Under the Sun

 

Blisters on my Feet

I almost Passed out in

that heat 

That Sun

up high

Shining...

don't always 

equal smile

It can beat down on your 

head if you're walking 

on miles 

 I learned to smile in the

rain. Deepened the

divots of  my dimples.

Widened the ripples playing in puddles.

Dodged the falls...

and pivoted

It's going to rain anyway...

That feels way better than my tired feet & back

Skin like hot leather under that bright sun that

DRAINED MY SOUL

TIL I HAD REACHED 

MY DESTINATION

THE SUN HAD NOT SET

BUT IT HAD SET ME DOWN

 

I tried to Smile

Blisters on my Feet

Sweat on my Brow

Hand Blistered & Bitten

I almost Passed Out in the Heat

Under the Sun.

Vannique

 TY Mr.Patron

 

Regal

 The rain outside kept me in.

Last week it was the heat.

Long poised strides 

in my element.

Refusing distraction 

from irrelevance. 

Where is my Fire?

Rejecting embellishment

waiving stability

&

emotional intelligence

shaving

non-functional

ornamental adornments...

another's desire.

take these back...

&

Where's my Crown?

Gold leaves

trims the reef.

Crown of Hearts

and Peace

Blue

 Middle Ocean 

Deep

the Still

the Calm

the Crashing Waves

at Dusk

the Quiet Clash

Clap & Splash

at Dawn

supplies my applause.

When you look at the stars

do they scream at you too?

Is whats said in reality

said in Dreams too?

15th floor

had the best view...

I wonder even now..

How is that true?

If only you knew.

Life's intent 

wasn't to confuse.

Still danger hangs,

dangles and swings,

clinging to things that 

your'e fully aware

you cant use.

It's not news

yet  & still 

you 

may be tempted 

to choose.

Neither is that new.

Neither is it just you.

I say keep those 

&

Where is my Robe?

Bare and undressed

Scarred and upset.

The halls are large and

un-swept.

The grass is high and unkempt.

It's 4 am I've not slept.

Indulging in unrest

Is it ok to be good

even without being your best?

Cant breathe out your nose

  with a knee on your neck.

Is it ok to speak

without showing respect?

no smoke no mirrors 

still I reflect...

Where's my Court?

I speak in closed circles 

to my Red Arrow Warriors and Chiefs.

Discuss and prescribe

where the walls are weak.

Reading songs, 

letters, 

proverbs

& prophecies

64 books

research and repeat.

Raining Petals

It was raining red and pink petals of roses, when I requested your company in the carriage. Strong was the scent of the beautiful blossoms.

You held my hand tightly, tightly as I paid for our horse and carriage. Squeezing it afraid to return to the confusion of our past, wondering if it would hurt... If this time it would last... I offered comfort and assurance this was just a way home. 

We would dine and dance; only tonight not alone. 

Of course I love you! But only as a friend. We were children wishing  before now... but not ever again. 

People from our past watched as we fell into our oh so natural groove. Knowing each other too well with nothing to prove. I ordered your food. You chose my dessert. We danced so very close... with temptation it seemed we did flirt...but we knew for a certainty no future was involved we enjoyed our time as the moon revolved. 

The clock began to strike here came the end of night. We walked slowly to the carriage...You whispered in my ear a secret. I promised to keep it. Just know I felt the same. 

The Iron Necklace

I'd come to this place of the past a visitor. Happy to have traveled back, honored by the experience. Not knowing the taste would leave me full. At the start a man of fame caught my eye. When passing I requested his autograph. He sensed I was from a different time.. that my dignity was in tact. He winced at my request... grimaced at my skin...wrote his name on the thin piece of paper; I smiled. Seeing my smile the man of fame tore the paper in two threw it to the ground spit on it and said: "I don't care about you." 

I opened my mouth and sharply told him that he meant nothing to me. I wanted to tell him that his hate was foolish, unfounded and ignorant but before my tongue lashed my tour guide grabbed my arm pulling me away; begging my pardon. As quickly as it happened was as quickly as I forgot it. But the past would not. "We must leave this town quickly" my guide says "get you someplace safe." 

 At the local market beside the building there were trucks all the drivers leaving soon. I boarded a truck with a man named Irie, who never spoke to me, only my guide asking: "Where are you headed?" "To the gym" my guide announced. The road offered no scenery. Just streets surrounded by blank white space as an empty page. 

