Monthly Archives: September 2013

Alan and Amy

An abecedarian, for those who know what that is…  Written for my best friend who decided in her late 30s that she wanted a baby (and wasn’t sure if she could actually have them)–I still claim her as my ultimate Baby Momma. Names had been changed. lol

Alan and Amy almost had another abortion or

baby, but because birth

control can cure conception with Christian conviction

Daddy decided to do

everything every

first time father who forgoes fatherhood

in order to gain a foothold in the grabbing of goods

and houses, he hated to have to heavily suffer

indefinitely, see, initially, incomes are interrupted

just by jumping in to join the generations of Joneses

or Karens and Kens having kids, he

liked

making money, making love, moving on the minute

never needing to nullify nymphatic normalities

or otherwise order takeout food out of owning

priorities… Parenthood pains pauses the

quality of life for quintessentially quaint queens and kings

or royalties for wrong reasons other than right

see, single sex spells sin since suffering stays

true to traditions of taming tainted temptations

Amy understood that it was unbearable to usurp the ulterior

veracity of vaculess valueless vanity

when will Alan and Amy wave to the wind and

accept the vex of the expected outcome of unprotected sex?

Amy yells to Ya’Allah, Yaweh, Yehova–yearning to yield a yes and gave birth

to Zion.

“Alan and Amy, for Flurrie Black”

 

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A *Different* Kind of 9/11 Post: NEVER Forget

1801
“Never Forget”?
Ninjas, please. How about “Never Forget That As a Black Man You and Your Children Will Always Have to Wonder If You Will Be Victimized or Discriminated”.
You better teach your kids THAT ^^^ shit….
Teach them their history.
Teach them how to speak to authority as a Black man/woman/child.
Teach them that they must always have their guards up, and not to let that fact interfere with their relationships, personal and professional.
Teach them where our people came from, what our people can do, and that although they are EQUAL to all others, not everyone will see it that way… even those in positions of trust, like teachers, employers, doctors, judges or police. (Or their mates’ parents)
Teach them to always strive to be the best so that in order for someone to discount them or discriminate them–they will have to make such a thing *obvious*.
Teach them the one-drop rule, so even if they are racially  mixed, at any point they may still be “niggerized”. #realtalk
Teach them that always be on their best behavior, treat themselves and their counterparts with respect so that they never will be seen as inferior–and will never dishonor those who sacrificed so that they could act as equals.
Fuck a war. Trust me, the enemies of America have never called you a Nigger, and no matter what fools out here say… this ain’t your fight. But fighting on behalf of your country does NOT make you a traitor. Just don’t be surprised when, after returning from deployment, you are still treated as any other nigger off the street.
But enough about me…
Thanks for visiting my blog.

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His Journey Home… Hurts

I used to hang out at the Starbux in Oak Park (now Old Soul Café), and there is a regular there–I don’t know her, but I see her all the time–whose son recently passed away. She is about my age, so I’m sure her son is pretty young. As a fellow parent, her pain engaged me and I terribly empathize with her… so much I hurt.

 

So, anyway, two nights ago, I dreamt I was in Starbux, and this lady was pregnant. She was sitting on the couch holding her stomach and crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she was saying that her stomach hurt–a lot. So I walked back to my table to call the ambulance, thinking she was in labor. 911 asks how far she was in her pregnancy, and I turned to ask her, and noticed that she was no longer pregnant. She was still holding her stomach and crying about how much it hurt.

 

I recognized what God was telling me, and I woke up right after (it was 4 a.m. btw) and wrote this poem….

 

 

Sitting in painful silence

Dark

Somber

Empty

Hopeless

Ovaries ache with undying misery

They accompanied his arrival

Now they send him home

Sailing across ripples of worlds

These momentary folds of time

With Oceanic voyages between them

Earthly vessels on loan from the Creator

She hears whispers from within—

“He is not mine, but Yours…”

—Her Lord offers comfort—

With waves of wet womanhood

She feels an echo in her womb

As if he were still here

Bound by umbilical connections

Like tin cans on a spiritual string

They met in this blissful dream:

Such a short life

Yet it forever stains her memory

His departure brings back enough labor pains

To last a lifetime

(It’s hard work giving God back

what’s rightfully His)

Her soul cries prayers

At the top of its lungs

Begs relief from this insatiable grief

As a tear evaporates back

To the clouds above

Sitting in painful silence,

But enveloped in the fragrant scent

Of the Greatest Love:

A mother’s.

