Author: Admin

Unfamiliar Territory…

I knocked on the door and waited… the house was quiet, it’s late. I heard your footsteps as you made your way to the door. Then the muffled sounds of your irritation as the locks started to turn. “What are you doing here,” you demand… slow and angry.  “I told you I was on my way…” I say as I breeze past you into the house.  “I told you not to come,” you growl… angry… and low. Without looking at you I take off my jacket and begin removing items from the bag I brought with me. “And I told you I would come” I whisper back. I don’t look at you yet; because I know what I’ll find there… anger… pain… resentment. I also know most of it… is not for me.

I make my way over to the kitchen sink and begin cleaning shrimp. You stand there watching me… tension rolling off of you in heated waves. I choose to ignore you as I wash a few veggies then begin the task of chopping… making preparations for what I’ve brought you. I can feel your eyes drilling holes into the back of my neck… and we stay this way for a time. Finally turning away mumbling under your breath about ‘crazy azz women’ you open the fridge and reach for a beer. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and come up behind you. As you close the door I wrap my arms around your waist, press myself against your back and whisper, “I’ll always come for you.”

You hold your body rigid in my embrace and I rest my head against your shoulder, lace my fingers together and hold you tighter. “I’ll always come for you,” I whisper again and feel some of the tension leave your body. You reach over and put your beer down. Sighing you slowly remove my hands from around your waist. “I told you I was ok…” you say before turning to face me… and we look at each other, two lovers in unfamiliar territory, your eyes tired and stressed, mine concerned and probing. “I just had a bad day,” you whisper looking away from me.

I reach up and cradle your face. Using my thumbs I smooth down your eyebrows, lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead. “I know love… go back to what you were doing. I’ll make you something to eat, then if you want me to go… I’ll go. I just need to make sure my Baby eats something yummy first.” I rub my lips into your skin again then step back. We eye each other warily. You reach for your beer and I turn back to chopping. I feel your eyes on my back, as I finish deveining the shrimp, move this… reach for that… put things away and stir up others. I’m making you Creamy Spinach Rice and Sautéed Shrimp Creole, some quick comfort food.

I can only guess at your thoughts as I remember our earlier phone conversation … the sound of your anger hurt my heart… but the pain just beneath the surface… that’s what made me come, regardless of what you had to say about it. “Where did you find shrimp this time of night” you ask. Hmmm my babe sounds incredulous, grinning I watch as the rice bubbles… “For you? Oh Daddy I have my ways…” I start laying the shrimp mixture out in the pan… stirring slow … methodical… jumping a little as you wrap your arms around my waist. You rest your chin over my shoulder peering into the pan as I stir… I grab another spoon for the rice… “Ok…” I say turning in your embrace… “Go sit down, I’m almost done.” We eye each other warily, two lovers in unfamiliar territory… you’re still not sure if you should be angry at me or not. I’m still not sure my concern is welcome. Shaking your head you step back and head for the couch.

Humming to myself I prepare your plate… grab you a fresh beer then walk slowly over to you. You’re flipping through channels on the TV, a bundle of irritated energy. Reaching for the plate you finish the last of your beer. I take your empty; set the freshly opened bottle down next to you and turn away. You grab my hand and bring it to your lips, “Thank you,” you whisper looking up at me”.  I smile down at you, “You are always welcome Baby.” Then I make my way back to the kitchen. I fix a small plate for myself and nibble while I clean up. When satisfied I head back over to you, just as you take your last bite. Without a word I take the now empty plate from you and head back to the sink. ‘Hmmm… I’m a lost cause… she has me washing dishes’ I think to myself as I wash both plates.

Putting the leftover food away I look around to make sure nothing is out of place. “Come here…” I hesitate; I’m not familiar with this tone in your voice. “Come here,” you say again… and I respond to the demand now in your voice. I walk over to you… now sitting on the bed, and we eye each other warily, two lovers in unfamiliar territory, “Do you still want me to leave?” I ask quietly.  You take my hand and pull me forward, “No… I want you to come here… stay with me” you whisper… I move back on the bed and lay down, reaching out for you. You lay in my arms, resting your head against my heartbeat, and I wrap myself around you. We hold each other tight… I kiss the top of your head… then reach a hand up to rub your temple while the other rubs your back. My fingers trace slow designs through your hair and you drift into quiet slumber in my embrace. “Be at peace love” I whisper softly to you as the rest of the tension finally leaves your body.

