Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Untitled Love

He’s so sweet and good. I can’t let him go.
So I think he slipped me a mikki….
Came in four letters L.O.V.E….
I slipped him something back in three I.O.U… an apology
I am sorry that I got caught up in my own world.
Didn’t realize you had one we could both fit in.
Hands can’t hold tight to something that I forgot was mine.
Eyes sigh still at the thought of how happy you make them.
Studying your breathing is precious... beyond price.
Never thought souls were made in pairs.
Souls still grieving, but your hand to hold makes
A angel passing feel more like multiple paper cuts
than sledge hammers aimed at my chest.
Left ring finger never felt the weight of its purpose till today.
I Chased time to catch glimpse of your sweetness,
but you were too much for him to handle.
You made me bite into fruit, eyes are open. No turning back now..
I fall in love with you every time the sun rises and falls on your exquisite face.
Sand flows through fingers like bad relationships do.
Foundations built with you in mind.
God thought enough of me to make you.
Dreams sometimes find me because they found the peace in the pieces you decided to take care of.
Peace is something I thought was meant for child like stories and tall tales
But it was meant for this day... And this day
We are not completed but enhanced.
Breaking barriers of misplaced fears
And crowed rooms of doubt.
We have cleared enough space for forever...
Grateful we decided our souls were good for each other.
Glad I can share this day, this life, this moment... With you.
Sunsets are still my favorite part of the day.
You are my favorite part of the day.
In love with the moments to come.
I can't let him go.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

THE YOUTH POETRY SLAM - SEASON #8!

PRESS RELEASE

THE YOUTH POETRY SLAM - SEASON #8!
Presented by the Texas Youth Word Collective

EVENT: They Speak Youth Poetry Slam
DATE & TIME: Saturday, December 19th, 2009, 4 pm
ADMISSION: $5 cover,
PLACE: The Independent
501 Studios
501 Brushy Street
Austin, Texas 78702
CONTACTS: Tova Charles (512) 963-8292, Project Coordinator
Dr. Sheila Siobhan (512) 422-6653, Co-Director
E-Mail: u21slam@yahoo.com
Website: www.txywc.org

Okay. Santey’s right around the corner and Christmas Break is almost here. There is no telling the kind of gifts you will get come Christmas day: electric socks, Atari (because someone thought that you would enjoy something retro; laugh if you want but it happens), and, of course, the perennial fruit cake (the present that gets regifted EVERY year!). Before you even receive those gifts you are going to take back to the mall to exchange for the cool stuff, give yourself a cool gift before Christmas. Bring your friends and head over to The Independent for the They Speak Youth Poetry Slam for a big shiny box of lyrics and imagery and substance; things you can use every day of the year. Long after the first toy is broken and the first report is due in history, the pictures and messages these young poets provide will be cranking your thinking machine.

So, we invite you to come help us continue to launch this, our 8th season of the city wide youth poetry slam,, the They Speak Youth Poetry Slam See what all the excitement is about and be inspired by the voices and leaders of tomorrow. Those participants between the ages of 13 and 19 will be eligible to compete for a spot on the team we take to Brave New Voices 2010 in the home of the stars, the City of Angels, Los Angeles, California

Please come for a night of stirring, thought-provoking poetry. This project is funded in part by the City of Austin through the Cultural Arts Division and by a grant from the Texas Commission on the Arts.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

THE YOUTH POETRY SLAM - SEASON #8!

PRESS RELEASE

THE YOUTH POETRY SLAM - SEASON #8!
Presented by the Texas Youth Word Collective

EVENT: They Speak Youth Poetry Slam
DATE & TIME: Saturday, November 21st , 2009, 4 pm
ADMISSION: $5 cover,
PLACE: The Independent
501 Studios
501 Brushy Street
Austin, Texas 78702
CONTACTS: Tova Charles (512) 963-8292, Project Coordinator
Dr. Sheila Siobhan (512) 422-6653, Co-Director
E-Mail: u21slam@yahoo.com
Website: www.txywc.org

November is best known for giving thanks, watching football, and tryptophan naps. Professional taste testers, when comparing different foods or drinks, use a palate cleanser. It just so happens that the weekend before Turkey Day, we have just the thing: The They Speak Youth Poetry Slam. After listening to the words and works of these teenagers, you will go home with one more really big thing to be thankful for: the plenty of an intelligent, thoughtful conscious generation to come. The performances of these young people will stir your soul, make you think, and make you wonder what the future will be. You are cordially invited to come get yourself a heapin’ helpin’ of nutritious slam poetry to tide you over until turkey and dressing are pulled out of the oven.


The Chinese consider the number 8 to be a lucky number, signifying sudden fortune, prosperity. This being our 8th season, the Texas Youth Word Collective (TYWC) is looking to make this year’s youth slam just that – a sudden fortune of poetry prosperity. This season will bring some new twists, starting with the name of the slam: the They Speak Youth Poetry Slam. Why the change? Because we wanted the name to be a worthy identifier instead of a simple descriptor; a name that exemplifies the character and motivation of youth slam and its participants.

Another twist on the new season: monthly writing workshops. TYWC will be conducting monthly writing workshops so that youth can hone their writing skills and prepare their work for the slam. Through the workshops, we hope to not only encourage youth to write more new work but to produce more challenging, quality writing for performance. This, we hope, will raise the participation and competition in the youth slam. These are just some of the upcoming changes/improvements we are making this season.

So, we invite you to come help us continue to launch this, our 8th season of the city wide youth poetry slam,, the They Speak Youth Poetry Slam See what all the excitement is about and be inspired by the voices and leaders of tomorrow. Those participants between the ages of 13 and 19 will be eligible to compete for a spot on the team we take to Brave New Voices 2010 in the home of the stars, the City of Angels, Los Angeles, California

Please come for a night of stirring, thought-provoking poetry. This project is funded in part by the City of Austin through the Cultural Arts Division and by a grant from the Texas Commission on the Arts.

