Thursday, December 09, 2004

walk a mile...2 in 1

because its easier to judge, i followed lorenzo's lead... i've recently been in a situation where desperate women have become a nuisance. so i tried to write from the standpoint of a woman enthralled with another man... i've done this before, a long time ago and it's one of the most raunchiest pieces i've ever written (save black p*ssy)... anyhow -- here is kismet. i have also added the response to that -- for my people's who are mending broken hearts over similar situations... feel me on this one.


I am ready
To reach beneath your skin
Feel for your pulse
Lather my fingers with your blood
Sew up your wounds with my love juices

I need to feel the muscles
Begging for my attention
Beneath your shield
You held me
Like strawberries
Between fingers
Mesmerized by my plumpness

Don’t lose it

I remind myself
Your cheek scratches mine
In a brush of skin
Our layers bursts with anticipation
Sweat follows the small of my back
Finding your hands
Placed permanently
I try not to swoon

But I can only think of your scent
Cocoa butter, man and want
You urge me to return with you
Find refuge in your private space
I decline
Knowing now is just as inappropriate as
The first time we met

Strangers then
Soaked with desire and attached

But the here and now is imminent
Promising fulfillment
And we can’t let go
Our limbs swirled around each other
Fingers clasped
Like locks
We’ve started a journey
No maps required
Using our fingers and tongues like Braille
Pores taste like promises
I’ve guessed your age
And your shoe size
I wonder what you dream
As you snuggle under my gaze

Unsure of your footing
Afraid this road isn’t ready for your weight
I feel your hesitance
It stings like mine, I reply
But the most fatal step
Are those filled with remnants
Of uncertainty

now this one is like the consequence of the aforementioned... it wasn't written as a series, i guess it just works out like that! i am trying to pull out several dimensions with this joint so please ... check back for the evolution of the poem.

the knowing

He left me
to make a statement
only proving he was man enough to break a woman’s heart
loving to the eyes
Made moons eclipse
Had me star struck during daybreak
I wished upon his lashes every time he blinked
I guess
I never anticipated the end of forever

So now here we are
Two days from the end of the existence
As we know it
Him anxious
I apprehensive
We only hours from falling into a pattern
Of newness
New life
New memories
New smiles
New tears
But I
Wanted to refurbish
Our lives together
Create tranquility between each heartbeat
Dance like lovers under moons painted
our bed sheets
The color purple
Bled pain when he spoke of leaving

He said I was his kryptonite
And my only problem was that I made him feel like a man
He thought never leave meant
Leave when you least expect it
Couldn’t wait for the other shoe to drop
so backwards
He stepped
from us
Didn’t know how to just be
Said happily ever after was simply a marketing phrase
And we were just a commercial break for tampons
Condoms and microwave dinners
And only necessary if you were afraid of death
& he had already died once
This life was just a test of his endurance through hell

Now, we wait
Wait for this break up to end neatly
He sounds pleased: can we be friends?
I lie: yes
Then reconsider: no.
No moments past now will allow me to think of you
In the arms of another woman
Her folds framing your face
Your hands grasping her waist
Your attention, kissing her flesh
And you want me to make it easier for you
To make life harder for me
I’m sorry, I can’t be your friend.
Startled, his eyes reveal
He has a history of making women cry
But only feel sorrow once their tears tap dance on his conscious
Interrupted by my heart breaking loudly like
Glass Shatters
The shrapnel scatters and slices rip from his “it will be ok” grimace
Severing my arteries and hope

This is it
I know it
Allowing the silence to encompass my lungs like a
Victim succumbing to the strength of the sea
I pause to say goodbye
Head to chest and wet fabric bomb shelter barrier now between
p a s t
Parted lips
Expound the air that breathed rich
Like when he sang to me, off key
And I swear
As we stood there
His heart murmured relief


venusian said...

Great poetry! Love the richness of imagery and emotional immediacy of the work. I think it's a great idea to draft your poetry on the web... as a writer myself, I know that its difficult to see fresh poetry objectively. In kismet, theres a line where you say 'sew your wounds with my love juices', and I think that can be made better. Its not a conceivable image - sewing with juice... also 'muscles begging'... but that's what drafting is all about. What's with the oprah winfrey comment?

Mahogany L. Browne said...

that's fair. it was a first run -- freewrite so to speak... but i appreciate your suggestions and will definitely work those out...

the oprah comment -- based on the real life and recent blog entries is just fitting... it screamed out to me when i was watching oprah after the show at 3 oclock in the morning and wouldn't let me sleep until i posted it... what'd ya think about it? true or false?

Lucent said...

Yes, Ms. Mahogany L. Browne, that was the truth right there.

A man i was in LOVE with just broke up with me, and this poem spoke to me today. You are a great and wonderful and inspiring writer.

Thank you for your words


Vett said...

Did this woman know that she was sharing her man? Sometimes we live in fantasy lands.

Mahogany L. Browne said...

from: jivepoetic
via email

Hey Ma,

I was reading you blog website and saw a comment made
about one of your poems. I didn't now how to respond.
so I decided to e-mail it to you.