 

To My Future Wife…

I’m here when you need me… even when you can’t say so…

 

– Nova

 

 

Devil in the House…

Her name was Ann Breanette, my mom’s baby sister and the youngest of 7. The first time I heard her name was when my mom announced she was coming all the way from Haiti to come and live with us. I was 6 or 7. Having lived in a house where my mother’s parents were splitting their time between our home in Queens and Haiti, this was only special because it was my AUNT, ‘Ta Ti Breanette’. Someone new and fun! I mean, everyone knows aunts are fun? Right?

The day she arrived was a big production.  My mom spent the week scrubbing everything down, preparing an area for her in the basement apartment in our house. I ran to the window… and the first glimpse I had of her as she exited my dad’s car was momentous. “She looks like Mommy.”  She looked up at the house slowly and I would swear to you our eyes met. Hers assessing, mine curious.  My dad lugged her bags in behind her as my mom ushered her into what was now to be her home. (A lil background, my mom spent a lot of time, money and effort bringing several of her family member to the States from Haiti… with the intention that they could start fresh and lead better lives,  hmmm believe me… that’s another story.)

My dad put her suitcase down in the kitchen and my aunt quickly unzipped it as everyone spoke at once. She handed my mom a bag of mangos, my dad a bottle of Barbancourt (Haitian Rum). When my mother made the introduction, “This is Thalia,” my aunt rummaged through her bag again, ‘oohed and ahhed’ then handed my sister a pair of sandals, authentic hand braided sandals… straight from the island. When my mom made my introduction, she folded her hands in front of her and looked down at me for the first time. We looked each other in the eye and there you had it, two wild spirits instantly offended by the other. “Hi.” I said cautiously. She just continued to stare me down. “Give her a kiss” my mom scolded. I folded my hands in front of me and looked up at her. “Nothing for me?” I asked bluntly (as is the ways of opinionated children… and trust… I was MUCHO opinionated). Now to be clear for this part I need you to know she didn’t speak a lick of English her response in Creole, “You? Ha, I didn’t even know you existed.” Considering I was my dad’s favorite, and my grand parents lived with us half of the time… doubtful. I suppose there is someone, somewhere that will tell me it sounds harsher in translation.  I don’t think so… but who knows (shrugs)? Either way… that was the beginning.

I was a Daddy’s Girl, he was short, and fat, a liar, mischievous, a user, a little crazy, had stinky feet … and I loved him.  He was the kind of man to get his kids to do something he knew his wife wouldn’t let him do then feign ignorance if they got caught.  He taught me different ways to lie, the planning of the prank… the art of the grudge… and the methodology of payback. Considering he was only around until I was 11… in hindsight I can say these were odd life lessons for a child.  She was young and wanted to do her own thing, and my mom was a grown ass married woman with kids and was having none of that.  My dad never gave her a hard time though.  Needless to say ‘Ta Ti Breanette’ took an instant shine to my dad. She started dressing like my mom, wearing my mom’s clothes. Styling her hair like my mom, wearing her jewelery. They would drive around town together… go off on shopping trips together… honestly I don’t know what they did together… all I know is they weren’t home and I was either playing outside or inside terrorizing the tenants, (Dennis the Menace had NOTHING on ME).  My aunt and I would get into awful knock down drag out fights. I let her know, “This is not your house, this is my house.” She beat my ass a time or two… but that last time… when it was for something as simple as me not hearing her when she called me… he put his foot down. “You have a problem you tell me. You don’t hit her. I’ll hit her.” So she started running to my dad to complain and he would laugh his head off at her, “She’s a little girl! You can’t control a little girl?!”  Needless to say we were not friends.  We didn’t speak, or acknowledge each other.  If a little heart could have hatred in it for another human being then I truly hated that woman. Things went on this way for about a year and a half. In my youthful ignorance I realized my mom had some sort of falling out with her family. No one was visiting, no one called, very weird. One day out of the blue my dad announces “We are moving to Florida”, my sister was very upset, she didn’t want to change schools or leave her friends, I was won over when he whispered to me, “We can go to Disney world EVERY DAY”.  Disney World?  What child that grew up on Sesame Street, Electric Company, Loony tunes and Everything Disney… could resist that? I was all in. So the house went up for sale, people came to see it and then we were on our way.  My mom stayed behind to settle things with the house. My dad, my aunt, my sister and I all moved in with some relatives of my mom’s that lived in Miami.  We lived with them for a little over a year. Interestingly enough, my sister and I slept in the room with the girls Merlandi and Ruth while my dad shared a mattress on the living room floor with my aunt… YES… you read that correctly.