Life is living



Life is for the living.. so live.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Letter to the Broken

Letter to the Broken:

The pieces that you have found in the sink
are not the reminisce of your soul
but rather the skin that you have grown out of.
You have been looking for your salvation in glasses half empty.
but it has been in your hands the whole time.
Look at how your fingers are in love with pens.
Gliding in blocks, committing their lives to acts of suicide
so you can see that your life is built for their sacrifice.
Your words are more than the lyrical vomit on pages that you are use to but
Rather the lining in dark clouds, smiles that cradle the sky
and you will never know this,
at least not in the way you should.
You hold damage goods
like your hands were not held together with the same duct tape.
I wish you were not so in love with the fallen.
The ruins are no longer built in your likeness
but windows that you have kept open for too long.
When will you realize that walking though white snow is not God,
but your Demons in white suites.
Hiding their intentions in your veins,
Knowing that you were an angel in your right,
they made you mistake your flight patterns for crash landings.
You have confused the clouds for concrete.
These arms are big enough to hold your worries,
Stop following dragons ,
I promise you don’t need them to impress your prince.
We will hold hands back to sunlight.,
be the lost children of the forgotten
and grin when we remember what royalty felt like on our skin.
I am waiting for you to realize that the wings tattooed on your spine
don’t compare to the ones on your shoulder blades
and binding them wont hide the fact that they are there.
Halos cannot be turned off just dimed.
The bend in your arms were never meant to receive the Devils candy,
He’s greatest accomplishment was to make you believe that he never existed.
Reaching heaven doesn’t start with your nose but your heart.
Things we take for granted,
I know that you hold your sobriety with fragile fingers.
But press our palms together
I will show you how God speaks through life lines.
I still see the life that you have been striving for in your eyes.
You know stars don’t really shine the same since you decided that you were better left in shadows.
Good and evil rest on your shoulders,
but they speak the same language these days,
so new guidance is in order,
listen to this new soul that you have left
under white lines and razor edges.
it has library of dreams in store for you..
Remember you are no longer apart of the broken
but the restored…..
Welcome home.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Friday, October 9, 2009

The New Book is going to print this weekend.




If you would like you copy.. please e-mail me at tova_charles@yahoo.com... once I can figuare out the paypal thing we are gonna kick it old school.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Brother. Hero. Friend. Warrior

“God Bless America.. Land that I…”
Since when did lying become a part of the soldiers’ creed.
I still sleep with the letter that you sent to me 6 months ago…
still smells like the day you left.
Cold and unknown.
You told me to don’t let mom see this because this is for siblings only…
we wore that title like
matching varsity Jackets
and they never went out of style
even when we had to cut
the back out of yours
so you could wear it to your new home.
In an effort to break you they shattered this family.
Your bones have become too brittle
to mend you back into the brother I knew .
They treated you like a burden
But you died like a King.
You wrote
to me in your last week.
I have been holding the mailman hostages,
30 mins, Monday through Saturday,
I know that you wouldn’t
lie to me
They much know you special you were cause they can’t let go of you either.
I will never see silver jewelry boxes the same…
since when did they make one
big enough to fit my hero.
I am still sending you e-mails …
CC’d God just in case you haven’t
stopped running away from bombs….
It reads your little sister misses you…
write back sometimes,
I will be waiting.
But for now
I will looking into the stars,
hold the flag they say is in your honor,
and pretend that the mailman will finally bring me good news.

Hear Me.

He said I was made for him,
knew that I wouldn’t say a word.
He’s confused the absence of voice for acceptance
Pleading for him to stop.
No, in any language should be deafening,
he refused to look at me.
Said I wanted it
and fighting would only make
this last longer.
Feel better.
Wish my eyes were gouge out the same time that my voice was,
Never been unwilling to read lips
felt his swollen lips rake over my skin,
I am sure the surface was distorted by sun along with his sense of family.
Heavy hands wrapped around petite waist,
I was made just for him.
Being your brother’s daughter does not
mean off limits just easier to get to.
Role playing , his favorite weapon.
He, the master
I, the slave.
He always picked rooms with mirrors
coronas capturing every agonizing moment.
Said, seeing us together
in reflections would
turn his sin into our salvation.
I didn’t find any salvation
Just his sweat, mixed with my tears
and a shredded hymens mingles into the same fractures of my childhood.
I didn’t notice when his curled toes and body spasms overwhelmed him.
All I could see was a little girl,
Screaming at me to save her,
I watched as life slowly seeped from
her beautiful brown eyes,
cut wrist to know she still had some left to keep fighting.
These positions and visions are nothing new.
This temple has not been my own since I was 13.
now ,16. Breast and hips are too fully formed
To hide my uncle weekly play dates.
But no one say nothing. No one sees nothing.
I am tired of fighting,
From the life that God thinks I am strong enough for.
But sometimes, I am just a girl named Amanda,
who loves reading, hates math
and looks more and more like the mother that my uncle could never get over.
I want to say:
“Help me”
“Stop”
“No more”
This voice is getting stronger
I live for the day when he will
Finally hear my voice through the cracks of my fingertips and his love.

HE

He is a fatherless son.
He is the bullet of suicide prayer.
He is death fighting not to live, but so afraid of the die.
He is the little boy who wanted a Barbie but smiled when he got a baseball.
He is the receiver of his mother’s unwanted touches.
He is a dick who has used himself in acts of hate.
He life in full circle.
He hides his seeds in men’s secret places but refuses to call himself gay.
He is gay, and fears that his mother calling him faggot may be the cause
He is a husband with commitment issues.
He fits his father’s shoes so well that he is now a sonless father.
He is a beautiful mistake and doesn’t understand why that makes sense.
He is sharp notes in Beethoven 5th Symphony
He is the piano that we won’t keep in tune.
He is more than the part that make him whole.
He is love
And just wants believe that his life was not one big joke, but knows that the punch lines are only getting better with time.
He is hate
Just tired of trying to prove himself when the look in your eyes say other wise
He is alive.
Just waiting for something to die for at least then he would have the last laugh.
He is dead.
Zombie like appearance, he is too much of a coward to not get off the fence.
But today he learned how to fly.
I wish you could have seen it, his landing was beautiful.