 

 

 

“His Journey Home… Hurts”

© 2008

Mustafa Gatdula

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The UniverSoul Circus Is the Only Place I Wanna Pay Money to See Black CLOWNS

Attention Negrowood:

Today I’m working and preparing to relocate. So a quickie:

I have officially ODed on Bullshit. Can we please get some old-school Spike Lee or Mario Van Peebles-style films? I’m a little tired of films where we fuck our daughters, or cheat on our wives, or kill our brothers, smoke weed, drink like fishes, dress like women, or otherwise act a stinking fool!

It’s not like Hollywood is putting these Uncle Tom images out. WE make these damned movies… Tyler’s my boy, but have some fucking dignity, Black man—you’ve already made the big time. It’s time to stop remaking the same stupid film over and over… Martin + Jamie = Amos n Andy? I’ll wait for the bootleg. At least it’ll go to a better cause. No wonder people in the poorest sections of the Third World countries come to America and look down on us.

Look what we’ve become… From Malcolm and Martin—to this.

Just look around you. You know what I’m talking about…

Thanks for visiting my blog.

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I Was Halfway There (Poem for Alicia Khan)

A good friend of mine lost his wife.

He’s an old friend, an old martial arts student. When he married, he asked me to pen a poem–so I wrote two. One an ode to him, the other, one to his wife. This was only a few years ago, and earlier this year I hear that every man’s fear occurred… That “Till-Death-Do-We-Part” is pushed. I’m dropping tears as I write this, because while I don’t know his wife–never met her in fact (they live out of the area)–but I know and love him, and my heart hurts for him.

Those “lady-killers”/polyamorous types long for what he found, and my friend Kashif has never suffered the misfortune of looking for love in the wrong places, chasing dream after dream after dream, and then 7 marriages later you find yourself still alone. Waiting to be swept off your feet as some woman did, years ago, and like a cocaine addict looking for that first high that will never come back–and alternate between having your heart  broken and breaking someone else’s heart. Then one day, you look around. You’re no longer good looking, you’re no longer young, no longer traveling baggage-free, you’re no longer desirable, and you’re no longer capable of finding that perfect woman because even if you did, she wouldn’t want your old, broken, tainted-history ass.

But enough about me.

My friend Kashif found the woman of his dreams at 25, and traded in the bachelor’s life happily because he knew there was nothing else he wanted but to be in her presence. And he asked me to take his feelings and describe them in ways he could not.

So Alicia, you perfumed Kashif’s life and your memory will leave him forever defined by the fact that he was fortunate to have been your husband. It breaks my soul to know that you will now only be held by him in his dreams.

Poems take our thoughts and feelings and are a way for others to enjoy them. This is for Kashif and Alicia.

i was halfway there

existing somewhere

between boy-meets-girl

and baby plans

you’re my wife, i’m your man

raising babies and

baby, i want to spend my life with you

it is between a boyhood crush

and everlasting love

between sold on the idea

that she is the one

and i would sell my soul

to keep her on this earth one more day

it is the space in time

somewhere between “how do you do?”

and “i do”

it is the place that lovers seem

to forget when they fight

the days when a man longed

to be with her for long days

and during sleepless nights

the days when a man checked

his cell phone and email

every five minutes

and while most who are already there

take this time for granted

it feels too good to let it end

i’ve got to keep it going

for the long haul

it’s bordering obsession, i greed you;

i want it all

and we

have yet to evolve to the level

where individual souls conjoin

to form one unit

i dare not call this love yet

but lust is just to primitive a work

to describe it

she has yet to experience

what it feels like to to have her soul

penetrated by true manhood

i anxiously anticipate the arrival

of opportunities to show her

how heavily and heated heartfelt works

can hold down her heartache

till it subsides

i want to ride her dreams into reality

fulfill forgotten wishes

so that the next time she’s in bed with a man

she’ll be laying with

a man.

and the next time she’s in bed with a man

she’ll be laying with

her man.

a man who does not give in

to his mind when his body lies

a man who can look into her soul

seeing past breasts and thighs

a man who appreciates the beauty existing

behind her eyes

i’m feeling her like a good massage

i can feel her thinking of me

i can read her mind

i can hear her before she calls me

when she’s hungry

i feed her my time

leaving me never thirsty

i drink the juices poured from her heart

every time she speaks to me

when i sleep, i dream:

KA

Keep her Always

KA

Kneeling At her feet

KA

King of her Affection

KA

Kindly Assure me she’ll be mine forever—

forever sweet

KA

Kashif and Alicia

my greatest accomplishment

the achievement that brings me the most satisfying sense of completeness—

i adore you

i was found between the like

and the love

down below

and above

but it was temporary;

and it felt too good to end

i needed us to get out from between that place

evolve to the next level

because, baby, you complete me.

Kashif and Alicia Khan

© Mustafa Gatdula 2006

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