MOSHIA' PEN

WHAT IS POETRY?

2015-07-14T18:53:00.001-07:00

What is poetry?

Who decides?

Every time I think I've found the answer

New questions arrive

Is it a series of syncopated rhymes, an observation and dissertation of a particular mind, or is it deep, so deep I can't understand it so I feel inferior, so coded one must decrypt it

Or is it music made with words only

Where the heart and emotions tell the story

What is poetry

And how can I tell if there's a poet in me?

APRIL'S FOOL

2015-04-05T17:18:00.001-07:00

It's a beautiful day, and I'm feeling blue. I'm wearing yellow the happy color, with any luck, this will improve my pallor. It's Peka's birthday today. Happy birthday Princess. Wish I could hug you, show you I love you, but your dad would expire, he's been cruel and I'm tired. So I retired from fighting him, he's done too much and not of the right thing, I'm too tired to fight him. No more. No more. No more.

Whole Again

2015-03-27T12:04:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I bought another skagen watch. I was wearing the first when I fell and broke my arm. Ironically, I had just looked at my wrist and admired how beautiful and dainty it looked, then I fell and it looked deformed, then it shriveled up and began to die. I had an operation on Dec 8th 2011. The doctor had to cut me, and go in to straiten my bones, and add some screws to keep them in place. It took me six months after that to use my arm again. I felt like God let me fall (disappointed me), when I was flying high, he brought me low.

I just stepped out the shower, and lotioned myself. I picked out my panties and thought of the scar that Peka's birth left me (another time when the creator let me down). I brought forth all my fruits, so why did he let them cut me? I suppose if they hadn't, I would have continued populating the earth in misery. Either way, this morning the sight of this watch on my wrist brought me back full circle. Looking at my arm again, thinking how I had lost it, but now it's returned. Is it perfect? No. Is it the same arm? No, but I am whole.

I hated my stomach after the C-section, I didn't want anyone to see it. It was ugly, and my body would never be the same again. I especially didn't want to have sex. But time healed my body. Both scars are still there, but I'm still whole, and I 💘 my body again. Life is a strange brew. Fear and wonder.

2015-02-12T11:47:00.001-08:00

Devotion devoured her

Like steel wool it scoured her

Like an innocent he deflowered

Hiding like a coward behind

Sweet words and galant gestures

To address her

That later festers like an infected wound

2014-06-26T13:01:00.000-07:00

THE PRESENT

Today is a present wrapped in blue skies and fresh air

The trees are shining bright under the sun's care

Everything is affected by the light

The flowers turn their faces up

In hopes of being kissed

by sunrays and sweet breeze

The wind whistles and rejoices

as the birds sing their song

And that's just in the morning

The possibilities are endless

What we could create

If we keep tomorrow in mind

We will succeed every time

Our todays create our tomorrows

Don't borrow from her

If you keep on living

You'll find her unforgiving

when the future brings her reward

They say life is hard

It is if you say so

Words are seeds that grow

like deeds and actions

What you give is only fraction

of what you receive

Today is a present

Treat it with respect

And you will always be happy

with what you get tomorrow...

2014-06-07T17:40:00.000-07:00

LIGHT

There is a light pursuing me

That shines through the darkness

That tries to ruin me

No matter what weapons form

This light sustains me

Through all storms

Everyday it gets brighter

I garnish more strength

And the darkness becomes

Of no consequence...

2014-06-02T12:21:00.000-07:00

The Seed of the Child Molester

I was spawned from a sexual predator's gene pool

a child molester

a fool

To my utter shame

he chipped seed

and stained my mother's name

With his lascivious pension for innocents

and no conscience to correct

molesting my future with dirty fingers

and perverted sentiments

He smeared blood stains on Zion’s

daughters

Confused Nubian queens

turned crack heads and harlots

Throwing their pearls to swines

His actions defined them

shaped them, sedated them with lies

Complicated them with demons

Deposited in their bellies

toting pernicious poison

Passed on by their precarious predator

A.k.a my father

He took what was precious (the heartbeat)