I entered the gym firstly teeming with life a ball game in progress. Food offered at the door I accepted my delicious tomato and cheese sandwiches wrapped in wax paper with picnic patterns. Holding my sandwich I was asked to play the game as 1 team was short a person. I didn't have time  to officially accept as the ball was passed to me at the same time the question was posed. I caught the ball that smashed my sandwich but carefree I shot my jumper. As I came down from the air I brought down all the smiles in the room or so I thought. Smiling social faces were now silent, broken spirits with eyes full of fear. Every single body moved from the court  Every head bowed down eyes to the ground.  I sensed danger not looking around to lay eyes on it, I sought cover behind a tall curtain of a window in the gym. Through the curtain I could see two figures walking toward me. One with brown skin and poor mans clothing holding what looked like a medieval style helmet but there was nothing where the head should be. Just a neck piece of iron with a crank on the outside. The other a man white of skin in regal bright purple gold and blue cloth and the shoes of a Jester. Wearing a face that showed repugnance for all his eyes could see. His name was known as Justice.  I took a bite of my smashed sandwich and watched as Justice motioned for his hound man to pull back the curtain. As the curtain pulled back the smile of the brown hound man widened...a face like that of a shark. Teeth small and sharp... eyes that darkened and widened ... a shark who had just smelled blood. Frozen paralyzed with fear... simultaneously curious: "What do you want with me?!" The whole room gasp at my outspoken spirit. Justice didn't flinch. The brown man began to pant like a dog excited. "3 minutes." the Justice said while holding up 3 fingers. The brown hound man took the neck piece and placed it over my head and around my neck it went. Neck stiff I looked for my guide, with only my eyes, who was now gone. The brown hound man cranked the handle slowly and the length of the neck piece elongated stretching my neck. My chin from my shoulders further and further. Until it became almost impossible to speak. My tongue lodged between my teeth. Forced biting down I could taste my own blood. Jaws forced closed I moaned loudly in pain. Justice motioned to the brown man to stop cranking. "Do you have something to say?" Asked Justice. I couldn't speak ... I couldn't nod my head. I tapped the Iron Necklace. Justice standing with crossed legs and hands behind his back, a stoic countenance, lifted 1 hand to motion to unwind the crank just a little so I may speak.

"You've got the wrong person... I'm a visitor to this time. I committed no crimes." 

"Did you not offend a man of fame today near the market?"... looking down at his watch he declared: "2 minutes" with 2 fingers in the air and motioned for his hound man to crank the necklace to induce pain. I felt as if this time he just continued to crank. I could feel my head separating from off my body. The pain was unbearable I lost consciousness. 

I woke in a line. In clothes that weren't mine. Being yelled at to rise and enter the coop. Slave quarters. When I entered my consciousness separated from my body. I was now watching as they took her into her small room covered in feathers and hay with barbed chicken wire as the only walls and doors. She who was once I found a full plate of delicious food placed on a ledge for consumption: Mashed potatoes, yams and a savory meat. She who was once I ate her fill as she spoke openly of the strength instilled in her by her mother. A green bottle of sweet wine she who was once I began to drink. The consciousness knew that wine was not to be drank to enjoy with dinner but to soothe the pain after whippings. She who was once I was clueless. The wine made she who was once I jovial enough to sing. The pain it would soon bring. In the hallway of the large coop a fat black mistress watched on hating every note. She removed her whip from her holder and cracked it. Vowing to break my spirit. She asked if she who was once I thought of myself as "Special?...I'll fix that." she declared! She marched off to prepare my whipping post. She who was once me was careless...careless and drunk. But 2 small men raised in the coop, that stunted their growth, emerged from around the corner of the coop hall speaking of the mistress one said: "The whipping isn't over until she's done." The other said: "And shes not done until she sleeps."

Two of You

There were 2 of you

and only 1 of me.

Cousin Taylor and I sat at a pictureshow very back row. You were with ya crew. Ya crew covered for you. The you that still loves me. They went on lookout for your current lover and called the second you, whose face always frowned at even the thought of me, to come down to the pictureshow so you and I could be alone and talk. We never got the chance to.   Your new lover showed up on a hunt for what's now hers. And even though there were 2 of you. Both of you feared losing the new lover. The new lover never knew there were 2 of you. The you that loved me whispered: "Meet me at your house."  As you left, the you that hated me arrived and I was forced to deal with the evil countenance of it. I couldnt take it. I went home. Not before Cousin Taylor held a mirror to my face and made me aware I looked desperate and foolish. I didn't to her listen and left. It was worse than I imagined. The you that loved me, made way to my house long before me but didn't arrive to me until long after I had and was still too afraid to stay. Everyone who saw you on your way to me would tell your new lover or so the you that loved me thought.  I knew she now meant more to you than I did. Could it be I stayed away too long?  Still I couldn't understand... She didnt match my beauty at all, my love will always be unsurpassed, no ones hurt me more than you and still I loved, nothing compared to our history; the good and the bad of it... and she was even more possesive and out of control than I had ever been.  Couldn't you see her as clear as I could? You said you'd be coming back. You never did. I didn't cry. Funny thing about time it's too busy ticking to stop.