Secrets

Dear You:
When will I become less like your secret
and more like your Queen?
When will you pull me from the
corners of your rib cage so I
can see the man I wanted to fall in love with?
When will you hold my heart like
I have always held yours?
You have mixed her and my moans into one…
calling us baby and honey so much that you have
forgotten the beauty in our names.
Our closet has become too full to fit our
insecurities, so what will we do then?
What will you do when I no longer say…
Yes, we can meet up later.
Yes, you can slip out of our bed to get your kids off to school.
Yes, I will get on my knees and do the things she won’t do…
Yes .. Yes.
Your clicks of Morris code on my temples are undeniable.
All I wanted to do was write your wrongs but you just kept turning your back on me.
It’s hard to fight for something when you can’t see
the light at the end of the tunnel,
or the restaurant,
or the hotel room.
Do you even remember what your wife tasted like?
Was she as sweet as honey like you said I was?
Does her body react to the touch of your hand like mine did,
do you sometimes forget which name you are cumming to… tell me.
I wonder if you mistake her curves for mine when
you make love to her, make lust to her.
I don’t think you know the difference anymore.
What will you do when there are no more excuses in my toolbox,
I cannot fix this anymore,
I cannot fix you anymore.
This is not just a fucking poem, but my goodbye.
So sleep, take back your broken radio you call a heart, put it back behind your newly developed walls, it and you are no longer needed.
Dream , maybe then you will see what you have done to yourself from the inside out.
Forget, the gaping hole in your ribs, it will fill with the life that you have settled for.
I hope that you find happiness in your world of secrets.
Sincerely
Your Pen.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Lover's past.

We were the star cross lovers of old.
Making love in fields of galaxies as
if we were trying to rebirthing humanity.
I was love
You were life.
We were everything and anything that sounded like beautiful.
We would play in Milky ways
Holding our breath as if the heavens
were trying to steal our names.
Because it was…
Time just wanted to take back our joy because
it was jealous of our morning glow.
But I guess you let her win, cause we began to change.
Venus became your lover to feed your beast of lust,
but you were never satisfied.
You consumed every planet that would open its legs
and you never stopped searching for more.
We grew tired of holding our ever breaking bond,
But I never thought you would let go,
Without so much as giving me a net to fall into
I have been watching you,
bouncing through constellations as if you
thought I would take joy in chasing you,
but I am tired of running.
The trails of your absence are so beautiful
that I have forgotten to morn your passing
I know you are not dead but I know that we are
and performing CPR on still lungs has left me exhausted.
I planted my feet firmly in soil that still harvest my pain
but at the same time using these
callused hands to hold a once mended heart,
broken far too many time to find the pieces to make it whole again.
I have started looking for your stardust in day skies,
Hoping you left some pattern of your goodbye this time.
Your luminosity that I once revered,
Now lies in darkness , hiding from me
as if you were playing hide and go seek with the sun
I attempt to forget the gaping hole you left into
my once clear night sky but
I will always feel vacant.
So, give me back the 9,184 nights that you hid
the light of the moon from me,
the 700 I’m sorry’s that are just as
worthless as the day you said them,
the 200 I love you’s that regurgitated from your lips
and rest with pleasure in the back of my throat
and the 1 mind that I have lost
but will reclaim again soon.
Soon you will no longer see my star shine so bright
or be able to cast stones in the image of my manifestations.
I will dance by sunlight,
bath in its warmth,
smile at blue skies and
finally understand the conversations of clouds.
As soon as figure out how to I let you go.

My City.....

My city is on fire,
and I have doused it with so much kerosene
that I am afraid that I have incinerated her soul.
There is no heaven for our concrete angles,
don’t worry I have goggled it.
Searching for lost souls only comes up
with ones that didn’t want to be found
in the first place.
She keeps gasping for the air
that I am trying to save out of her,
she is not taking her salvation well,
This is my gift, weighed in as my curse.
Making me her grim reaper,
but everyone must play their part.
She will not be an exception to execution,
there will be no laugh reels
just tears to marking the end of her blinding pain
this will be her forced peace,
resting in between aborted dreams and misplaced prayers,
both she could never hold tightly to.
Putting her back together will be punishable by death,
her death will be vital.
Besides, I love it when she is melting,
Her smoke reminds me of freedom
Infernos rise from her wings touching my heart
and I need to believe that this is for the best.
She thinks that I hate her but little does she know
that my signs of cruelty are to save the city
that I remember being my home.
I can no longer stand idly by as they continue
to build skyscrapers in her downtown
and call her price of living reasonable.
Change her Ghettos to Urban Living and call it progress.
making what she thought was weird into commercial.
I would rather her become a burnt sacrifice to the Gods
than some rich man’s bitch.
For those who see me standing here
with burnt matches
I dare you to judge me.
You are not there when her tears become so much
that they have washed away the
things that her hands have made.
Constantly standing at the witches stake to prove her innocence.
Tell me how you would feel to watch your only friend become a victim of money
Watch as they drill holes in her core and plant roots of instability
She is already dying, I am just making sure that she
has enough soul left to remember what heaven looks like
So I finally release you, look away from this world
and remember the good times.
Remember when you use to be home.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Let me say my thank you's before the blood bath begins.