The relationship between my sister and my dad went from bad to worse, we hated it there, the kids hated having us there, and we were miserable.  My mom was still in Queens finishing up with her job and finalizing the sale of the house. When she called us my dad would stand right in front of us while we spoke to her, hand on his belt, stance threatening, monitoring the conversation.  I never really got why he looked so crazed and angry when we spoke to my mom, ahhh… the innocence of an 8 or 9 year (back THEN). So we bought a house.  My dad went looking, and my mom was on her way. Embassy Blvd. Miramar Florida… 3 bedroom, 2 bath, ranch style house (as most are out there), circular driveway, 4 car garage converted into a Den off of the kitchen, living room, dining room, a full size patio and pool and Lily… our parakeet that lived in a cage that was built in to the patio wall by the pool.  (She didn’t talk but she was lovely). I of course was in heaven, spent every day of that particular summer in the pool.  Sadly that was the year my mom decided to give me a jerry curl too. Between that mess on my head and the ignorance of sun block I became a rich dark chocolate color, man… do pics from THOSE days tell a story smh.

So now Mom is on premises. She works, he works, blah blah blah. Time passes in the way of children… as ‘who knows’ (shrugs). My aunt’s room was the Den. My sister, aunt and I shared a bathroom, our bedrooms in the front of the house. My parent’s room was toward the back of the house; their bathroom had another door that led out to the pool. (All of this becomes important later). So my aunt Elizabeth had a baby boy… and wanted my sister to be the God Mother… a big deal in traditional families.  A TRIP!!! So my mom and sister pack their bags and go off on a 2 week trip back to Brooklyn. Leaving me (don’t ask me why) with THEM. Now let me explain to you how this went down.  Mom and Tia (what I’ve always called my sister) left and the house was a ghost town. My Dad had the only car in the household, my aunt didn’t drive, and our house was nowhere near any form of public transportation. Everyday I’d get up (9 or 10 years old) and the house was a ghost town. I’d go check my parent’s room… nothing. I’d go check my sister’s room… nothing. I’d go check my aunt’s room… Locked (nothing odd about that though… she always kept it locked), “Nobody’s home.”  I would make myself breakfast… usually something wildly inappropriate. I’d make myself lunch… probably something else inappropriate… dinner… need I say more?  Now that first day I alternated between watching TV in my parents room (a forbidden pleasure) and swimming in the pool. On my way back from the kitchen with an unsuitable snack I noticed a car was parked outside, I ran to the window and saw it was my dad’s car.  “He’s home.”  So I checked the entire house again… Nothing… and my aunt’s door was locked.  This went on for the WHOLE 2 weeks. I never set eyes on either of them. When my mom would call and ask for either of them I would say “I don’t know where they are.” Hmmm she didn’t seem worried so why should I? They came home and everything was business as usual.

I remember the day she ‘slipped and fell’ in the bathtub.  There was a lot of banging, a lot of screaming and then the ambulance. A few days later after school I played hopscotch in the hospital corridor waiting for my mom to finish signing some paperwork before we could see ‘Ta Ti Breanette’, “Mrs. Andre and you come with me please.” The man I now knew to be ‘THE DOCTOR’ said to her.  My sister followed closely behind her and I skipped away at their shadows on the floor as I followed them. “Your sister had a miscarriage.” I have never forgotten the look on my sister’s face… she was 15 or 16… and nobody’s fool. “What? That’s not possible. She’s new to the country, doesn’t have a boyfriend…” my mom argued. The doctor glanced at me and my sister before clearing his throat “Uh Mrs. Andre, she miscarried. It appears self induced. From the scar tissue we found this would not be the first time. There’s a lot of damage, conceiving again may be a problem.”

