Salt

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

paper

like that torn
too close to the fire piece that no one notices

I crinkle and curl up
turning light brown and smooth around my edges

bright embers
lava bright in the pinched darkness
dying to ethereal grayish smokes

to the sky

reaching to the sky...


at the bottom
the silt's silt

smooth
through my fingers

over my tongue
tasting the ocean's essence brine
back of my throat
choking on the raw bouquet

I swallow

looking only to the next

the other
this tomorrow I can never seem to catch up to
or with
to be beside

lost in right now
where everything seems fine
where every day
plants each foot in front of the next
where maybe, just may be things are just fine

just like I need it to be
so that I can make sense

in all that no one expected

more words few
existed

Winter Over My Shoulder

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

we were supposed to be bound like
fresh cut
sugarcane stalks

in the bundle
of our lives -
intertwined
sweet,
reaching towards our sun

better
like how I wanted to be for you

under one roof
sharing one bed
meals of chicken parmigiana and sweet plantains
culinary fusions

straight dream transfusions
of Mamma, Momma and kiddie(s) make three (or four, more)
me for you
you for me

thinking back
to that imaginary time line
I can only think forward
to how many months
we would have been in connubial bliss

yet
I am this
side of changed
this side of coming to know
that I can love the wrong person

this side of wondering how much
I did and would have done
for your love

this side
of no longer catching feelings
of calculating decisions
of existing for reasons
other than love

my life
has never looked
the same
since you said "I love you"
faintly into the phone

I wish
even now
that you could
fade away as easily

Lottery

What if I live in the parallel you don't exist in?
Somewhere else where we are happy and I (hopefully) am thin
Having found the perfect balance of without and within
We recognize the difference between privilege, hope and relevance.

What if you are too busy with your destiny?
On the verge of curing world famine or on the cusp of world peace
Your determination never meets my average feet
Me, in my office chair and you, in your presidential seat

What if I met you and I messed it all up?
While wallowing in my sea of insecurity and mistrust
You offered me water in gentle hands cupped
But I saw them as a my own masochistic hand cuffs

What if we have yet to meet?
And I have acquired wisdom and self esteem
Conquered my fears and history
Even balanced it all with a little therapy

What then?
Who would you be?
Even if you were in a good place,
would you be ready for me?

Life is nothing but chance
Love is a privilege denied to many
All wise, but it doesn't make me feel better

Reincarnation

Forget Me Nots long forgotten
in a sea of ever eroding memories
I thought I'd live forever in your eyes
Now I can't recall the last time I lived at all

Menial tasks distract and placate, but never prevent
Novocaine is dripping in my heart's I.V.

I am terrified of not wanting
of giving up
of settling

It's never fair to barter crosses for validation
or burdens for contact
but i did

So even after the bumpy terrain
It might still be me leaking oil

What if intention cannot triumph over doubt?

Am I destined to be the hare?
So sure of my inability, that I won't even try to compete?
I refuse!

I appear before myself
conscious and willing
aching and triumphant

Finally ready to be hurt again

F(f)ear

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

There is something to be said of fear.

Fear of some thing, often makes us not do, act, respond – which can often save us from harm. For example: fear of getting hurt, will cause us not to get in the way of a moving train.

With something as extreme as a moving train, the “positive” side of fear, can be seen, its use can be regarded. But more often than not, our fear of a thing unseen, thought up, imagined, is a lot more subtle, a lot more demur – it comes like a thief in the night, quiet as the wind and doubly unseen. Yet the stealth of fear in our own lives is no less catastrophic. We often live the train-wreck of our fears day in and day out and don’t even realize it. We often allow fear to steal right from our bosom (!!!) the very dreams, hopes, faith that aims to keep us going. We allow fear to go unchecked, like that bull in a china shop, till there is nothing left but pieces of what we once held dear.

I will be the first to say that fear drove many of my decisions and to an extent, drives some of the directions that I travel today. When I was a young adult and faced with the very real and very grown adult decisions of taking over the care of my siblings, our house, our living or dying – I experienced fear in a way that I hope and pray many people won’t ever know in their lives. Fear of letting our household go hungry, of being out on the streets, of sickness – those fears slept with me like a bridegroom in an arranged marriage. I felt like I had no choice, like things were set and there was nothing that I would be able to do to change the course of this arrangement.

I ate with Fear - that this would be one of the few meals I would have that week.

I worked in Fear - that I would not do well enough in order to keep my job.

I prayed in Fear - that I was asking G-d for too much all the time (for our needs were great).

I lived in Fear.

Then one day, I decided that Fear began to wear out its intrusion.

If Fear of not having enough to eat wanted to sit with me when I ate, then we would break bread and enjoy the meal that was before me.