OK so in 10 DAYS marks the beginning of Nationals and I have a feeling that things are going to get ugly ( not with me cause i am just happy to be performing but you know poeple dont think like me) and I just wanted to tell my friends, family, poets, poet family and anyone else that I have met on this journey that I love you.. and thank you for helping me be the person/poet/performer that I am. So here I go:

1. God: Thank you for life and the one you blessed me with. You have never left my side even when I doughted your existence sometimes. You have been my bestfriend and thank you for giving me enough time to relize that.. I no longer base my faith on my mother's but my own. Thank you for making me stronger.

2: Mother: You have been my rock long before I was born. Thank you for embracing everything that I have tried to do in my life and you never once tried to limit me... I love you from the core of my soul and you know that whatever you need i am there... no questions just love. tear.

3: Rendy, Brittany and Nikki: I think out of everyone you three have seen me change the most. Thank you for loving me through all of my changes. I hope that I have made you proud to be called your friend. From cribs to grave I will always be there for ya'll.

4: Trae: you have been the best boyfriend that I could have asked for. You loved me when I couldn't find love in myself. you are a beautiful man and I am so blessed to have you in my life. Loving you has made me better... thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you... I love you... tear.

5: NEO SOUL FAMILY: So where do I begin, thank you for letting my find a home in this family. We have had our ups and downs but that is what family is. Love you and thank you for being my backbone.

6. Killeen Poetry Slam Family: So you have been my heros from Day 1 and always showed me love. I know I talk alot of noise... but i would love nothing more for final stage to be full of TEXAS!!!!!!! GO IN.

7. Shay: You have been my sister and bestfriend... i love you... ( i cant write anymore cause I am really crying and I am at work... no bueno)

8. Brandon : Thank you for helping me hold on when I wanted to quit. I will always love you for that...

9. Urban Word: You are amazing... my jaw drops everytime I hear you all perform.. but most inportant you are beautiful people and that is not a easy thing to find these days.. you have helped me find my voice... i love all of you.. thank you for everything.

10: Jadon/ Hasan/ Joshua and other people that I have met at BNV: DOPE DOPE DOPE!!!!! Thanks for the laughs and the real talks. you are great people... really really would cut for you ...

11: U21 SLam TEAM: You are the most amazing woman that i have met and you have just started your journey... I cant wait to see what will happen next.

12: Tova: I love you and even though you feel alone sometimes you are not... look at this message everytime you fee sad and see how many poeple love you.... I am finally realizing that you are beautiful and I will always be there for you.

13: Anyone else I missed: please forgive my mind beause you are always in my heart.. see you after Nationals...

Love Always T.

The Official TV Commercial for the 2009 National Poetry Slam!!!

Thursday, July 23, 2009

From BNV and beyond.



So I just came back from BNV ( Brave New Voices to all those that have been a hole for the past year) which was held in Chicago, IL. These are all my opinion so if you get mad ... I really dont care. ( That has been my attitude lately). So I am going to start with the positive... The Program Driector Workshops were GREAT!!!!!... I learned alot and met some great people that are in the same mindframe as me ( to change the world, one youth at a time). The poets that I have met have truly changed my life. I thank you all for being so helpful on my journey. ok so to the stuff that I didnt like... SLAM ... SLAM... SLAM.... !!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!!! So here is to explain my anger. Slam is not for the weak of heart and in this slam game, anything can happen which includes cheating and things just not being fair. When you get into slam you are told that its not about the point but the poetry... and I think that is a load of crap. If it was all about the poetry and not the point then what is the point of slam and If you are trying to make a point with the youth that EVERYONE's words are important than you would not have SLAM be the Focus of the Festival and you would have Open Mics all week. I saw a YOUTH salm get ugly and look alot like NATS ( when I go the West Palm Beach.. this will be my first nationals... but I know people and competition so... I know how nats is going to go) My babies from NEW York were treated like trash and people can say what they want, those kids have feeling and I have never seen artist pour out their hearts on a stage like that... ( in my eyes the semi final bout with Urban Word, Leeds, Seattle, and Ft. Laurderdale was my FINALS.... real talk. I love SLAM and the point matter just as much as the poetry to me, if you get your feeling hurt because of SLAM then there is always a open mic waiting for you... For all the people that participated in BNV and have no idea what I am talking about then too bad for you.. for everyone else you know what happened and I will always protect mine.... even if it from others that are suppose to be their protectors. ANYWAY.... now that is off my chest. I have one more week until Nationals. I am so happy that it is around the corner. My team are truly God sent.. I love every last one of them... I am so proud to call them teammates and friends. I dont think that they will ever know how much I love them... really. anyway I have to get back to work.. but keep your pen hand strong and look for Team NEO Soul in Florida. love T.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

For Mel.

In the End it was all worth it....





So yesterday was the tribute and I was going through mixed emotions all day. I just wanted to make sure that Shelia was ok and I wanted to do her justice. It was strange to look at all her pictures and videos and not feel like I got to know her a little better. Throughout all the drama and people being late, everything worked out it was a great show and I am glad that I was apart of it. This year I have lost alot and gained alot and I have been thinking about when I die, will it be called a lost to the community? Will there be a tribute in my name? I want to make sure that my footprints will one day save others and know that you can make your dreams into a reality. So just in case this is my last entry, I just wanted to tell you that I love you and this ride has been fun...

(just a note I am not trying to off myself, these are just my thoughts. So i dont need to be put on any watch..lol)

Love T

Friday, May 29, 2009

There are no hard feelings.... I just need to be heard.


mar⋅riage  /ˈmærɪdʒ/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [mar-ij] Show IPA
–noun 1. the social institution under which a man and woman establish their decision to live as husband and wife by legal commitments, religious ceremonies, etc.
2. the state, condition, or relationship of being married; wedlock: a happy marriage.
3. the legal or religious ceremony that formalizes the decision of a man and woman to live as husband and wife, including the accompanying social festivities: to officiate at a marriage.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
cheat  /tʃit/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [cheet] Show IPA
–verb (used with object) 1. to defraud; swindle: He cheated her out of her inheritance.
2. to deceive; influence by fraud: He cheated us into believing him a hero.
3. to elude; deprive of something expected: He cheated the law by suicide.