and left only the carcass

Karma was not asleep

while he was out thieving innocence

compensation was due him

that’s where I came in

Everything he did to them was done to me

Daughter of my father

a leaf from his tree

Nourished by his roots

His deeds grew

and blossomed

like noxious fruits

-He bent forward smiling

here sweetheart: you can have them

that’s all he ever gave me

His name and his karma

And a life time of drama

my father the child molester

I'm sorry if he wronged you

if he stole your will to live

if he burned down your house

and left you to sit in ashes

I'm sorry you hurt so bad

and sleep is complicated

If it's any consolation to you

When he hurt you

Even though he didn't mean to

He hurt me too

Except I carry his curse on my back

Like the marks on a crab

and no matter where I go

these scars are all I have

Thanks to my sperm donor

who never was a father

but gifted me his karma

the seed of the child molester...

2014-06-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

My Writing Process - Blog Tour

I am extremely grateful to the lovely, and talented Lyn Vroman who invited me to participate in the "Writing Process Blog Tour". She is a talented writer, letting her wit and sarcasm hang loose, and a page-turning, laugh-out-loud to yourself read. Her YA fantasy debut, TAINTED ENERGY (Energy Series, #1), is set for release winter 2014, by Untold Press. I personally can't wait to get my copy. To find out more about her visit www.lynnvroman.com, or check out her blog, Facebook, or twitter.

What am I working on?

For some time now I have been working on a children's book called " Moshia Bee". The book is about an 8 year old honey bee who suffers some tragedy before destiny appoints her the queen bee. I can't say much about it since it's still under construction, and not much is concrete. I expect to be finished with it by July. I constantly write poems about my experiences, and as a result have written two different poetry books, my first "Reflections: Enter The mind of a Broken Butterfly" and my second "Transmute: Use Your Pain", both can be found on Amazon. I have several projects I am working on including a nonfiction book called "Make Me Forget". It's about a little girl who endures incredible duress while separated from both her parents, she's later reconciled with her mother but the damages were extensive and the relationship strained. She soon makes some very adult decisions that lead her on a roller coaster ride. I will have my hands full fleshing out these stories for the coming
months.

How does my work differ from others in my genre?

Well my poetry is not quite like others, though I find myself sometimes in a Langston Hughes poem or essay, and sometimes sprinkled sparsely in others poetry. Mostly, I am candid to a fault in my expressions, sometimes Gothic, sometimes hopeful. I can't say for sure what separates me besides the fact that I am separate and I am different, a trip through my blog might clarify this.

Why do I write what I do?

I write what I do because I am compelled to. It's that simple. They woo me until I give them life. I sometimes get busy and neglect them, but they keep calling me back until I get back on track. I write my poems to release them. I write children's stories because I love them, I am addicted to them. I prefer them to adult stories. I write nonfiction because some stories need to be told as much as we need to hear them.

How does your writing process work?

I honestly don't have a set writing process. For each type of writing there is a different process. Poetry almost always writes itself, unless the topic was assigned. If I am free to choose the topic there is passion which gives rise to flow. If I am writing fiction I start by flushing out my character, then my settings, and so on. If I am writing nonfiction I simply sit down and start, whatever I remember later I will just edit in. Well That's my writing process, and I hope I was an interesting read.

2014-05-03T10:52:00.000-07:00

FLY AWAY PHILLIS

Beauty by description is a condition of the heart

But we adorn ourselves with trinkets and accessories

We surround ourselves with finery

And call this true beauty

Beauty is my grandchild

Reminding me of little me, when I had little parts

Prancing around in my shoes and pocketbook

Totally unaware of how of beautiful she looks

Beauty is the innocence of a child

A heart that cares for others even when they are unaware

Beauty is the eye of the creator

Who nurtured us right into nature

Where beautiful flowers are in bloom

Where beautiful colors and fragrance abound

And all that is life deftly pronounced

Beauty is living a long fulfilled life

Ushering in the the new generation

And the chance to watch them grow

Those who left us at a tender age

Never enjoying the fruits they gave

Have definitely missed out on a great experience

But not Phillis

Who lived her life in full

Smelling the flowers and feeling the breeze

as much as she could

She grabbed life by the horns

And gave it the third degree

Now she's returned to her home in the heavenlies

Where she sits on a cloud watching over her family

Swinging with Sinatra and company

Reminiscent of how lovely life went

Missing you all

But knowing you will all see each other again

If she could speak to you now, this is what she'd say:

Shalom

Think of me fondly

And smile when you do

Enjoying each moment granted to you

Until you are granted your wings to fly too...