If Fear of losing my job wanted to spend its day working with me, hovering over every decision and action I preformed while doing my work, then we would work all day, like work was going out of style.

If Fear of asking too much of G-d wanted to kneel down and pray with me, then we would do the thing and pray till G-d’s ear damn near fell off from my incantations, from my asking, from my sheer audacity.

I came to the conclusion that if Fear wanted to live around me, then it could but I was not going live in it.

And it was difficult at first, to find the courage, to summon back my dreams, to reassert faith in who I was made to be. It was a daily intention to take back my Self from the Fear that surrounded me.

Fear kept me, in many forms and permutations, from living.

I have to state this – we are not born with (F)fear. It doesn’t appear right beside us when we emerge into the world, it’s not playing hopscotch with us when we are children and no, that is not it pictured on the right, in our vacation pictures. And no matter what anyone tells you – (F)fear does not become us.

So, imagine my surprise when it occurred to me that Fear had crept into my bosom once again. I mean, it might as well have been the underwire to my bra, the taste in my breath, a slightly veiled sensation on my skin.

Again.

Fear has a way of making us convince ourselves that we cannot achieve what we were tailor made to do.

I was having a talk with my sister-in-law the other night, about school. She was in the kitchen cooking and I was at the dining room table reading one of the 50 bazillion books for this semester.

It is probably with some exaggeration that I am assuming that nearly half of Miami has heard about my trepidation in continuing my education at FIU (Florida International University). If I could have a tantrum (of which I am wholly capable, mind you) it would sound something like this:

…but I don’t WANNA GO!!!!!!! I know a lot of things!! I read a lot, I can write… It’s just a STUPID piece of paper!! Ggggaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh – I DON’T WANNAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! :::tearstearstears:::
Please don’t make me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, in talking to my sister-in-law, I was trying to detail to her, exactly how asinine and ridiculous this whole thing was…

…I mean, I have three classes and three papers to write in each – between 8 to 10 pages EACH PAPER!! How am I gonna have the time to do that?!? It’s only like 12 weeks or so of school! Plus I have my graphic design class where I’m gonna have to build soap boxes and crazy things! And I just realized that I have a steep set of classes to take.

And to imagine, I have already decided that I want to get my MFA in English (poetry) at UM where I’m gonna have to write a book of 150 pages worth of poetry!!! (!!!!!) :::bigSIGH:::

And my sister-in-laws’ sagacious response?

I haven’t heard you say anything that you can’t do.

That statement made all the whizzing thoughts in my mind come to a stand-still. I took one proverbial look to my left and realized that F(f)ear had its feet propped on top of my most prized wishes and dreams. With his shoes off. Did I happen to mention that F(f)ear has really stink feet?

My belly-aching concerning attending FIU has been in large part, due to fear. It’s not the young adults in attendance, it is not how far the campus is, and it is not the difficulty of the classes.

I fear failing at the things I have held so dear to me – poetry, writing, and reading. Imagine that.

I fear going through all those classes (that might reveal :::gasp::: any weaknesses!!!) and not actually acing all of them.

I fear disappointing myself, most of all.

But what I am failing to realize is that I’m not just any person taking these classes. I am not meeting these classes, nay, this degree, cold. I analyze, think and write about the world around me ALL.THE.TIME., I’ve been writing poetry since I was 13, I was part of a poetry group for a number of years, where I had to actually get in front of PEOPLE and perform. And they liked what I wrote. They liked how I thought about things. They enjoyed hearing what it is I had to say.

There is this movie I watched the other night (thanks to Netflix) called Babette’s Feast. It is one of those international numbers, subtitled like no one’s business. And I won’t give the story away but into the laps of these pair of sisters, lands this woman named Babette. Unbeknownst to the sisters, Babette is a chef of the kind that people would come from far and wide to eat in her restaurant. So good was her food.

For allowing her refuge, Babette becomes the cook/housekeeper for the sisters. Years go by and this once renowned chef, brings small rays of sunshine into the belly’s of some of the townsfolk by cooking for them, while the sisters deliver the food to the towns’ shut-in and infirm.

Word arrives via a letter, to Babette one year that she has come into 10,000francs. This also happens to be the year of the sisters’ fathers’ 100th birthday (he had passed some time ago). In thanks, still to the sisters, Babette asks if she can prepare the dinner, in honor of the sisters’ fathers’ birthday. Reluctantly, the sisters say yes and caution Babette not to use all of her money.

Well, the check Babette receives is changed, Babette takes leave and preparations begin for this memorial dinner. Chest upon chest of specialty foods arrive with Babette’s return.

The day of the memorial arrives and Babette had spent all the day before and hence cooking. She sets an elaborate table with fine china and wonderful crystal and the most pristine tablecloth. Using a young neighbor as the waiter, Babette turns out course after course, over course over course. Wine and champagne flow. The 12 guests, not used to such luxurious eating, are beside themselves.