The White Tower

In the old gold car I rode as a passenger. With company bad for me.. destination unknown but certain to be dangerous. Parked in front a tall white tower and left alone.

When the taking was long down came a devil-man to thieve. He reached inside the old car to take whatever he could and took me. Still I protected the cars contents. I don't remember the ride to the 12th floor. I just remember the room. Familiar,  dresser and bed pictures on the wall. 3 visitors came and went whilst a devil-man described me. Was I hostage? No,  but had I stayed I knew I'd regret not speaking up. "I need the elevator!" I spoke. "This way" I was told... I boarded the crowded lift and pressed a floor.. strictly from fear 12 ...the floor I was on. The light turned off. 8 was pressed by a rider then 4 was pressed by a rider then 1 was pressed by me. The elevator passed all floors and went straight to 1. But the doors did not open. The elevator began to malfunction up to 8 it went... back to 4 but the doors never opening. Then higher than 12 or ever before. I felt the elevator snap and then swing. Everyone was calm but me. The devil-man who took me high up spoke of my character while we took the elevated journey: "She is wise, kind and fat."

The devil-man was  7ft and large.. I said to him "You have no room to speak"... he laughed. The elevator plummeted to the basement floor finally opened the doors to a dark shaft room. Walls and floor painted black. The riders filed out with no fear. I followed the crowd into a diner I appeared. My bad company called my name. Surrounded by food and 8 African women. "I thought you were dead or I thought you left and took my prized possessions...I didn't care. Lets finish the meal and leave." And so we did. Me in the 3rd row with 2 others. My bad company in the second row with 3 others

And the front row with 3 including the driver.  Bad company talked to the women on his right who danced for him.  I spoke to the woman on his left who sat in front of me. And the woman on my right engaged a stare. Reviewing pictures as we drove to our next stop that I had hoped was home.  The woman in front of me sharing pictures then introduced every one to me. The first 2 I knew the 3rd in the first row I didn't. The 2 on the right of Bad Company I didn't. The 2 to my right I didn't.  The night was dark but the streets were lit up by signs and clean from rainfall. We drove inside a lounge where the top of the car pulled back. The live music filled the room the audience sang along to the cheerful song and swayed to the reggaeton. A New World. Was it safe? As everyone exited the car... I stayed put.

Souls Windows

Her truth

cannot be contained. 
She tries to refrain

her eyes 

though beautiful

tell all her pains.
They examine, search and find.

Shaped for almonds.
As diamonds they shine.

Her tears

carry her fears.

Tasting of salt.
Her eyes 
when satisfied 
dance The Waltz.
Danger in a glare.
Piercing thick layers.
Imagination in a gaze.
Intricate is the maze.

Intimate are the whites

that carry her light. 

It has yet to dim.

Her lashes

encompass her laughter

& passion. 

Her eyelids

conceal her lust

& guard her heart. A must.

The same eyes 

from her youth til now.

Despite the continuous fight

& troublesome nights
They have not grown weary

They still flicker 

filled with glitter.
How they wonder.

Her eyes speak volumes over her voice.

Dark Chocolate Dream

Bittersweet in my belly

Haunted by your face in dreams

I drew away knowing
 even there you're no good for me
Used by a passing spirit
"You're coming through often"
was all Blue said
or so I was told.

Shadows of tethered ships

Unrecognizable after heavy storms

Battered from weather

Thick handwritten letters 

from strangers on one side

The pages lost

  my heart torn open

Open and close
did the
unlocked doors

Who is this in my bed?
Then I found a new place to lay my head

Pictures in my wallet I don't recognize 

Where have I been?

Everything is new

In the mirror 

A smiled is viewed

Bittersweet in my belly

Quell the Rebel

Quell the rebel within

Rain on a roof made of tin

Lullaby it to etermal sleep

Wrap it in peppermint and lavendar linen sheets

Do not dare to weep 

For this is not a loss

not a defeat

Found finally

Unbound to being lost

Absolutely Free of exhaust

The fare paid

The trail laid

Look! Follow the road 

Long ago paved 

Quell the rebel within

Only way to a sure fire win

Peace & Blessings
Vannique

BlackBerry

Sweet Juice

Sugar On My Lips

Drips On My Chin

My Hands Sticky

I Catch It With My Tongue

Stained

My Taste buds Dance Ballet

With The Juice Of A Fruit

Perfect Plie

What A Seductive Taste

Drip Drip

On The Tip Of My Taste buds

Sweet Yet Acidic

Thick Like Fresh Honey After It's Dried

Yet 

Fluid And Wet At The Onset

Can't Get Enough Of The Taste

I've Been Brave

But Now It's Water I Crave

I'd Consume Till I Burst

I'd Consume Till It Hurts

Eat Or Starve

Which Is Worse

A Blackberry Will Never Quench My Thirst

Today

I miss you today

& I wish I didn’t.