By Moshia' Pen

2014-05-03T10:14:00.002-07:00

DEPRESSION

The darkness is seeking to devour me

Towering over me

Breaking me to pieces

I Cower in corners

Crying out helplessly

Breaking all my treasures

They were once dear to me

Smashing everything in site

In hopes of expending the darkness

Instead it thickens like a great fog

Swallowing everything in its wake

Leaving no clarity

Just anger, fear and hate...

2014-04-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

Sleep Sweet Ruby

As a child
I thought her mean
Barking orders
Do this
Do that
Clean this
Wash this pot

Now I miss her so much
My sweet miserable granny
Who made the best ackee
and poke fry
No joke
Lick di plate dry

Who taught me all my values
With a belt cross mi backside
Who taught me; "put on di pot
Food soon come
God soon send a man
bring sum from grung"

Who taught me;
"Di man work hard
Mek sure
share im di biggest plate
By time im reach di yaad

Keep the place clean
And shine di floor
And everything you have
Yuh fi give tanks for
Before you don't get anymore"

She teach mi to wash clothes

Pan di wash board
Mek sure yuh go to service
And serve the Lord

I wish she was still here
Screaming "gineration of viper
Go wash up di plate before mi pick piece of cedar
And corn yuh bahine"
Man those were good times

Sleep sweet Mrs Ruby
I wish you could see me
I think you would be proud
But I know in my heart
You are looking down
With pride.

AFRICA CALLS

2014-04-22T21:08:00.001-07:00

I want to visit Africa for myself, see the motherland and talk to real Africans. Me, I'm a watered down version of the true African, mixed with the Jews and Indians, estranged from my own land, born Jamaican, Americanized. where I'm from I wasn't categorized by color, but now I'm here they call me black. Still my homeland calls me back, but what could be stranger, she doesn't know me, and I don't know her...

2014-04-22T14:10:00.000-07:00

Identity Poem: Who am I?

I am a Caribbean flower, born and bred in Jamaica,

Mixed to perfection by my many ancestors.

I am African, Jewish, and Indian,

With honey-gold complexion,

And tell-tale eyes.

A lover of many different tongues;

English is my native one.

Passionate to a fault with the words I draw.

I am a yard girl with roots too deep to trace,

I straddle the fence.

You can call me other.

I am not like my father,

Even less like my mother.

I am Jamaican by roots;

Land of the humming bird,

Where Dunns’ River falls;

Where we are awaken by the rooster

At the crack of dawn,

Eat ackee and salt fish,

And go white river rafting.

Yet in all this:

I feel estranged to her.

I have been here so long;

I am an American girl.

Gripes and Dreams

2014-04-22T10:36:00.000-07:00

GRIPES AND DREAMS

I am still mad at him. I think this is just another issue I/we have within our relationship that will get swept under the rug. He'll forget, I'll hold a grudge, onward we trudge through the slime and the sludge until love expires.

Speaking of love
She's a prostitute
Whored out
Always dripping from our mouths
Without meaning
How are we to incorporate this word with true feeling
When it's used so loosely?

I digress:
This love thing is an excuse
That people use to attach themselves to others
Like freshwater leeches
Bite into their flesh
Suck out their juices
Then leave them to bleed out
Unless, unless it's true love
Which I wouldn't even recognize
In thirty nine years
True love has never seen my eyes

Like knock off Gucci and Luis Vattons
Are all you find in the hood
Not even the good ones
I don't sport them though
I'll hold out for the real
Don't like to settle
I want to know how it feels
Bathe in it
Swim daily in it's splendor
Making sweet memories
I'll always hold tender

Then again
They say I am a dreamer
Doomed to live my life wishing
Lost
On a fairy tale mission
Seeking prince charming
And happily ever afters
When I am sentenced only to live
The life of the fairy tale crafter
A dreamer...