Once everyone has gone home for the night, the sisters go to Babette in thanks for such a wonderful memorial dinner. They find Babette sitting in the kitchen, exhausted. They thank her and ask her, now that she is done, what were her plans, for surely she would be on her way back to France.

She tells them that she has nothing left in France and besides, there is no money.

The sisters are shocked.

Babette tells them that at her restaurant, a dinner like that, for 12, would cost 10,000francs and that was what she spent.

The color drains from the sisters’ faces. How could you?! We asked you not to spend all of your money! Now, now you have nothing, they told her.

Babette raised her face to them and said,

…I am not just a cook. I am an artist, I will always have something.

Before and after this part of my journey, I will have something. I will have my unique perspective, I will have my ability to touch the world in a way like no one else can. This diploma and any and all that may follow, will serve only to acknowledge and formalize by society’s standards, that part of what I know, that can be put into conventions.

I am an artist, I will always have something.

I wasn’t put here, I wasn’t made, I wasn’t given these gifts to be small and peevish about them and let F(f)ear of what may or may not happen, destroy what I can only come to understand as G-d-given talent.

And that is what I must carry with me through this journey called FIU. That is what must become my mantra, when it feels like F(f)ear is about to overwhelm me.

Realize that in you too, there is always something. Regardless of what F(f)ear tells you, no matter how seductive the deceit, how promising the thought of staying small. You always have something. Even if F(f)ear slides in under the covers of your confidence, whispering sweet perceived failures in your ear, or flashes the fruits of in-action before your eyes, you will always have something of Self, with which to create your dreams with, to pull your courage from, and to exert your faith in.

Don’t be afraid… go.

You can do it.

Cause you know what?

That Fear, can’t live here…anymore.

Learn

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

How will you meet me?

hands out front
alluring
luring me to you?

How will you
coolly meet this primal
gesture of affection?


palms out front
hands to the sky

How will you meet me?
Out on these roads
walking the walk of living folks living

revisiting the melancholy
of your love and loving

arms out front
hands above your ethereal hair

how will you meet
me this day?
this hour?
this direction?

I am finding myself
veering into
away from
converging

standing in this mire
knee deep in this shit

I am running into you
You are slamming into me
I am meeting your flame
You are matching my fire...

heart to heart
hand in hand
fear to fear
lips a kiss

and we are not moving
we are not running
life is not un-doing
itself like cellophane dreams

fist full of doubt
from my chest
to the sun

burning
I scream (!!!!!)

the scream of warriors
not afraid to die

you staring down my apprehensions
me singing incantations of your truth
getting lost
lost in the words of words of feelings with no names

meeting me there

meeting me in the
fires' centers' center

NO! NO! NO!

I've no warnings
no strings
no survival guides

How will you meet me?

If...

If...

If...

If...

If you exist
Then I exist for you
If you resist
I will become irresistable
If you need air to live
Then I offer my next inhale
If you have love to give
I beg to be your vessel

I'd let you bleed me dry if it would make you claim me
I would gladly die for a chance to let you save me
I am offering you utter devotion
In exchange for a compliment

So tell me PLEASE, how your intentions compare to that?

My One Semi-Funny Poem

I hate my fucking bed.

Constantly reminding me you aren't in it
I bought it with the intention of you leaving your imprint
Little did I know you'd be leaving it a little closer to home

I fucking hate my fucking cell phone

79.99 a month to remind me you haven't called

AND I REFUSE TO REDUCE IT!
On the hope that I'll use it
On either you or some new chick
I guess we'll just have to see

I have so much motherfucking TIME!

I could say that I'm using it to focus on me
But I'd be motherfucking lying
All dressed up with not a damn place to go

So i broke the bed...

And I threw away my phone...

And I've finally embraced going out alone

BIG GIRLS ARE DOING IT ON THEIR OWN!

Excuse me, what?
You want my number?
You want to come over?
DAMN!

Time Out!

Every adult needs a time out from time to time.
Time to reflect. Time to isolate.
Time to become aware, to understand one's actions.
Nothing wrong with forcing oneself into the corner for 15mns in adult year.

It sucks to face the wall. But the wall can be the best friend ever.
Witnessing our wailing with no judgments.
Allowing us to purge.
Presenting us with a mirror to face ourselves.

Oh, Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the most miserable of all?

Coming Out

i should have known i was in trouble
when my heart started beating to the rhythm of your step
when my lungs patiently awaited your next breath.
knowing it wouldn't be fair to the air to not share you

you satisfy me in places i never knew yearned to be sated
all the troubles in my world have now been negated
and your silhouette?
should forever be marked x-rated

i bow before the power of you

woman...

lord knows it was inevitable

This Face

© 2002 Sandra Jean-Pierre

I am looking to name this face
something other than
black
womyn
lesbian
disabled
bitch...?