I watched as my mother vehemently shook her head, “No, no, that’s not possible. Are you talking about the right patient? She doesn’t even have a boyfriend!” He just sighed and handed my mother a chart. “No mistake, this is your sister.” When my mom opened her mouth to continue to argue… my sister touched her elbow, “Mom, stop.” My mother looked at all of us then walked out of the room. It’s funny how despite my lack of time keeping ability back then, I can tell you it was only a matter of months between my aunt’s return from the hospital and her moving out. She ‘met’ someone, got engaged and moved out in a matter of months.  This heifer had lived with us for almost 3 years, no boyfriend… nothing. Seems she figured she should get out of Dodge before my mom grew a brain (I love you mom, but it’s true). Hmmm… now let the rumors fly… seems the whole family knew my dad and this b*tch were knocking boots (obviously). My mom disavows any knowledge that this was going on. Don’t even get me started on that. Ann Breanette went on to other things (another story) and stayed in touch with him rumor has it… they continued their friendly acquaintance after my parents divorced, during her marriage, after her divorce and even after he remarried. She even went to his funeral, to his funeral… like the ‘Gran Dam’ that she is. Interesting… since his children i.e. me and my sister were not welcome (yet another story) but SHE was there.

The child in me looks back, and I always wonder if there was possibly something I could have done to avoid that situation. I wonder if my terrorizing her and not allowing her to terrorize me… may have brought those two closer together, but the adult in me… the GROWN ASS Woman… knows better.

She was just a disloyal dirty bitch and he was the unfaithful dog that lent her his bone.  Funny how he could sleep with her, knock her up then keep her around for fun but never marry HER. Damn… I’ve got to say they taught me a lot about people, denial, relationships… Loyalty and Faithfulness… but mostly… they just taught me ‘Never invite the Devil into your house”.

 

– Nova

Daddy Issues…

Carlo Andre – June 25, 1948 to July 10, 2004

I don’t think about him, seriously. It’s usually something or someone else that brings him to mind. My sister and I have called him Doo Doo Head since I was 12 years old. Yes, Doo Doo Head. I’m 33 years old… she’s 39… He’s been dead 8 years and memories of him are like scenes from ViewMaster… good and bad… a movie reel I don’t dust off.

Its odd how easily one can focus on the negative but today? Today I had the purest memory of him. The kind of memory little girls with good fathers grow up to have:

We lived in a corner 3 family house on 189th Street in Hollis, Queens. Our house… the big tree in the front yard had a fallen branch my sister and I swung from… but mostly me. I called him Mr. Magic Tree. My days were spent driving my mother’s tenant’s crazy (they were the other ‘families’ in the house), climbing trees, exploring the area, rolling down hills or just running around playing ‘war’. I wasn’t a wild child, but I was smart… and mischievous. I liked to figure out how things worked… how to break them… and how to put them back together again. Nothing irritated me more than something I couldn’t fix.

Then the bikes came. My mom and dad came home one sunny afternoon with a big blue 10 speed for my sister and a cherry red 3 speed… training wheels and all. I was 5 or 6, and excited. My dad whipped out the screw driver fully intent to remove those training wheels, but my mom told him no “Not until she knows how to ride it” and in his way he grunted his agreement.

I watched as he spent some time teaching my sister how to ride, and I just sat on mine patiently waiting my turn… leaning forward… making all types of “vroom vroom” noises. I watched as he held onto the back of her seat, running along beside her as he gave various orders, “pedal, sit up straight, watch where you’re going.” They performed this ritual once or twice. His expression frustrated, hers just terrified (I still find that funny), and then it happened.  He let her go… and she kept on pedaling. He ran few steps more after her laughing… his big ole pot belly jiggling like jello and then he turned to me.

I braced myself as I listened to his instructions, calm because what did I have to lose? I had training wheels.  He ran along beside me holding the back of my seat, and we worked this way for a while, my face scrunched up, determined with him panting along beside me… then he let me go and I pedaled this way and that for a time. “I got it!” I shouted as I stopped to look back at him, and I heard him laughing, “Now you learn to ride” He approached me and my cherry red bike screw driver in hand and proceeded to remove my training wheels.  “Let’s go.”