–verb (used without object) 4. to practice fraud or deceit: She cheats without regrets.
5. to violate rules or regulations: He cheats at cards.
6. to take an examination or test in a dishonest way, as by improper access to answers.
7. Informal. to be sexually unfaithful (often fol. by on): Her husband knew she had been cheating all along. He cheated on his wife.

–noun
8. a person who acts dishonestly, deceives, or defrauds: He is a cheat and a liar.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
cheat  /tʃit/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [cheet] Show IPA
–verb (used with object) 1. to defraud; swindle: He cheated her out of her inheritance.
2. to deceive; influence by fraud: He cheated us into believing him a hero.
3. to elude; deprive of something expected: He cheated the law by suicide.

–verb (used without object) 4. to practice fraud or deceit: She cheats without regrets.
5. to violate rules or regulations: He cheats at cards.
6. to take an examination or test in a dishonest way, as by improper access to answers.
7. Informal. to be sexually unfaithful (often fol. by on): Her husband knew she had been cheating all along. He cheated on his wife.

–noun 8. a person who acts dishonestly, deceives, or defrauds: He is a cheat and a liar.
9. a fraud; swindle; deception: The game was a cheat.
10. Law. the fraudulent obtaining of another's property by a pretense or trick.
11. an impostor: The man who passed as an earl was a cheat.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
li⋅ar  /ˈlaɪər/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [lahy-er] Show IPA
–noun a person who tells lies.

fin⋅ished  /ˈfɪnɪʃt/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [fin-isht] Show IPA
–adjective 1. ended or completed.
2. completed or perfected in all details, as a product: to pack and ship finished items.
3. polished to the highest degree of excellence: a dazzling and finished piece of writing.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

me and my sissy... miss you.

Go Out and Support my Teammate....



M.A.L.I
Blowin Up the Spot

Ebony Stewart- Bluez in the Key Of E Flat



"Stewart bewitches audiences with a jarring but beautiful combination of schoolgirl innocence and dance club sexuality, luring the audience in one moment and shocking them the next. The most amazing part of this piece is that it's a work-in-progress."

Experience Her Live:
Playing Fri. May 29, 10 a.m. to 2p.m. @ Green Muse
Playing Sat. May 30, 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. @ Hot Mama Espresso

Contact for tickets- ebonybp@yahoo.com

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Neo Slam Team





Dear God:

Thank you for bringing me this far and never letting me go. Thank you for my team mates
EB: SLAM CHAMP... you were my first SHEro
CUZ SARAH: you fought hard for this. you deserve this team.
DR. MD: Thank you for hanging in there and still believing in NEO
Jomar: OHHHHHH BABY Look at where your words put you.
J Phoenix: Thank you for letting me stand in your shadow until I found my voice. I think that I am ok to stand on my own.

( I am retiring the name J. Phoenix, she served her purpose.)

Welcome to the 2009 Neo Soul Team... EAT EM!!!!

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Slam

I want to thank everyone for their prayers and positive energy that they sent out for me on friday for the killeen poetry slam finals. I didnt make the team but I know that God has other plans for me. I that team is going to be crazy... Neo Soul finals is this thursday so make sure you come out and support.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

This is for my mom.



Creases in weathered skin
Causing wisdom to get stuck in between laugh lines and secret heartaches.
Capturing a life that very few could follow.
Yearning to be the savior of her children.
Yielding to his will, but being strong to accept it.
Young at heart but soul has lived lifetimes before.
Never once thought about her first and us second.
Needles pricking through thick skin, bleeding her truth for us to learn from her mistakes.
Needing her children’s love to make it through long work days and empty dinners.
Taking time to cover us from a scorching sun that wanted to devour our dreams.
Tough times tried to break her, but breaking through diamonds was never easy.
Tova and Jazz will always be our mother’s daughters. Always.
Hiding behind smiles was her super power, they defeated many of my demons.
Holding hands with her has not only made me a better person but a better woman.
Hands that cling to her prayers as to never lose them.
I pray that I am half the mother you are…
I wish that I had your strength.
I love you more than this poem will be able to let you know.
Always striving to be better.
Always trying to make heaven your home.
Always will be there with open arms, to love us, even we can’t love ourselves.
Thank you for giving us life.
Love Tova and Jazz.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

This is for my sister.