I am looking for a name for this face
other than the smiles that have kept me
want and waiting
in this space
lost in time
pretty unlikley that it will be something
i have had in my mind
but
I am looking for a name for this face
as i am in search for
someone who has that strength i crave
the strength that keeps me
moaning through your name
every time i am masterbating
in this silence that
compounds my grief

I am looking to name this face
that submissively declares my
faltering for not possessing
the life affirming charisma that is
your lesbian boi smell
and i smell you
i smell your loving
i smell your fucking me
i smell your enfolding arms
taking me and keeping me
making me safe... at last

I need to name the face
that will look into your eyes
devouring your soul
pregnant by your courage
smiling at our life...
the life you enabled me to birth
from the depths of my fiel...

honey?
baby?
sweetie?
wife?

I need to name this face: Me
simply...
to let you know
It's Me.

Help

Hey Baby...

You see...

I was kind of wondering if maybe,
You'd let me...

Can I hold your hand?...

I know we just met
But it would make a world of difference
Because I've been sinking
And I'm thinking that if you reached out to me
I'll find my way to safety...

And then maybe I just might,
make it through tonight
And even save a little
for tomorrow too

See, baby, all the power is within you
And it's hard enough just being this vulnerable
Because, please trust, it is damn uncomfortable
Acknowledging even the smallest weakness

See, I'm not asking for a kidney
I'm asking you to be uncomfortable with me
And admit that within my palm
might lie home
and that neither one of us
are half as self sufficient as we'd hoped
But it's ok
Because two halves make a whole

But damn, if we don't connect
When our hands intersect
And I'm sure that you're a little overwhelmed
But I got this
I'm just asking for a little help

An Appliance's Rant

blessings are in the eye of the beholder
bestowed onto victims, not based on accomplishment
but by false beliefs of "worthiness"

In marketing you learn that value is equal to
the amount of comfort wanted in that time period
So an object is only deemed valuable to the person
who wants those comforts wrapped in that package

Well I am standing up for the objects of the world
and I am here to tell you that
I am beautiful!
I repeat,
I AM BEAUTIFUL
Because I know so, not because you deemed it to be

My specific functions make me a beneficial and necessary
part of someone's life
And I respect that it might not be yours
But I know that I am exactly what someone wanted
Somewhere in this vast capitalist economy.

So please, pass me on the shelf if you aren't ready to
at least try out my special features.
Because I don't want you getting me dirty for my future owner

My sole purpose is the betterment of mankind
Through competency and user friendly hardware
So don't blame me if you find me hard to maneuver
I wasn't meant for you.

Just return me in my original package, get your money back
And find a model that does what you need it to do.

Don't push all my buttons and then toss me in your couch
As an afterthought
I have a purpose, which I can't say the same about you

So please, just respect my worth

Litany for Ms. Eventually

Thee, High Priestess, shouts at the pulpit "Eventually"

and we the mortals respond:
maybe
one day
at some point
not now
not ever
from the past
unspecified
muffling voice
disconnected

"Eventually"

9 more responses please
deleted
erased
altered view
taped
barred
cuffed hands
annuled
invalidated
clogged arteries

"Eventually, I shout from the pews....
Eventually 1, 2, 3 times

....bliye sa.....

knock knock

a quick note, a goodbye, a long laugh, a closed door
heels tapping on a wood floor
shiny, annoying
a mix of sweat and wax
a trembling voice a soft knock

not knowing not knowing you
do not mind my calling
my rocking musical
my feet have left the ground
just one centimeter up
enough for my words to wake up
into old territories

Asking Answers

When will you hear my song past the soundtrack of your autobiography?
Forcing me to ride through ghost towns to get to your love.
Hughes might have known rivers, but i've waded up waterfalls pleading my case to you.

You attack me while holding the blade on the wrong end so that i can see your wounds past the inconvenience of mine.
I ache forgiveness while you slowly build walls of blood and tears

See me.
See me as human and as valid as you think your denials are.

trust me.
trust me to at least have one percent of a chance to be different than everyone else.

trust me to appreciate your accomplishments past your internal struggle

trust me to relate and be patient and see past my own anxiety to heal your wounds.

Maybe, just maybe

We can we can stop moaning spirituals and write poetry

Someone

© 2002 Sandra Jean-Pierre

There's someone out there for me...
someone who'se not into head games or drama shit
someone who can appreciate my divatude
worship my divaness
revel in my divanation.

There is someone out there for me.
someone who understands the strength of my character
the strength of my self
the strength of my love.

someone who doesn't need to be
babysat
watched over
or has a Momma-complex
but who understands the value of it all the same.