I sat frozen for a minute… long enough for the fear of falling to fully claim me.  “Let’s go” he said again in the tone I knew better than to argue with and we performed the same ritual he had with my sister earlier.  I pedaled when instructed, sat up straight, and fell over almost as soon as he let go several times, until I landed too hard and skinned my knee and elbow… every time I fell down he would disentangle me from the bike, dust me off and tell me to get back on. Bruised in several different places I began to cry… I didn’t want a bike anymore. He looked down at me “Stop crying. Wipe your face. Get back on. You can do it.”

Sniffling and tortured I cried through the next session, pedaling as tears streamed down my face.  I pedaled as I had my mutinous thought. ‘Oooooh he’s so mean!’ and I pedaled waiting for the impact of a fall that never came. Surprised I looked behind me and he wasn’t there. I was riding my bike! I watched my father in the distance doing a big bellied victory dance and I panicked… looking quickly ahead of me I pedaled and tried to remember what he’d said about stopping. I followed his instructions panting and stopped. I looked around for my sister but she was long gone, probably riding around the block somewhere. I felt the sun on my back as I looked up at my father’s beaming face “I knew you could do it”

This always brings a smile to my face. He was a rubbish father but this… a perfect memory left by an imperfect parent and as I look back if I’m honest, I have a few of them. Not everyone can say as much. I knew from my snooping that my toes could barely reach the pedals but in that moment I set my sights on my sister’s 10 speed…

 

 

Just a Lil Bit…

That perfect bite… spicy… sweet… tender… juicy…

Something volatile… C4… TNT… Gunpowder…

Beauty personified… a rainbow… a flower… puppy dog eyes… sunshine…

Something vital… oxygen when I can’t catch my breath… rain in the desert… food for a starving soul…

All I need is a lil bit…

 

–          Nova

Bobby…

One of my most favorite songs EVER..

Written by; Reba McEntire and Don Schlitz

Bobby pleaded guilty to the charges that they read
As they led him from the courtroom, a young voice turned his head
A little boy, dressed in blue, was standing at the rail
He said "i hope they kill you, I hope you go to hell"
They put bobby in a jail with forty other men
They all knew what he had done, they were glad to take him in
They’d all seen the headlines about bobby and his wife
How they loved each other, and how he took her life
Day after day, he sat alone
Night after night, they’d hear him sing his song (he’d sing)

Chorus:
Baby, I’ll take care of you, I’ll never let you down
No harm will ever come to you as long as I’m around
I am not afraid of what people say or do
The only thing I fear is being here...without you

The little boy dressed up in blue grew up to be a man
When he fell in love himself, he came to understand
How it was that bobby took the life they both adored
Cause bobby couldn’t stand to see her suffer anymore
He took out the papers from the trunk beneath his bed
And all the years just disappeared as through his tears he read
The stories of the accident that robbed his mama’s mind
And the man who held her in his arms and chose to cut the line
And the one about the man who sits alone
Year after year, singing his song (he’d sing)

Repeat chorus:

The young man drove his car up, and parked outside the gate
They led him to a cold gray room, the guard told him to wait
When the gaurd brought bobby in, the young man finally knew
He still missed his mama, but he’d missed his daddy too
And when the guard left the two of them alone
He took bobby in his arms, and the young man sang the song

Daddy, I’ll take care of you, I’ll never let you down
No harm will ever come to you as long as I’m around
You have taught me not to fear what people say or do
The only thing I fear is being here...without you

Private Summer…

I step onto the crowded train alert, tense… “barely room to breathe” I mumble to myself as I take position in an open space and grab the pole. I watch as people exchange dirty looks while pushing and shoving.  I reach down and flip my music on… volume at maximum, take a deep breath and close my eyes to the mayhem around me and wait to ride it out to the last stop.

The music fills my spirit as my mind begins to wander… I feel the train stop, start, then stop again… bodies jostling each other this way… that way… amid the muffled murmurs of disgruntled riders. My thoughts drift to you… your beautiful face… the sound of your voice… the feel of your lips against mine…

My breath catches… my nipples harden… and I shift my weight from one foot to the other as thoughts of you settle that heated, slick pressure I’ve grown so familiar with in the apex of my thighs. My heart rate quickens as the song in my ear changes… I listen as guitar strings thrum and drums beat a steady rhythm in tune with the blood rushing through my body.