She was born March 2, 1988, weighted two ounces larger than a spoiled cantaloupe. This warriors name is Jasimaira Olajuwon Michelle Joshua and yes her name is just that long. She was born 3 months prematurely with lungs that almost vise griped her soul, but almost doesn’t counts and God was not through with her yet. I think that he was playing favoritism; he let her ripen a little earlier because he knew that the tree that she came from was not going to last much longer. Sicicle Cell sliced her family roots leaving her motherless with a father who was too drunk and too high to care less about his starving seeds so she was left with four uncles and two aunts trying to hold shit together, but how to do you stitch back a soul who doesn’t remember their name much least where they came from. I call her Jazz cause just like the music you could always hear her pain through her beauty, her tears carry spirits of Coltrane and Holiday, but she’s not trying to sing the blues but just be like every other kid she knows and give her mother flowers on Mother’s Day not beating fist on a cold graves cause amnesia bound ghost can’t keep you warm at night. She came from a boy who was not quite ready to be a man much less a Father, so she decided to follow me…. And I hated her… really. Everything I had, she wanted. Every boy I liked, she was in love before I could get out his last name. Every time I cried watching Dawson’s Creek, she laughed, sides in stitches about my fragile state. Just knowing that she was living in the same house as me made me sick. I didn’t know that the best parts of me was going to leave when her Delinquent Father finally decided to be Daddy and said that he was going to do right by her and her new sister Mercedes and mommy. Little did we know that bruises in the shape of half moons would be her new mommy putting Jazz in her place. Tiny ribs shown through broken skin would be the new rule the Mercedes eats first while you are fed the scraps. My cousin had the most beautiful hair in the world; angels even wanted to know her secret, it was part of the reason why I hated her in the first place, even it was not able to hold up to the weight of her world and became insolvent to her roots. Leaving entrails of when she was happy on her pillow. She would have cleaned it up but when your new family ties have cut you off, locking you in the basements, you’re not really worried about company stopping by. At 13, she discovered the power of a simple kiss, how four lips seem to bind two souls into one. At 15, she fell in love with a varsity basketball player; she loved the way the light from the gym floor danced on her skin. At 17, she finally told me “Sissy, I have a girlfriend” and I told her, ”ok”, because somehow I already knew. We were like twins who got lost in the mail somehow, and every time I am near her I can still feel our connection. And I wish that right then I told her that this world was not ready for you. That woman will hurt you as much if not more than men do. People will tell her that God does not love you, that he in fact hates you. And indeed if God is that unkind, I will give you whatever I have left in heartbeats, stretch out my soul on crosses to ensure your flame retarded suit will be waiting for you. If I could I would take back all the times that I was mean to you. Take back the times that I said that I hated you. Tell you every time you look at the sky I can see the Goddess that made you smile. Tell you that your hands are shaped like your mother’s and even though you have never been formally introduced, know that she gave up her last breath for you. Tell you that even though you go by Josh, rock J’s in every color known to Man and pull finer woman that make my homeboys say DAMN.. Know that you are still Jasimaira Olajuwon Michelle Joshua, you are still your mother’s daughter, and you will always be my high yellow warrior sister, you will always be beautiful.

the YOUTH are taking over.

another DOPE POET

Gloomy Sunday.... by Billie Holiday

It's creepy but I like it... Please dont do anything crazy after listening to this. It is just a song...

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Letting her breath again.

She sleeps with one eye open, sawed off shotgun by her waist; her baby sleeps in the hedges of her hips. Her angel is what she now protects from what her batter soul has let in. Drumming fingers on splintered nightstands, praying that this dead bolt will hold up to his last stand. She wishes that scattered bullet shells didn’t have to her “Dear John Song” but she is tired of trying to sing his soul into his eternal sleep so she has opted for a shotgun wedding to hell. She can’t wait until the peace and resting of her honeymoon. She remembers his fist pounding in her back as his eyes lingered to hard at their daughter. He looked at here like he knew her, like Adam knew Eve, be her was not trying to birth dynasties but bury her soul into the broken pieces of what I use to be, you bastard. I remember when I was happy; I remember when we were a family. Drumming fingers has now become the ball dropping on his drifting lifeline. I hear his silver death dealer click, clacking into the doorway. I wonder if he would have walked in if he knew what was waiting for him on the other side of this door. Honey, I have been practicing. I have been practicing, going into the backyard, taking short range aim at anything that resembles your chest. I have been praying for this day, when the pitter patters of your heart stops… This is for all the times you thought it was ok to beat your shortcomings into my body. All the times that you entered your pending Queen, breaking her crown before she was ready to sit on anyone’s thrown. So we lay in this bed, holding what’s left of each other’s shatter souls, making sure the pieces don’t slip out of our skin. You’re at the Door now, my fingers, shaky on this trigger, not because I am nervous about the outcome but so ready shit to be over. I hold our daughter’s belly, forming fingertips on God’s sense of humor. She asked me last night to stop the moving in her belly, she says the fishes keep her up at night. I tell her, we will hold each other and make sure the fishes in both our bellies find their way to heaven cause this family can’t take anymore heartbeats from the same drummer. I wonder when you opened the door if staring down two barrels was your Idea of a goodtime. I’ll give you 10 seconds to think about it… 1….2….10. Silence after shots is the most beautiful sound. I hope you bleed as well as you said I did. Rest Well for you new family is calling you home.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

I know that it has been a min... but

I have been writting/... I just have been so busy. But this weekend I will be in New York... for KORIM and the Urban Word Finals... Send your prayer up for us... anyway I just watched the first ep. of HBO's Brave New Voices.... this was so sick, the youth make me proud to call myself a poet. I love you all... anyway .. here is the site... please bless your life and watch this... love T.

http://www.hbo.com/bravenewvoices/index.html

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

writting group pieces..

so it is hard enough to write your own pieces, harder to write group pieces, hardest when you write a piece who doesnt understand group pieces... crazy that it has to be ready by next saturday... pray for me.

New Tats... and excitting new.




Oh yeah, my best friend asked me to do a group poem for her wedding.. pray that I can get something together by the 21st.

Friday, February 27, 2009

For my Angel.. Mel I love you.

So this piece took me 4 days to write. Every time tries to start this piece I was crying... so took me a min. anyway I know the Mel is lauging at me because I am taking this so hard. but she knows that I need this... so she puts up with me for now.. soon she will start bopping me in the head. LOL. Anyway here is the piece, Mel i hope you like it.

Love TOVA!!!!!! ( she still sings my name)

And there she was, being the picture of God’s perfection.
Throwing caution to the wind and
just trusting the God that made this world that she lived in.
Her secret was, she tucked her wings in by day
As to not frighten the natives
but she couldn’t hide her superpowers.
She would see the good in all of us,
Even when we barley had enough
together to see it in ourselves.
She would bear hug full moons,
causing crescent shadows that changed our
tides of sadness and doubt,
and gave us smiles that God forced us to love
cause she was our road map home.
If she had an official fan club,
I would break my fingers in an effort
to submit my application to be President,
cause even angels needed help in changing the world.
And that’s what she did, day after day.
And I could not get enough of her.
She sung my soul back to God so many times
that it now has her name permanently engraved
on its returned packaging to not miss its destination.
Her Death was God’s electronic message saying “WAKE UP”,
we no longer have the luxury of
sleep walking when life is begging
us to just live in today
and not worry about tomorrow.
Cause that day horizon may be our sunset.
And We work 9-5’s to die shorter lives
just to press footprint
Impressions on shifting sands that didn’t
even bother to remember our names.
and, yeah I should have called you after Wednesday,
but I know now that your call to
glory was more important.
So now I miss you,
I sleep, staring at dark lids to see pictures of you,
Looking at sunset to find your favorite colors.
Talking to children to know of your last sighting,
And you are still making us laugh.
So in an effort to not lose you
I will let your memory live through me.
In strong winds I will listen for your love.
I sing with you as my harmony.
In darkness I will feel for your smile.
When I get to heaven
I will look for my seat next to
yours where us warriors will live forever.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Rest Well Warrior














This is What KXAN said about Mel..