There is someone out there for me.
someone I can call babe
someone I can make dinner for and love to.

someone who understands how to give and cherishes the things I allow them to take.
There is someone out there for me.

Carlita

© 2002 Sandra Jean-Pierre

We’re supposed to be running away together. Away to the American dream of a house in the ‘burbs, successful work, a large yard, SUV and three gorgeous kids: an African-American boy with twists in his hair, a curly, red-headed Caucasian girl and an Asian girl with long, straight black hair. It would be us – the Bonnie and Bonnie version of Bonnie and Clyde.But she wasn’t here now, a quarter past three and she told me she would be here…if we are going to be making any kind of good timing she better get here soon… maybe she got caught in traffic.

We weren’t really going to be doing all those Bonnie and Clyde stunts, you know, like robbing banks and shooting people and stuff. No, we were just going to be ditching this piece of shit town and heading to some place, any place that wasn’t shoving religion down your throat and expecting you not to gag. I told Carlita we should head west and maybe stop off at Louisiana for a bit and then maybe New Mexico or if we were feeling especially lucky, maybe Vegas with the bright lights and gambling. But if we are going to be getting anywhere at any time… she should be here…I don’t want that 4pm traffic catching us.

Sometimes she gets scared like that, you know, where she gets so scared she freezes? I told her it would be fine; I’ll be there for us, like when her boyfriend Pablo found out we were fucking and he lost it. Couldn’t believe she was fucking a girl, much less me, una Negra. He beat her so bad, I had to take leave from the factory for two weeks to take care of her. He said he hoped we both fell off a cliff and died. I told him to choke on one of those Cuban cigars he stuffs in his mouth so much. Bastard!

We were cool, Carlita and me. I went back to work at the factory and she got on at the hotel doing the linens. We weren’t making much but at least we had a decent place to stay and food to eat and we could pay most of our bills. I didn’t mind that we couldn’t go out and do stuff but staying home was always better to me anyway. I got to show her what caring is really supposed to be like. I’d come home in the middle of the day and put some cube steak in the crock-pot, you know with potatoes and celery and carrots and seasonings, like a stew and some rice in the habatchi. I’d swing by her work and be waiting for her. We’d take our time going home, you know, to give her time to unwind and when she walked through the door, she would smell the food simmering and by the time she took her shower and changed, dinner would be served on the table. She always cried when we were doing the dishes, said Pablo never did these things for her. I would smile this goofy grin she always liked and hold her close to me with soapy hands, greasy shirt and all.

She’d be so tired though, ‘cause by the time I would be done with my shower she’d be asleep and most nights I would just hold her close to me but sometimes I would run my hands under her night shirt and stroke the soft hairs of her cunny. Sometimes she would squeeze her eyes shut and sometimes she would turn over and kiss me. When she turned over, I’d give her this sigh and pull her to me. I’d kiss her neck and shoulder and reach my hands under her shirt and pull it off. She’d look scared and I’d have to tell her things to let her know I wasn’t gonna do anything she didn’t want. I wasn’t gonna make it hurt, what was the point of that? I’d feel her thighs slide open and her hands reach around and hold my neck. I’d take my hands and hold both her boobs in them and just touch. She was always so full and soft and warm – it made me crazy! Sometimes she would reach around for me but mostly I would pin her open and taste her wetness and the hardness of her center. Slow, slow, I’d slide my tongue as far inside her as I could and I would hum. She thought that was funny but it always made her cum and she would always cry after. Always a smiling kind of crying that made my heart ache and tears well up in my own eyes.

After the first few times, she would be gone a few days. Just up one morning and she’d be gone. No note, nothing. She’d come back and I’d ask her where’d she’d been and what was going on but she would always wave me away. So I stopped asking and I’d just start making love to her more and more and different and different hoping she would like it enough to stay. She didn’t have to mention where she’d gone, I could smell Pablo and his cigars on and in her.But she said it was a moment of weakness, that he was trying to wear her down. But it couldn’t have been just one moment cause she got pregnant twice and had an abortion twice. I told her it would be all right, that we could be a family and take care of the baby but all she kept on doing was crying and all I kept on doing was hoping she would have the courage to leave him, for good.

Has anyone seen Carlita?! We were supposed to be running away together… away to live the Lesbian-American dream. It’s after six and driving at night is not always the best ‘cause I never got those glasses and these damn tears keep blinding me. Has anyone seen Carlita?!

Evolution

It's only a matter of time
before the oak of life
gives up on you.

It is up to you to decide
whether you crinkle and die
or become food for the next generation.