2014-04-13T18:40:00.002-07:00

In the measure that you master yourself, that you control your mental forces instead of being controlled by them, in just such a measure will you master affairs and outward circumstances. -James Allen

2014-04-04T07:14:00.002-07:00

SIX WORD STORY

Pushing her over, his feet slipped.

-Moshia Pen

#sixwordshortstory

2014-04-01T12:19:00.001-07:00

ROSE COLORED GLASSES

I weep for humanity

All the pain and cruelty

We inflict each other

We inflict ourselves

So bitter with pain the cards dealt

Darkness transmuted to Gothic art

Applying salve to a wounded heart

With rose colored glasses

Will our past ever forgive our mistakes

I close my eyes in agony

And pray to awake in a place

Where eventually love conquers hate.

2014-03-17T13:41:00.003-07:00

BROWN COTTON SHEETS

Gently he parted her thighs

With passion filled eyes

and trembling fingers

Then unsheathed his instrument

Surgical steel pierced her

Searing hot and sweet

Melting in the heat of her passion

Body and soul became one

Forever intertwined in time

Yours and mine faded to ours

Locked in loves womb

They made secret vows

That were never given voice

To speak of, neither values,

Nor goals or depth of intimacy

Wrote their own history

On brown cotton sheets

In a cozy little cottage by the sea

Where he gently parted her knees

On brown cotton sheets.

-Mo Pen

2014-03-13T11:04:00.001-07:00

STARING OUT THE WINDOW

Ravaged by pain

My heart lost sight

Of the horizon before me

All else but pain blurry

My lot weighed down heavy

I screamed out

come get me

But no one heard

No one ever hears the screams

Yet they're loud enough to summon floods

drowning our dreams

I sit staring out windows

At far away moon beams

Trying to decipher exactly what life means

Searching for some small vice to cleave to

Some sentiment I could lean to

To salvage a sliver of rapture

Somehow recapture the fervor

To heal this contusion

Perhaps my heart needs removal

That my temperament may improve

Life without luster is frightening

When all the excitement turns to fear

And the voices that you hear are all negative

Contorting perspective

Our eyes look without transduction

Not seeing where salvation lies

We cry tears of fire

That scorch our faces

Our hands are blackened

Gathering tar and cotton

Our morals slacken

We adapt to our surroundings

No matter how confounding

In fright of our light out-shinning the crowds

Rather hide in the thick than stand out

Rather be silenced quick

Than speak out

Lest our voices crack

and the pain seeps out...

Experience

2013-12-23T18:37:00.001-08:00

Life has so many lessons intricately woven into the fabric of our every experience. I feel likened to a sponge soaking up new wisdom. My ear drums and eye gates are the ways in which they penetrate to pollinate my consciousness. We could go blind and never notice, so caught up is our focus elsewhere. My advice: smell the roses and watch a few sunsets, taste the nectar and ride on the wind. Explore your majestic environment. Live to learn and learn to live.

2013-12-09T07:59:00.003-08:00

I am not where I've been

Or where I now stand

I am me

Unequivocally

Not my situation defining me

I am ever changing,

Ever evolving to a better me

I am possibility unfolding

The hands that you're holding

I am mother, sister, daughter, lover, friend

Far too vast to comprehend

Or to be summed up

to neatly fit one label or title

You never know who you might run into

So don't box me in

Boxes won't hold me

The world can't control me

I am a wild flower

And who I am is my super-power...

2013-11-21T12:24:00.000-08:00

What do you do when it hurt so bad you can't feel anything else?
What do you do when you are stuck in rinse and repeat, an endless loop that never seems to cease?
Where do you run to from you, since you are part of the problem, the problem part of you?
What do you do when you can't comprehend a goddamn thing that does not include where you are at or where you came from?
The situation changed but the pain remained.
How do we release the aftermath of a disease cured?
Who has the answer?
What's the word?

How do I heal my mind from scar tissues, the small vestiges that remain from a long life of pain? Even if the days were few, the pain outgrew the time frame, and the scars throb afresh?
What do we do now with what we have left?
Somebody please school me, cause am blue b, and I would like to see the sunshine again.
So why do I embrace the pain like a second skin, as if it were my only friend?
Perhaps I imagined the crowd, and there was no one else around but him.

