Joy Leftow's Poetry Blog

Tribute to Rodriguez & Joy performing her bluetry - YouTube

2013-04-12T20:00:00.001-04:00

Tribute to Rodriguez & Joy performing her bluetry - YouTube

Word at 4F

2013-04-09T00:51:00.005-04:00

Word at 4F

performance at 4F

Word at 4F

2013-04-09T00:51:00.003-04:00

Word at 4F

performance at 4F

Word at 4F

2013-04-09T00:51:00.001-04:00

Word at 4F

performance at 4F

I DENY IT, I AM NOT A RAPPER

2013-04-07T19:18:00.001-04:00

The sky moves beneath my feet; a glistening sun burns my feet

I behold in agony - sadness searching for laughter, I turn to old movies

A checkered sunset rises westbound another demonstration of old things turning new

Tempestuous over tides ruin blandishing broomstick houses

A fire consumes my overgrown garden

Rheumy overtures turn on anticipation mode
I wait while I fight fires or let go

The deep dark vilifications waiting below

The sky moves beneath my feet, planets aligned with fate ignites

Success coming in each new breath, intake and release faith

Tremors take hold, separate skin from bones penetrate my will to procreate

A life out of sight a brand new game emerges from flames

I enter a new dimension, time all aglow with hearts and broken rainbows

Forms beneath my feet towers of past delight but mostly hurts out of sight

Letting blame go becomes easier day to day trying to make it burn to incite more delight

Feign letting go, letting go girl is so hard to do

Hold on to just deserts, I got my last swirl in mad swirl swimming in converts following my concerts

I will get mine tonight

The time’s just right

I will get mine tonight

My just delights

Will be mine at long last

Come on and say it with me:

My just delights

Will be mine at long last

XX’s dad insists on calling me rapper and arguing about it is senseless although I deny it. “I am not a rapper.” I say. My Indian physical therapists insist too. “You are a rapper miss Joy.” I deny it again. “I am not a rapper I declare.” I jam my poetry to music, my baby bluetry.” They say, “OK, OK, we don’t know what to call you we want to come out and support you at your next performance.” Call me you what you want. You can’t define my style and there’s the rub, compare me to anyone.

I feel it in my soul tonight, my poetry and voice reveals your heart. Art a la carte is coming to town via Violet. Blowing in with wind.

Living life is out outta sight, and the glory shall be he said to me, death is coming for everyone. I got the right. I overpaid my dues too just like Rodriguez who lives next door to me.

The sky moves beneath my feet at my command

My just delights will be mine at long last, stay in tune for the jazz band

Aligns with sun signs long past due

I contritely join another band with my last strand of energy

Because I will never let go, my words survive.

Stand in line to criticize me

2013-04-05T11:51:00.000-04:00

So-called friends gather together to conspire to criticize me. They review share the litany of my misdeeds judgment my improprieties. Criticized from all sides. Some call me fickle because of how I live my life. If you’re seeking someone to criticize don’t let me stand in your way. Just stand in line I’m about to sell tickets.

One knows how to act to fool anyone and believes her own lies. I remember she fooled two therapists proving two was as easy as one to deceive. She told me one was for her heart, the other one for her mind. She can no longer see what is deception or illusion. She like me lives in her private world of delusion. A flimsy sense of right and wrong betrays me, I see the world through a film of gauze and baubles - always let down.

Criticizing is a waste of time and so easy. Eventually I get tired of your unkind ways and tell you alcoholism is a mental illness. I resolve not to continue to be unkind so I apologize.

Everyone else is more sensible, They know how to avoid trouble and when I say that is what I’m doing - the same as they have done, I’m called insane and crazy though I’ve been called worse. I say the unsaid things no one else says.

I tell Buck Henry, “I’d rather be faithful but when I get unhappy I also get unfaithful.” He laughs and agrees life like that. I’d rather not throw stones but when so many stones hit you how many do you take before turn around and throw some back. Imagine! A plagiarizer and a drunken fool with nothing to show stand in line to criticize me. Killing yourself slowly, you have someone below you.

You give yourselves leave to play gods to my queen. You’re both so perfect you have the right to judge me so stand in line to criticize me.