I have taken 3 years of french in high school. I am
ashamed to say that assembling a book shelf with a
french instruction manual would be difficult for me to
comprehend. Of course I could look at the pictures and
guess my way through the process. This is what I would
probably do. The reason being simply I am a genius
expert on everything. Even if something is in french
I'm sure that I can figure it out. If I can't, then it
is safe to assume the company is wrong or at fault for
printing the text in this fashion. Considering the
fact that these instructions may be clear in a context
that my brains is not hard wired to understand would
be silly. It is never ever necessary to call a
translator for clarification before calling the
company to correct them and their instruction manual

do you see where I am going with this?

Lets consider poetry a dialect of a language called
poetic expression that is well known for it's abstract
nature. the more abstract the more fluent. (I know it
sounds silly but stay with me.)

Now, Imagine all or at least most poems are printed in
this language. additionally consider poets as thought
manufactures printing instruction manuals in this
imaginary language.

still with me?
OK good.

Now this is where it gets tricky. imagine your native
language is technical textbook English but you speaks
poetic expression as a second language. One day after
surfing the Internet you find an instruction manual
for a thought called "Kismet." Well into the process
of building this thought in your head you find words
an images that don't quite translate back into your
native tongue. Do you assume the poet is wrong or do
you call a translator to perhaps break the poem down
to a concrete level that you can understand?

remember the more abstract the more fluent.
would call a translator be like admitting you weren't
on the level that you thought you were? Of course it
would. That's why you got that comment about making
the line better instead of getting a comment asking
what did the line actually mean.

the lines "sew your wounds with my love juices" and
"muscles begging" only seem to be inconceivable
situations. I think lines like these are so dope
because the are great examples of verbal puzzles. with
the line "sew your wounds with my love juices" we have
to allow ourselves to think out side the box. Lets
play a game of word association. Sew: to stitch
together, to produce stitching or stitches to create a
bond. liquid stitches do exist and are use to bond or
close physical wounds. in the context of this poem and
that line in particular the wounds are emotional. this
means the love in juices or the intent behind the
juices production was and is to be the liquid adhesive
use to stitch or heal the emotional wounds. I'm sure
there is no need for me to go into how females of many
species lick the wounds of their young or their alpha
males. it this line juices also is placed in a way
that makes it possibly look like a verb. Juices seems
like it could also imply natural fluid motion of love.
example: love juices through my veins. this implies
love is a juice that move fluid or juice like through
O.J. Simpson was called "The Juice" not just because
O.J. is often short for orange juice but because of
his fluid movement on the football field were juice
like. juice or to juke in football means to shake or
move. In that respect I think this line is genius.
This line says either love has natural movements that
can stitch or sew emotional wounds closed or that
natural body fluids of love ones can heal pain
subsequently closing the open flesh wounds of broken
hearts. Physical action can be used to heal emotional

The line about Muscles begging is a metaphor for how
muscles behave when you are fighting either their will
or ability. imagine lifting weights exceeding your
ability. what happens? your muscles begin to shake and
tremble. if you continue to lift the weights your
muscles will shake harder as if they were 'begging'
you to stop. Imagine your brain is a muscle. your
thought are weights. The more stressful the thought
the heaver the weight. Perhaps the stress induced
headache could be the brains way of begging you to
stop. this even applies to sexuality. imagine being so
turned on by somebody that your muscles are twitching
and your body is shaking. Are your muscles and nerves
not 'begging' you to continue? I could be wrong about
all of this and I accept that. The only thing I can
say for certain is that it is a good thing this poem
wasn't in French.

venusian said...

Wow... that's interesting, Jive. Broke it down! But isn't poetry an act of translating non-verbal into verbal through imagery? Everything you said makes sense, but shouldn't it ideally be weaved into the poem via the essential process of editing rather than left to a readers inference? Question (not rhetorical): isn't the point to plant images in a readers mind, ones that can be sensually 'experienced' - no matter how abstract? In my opinion, that's what makes a great poem amazing. I like your comment, but I think that you shouldn't have to travel so far to get to an image - an idea maybe - but not an image.

Mahogany L. Browne said...

venuasian -- isn't the point to plant images in a readers mind, ones that can be sensually 'experienced' -no matter how abstract?

poetry is like any other piece of art... the dimensions of the poem don't simply rely on the writer but also the interpretation of the reader. sometimes -- the reader may not want to look that deep -- i can dig that -- or sometimes, the reader is just incapable of looking further.

i understand what you want to see - but i think we both know that poetry doesn't always mean what we thought it might mean upon first glance. that poem was built with several things in mind: conveying this image of lust, the idea of emotionally attachment (to different parties), the single word structure were supposed to create a feel of urgency...

therefore, i don't think the images in this poem were lost -- maybe just missed...

Vett said...

Those two lines were my favorite parts of the poem. I am not a poet, but I enjoy reading and using my imagination. Keep it up!

venusian said...

Hey mo,

Been meaning to get back to you on this... I totally agree with you! Want to let you know that the consistently high quality of your writing is the only thing that makes me comfortable enough to comment! I hope you'll be able to do the same for me sometime. Of course, the lines work, but in the whole poem, those were the only ones that I felt could be stronger. But this is a subjective artform, YOU know what you need to say! Whatever, just keep making these beautiful poems and inspiring people internet-an-ally (I made a word!) x