Your scent envelops me… taking me on an unexpected high… and my body stiffens, eyes snapping open as I feel hands slide down my sides and settle on my hips to tug me backward. I quickly look behind me lips parted… tirade ready… and find myself looking deeply into your smiling eyes.

“I figured I’d meet you” you whisper lightly brushing your lips against mine. I quickly turn the music off, “You scared me” I hiss back at you as you lean your body into mine… wrapping one hand on the pole in front of me, while the other settles low and flush against my tummy…

“I’m sorry… didn’t want you on the train this late alone” you whisper in my ear… and I sigh as you lean into me and kiss the back of my neck. “Hmmm…” is the only answer I can come up with…

I close my eyes, and we ride like that for some time… wedged together on this crowded train… our bodies rocking with the motion… my backside nestled firmly between your slightly parted thighs. I’m soothed by the nearness of you… cocooned in your heat… alert, tense… “Barely room to breathe” I mumble to myself. I feel the train stop, start, then stop again… bodies jostling each other this way… that way… amid the muffled murmurs of disgruntled riders.

I lean back into you and enjoy the burn of your hand where you’re touching me. My breath catches… my hardened nipples tingle… and I shift my weight from one foot to the other as your nearness sends little shocks into me… magnifying that heated, slick pressure I’ve grown so familiar with in the apex of my thighs… you always make me feel this way. My erratic breath booms away inside of me as I realize where we are. You begin to hum a tune, thrumming your fingers against my skin and my heart beats a steady rhythm in tune with yours.

Your scent envelops me… heady… taking me on that familiar high… and my body melts, eyes floating open as I feel your hand slide up and down my thigh then settle on my hip pressing me backward. I look behind me… lips parted… moan ready… and find myself looking deeply into your smiling eyes… “Almost there…”

 

– Nova

SoulMates…

The Angels gathered in Heaven, huddled in groups whispering… expectant… excited.

Heaven’s Kiln has been fired …

You see… God is in the workshop again…

Inspired… determined… and with purpose…

He has toiled away days, weeks, years of his time… working on a perfect soul… selecting the necessary components…

Intelligence, Curiosity, Beauty, Humility, Patience, Virtue, Honesty, Strength, Fear, Stubbornness… Temper…

Lover…

Fighter…

Confidante…

Friend…

The instant this soul is complete…

Crafted with God’s precision…

Glazed with Love… and Fired with the flames of creation…

The Heavens boom with the voices of innumerable Angels rejoicing…

God looks into the face of what he has created.

Knowing full well that perfection is a perpetual state of instability…

and he watches… as from within… a crack forms in your visage…

Jagged lines run from one end of your form to the other as your spirit splits in half.

Twin flames bloom where one soul once stood… and God smiles… “You’re ready”…

He cradles first one flame in the palm of his hand… cooes her name and advises her…

“You’ll be hurt and abandoned but the reunion will make all things worth the effort.

Let your other half Love You…

Laugh much…

Always think before you act…

Love hard… and Love often. ”

And just as he was about to fling her into existence he gestures fondly toward you… expectantly awaiting his attention…

“Oh… and don’t take any of this one’s crap.”

And with a flick of his wrist she was born into the world.

Soulmates are made…

Handcrafted with God’s love…

Flawed…Gifted…

Two imperfect halves that fit together to form the perfect whole the creator intended…

God chuckles… as you flare excitedly… taking you into his hands…

“My child… you have a long road ahead, but you will be together again.

You’ll be hurt… left to wander… and angry…

She will be your strength in the moments when you have none.

It is the force of her love that completes your spirit.

Do not allow the life you live to harden your heart to her.

Let Her Love You.

Laugh much…

Think before you act…

Love hard and Love often…

and always remember… you are cast in My image…”

As you dance in his hands impatiently he smiles…

“Oh… she’ll give you a run for your money… don’t you let her run wild.

That one will need a lot of love and an abundance of understanding but….

Try not to kill each other”.

And with a flare of your will you are born into this world.

Now… find each other.