Moshia' Pen

#questioningtheuniverse

Flash Fiction: Dresses

2013-09-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

Dresses

Jesse removed her clothes from the dryer hastily. It’s getting late she thought, and I haven’t even started dinner yet. My children are probably at home wondering when dinner will be ready. “Are you okay”? She asked Collin (her boyfriend), who was standing just a few feet away. He was trying desperately to fold a fitted sheet neatly. “I’m fine baby, just a little tired”, he replied, and continued to arm wrestle the fitted sheet. Jesse was wearing her earplugs as was her habit when she did laundry, and would only remove one earplug when it was extremely necessary. They had no machines in her apartment complex, so every couple of weeks they went to the laundry mat. Jesse was folding as quickly as she could, singing and dancing, when she reached in the basket for another piece of clothing to fold, and found herself holding that dress. They were starting to pile up those dresses. Beautiful, tainted dresses with bipolar memories of being dolled up with powdered cheeks and red lipstick, taken out to floss, then after hours had passed and a few glasses emptied, bruised and confused she returned home, beaten down physically and mentally. She’d pass by the mirror, noticing that the beautiful creature that had walked out in the dress earlier, stayed out in the street and sent home this mess. The dress wore not a snag, nor stain, nor a stitch out of place to tell the tale; never got ripped or damaged in the turbulence. All was intact, as if oblivious to the facts of the outing. Her eyes began to burn as the scene replayed in her mind just as vivid as the first time. “Are you okay, he asked? You don’t look so well”. “I am okay baby, just trying to figure out how i’ll cook the chicken tonight. Turning her back, she blinked several times trying to keep her tears at bay before they gave her away. “Baked chicken you think, since it’s getting late”? Jesse asked, he said “fine”. But she could see it in his eyes that he knew, something was out of place and he was being played by her poker face. She pretended to be too busy to notice. Jesse thought of the beautiful pictures she took in her short, tan and black, leopard-spotted, dress, with black patent-leather and mesh stilettos when she first got dressed. How he held her close to his side, proud to brandish this delectable dish on his arm, she felt proud too, but now the sentiments’ gone leaving only bruises, deception, and her feeling forlorn. Dresses retain these memories, like souvenirs of our travels, anchored to our timelines. She wondered if rich women throw out these types of dresses, or if she’d keep them if she had a choice. Why bother to throw them out she thought, we keep the culprit who stains them again and again? We should probably not wear dresses, since they’re so prone to stains, she thought. Why bother to wear them when love only smears them on date night? Why is it always the pretty dresses that are stained in these excursions, she thought? “I took away you sparkle didn't I, Asked Collin with tear filled eyes as he stared at her hands? She had been folding the same dress much longer than she'd noticed. She pushed the object towards him, covered her face with both hands and ran to the bathroom. He watched as she hurried away, and then held the dress up to his face kissing it softly then gently whispered into the fabric; I am so sorry I stained you.

2013-09-08T13:32:00.000-07:00

FALL

Oh jagged, ragged pieces

Broken token

Her Heart cries

I loved

I loved hard

I loved to my demise

The offering so warm

So sweet to the taste

He relished in their revelry

Licked his fingers

Cleaned his face

Sedated

She waited

For love would conquer all

He was to catch her

Yet he watched her

He watched her heart fall

Saddened by her weakness

She questioned herself:

Did he love me?

Not really

He just wanted to feel me

For himself.

2013-07-23T09:58:00.000-07:00

BLOOD LINES

My heart bleeds daily

And I'm starting to think that maybe it will never cease

My soul seeks reprieve

I've been hurt once too many

And the pain multiplies with each day that passes by

Even though I try so hard to let go

My soul seeks closure

This is not the way life is suppose to be

Worst of all my seeds grow in a barren wasteland

Saying change soon come

And seeing none

The main feature is a rerun

I wish our love hadn't grown sour

But I suppose the hour of change was upon us

Our empire crumbled to dust

and I walked away filled with wrath

A hole likened to a precipice in the middle of my heart

I try hard to let go and then

Here comes another blow

and we are right back here again

When all I want is to be free

From the bonds that once held sway

Our fates trapped together

Suffocating each other

Reason snuffed out by misdeeds

Only room left to fight

Unless you heed my plea

To set me free tonight...