Whether it was a voice calming a frantic 911 caller on the other end of the line, or belting out a powerful song to a crowd, Melanie Wilkinson, 37, touched many lives in Austin.



"She was an earthbound angel that's now heaven bound," said communications supervisor Michelle Frazier.

Wilkinson worked as a 911 dispatcher in Austin since January 2005. Frazier remembered saying goodbye to Wilkinson Monday morning at the end of her overnight shift. Wilkinson attended a Black History Month luncheon, and was killed in a car accident on her way home. Police said the driver of an SUV crossed the center stripe on 5st Street and hit the four-door Toyota Wilkinson was driving.

"I know what people mean when they say it just doesn't seem possible," said close friend and voice coach Dr. Beulah Curry-Jones, sitting on the piano bench in her parlor where the two first met.

Jones can still remember the day Wilkinson's daughter brought her over so she could critique her young daughter's voice when she was in high school.

"When she first sang it was sort of like the feeling, now forgive my grammar, if it ain't broke, don't fix it,” said Jones.

Wilkinson went on to attend Huston-Tillotson University in the 1980s and studied music under Dr. Jones direction. She later received a Master's degree in music from Texas State in San Marcos. She had performed for numerous church congregations and ceremonial events. She became a favorite of the late Congresswoman Barbara Jordan, and sang at the city ceremony when Jordan's memorial statue was unveiled at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport in 2002. Wilkinson has also performed for Lady Bird Johnson and Maya Angelou.

Jones accompanied Wilkinson on the piano for many performances. Jones' last performance with Wilkinson was for a Martin Luther King Jr. celebration Jan. 18 at Texas Lutheran University in Seguin. The gospel song 'Lord Don't Move that Mountain' was Wilkinson's favorite song to sing. Jones would play it on her piano in her parlor, while Wilkinson would belt it out next to her.

Last Wednesday, the two close friends spent the morning together. Jones never imagined it would be the last time, but finds comfort knowing Wilkinson was ready to meet the Lord.

"I would say that she was always in a state of readiness," said Jones. Her life may have been taken, but her memory is sure to live on. Jones said, "She was a person I think anyone would want to know and I think they would be glad that their paths had crossed."

Monday, February 23, 2009

Rest Well my Angel..




Mel was one of the most loving, caring, kind hearted, most giving person that I know and the Angels are rejoycing to have you home.. I will miss you and I will always love you... please save my space next to yours in heaven.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

This is from the Movie "13th Warrior"

There is alot going on... and when I feel like I am not strong enough I read this and I feel better. Hope you like it.

Viking Death Prayer

"Lo there do I see my Father
Lo there do I see my Mother, my Sisters and my Brothers
Lo there do I see the line of my people
Back to the beginning
Calling me to join Them
Bidding me to take my place among Them
In the Halls of Valhalla
Where the brave
May live
Forever."

He keeps my pen hand strong...

I am afraid.
To shy to speak this into
existence but I know that it is coming.
I miss you.
I have tried to fight this since you left.
Once again,
Uncle Sam has decided that we are the ponds
in his new game of war and
we do our patriotic duty to stand there and get played.
We have been programmed to move forward without
taking the time to love being right here.
You were taken before we even got a chance
to know if this was real or not.
I am afraid to say your name,
not knowing if the next time I say it,
the letters will be engraved or
rolling off my tongue in our forbidden bed.
I am scared of being here without you.
I don’t what a t-shirt with your face.
I don’t want to go to any benefits in your honor.
I just want you home,
is that too much to ask to see your face again?
I just don’t understand
why God would put you in my life just to lose you
and I know that life is sometimes not fair
but those never meant more to me than they do now.
My pages can’t hold on to anymore of your tears.
Promise me that you will be here
to wipe away the doubt,
hold me until the pain turns into joy.
Don’t fight for this country,
fight for me,
and fight everyday to get closer to our safe place.
I will stand by our shores and
be your light house home.
I promise my next tears will be on your shoulders
and I will say “Welcome Home”

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

i wrote this a while back... just posting it now.. yeah I know I suck sometimes.

Cool hands embrace tense chins,
wishing they could heal broken hearts and
quite trouble minds.
With history repeating itself,
early morning writing sessions have not
released the pain and spikes piercing
though empty “I love you’s” have left you … hollow.
The holy needs the sins of another to be washed away.
I sleep next to you,
my cold hands pressed to your
tough temples and I tell you
“ Letting go won’t be painful and I will reach
into your hell and store your nightmares in
my womb for a little while until they
mature into air light dream.
Carrying memories of when you were happy.
Since your mind is so focused on haunting
you I don’t mind if you rest in mine for a while.
Fell the warmth of the sun on your skin,
squish sand in between your toes and
watch love hues peek over horizons and
listen to the winds,
for they are singing a song welcoming you home.
I know that you have been left for dead in loves
aftermath but let these hands revive you.
Hold you between rib cages until your heartbeat
finds its melody again. I want nothing more than
for you to be happy, but it seems like you have
settled to walk this life’s journey alone.
But going alone is not your only road home.
Building bridges to your heart has not been
easy but I keep bricks and mortars on standby
just in case you decide the burn the
work that we have done.
You cut down Rapunzel’s hair like her
strength was not enough for you.
You are looking for perfection
in this imperfect world.
You life is mirroring death in so
many ways that you are scarring me.
This is hurting me to believe that
this was not meant to be. I see that man that you
were trying to be: holding your wife’s and children’s hand,
making retirement plans and all the while
just being happy to be your own man.
I wish I could dream for you.
So you can see what I see in you.
I wish I could take throse rose
colored glasses off,
so you can see that
I am still here with cold hand,
trying to show your were home is.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Cont of Writing Lab... 2.15.09

