Not In Bevy’s World! A Bevelations Book Review!

I feel as if Bev’s stories come from true Harlem Renaissance or old black Hollywood or something like that and all I can hear while reading her books is jazz from a smoky cotton club. ~ Katrina Gurl When I … Continue reading

I DREAM BY ADOLPH UTELLUS HUDSON

CAN’T WAIT TO CLOSE MY EYE

TO KISS THE DAY GOOD-BYE

THERE’S NO JOY IN THIS AWAKEN SLEEP

SO I PLUNGE MYSELF IN DARKNESS DEEP

HOPING TO SEE THE GIRL SO SWEET

WHOSE LOVELINESS SWEEPS ME OFF MY FEET

AND SENDS MY HEART SOARING HIGH

FILLS THAT EMPTY SPACE INSIDE; SO I …

CAN’T WAIT TO HIT MY FAVORITE SPOT

THAT’S WHERE TOMORROW BEGINS AND TODAY STOPS

WHERE I’M TOTALLY FREE TO BE MYSELF

TO ENJOY THE ABUNDANCE OF INSIGHTFUL WEALTH

WHERE BEAUTY BELONGS TO ALL THAT IS GOOD

AND EVIL DESERVES WHAT IT SHOULD

WHERE I’M THE HERO AND CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM

I ASSUME THE POSITION … AND I DREAM

Je’ Taime by Donna Ballard

For All Of The Countless
Things That YOU Say,
And For All Of…
The Little Things
That YOU Do.
For All Of The Ways
That YOU Put Your Heart
On Full Display,
Letting Me Know Exactly
What YOU Feel
Deep Inside Of YOU.
For Every Way
That YOU Let Go…
And YOU Completely
Let Me In,
For All Of The Ways
Everyday…
That YOU Show Me
That YOU Are
My Homie, Lover, Friend.
For Giving Me
All Of YOUR Heart
With Every Kind, Sweet,
And Gentle Thing That YOU Do.
For All Of These Reasons
And So Many More…
I Now Speak These Words To YOU.
Je’ Taime…
That Means I Love YOU
So Much More
Than Mere Words
Could Ever Adequately Express.
But You Can Feel It Most…
In The Press Of My Lips,
In A Language Spoken Best
With The Two Of Us
Alone Together
And The Both Of Us
Completely Undressed.
Je’ Taime My Love…
Je’ Taime.

Donna Ballard Carter
~Venus~
Revised Copyright@2011

Elegy (poem to mourn a lost)

MY SISTER

My sister lost her life to a rock pit, a weed grabbing pit, a pit that must have loved her as much as I did because it held her too long, causing her powerful life to leave her. I envied that pit for having her last moments.
I had been at a church barbecue all that day. It was a melted butter warm and breezy day, perfected. A haunting smile, I remember, on the face of the driver that dropped me home; I had been filled with exhaustive elation, but that smile spooked me. I wasn’t prepared for the god-awful news. Let us pray mom said, and though it made no sense to me; I bowed my head. My face felt airy and moist as I took it all in.
Her favorite color was pink, and then it was purple, like mine. She said that purple was royal. She was a great dancer, not as awesome as me, but pretty damn close. When she smiled, her bright, spirited, cheeky smile would close her eyes. She was smart, playful, beautiful, thoughtful, and deceitfully inquisitive as a baby kitten. Her words were moving, like the waves, I would always allow them to carry me away.
There was this one boy that was there with her; he said that he had heard her scream, one scream, and nothing else. She was under for about five minutes before the group began to worry. What took them so long? Every time I think that though, I’m irritated. Eventually, they pulled her out of the water, her body bloated, and filled to capacity. She looked fat they had said. Just how much water was inside of her anyway? They say that people that drown almost always come out of the water swollen. I often wondered if her eyes were open.
She never really played with toys, which was always strange to me. I tried to have a tea party with her once; she had smiled and said, “No, thank you.” She was an avid reader who loved poetry. She even wrote a few pieces for me. She could swim like a Nubian mermaid; I adored that. She tried to teach me how. Her hair, like mine, was a dusty brown and always looked jet black when wet.
I kept waiting for her to wake up and tell them that she was ok, that she hadn’t drowned. I waited for her to climb off of that cold morgue slab, then I waited for her to climb off of the mortuary table, then I waited for her to stop them before she was opened up, embalmed. I even waited for her to surprise everyone at the funeral. She never did. I was angry with her for that, for not waking up. I didn’t go to her funeral though I loved her deepest.
She left me; she went to a rock pit, and left me forever.

Could Have Been Worse

Frank always looked on the bright side. He would constantly irritate his friends with his eternal optimism. No matter how horrible the circumstance, he would always reply, “It could have been worse.” To cure him of his annoying habit, his friends decided to invent a situation so completely bad, so terrible, that even Frank could find no hope in it.

On the golf course one day, one of them said, “Frank, did you hear about Tom? He came home last night, found his wife in bed with another man, shot them both and then turned the gun on himself!”

“That`s awful,” said Frank, “But it could have been worse.”

“How in the hell,” asked his bewildered friend, “Could it have been worse?”

“Well,” replied Frank, “If it happened the night before, I`d be dead now!”

Adolph Hudson