Off the Top of My Head

Love, thy name is God
Because it is your name I whisper in my sleep
The entity I reach out for
The comfort I seek in times of need

Thy name is Prophet
Because it is your words that linger in my soul
like hope
like food
like salvation

Thy name is Friend
Because it is you who I tell all my secrets
Who I stay up conversing with
whose moments bless my soul with pure bliss

Thy name is Love
Alpha and Omega
Noun and verb
journey and destination

and ever as elusive

Dem Bones

I want to believe in my bones.
I want to believe that beneath the
voluptuous, intellectual pleasure zone
is the strength of a goddess.

And I'll no longer believe in issues
but in subjects
that I can control.
And I'll no longer be beholden to them,
but I believe that I will be something to behold.

With my chest exposed
I want there to be a tattoo on my clavicle that reads:
"Bad to the Bone"
So you see that messing with me
ain't no mutha fuckin' joke.

Cuz I infiltrate like smoke
So you better watch out Stupidity
And stay on your toes Ignorance
and just start breathing heavy
Almost-Soon-to-be-Former President Bush!

Because Fruit Loops ain't got nothing on me!
I keep my belly full on the passion of Malcolm
And the endurance of Mandela
The courage of Harriet
And the self righteousness of Sojourner

Ready for war with a skeletal army of one

And I have NEVER
felt
stronger

Purpose

© 2004 Sandra Jean-Pierre
Perhaps
I can find the meaning of my purpose
between your thighs

with the help of your sea-salt scent
and the centinal guardian at the doors
of your temple,

perhaps these timeless beacons of lust and fucking
will whisper secrets of my purpose to me.

Perhaps
I can find the meaning of my purpose
between your thighs
in the shameless way
that mindless
hugging and grabbing and sucking
can bring clarity
and when it is all said and done
and when I am all said and done
and when it is over

I can walk away knowing that
I kissed the face of God
between the heaven and hell
and Earth of your ethereally
human body.

Until then?
I have no bodyor feelings or wants
outside of finding you...

Face

© 2007 Sandra Jean-Pierre
I wrapped my legs around her waist, snaking my hands over her shoulders, down her rigid back. A sight we must have been - each in her own way, Goddess worship. She nosed my lips, not kissing them, meandering to my forehead before letting a primal moan climb from her throat. Her skin on mine, firey, clammy, cool. I clung closer, hoping that she, her essence, could quell the insurgency of my flesh.Throwing her head back, I devour her neck, resting my warm tongue on her rapid pulse, then sucking gently. She gasps, suprised maybe at her level of want or at my ability to meet it. I look deeply into her eyes, searching, imploring until I find the reason the universe created her.

"Oh...ohhhh..." Her lids close, eyes rolling back. Her precious rose colored lips quiver open. Coyly, I take the lower, savoring her tangy taste.

"MMmmm...:::gasp:::..." I cannot seem to find the air, that once gave me life, to be here, with her, like this.

Her hand cups the back of my head, running down my back, beneath my shirt. Arms to the ceiling, I am her hostage, as she frees my torso from my shirt, my bra. Before her, exposed. I looking down, wait. Shame? Wonder? Maybe I am afraid of the lengths my want of her will compel me to.

I look away, tears welling in my eyes. Images of my past love and loving protest in my mind. I want them erased, I want them silenced, yet they persist...

She holds my hand in hers, pulling me close. Her soft breast fills my palm. Instinctively, I run my thumb over her nipple - velvet. I bend in closer for a proper introduction and slide my mouth over her areola. I don't remember what day it is but I know that I want everyday with her, to be like my mouth was over her breast - close, warm, secure, loving. Here, like this, no lies existed, no untruth wrapped its cold fingers around my throat.

Old Friend

© 2003 Sandra Jean-Pierre

On the Sahara plain
we were tribesman
sharing stories of the hunt
beneath crooked-sparse
shade trees

maybe...

we were women

in South America
tending the men,
nursing the children,
feeding our families from the Earth
while sharing the sisterhoodof moon-cycles
infinitely capable of life - rebirth

maybe...
maybe
we were
evy-ivy over
I said east-west
I met my friend at the candy store
playmates
sharing Bazooka Joe bubble gum
and coca-cola
on mid-summer
Brooklyn sidewalk evenings
while smells of fried pork,
plantains, beans and rice
filled our lungs
in promise of an easy cool New York
kind of peaceful
night in a
busy pulsing never sleeping city
with the comfort that our worlds were separated
by thin apartment walls

maybe...
...maybe

We were fish
beneath the ocean deep
searching for ways
not to be parted from our sisters
and brothers
only to eventually
sink to our final fish repose
at the bottom of the great beyond

to be...
to be re-made
in the image of
moon and sun...
bathing the Sahara plain...

It is good to see you againold friend...
walk with me,
talk with me for a while...

Yes we can!