Nothing to miss,

because

we’ve been finished.

&

you have replenished,

your energy.

Free of me

to love again.

Quickly

you moved along.

How did you forget me?

I envy your savvy

or are you just faking?

Is it real amazing?

That new love

from that stranger?

It’s stranger,

to see you

with someone new

who I know

Don’t know you

quite like I do.

Just admit that

what we had is untouchable.

Nope

you’d rather

work your

muscles and flex

your new

prototype.

She’s cool

But she’s

not me

just

a

cheap carbon copy

A mockery

a giant love to a jockey.

Yes, I am still cocky.

You loved it

when I’d kiss

and sing to your body.

I miss that most.

Can’t find that in everybody.

If I had

just one last

time with you though

love I’m sure

I’d light all my candles

And let all my love adorn you.

Just hold you in my eyes,

Kiss all over your face.

Then place your hand

on my heart

so you can feel

It beats for you still…

My Darling…

Nikki

Poor Babies

                               

                                                       

Painting by: Vitus Shell

What our children must think?

Scrubbing their little black cheeks and praying for pink.

Though they love their skin...

They somehow figured they've sinned...

Being fed to them 

are images of 

a lineage of 

slavery.

And every attempt at positive change, was seen as bravery...

& a threat to the powers that be...

Poor poor babies...

To see the death of innocent men...

To fear those put in place to protect you because of the color of their skin.

Poor babies of all the innocent...

Poor baby to the ignorant...

The ones who don't see that end of the day we are all human...

Poor baby to the mothers in tears...

Poor baby to the Black men living in fear...

Poor baby to the universal earth. Because we groan in pain together...

Waiting for better weather...

And praying to stick together...

Heavier & Heavier the load by the day ..

& some of us stop even wanting to pray because we havent seen change...but don't do that.  It's the only way. 

& even though the sky is blue & the trees green, we see in grey.

Seated in gloom....facing  imminent doom...

Prominent on the horizon coming soon...

Poor black babies

Poor white babies
Poor babies
We all are children.
POOR WORLD.

Nanas' Last Look

              

My feet were frozen in that spot, fused to the hideous green carpet in the stairwell of my mother’s apartment. As I watched the two paramedics struggle to wheel the large gurney through the narrow opening of my mother’s wooden trimmed apartment door, I went numb. Nanas' facial expression was one of complete exhaustion. Her body lay still, weak and frail and barely recognizable from the Grandmother I grew up loving. Yes, her hair was still in locks but now they had grayed. Yes, her skin still smelled of sweet lavender but it no longer had a bright shine. She had always been thin framed but now she was mostly skin and bones; outside of her distended stomach that gave her the appearance of being with child. The cancer had robbed her of the glow that was once synonymous with her. As I surveyed my best friend, I convinced myself if I didn’t tell her that I loved her that she couldn’t die. She locked eyes with me momentarily then as she rounded the stairwell she expended a flimsy but sincere smile. I just stared. I should have used the last moment that I would lay eyes her alive, to tell her just how much she meant to me and how much I did and still love her. 

Expressions and Dreams

I'm certain that I'm not the only one who thinks the monotony of day-to-day life is painstaking. Who would not want to wake up one day in a beautiful paradise? I'm talking across the world, where they've never dreamed they would be. I guess those of us who have done it aren't as enthusiastic about it. For those of us who haven't...you have no passport... and if you do have a passport.. not one stamp to speak of.  We, yes I'm including myself, are dying for it. We are literally dying to live! What joy is there in that? None. So what should we do?

Find a way to live our dreams to support our passions. Me myself I'm what I like to call an Expressionist. I love anything that I have to create music, poetry, painting, photography. I just love to express myself artistically. But all my life I've been told ,erroneously, that I need to keep my feet on the ground and my head out the clouds. While it's true you cannot daydream all day long, if you don't dream at all, think of it... you're not getting good sleep. Have you ever given up on the dream? That's what I call a nightmare. No matter how hard I try I can't give up on my dream of being a professional, meaning paid well to do it, Expressionist. The 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. job scene, or 5 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. in my case, is truly not for me. It dulls the spirit. It kills the inner creator but it sure does pay the bills. I want nothing more then to travel go places I've never been, be inspired by those places to create something new fresh and positive. For now I'll keep dreaming there has got to be a way because there is a will.