Embracing Beauty

image

She saw reality
More vivid than any mirror
Ever created.
Captured her flaws, life and
Pride on canvas
In
Seas of colors blended into
The faces,animals, and scenes
Painted culture and cultural influences
Packed with emotion
Lacquered and sealed with love
In every possible way,
She poured the insight of
Womanhood and self awareness
Through her paintbrush
Viva la Mexico
Thank you for the many gifts of
Frida Kahlo

M.D.S.E

image

Bold
Bright
Courageous
Joyous
Outspoken
Tomboy
Trashtalker
Loved

In so many ways
We resemble  each other
But the light of your face
The beauty of your smile
Are simply things that I cannot
Duplicate
I think your other baby got
All of that…

Instead I see myself in you
In a myriad of other ways
I hear you in my voice
See you in how much joy
I get in the small moments
With this baby
So now when grief strikes
As it’s known to do
I take pleasure in
Holding close the greatest
Compliment I ever received
“You are just like your mom”

Sitting, Thinking and Overachieving

image

     I guess that I’m your typical overachiever. I love being a writer. I love writing. I love living with characters and images in my head. But right now…I am not loving it so much. I feel as if I have several series in me. I have these interconnected stories and then I have a group of ladies who all have their own stories that need to be told but…I am being pulled in a million different directions. I want to publish more, both academically and creatively, but who has time? I have maybe six months (excluding November) to get some work accomplished.

   I have a few academic papers that I want to polish off and see if they’re accepted. I am currently writing a new piece on the women of A Raisin in the Sun and I have another Zora Neale Hurston paper in development which I am really excited about. But the summer is so short that I feel as if I am going to miss several of my writing goals for the year. I’m not happy about that at all.

     Do you think that there’s such a thing as wanting to achieve too much?

The Nature of Suffering

The title of this piece comes from William Wordsworth, “Suffering is permanent,  obscure and dark.  And has the nature of infinity.” The lines spoke to me. They  reminded me of feelings that I’ve experienced repeatedly especially since October 2012. The poem itself was inspired by a prompt that I gave my students earlier this semester and although I didn’t follow the parameters of the prompt exactly I think it’s decent.

image

You can bottle up your sorrow
Hold it back with flimsy arms
Promising to feel it tomorrow
But
Eventually it will come spilling forth
Bringing you to your knees
It will stab you in your heart
Steal your ability to breathe.
When it hits you’ll wonder why
It hurts so bad that
All you can do is cry
This I know
I know for sure
You have to feel
Pain to cherish joy’s allure
You have to fail
You have to fall
To appreciate that life
Is worth living after all

My Favorite

IMG_0001

I hope that you can all see this. It’s poem that I wrote for my mom in 2004 or 2005, I think. It’s one of my favorite pieces that I ever wrote for her.

The Secretary

wpid-2015-05-05-10.48.59.jpg.jpeg

So I finally got something that I’ve been wanting for YEARS!The secretary above is my very own. Look t the owl pulls! Look at the interior and all the cubbyholes. It was absolutely love at first sight and I feel like we were destined to be together. Yes, the desk and I. Earlier this semester, I spoke to my students about the importance of a writing place while admitting that I often write while in bed. This is not due to a lack of a place to write but because I’m so comfortable in bed writing. All the while, I’ve silently craved a smaller writing place to work where I would be equally comfortable. Now I ‘ve found it.

So here’s the deal with the perfect timing of this secretary. As I stated, I have been wanting one for quite some time; since at least 2007. I continually missed out on them whether it occurred at my local consignment shop, on ebay, Etsy or a local shop. I missed all of them. While I secretly longed for the first one at the consignment shop my friend Jill was always by my side cosigning the fact that I absolutely needed it . Coincidentally, I discovered the one that I purchased while wrapping up our annual Fried Fest. I saw it and said “Jill, is that a secretary?” Needless to say we went over to the shop, walked around for a bit and there it was. Once I saw the price tag I knew that it was coming home with me.

In my opinion, writing is hard enough without a space that you genuinely enjoy and that’s what this is for me. My current office/guest room is a junky mess. I can’t even see the surface of the re-purposed desk that houses all my files, office supplies and miscellaneous notes and writing materials.

The secretary however is tucked against an unused wall in the living room and I’ve already made it my own by adding the little touches that you see above. Excuse the cookies. Since I finally got this beauty home, I’ve found that I’m more committed to writing and working on the stories that have been plaguing my mind. So this new writing spot came along at the perfect time. It

Do you think that having a place to write changes your commitment or desire to write?

After the Winter-Claude McKay

mckay_c

This is another poem by one of my favorite poets, Claude McKay. I just discovered it last month as I was selecting poems for my students to analyze. I spent weeks trying to get most of them to understand how beautifully complex and amazing poetry can be. I think this piece did it for a few of them. I hope you all enjoy.

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves
And against the morning’s white
The shivering birds beneath the eaves
Have sheltered for the night,
We’ll turn our faces southward, love,
Toward the summer isle
Where bamboos spire to shafted grove
And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill
Where towers the cotton tree,
And leaps the laughing crystal rill,
And works the droning bee.
And we will build a cottage there
Beside an open glade,
With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,
And ferns that never fade.

Claude McKay, 18891948