I watch her make melodies with heartstrings and she is the most curious creature God has blessed me with. I want her not for a night but a life time, she smiles when I am not the gentleman I need to be and she yearns for my touch. She tells me that I am intoxicating, but what she doesn’t realize is that being with her is better than any black I have hit. Her words sooth me, her eyes thrill me and most of all her patience kills me. Not that I could have any woman, but she is so far out of the ordinarily that I don’t mind the extra to get next to her. I see new books being produces in her womb, birthing stories to tell our grandchildren of our new beginnings. I wish my life didn’t lead me down paths that kept me away from her. I have been around the world and never met anyone quite like her. Angles sometimes fall and stars sometime burnout but she is everlasting. And I wish I could tell her these things and for her to make sense of it all, but my past sometimes tarnishes my good intentions and the bruises that I have caused on many hearts have caused her to close hers from my own, but I will not stop trying to show her that in this little span of time I can become her everything, because she has already become mine. Heartbeat will not last a life time, but the impressions that you have left on the rhythm will carbon date our story to when Kings made women their Queens in one night. Her mind flatters my intentions of becoming hers for one night, but I am asking more that can you just be my man, but can I have your hand to hold when this road gets to tough or can I call you to say I love you because I just can’t get enough. If I had an extra day I would give her forever, a never-ending promise that today will be the start of our beginning. I will hold on to the landmarks that led us to today, trace back our roots of yesterday and watch the forecast of tomorrow. It’s funny that after all the bad relationships and the time that I have stayed away from my kids I have found heaven in the dark coroners of my poetry dreamscape. With traveling being my first nature and loving second I will keep my factices alive on burning paper. But for now I will hold on to this stand and tell her I love her in stanzas and catchy lines because reality sometimes need time to catch up with fleeting ideas.

Part of the writing lab 2.15.09

The divine heart has been touched by swollen tears; it is time to nurture the divinity in your prayers.


I would like to show you the God in me so sit back and relaxed and read into my divinity. I have taken time from past lives to piece together my super powers, and I can’t say for sure that I have always known this. I have researched my lifelines that have been cut off from my laugh lines and deep impressions have caused some memory lapse. I strain sometimes to realize my greatness. God dwells within me, but sometimes I hide him from me. It like I wrote a note to not forget myself and I forgot where I but the note. Sometimes my self-esteem has left little to the imagination of what I was lacking but I never forgot you on my journey to become whole in your eyes. It’s the age old battle of becoming perfect vs. being perfect enough for you to love me and I have reached the age of accountability to know that both points don’t matter and falling is not my mission, but getting up is. I have taken plane rides, cruise lines, jumped into beds that were not mine, looked for heaven in Satan’s eyes just to find out that God never left me, but was waiting for me to see the “wrong way” sign. I wish that my heart was not touched by so many desert tears, but joy doesn’t come without some pain, and living right doesn’t come without some bloodstains. So I dare you to tell me that you don’t hear the God in me. Look into the hollow holes in my hand and tell me that you do see my sacrifice. I have been the lashes in Jesus back and the bag of silver in Pilate’s hand at the same time. I have denied God more than three times, and asked him to remember me in my time. Its funny how the created tries to control the creator and with choice we have lost purpose. I pray for the day that you get to see God in you but for now I will share my stitched on wings until you are ready for your own. It is ok if your wings come back broken, your healing will be your redemption, your testimony will start with “Thank you” and other blinded angels will follow the God in you to get home safely.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Random facts about me..


So if you dont know... one of my favorite bands is PAramore, and because I love them you should too.... Buy their stuff now... buy it...

Sunday, January 25, 2009

My thoughts about love.. kinda

I tried to call you yesterday, but there was no answer.
I tried to call you yesterday, but there was no answer.
I tried to call you yesterday, but there was no answer.
So I stopped calling.
I stopped stalling.
Stop pausing the pulses in fake designer purse.
I can’t pretend anymore,
I can’t stop my constant shores.
So in an effort to get your attention,
I have been silently screaming for you to say ….
Something.
But I have always been ready for nothing,
seems like I have just been built
to watch from a distance.
Peeking through seared lashes to show
that my love is not a fantasy,
but factually present in our ever changing world.
I have reached through concrete confections to
find that sweeten times are not at the end of
my rainbow and wedding isles and straw
piles can’t keep me safe. So I have been
sleeping in between lovers dreams
that will never come true. Wrapping forgotten
mothers doubts around my womb, to keep aborted
children’s imagination alive because they are
better to handle rejection than me.
I have even gone as far as to take
the stars from your eyes to map out
the course to your heart quickly,
waiting for you to say go.
Though I am ready for your positive,
I am ready for our negative.
His looks kill,
but I have been dying for his death sentence,
making ticks in my cell wall to show my persistence.
I have never wanted a last meal so bad.
But you say that I am not ready for my
execution and I have accepted that.
I have never been one to speak in
circles but this merry go round
suite my present state of mind.
Wind blowing my hair clearing
pathways to my ears to hear the
receiver be your calling card.
No longer am I in the shadows of jaded lovers,
but finally free that you are not worth it.
I stopped calling you yesterday because I got my answer.
power

strength is disgusting

mistakes are the only thing worth trusting

So this is what happen to me... I mean this is not me but this is what I went through,...