Promise

she loved me and
we'd be in love and
as things can happen eventually,
love was no longer enough

you see,
she loved me like my history and
i loved her like war

a deadly combination

i chose to mistake her tentative advances
as my mother's disappointment and
she chose to not see the sincerity
in my violent ignorance and fear tactics

go figure

so we literally loved each other to death,
to ambivalence,
to solitude

who would have thought that love truly doesn't conquer all?
in a sense, it did conquer us
my innocence,
a direct conflict with her insecurity,
left me constantly falling short
and instead of admission,
i pummeled her lands and took what she didn't freely give

and hindsight may be 20/20
but love is 50/50 on a GOOD day
but feels 80/20 on most

and now paths have crossed again
as roads sometimes do and
i am learning her all over again
but i've learned some things about myself as well

like love isn't what you tell it to be
but a fruition of what is when left to blossom

i learned that love is not just what you bring to the table
but what you are willing to go back and get because it is worth it

i promise to let you breathe your own air
if you promise to want my company
if you promise to offer me 100% at least once
i'll promise that you can trust my love

so this time i want to try something new
you try and love me like water
and i'll try to love you like food
and i promise to always be hungry

Imagina.....

escrito por Rathsie para Yemaya

Imagina un minuto que se dejará llevar por su verdadero sentimiento;
Imagina que no se pondrían tantas barreras por momento;
Imagina que tus suspiros llegan a su oído
Imagina que se entiende y te entiende;
Imagina por un segundo que da libre curso a lo que siente;
Imagina, después de todo seria lo más lógico;
¿Qué será de ti? ¿Qué será de ella? ¿Que será de ustedes?
Éstas preguntas no contestadas y otras
Constituyen su miedo más profundo
Impidiéndole de complacer su libido
Pero ella quiere decirte
Eres su amor prohibido.

a translation of the poem below - at the request of a sweet friend

....beating

Standing in the middle of the park
facing the majestic cathedral
looking haggard
with the mouth half-opened
opened-palmed
carrying a beating heart
dark red blood
streaming through his fingers
ba boom ba boom ba boom
rhytmic, incessant
the sparkling viscous liquid
colors the brick floor
He does not know where this living pump comes from
He does not remember how he got here.
He does not dare gaze at this display
but he feels the weight of this muscle
blanketed by a drape of flaming silk
ba boom ba boom ba boom
his feet stay planted on the ground
but the ventricles continue living
no sound can move up his throat
he is crucified
carrying the engine of a woman murdered by love

....battant

écrit par yemaya

Au milieu de la grand-place
il se tient
face à la cathédrale majestueuse
les yeux hagards
la bouche semi-entrouverte
la main droite tendue
portant un coeur battant
le sang rouge foncé
dégoulinant entre ses doigts
toum-ta, toum-ta, toum-ta
rhythmique, sans arrêt
le liquide visqueux brillant
colore le parterre de briques
Il ne sait d'où vient cette pompe vivante
Il ne se souvient plus comment il est arrivé là
Il n'ose pas regarder ce spectacle
mais il sent la lourdeur de ce muscle
couvert d'une étoffe de soie flamme
toum-ta, toum-ta, toum-ta
ses pieds restent fixés au sol
mais les ventricules continuent de vivre
aucun son ne peut lui sortir de la gorge
Il est cloué
portant le moteur d'une autre assassinée d'amour

my african daisy

perennial
october
preparing for winter
unchartered
tipsy words
butterflies
beyond the mountains
coffee brewing
squatting
light fire
cool breeze
mind wandering
expectation

Talking Dirty

I find it amazing how a combination of sounds can

turn me

the fuck

on!

Combine it with the right lustful look
and I begin to cook in my own juices.

Just hearing you speak
leaves me weak kneed and under your spell

Tell me your secrets
and I promise to acknowledge…

them…

all…

Just so I can feel you sashay your way into my thoughts

I want to be hot and bothered by your commentary

Fuck the complimentary

I want you talking dirty to me
under silk sheets
and arms weaved into my everywhere

I want you to tell me what you want,
how you wanna fuck,
when you love my pussy
and why I should love your cunt

Give me an oral presentation to put CEOs to shame

Causing me to erupt in an explosion of heated discussions

Let’s play a game of show and tell

Where I show you what you do to me every time you caress me verbally

Cuz there is nothing sexier than a little intellectual conversation

Building up the anticipation of what is going to happen next

A verbal contract of promised sexual contact.

I love it when you talk dirty to me.

Thank You

I wanna write you poetry
Beautiful shit that makes you want to slowly fall in love with me
Amazing words
That make you forget the flaws you originally found
Or at least learn to not mind

I want to write you songs
Love songs
Witty and sweet
About how we connect and what you mean to me

I want to write you stories
Profound tales that say everything that I can’t
That made you listen when I couldn’t
That made you remember this fragile piece of beauty that we have

You make my heart feel things my body isn’t ready for
I’m not blaming you, just letting you know you are responsible
For the smile I wear

every

single

day

Tanty

I hope I never forget to never forget you
I want to etch your sketch
Into a perpetual mental state
Of mine
So that I find you there every time I look.

