Tag Archives: Poetry

WORD JONES

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Most writers will relate to the compulsion that can occur when you are writing. It can be ceaseless, day or night, you think of a line and have to write it down before the idea escapes you. It’s our addiction of sorts…

Word Jones

Nose open inhaling time
Your head and hands make contact and
Ignite the smoking mind
With a need
You deal a line to whomever wants a hit

Waking words inject rhyme
Trip in waiting rooms where
Junkies have no sleep lines to trace
Thoughts will always find you-
They clasp creative veins and constrict
Normal flow outside the high place

UPSTAGED!

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My sex appeal is nurtured.
The work is not condensed to digest
in real life.

Superb actor apply within
limits staged in familiar settings
Episodic, sit-com, mini-series
promotional clips – the act
beats living disappointing rehearsals.

Turn up wine bottles
before I light candles or place the
glasses near flowers (I bought myself).
And believe that what I do for you
Is more than what I do…

Ignored ambience, stolen credits,
suppressed applause.
How would I act with a man who sees
the same movie?

The Original Me

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Marcia Williams_Baby

This is the early version of TenaciousM. Still don’t know why Nana (Dad’s Mother) called me “the devil” and refused to babysit till I got over that pyromania phase… Is that not the tallest 2 year old you have ever seen?

I was hanging out with Mama Ocia and Aunt Delores (my Mom’s Mother and sister) in Cedar Grove, TX near the town of Newton. I think I’m dressed for the family Homecoming which is in August, so I was almost 3. I know, it’s crazy that my memory goes back that far, but the spankings I got on the regular served as a sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to jolt my memory at an early age. (Here’s where all the anti-corporal punishment folks need to take a seat. I was one bad ass kid… my peeps did what they had to do).

What’s even funnier is that this was the visit when my Aunt Dee had to explain the “Birds and the Bees” to me. I had asked where I’d come from and she said I was an egg in my mother’s womb. I thought she said “my mother’s room”, and was shocked. I told Aunt Dee that seemed dangerous and that Ceal and Barry (my older sister and brother) could have easily come along and broken me.

Alas, a writer was born! -Marcia AKA: TenaciousM

TenaciousM Crowned

…still a little naughty. That crown was on my friend’s birthday cake.

Nightmare Reprimand

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We can agree that I love chocolate, but I absolutely adore my family more than words. So, when you read the following poem, imagine how twisted a chocolate loving addict can be during a moment of “stream of consciousness” writing that simply must happen. Once it’s out there, there is no going back. I don’t own it anymore.

I actually wrote the poem years after the actual event occurred. I just couldn’t get the vision of my mother catching us playing on the bed again, nor the real fear that I felt of getting caught out of my mind I guess. So, it made it’s way to pen and pad.

NIGHTMARE REPRIMAND

The light on my mama’s face
bounced with the springs
under our feet.
And I forget what my sister told me to say
if we got caught again.

When the light and her face were even
I could see that mama looked pleased,
justified to punish when the slats broke
the sound.

And the bullet flew through my hand’s
vain effort to shield.
Ripping flesh
Intruding bone
Sister’s scream
My spine collapsing to encompass the pain.

Fallen child huddles in blood
as the parent sniper stands
waiting for an apology.

Geology Rocks!

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OK, forgive me for the lame heading, but I actually do love geology. In fact, had I been a better math student, I would have become a geologist rather than a writer. Believe me I tried. I eagerly attended geology 101 and 102 in hopes that my love of nature, the earth, maps and the world around me would somehow transform me into a mathematician. Sadly, it was not to be. Probably, and even sadder, my love for partying with friends on 6th Street in Austin, Texas conflicted with my desire to study as hard as math required. Plus, the other geologist would have probably laughed at my rhinestone-trimmed offshore rigger outfits. Anyway, I did become a writer and the following poem is my consolation prize.

TOPOGRAPHY

Walking the dark side of roads
I use no light
Or share what I have lost-
Mind records its landscape
Soul exaggerates relief between
The distances of falls
Mark the path- leaving scars
Which are a map
To route mistaken turns-
And guide my search of private ground
Until the key shines back at me

Salsa Chaos

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I was at a salsa dance class when after only ten seconds into the song my instructor stopped the music. The guys just weren’t getting it, and of course us girls REALLY need them to lead… The instructor yelled: “You have to stay on beat or there will be COWS” (Chaos in his lovely Puerto Rican dialect). Which of course was crazy funny to me because I grew up on a cattle ranch in Texas. I started laughing as I recalled the CHAOS of those COWS in my life growing up having to feed them, corral them and go get them when they decided to run free. The resulting poem is my refection on how similar the two situations actually are.

COWS

When I am fearless
COWS [chaos] become a salsa dance
And I am sure that the next steps I take
Will be in time.
Fortunate, promising, uncompromising
When I am fearless
Impatience is my fuel
and I am at home over my head.

You must prepare for the next step
or there will be COWS
and feet will be headed for pasture
that is out of bounds
from any fields I have known.
When I am fearless
COWS take their place
to lead me through the next steps
that will be in time
whatever is fortunate, promising, uncompromising.

I HAD TO TELL YOU OFF

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Empowerment

I had to tell you off
To be free
I had to tell you off
To really find me

I had to tell you off
In your own place
I had to tell you off
To get you out of my space

I had to tell you off
To understand
That God is sufficient
over any man

I had to tell you off
To love you more
I had to tell you off
And continue to explore
My life that is sufficient
Over any man

I had to tell you off
To turn me on
to the truth and see my rites
I had to tell you off to take flight

Empowerment 2

Mistakes of a Cynic

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Second chances are gems of rarity
Whose value is reaped by those
Who acknowledge their coming
Second chances are answers
To the desperate prayers

Third chances are hooks
In the pond
Fishing out repetitive fools

Cynic

COMING CLEAN

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Coming clean in Atlantic City
after Jill Scott’s “Golden” truth serum.
We were at the cross roads of our future
and some things had to be said.
Coming clean in Atlantic City looking in your mirror
at a double exposure that could have passed us by
were it not for God’s amazing grace.
 
At the Tropicana we gambled and won big, didn’t we?
Left without a dime from the house
but regained our winning spirits
that could only be revealed when we
were brave enough to come clean.

Coming clean in Atlantic City
we emptied our fears onto opposing beds.
I think you read me…
like I read you.
That discomfort stretched us beyond
what we already know.
I can’t imagine the world without us.

IT’S SCRIPTURE, REALLY

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