For my future love– Nova

Evolution of the Stick Up Kid…

It’s been said original bias consisted of one word…

The template for the profile of a criminal … “BLACK”…

But there’s a new spin on the old…

We came in groups… moving in slow motion down dark streets…

Jeans, Tims, Sweats, Hoodies…

On corners… in front of stores… shadowed in doorways …

Solitary… predatory… and in silence…

No, I’m not interested in any convo…

Pants down low, head down low, hood up, eyes… everywhere…

The uniform of a ghost…

These are my streets… my block… my hood…

They’ve written songs about me…

They made movies about me…

My exploits, passed around as stories of legend…

Pants down low, head down low, hood up, eyes… everywhere…

The uniform of a ghost…

I light up… move weight… always strapped…

Suddenly I am popular… copied from my line up to my boots…

My actions, glorified… vilified… glorified… vilified…

I listen to my description over and over on the radio…

Watch my mirror image blinged out in music videos…

Pants down low, head down low, hood up, eyes… everywhere…

The uniform of a ghost…

Once associated with team spirit, sports memorabilia or just plain casual…

The monster moms warned you about…

The creature in the dark…

Mind set on your purse, your wallet… and whatever else…

Yeah… I’m a hot commodity…

Pants down low, head down low, hood up, eyes… everywhere…

The uniform of a ghost…

In school… the mall…hanging out … or playing ball…

I am popular… copied from my line up to my boots…

My actions, glorified… vilified… glorified… vilified…

Your unsuspecting sons leave home… looking like me…

Pants down low, head down low, hood up, eyes… everywhere…

The uniform of a ghost…

It’s been said original bias consisted of one word…

The template for the profile of a criminal … “BLACK”…

But there’s a new spin on the old…

ME…

–          NovaCSA

God’s Gift…

I asked God for an unconditional love…

One filled with affection, and laughter, and joy…

For a love that would always make my heart turn to mush…

Could always make me feel better…

Would always be happy to see me…

Forever eager to please me…

Remain enamored…

and this is what I got…

(shrugs) Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?

– Nova

Flicker…

God sat on his porch looking down upon his Children… through the clouds he could see us running back and forth… making choices… and living life. “This should be a lot more interesting…” he said to himself…  He stroked his beard… squinted his eye…  “Ah! I have an idea…”

He raised himself up and headed to Heavens ‘Wine Cellar’… a cool and blessed place where divine spirits are housed in special bottles, a lot like the ones we keep in our own cellars, and each bottle has a label embossed with a year. God took his time looking through these bottles… days… … decades… centuries… and then finally… far in the back… a little to the left… God found the bottle he was looking for. Straightening he blew dust off of the label and smiled… “Yes… this is it”. God hurried back out to the porch, took his seat and parted the clouds.

As he looked down upon his children his eyes misted.  You see God had saved this particular bottle for several millennia… waiting for the right time. Inside it a flicker of light shimmered softly, swaying back and forth, and as he gazed at this flame it slowly grew brighter. Shaking his head he whispered “they’re not ready,” and uncorked the bottle. The flame danced back and forth burning hotter… waiting… waiting… the year on the bottle burning brighter … waiting… waiting… and new letters branded into the label as God spoke your name…

What began as a flicker of light slowly burned into a large ball of flame… consuming the bottle and raging in the palm of God’s hand. Each spirit is handcrafted with specific intent. As you burned brightly in God’s hand he sighed, the world was not yet ready… exactly why it was time for him to send you. “Shine brightly little one… and blaze the trail you were made for,” and with the strength of creation your spirit spiraled down to earth. And with a wail a child was born… flawed, gifted, perfectly designed… she was small, she was fire… she was you.

My spirit was sent to tell you… There is no man that is not your equal… no pain that will weaken you… no love that will not matter… there is no decision that will harm you… no mistake that will stop you… and no obstacle you cannot shatter. To remind you… When the lightning strikes… when the earth quakes… when you’re feeling blue… and when your heart aches…. Within you there is a flicker… handcrafted with strength… born for a purpose… burning an eternal flame…  Just take a deep breath … and continue to burn… because Angels speak your name.

 

– Nova

Sometimes it isn’t always the person or the inspiration that matters… sometimes it’s the message