I want to see a book or phrase
And think back to faded days
When you make a silly face
And that strange way you used to laugh…

I want to never forget the day you gave
that homeless lady the shirt off your back
and all the money you had.

I don’t want to be the one
Who only wants to have fun
Cuz it hurts to deal

I want to remember every hairstyle you had
That was always 20 years back from whatever time period we were in

I want to remember your skin
How soft it was and welcoming
How I’d breathe your hugs in
like warm buttermilk

You WILL reside in me
A constant in my memory
A metaphorical centerpiece
To what makes me be

I WILL praise your name
And celebrate your days
I will not let you be disgraced
By letting you fade

I will NEVER forget to never forget you!

Almost Forgot

When it comes to writing, no one can test me
My flow is majestic
Putting angry spirits to rest
I know that I am capable of amazing
of blazing a trail that no one ever thought of before

I open doors for the less brave
Y’all ask for more and I gave
Becoming a lyrical slave for this generation

But lately, I have been struggling
trying to come up with something worth saying in a way that is pleasing to the ear
I can hear the words in my mind
that my brain can’t define
what exactly is my talent?

And then I remembered.

I am not here for you to bob your head to my sound
I am here for you to nod your head because you agree with what I am saying
I am here to enlighten
I am hear to empower
I am hear to put fear into the hearts of cowards

All those who hide behind paper
so that we can’t see the face of
those creating bills that limits our freedom in exchange for our free will.

I can’t believe I almost forgot that I am here not because you want me
but because I need to be
I can no longer stand still and watch them ignore the children
I wanna know why I’m more afraid to think than to feel
I wanna know why men are getting killed
going to the store to buy milk for the baby they’ve finally decided to help raise

I wanna know why you can be with who you want
as long as you don’t want to marry them
That goes against God
Was that what you were thinking when you were harassing saddam?
Osama bin laden should be Osama been found
instead we hear Osama been making money off the U.S. underground.
What the Fuck!
I can’t believe I almost forgot.

Serenity

All I need is…
serenity
She told
She told me
She’d show
She’d show me
If I believed
then I’d find piece
Of Serenity

I’t’s getting harder and harder to believe
that there is something out there waiting for me
if I can achieve enlightenment through inner peace
maybe, just maybe I’ll finally be worthy of…

That elusive love, addictive drug, that endless caress in all the right places
and comfort.
I just want it to not hurt for just a little while.
Maybe I’ll get a chance to grow stronger in courage,
in wisdom,
in patience
if I promise to give you all of me for just brief sentences of…

Serenity
I know I’ll find closure in your release
Just please, please let me savor your secrets
Let me harbor your desire
Let me be a vessel to your understanding
Let me feel again
Let me breathe you in
Let me be real to the me within

Can I just have some…

Just enough to hold me over
Till the next fix
Till the next hit
Till the next gift that I’m blessed with

For now, just please remember me

Rainbow

It took me a long time to find my rainbow.
Apparently, I was the only one who couldn’t see it
because when I finally found it, all everyone had to say was,
“Yea, I always knew it was there, I just didn’t want to say anything.”

I can’t believe it took me twenty some odd years to see what everyone already saw
and that has got me pissed. Because I’d like to think that no one knows me better than I do,
but apparently I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.

Like, now that I know who the real me is, I thought it should be easy to pick up the pieces.
I thought I’d be able to delve into some instinctual rite of passage
and all the knowledge of the rainbows before mine would be bestowed on me.

And once again, I was wrong.

All I managed to do was fall into a whole new world with new politics, new rules, and new loneliness that feels different than the lonely of yesteryear.

Because it’s all encompassing.
It’s everything.
It’s almost devastating
yet I trudge on because that is what is expected of me.
Trying to lure myself into some sense of false security.
The rain has been pouring on me like I’ve been dying of thirst
and the higher beings finally heard my cries through cracked lips and swollen tongue.

I can barely wade through on some days.
Some days I just want to fall in and sleep.
That eternal sleep.
That deep peace that once achieved you can never turn back.

But today isn’t so bad and I managed to even smile a few times.
There are so many shades of me that most never get to see,
I guess that’s why it was hard to believe that internally I philosophically bleed,
because all that I knew is now untrue and I have no basis from which to stand.
For the first time, I have no plan.

And I stumble quite often,
but I manage to catch my bearings before I hit the bottom.

And it is through my rebirth that I have found my worth, my style my flow
and all the colors that make up my rainbow.