth…

Know your truth and not what the world tells you. To live and live well, means knowing who you are and what you can do. To be small does not mean you are insignificant, it just means that you are at your limit and your efforts are immeasurable for where you are. These words are easy to write but very hard to live out. We want to make it big, want to be something big and ignore that size does not matter but what does is impact. To be localized does not mean we are trapped, does not mean we are rooted, but that we can concentrate all our resources, talents and expertise in a space that needs it, where it will have the greatest impact.

Sometimes chasing a dream because it has been taught as the ideal does not lead to bliss but perpetual nightmares that carry us further and further away from our center. It is so easy to be decentered by our willful desire to be exceptional, but we can be exceptional right where we are. Too many are waiting on the opportunity to be themselves to live their truth and give of their best. When we wait we allow time to dictate what we can be instead of us determining how best to use time to our advantage. It is a slippery slope down the hillside filled with good intentions that were never properly planted. And so the roots are shallow and cannot hold our weight.

We cannot depend on someone else’s vision board to arrive at our truth. That truth is theirs and should never be measured along side our specificity. We must instead find our own course and ride the wave to its predestined destination. Similarly, the words that someone else utters can never be forced fed to us by us, or others. For if we are to do this we will surely choke on them, because we will not be able to fit them properly in our mouth and down our throats.

Your truth is your truth and nothing will change this. There is no amount of wishing, hoping or prayer that will change this. Instead take the time to focus on shaping it as best you can so you can reap good fruits from it and not rely on hand outs or left overs.

Then Sings My Soul…

There are just some poems that move me to tears. So sentimental, that all those moments from the past just come rushing back. This is the case with, It was the Singing, by Jamaican poet, Edward Baugh. Those nostalgic poems that make you hopeful and tearful at the same time. Tearful because your heart has been full for a while but you never knew how to release the pain, hurt and disappointment that has been piling up and this poem comes along and gives you the grace and permission to finally let it all go. The poem reminds me of the need for community to share with us those burdens we cannot bear alone and a blessing that can be found in the face of tragedy. They contain powerful words that can soothe the soul, and bring us the peace of mind we need even as we grieve.

It was the Singing

It was the singing, girl, the singing, it was
that full my throat and blind my eye
with sunlight. Parson preach good, and didn't 
give we no long-metre that day
and Judge Hackett make us laugh to hear
how from schoodays Gertie was a rebel
and everybody proud how Sharon talk
strong about her mother and hold her tears.
But the singing was sermon and lesson and eulogy
and more, and it was only when we raise
"How Great Thou Art" that I really feel 
the sadness and the glory, wave after wave.
Daddy Walters draw a bass from somewhere
we never hear him go before, and Maisie 
lift a descant and nobody ask her,
but it was the gift they bring., it was 
what they had to give and greater
than the paper money overflowing the collection
plate. It was then I know we was people
together, never mind the bad-minded and the carry -down
and I even find it in my heart to forgive 
that ungrateful Agnes fir everything she do me
and I sing and the feelings swelling in my chest
till I had to stop and swallow hard.
Then sings my soul, my saviour God to thee,
How great thou art, how great thou art...
and we was girls again together, Gertie
and me by the river, and then the singing
was like a wide water and Gertie laughing 
and waving to me from the other side.
Girl, I can't too well describe it.
Was like the singing was bigger than all of we
and making us better than we think we could be,
and all I asking you, girl, is when 
my time come to go, don't worry
make no fuss bout pretty coffin
and no long eulogy, just a quiet place
where gunman and drug addict don't haunt,
and if they sing me home like how they sing Gertie
I say thank you Jesus, my soul will sleep in peace.

You and Me. Me and You.

I had a conversation with myself just the other day…

“Is it worth it? Is it really worth it to be here with everyone else? Imagine living on your own Island, what peace! There would be no one to compare yourself to. You could do what you wanted to do, and there would be no disapproving parents, friend, family to make you feel bad about your choices. Imagine, there would be no need for you to every do anything you don’t want to do! wouldn’t that be heavenly?”

“But what would you do?” “Wouldn’t it be lonely?”

“Nope and no”. Why would I be lonely? I know there would be no suffering, no one to miss, death would not invade my world. All the garbage and filth in this world would not be a part of my island. If at first I missed anyone it would leave me, we tend to forget after awhile and any pain at leaving then behind would fade. But oh! What peace I would find on my island. Far, far away from it all!”

“I don’t think you would be happy, being all alone I think you would get bored on that island. Think about it, have you every lived on your own?”

“Well, I hate living in this world but I don’t want to die, so the best solution is to go somewhere where I will be happy”.

“You don’t want to die, why? Would you miss anything here, could that be why?”

” I wish I could take, all the beauty here, all the things I love and take somewhere else. I have suffered so much here and I know more is to come, maybe it’s better if I could run”.

“You don’t know what troubles may be on your island. earth did not begin the way it is today”

” But why do I have to face the uncertainties of a world that can bring such sadness, such loss, pain and permanency?”

“But here you are not alone. Here there are persons who love you. Persons who want you to find peace. Here is the opportunity to rely on and learn from those around you. Right here where you are is the help that you need, if only you would look, if only you would see.”

And so I thought about that conversation, these questions kept repeating. Could it be true? Was there a possibility to find peace here and not only on my island, to be content with the closeness of others? Could peace really exist with me and you and you and me?