You know you’re better than me if we don’t count your predilection for alcohol and prostitutes bragging you hate condoms. I don’t need many weapons for my two main accusers. She had him write all her papers so she could go to college to become a nurse. She explained to us how God put him there to write them for her. I pray she’ll never nurse anyone I know. Oops my bad, I agree you’re both better than me. Stand in line to criticize me. Friend don’t criticize = for stupid stuff. I resign myself to stay positive and move towards the light so everything will be all right.

I’m selling tickets now so stand in line to criticize me.

Julio says, “Everyone kicks a falling star. It’s in your planets to be a humanitarian. You have no luck sister because you were a fallen in a past life. Take yourself away from negativity. Don’t think about negative people and only be with those who are positive. Do this sister and stay positive and move towards the light and everything will be all right.”

I’m moving on to a new hemisphere. Bygones are bygones even woebegone. I’d accept an apology but I understand it’s more important to be right. New beginnings are out of sight!

I make a new year’s resolution to make more friends… and to make amends.

Tribute to Rodriguez: violet - dubblex

2013-03-16T18:34:00.004-04:00

Violet & Dubblex singing the first 2 paragraphs of Sixto Rodriguez's Climb Up On My Music.

Sugarman's Blog about Rodriguez

2013-03-11T01:04:00.001-04:00

Published below today at the following link on Sugarman's website:

http://sugarman.org/forum.html

Entry #:4175	Entry Date: 2013-03-09 18:37:22
Name:	Joy Leftow
When did you first discover Rodriguez?: The movie Searching For Sugarman
Where are you from?: Washington Heights, NYC
Visitor Comments: This music and of course Rodriguez, who created it has so much meaning for me, and I cried while listening and reading the lyrics. The point of why he wasn't famous? Think about it. The 70's were Donovan, and Dylan singing these type songs, but neither of them could turn a phrase like Rodriguez, a poet through and through. A few examples to bring my point home: I make 16 solid half hour friendships every evening give a medal to replace the son of Mrs. Annie Johnson I set sail in a teardrop and escaped beneath the doorsill or Genji taught Orion Sea-purple harmony While Kogi hit secrets into seashells And even the ocean laughed beneath that celestial canopy Rodriguez is the only one to make poetry inside his lyrics in this manner except for myself of course, and I felt he is a kindred spirit. I was so touched by the entire story and by his lyrics, I had to reach out to touch his burning embers because love comes in all colors. Below is another great lyric quote from Rodriguez:

"I opened the window to listen to the news but all I heard was the establishment blues" Rodriguez from This is Not a Song, It's an Outburst: Or, The Establishment Blues.

Like myself, many people disliked Rodriguez's message because they felt his work was too sad. It took a long time, but Rodriguez has finally arrived world wide and like Rodriguez, I will find my South Africa too.

Random Energy

2013-03-09T18:40:00.002-05:00

At night, my life’s energy burns through my skin. I try to sleep but fitfully wake up, kicking covers off until the moisture dries, and cools me with tranquility. I toss nightly sleeplessly awakened by the pitter patter of relentless rain dripping steadily on my A.C.. The weather of my insight has changed. The days grow shorter, sun up to sun down, yet feel longer. The storms won’t abate. Although the wind is gone a steady rain remains like the leak in my heart. I’m bleeding out and can’t say when. Only it’s not blood, it’s the leaking of love and spinal fluids. I can’t hold them back. I know it’s going to rain again today.

I look out my window. In spite of the quiet the rain falls like a silent cellophane sheet blanketing my world. Consumed by tireless passion I consider my options. As though hearing my thoughts, a breeze awakens outside my window whispering to me about the loss of his mother, Rainbow Warrior. I console and entreat him, “try again once more.” He foreswears off the grain alcohol. Thunder and moonshine light up the sky.

Growing more isolated, observing puppets in the grander scheme of events, aspiring, trying and expiring.

Out of sight out of mind.

He said, “You have bedroom eyes.”

I asked, “What does that mean?”

“They’re very sexy,” he said haltingly.

“How lame!” I exclaim, “at least you could comment on the color or say something about how the blue green color is unusual.”

Wind whispers words only I can hear so I listen to see if I fear the answer. My thoughts and the wind have moved on. I hear a car barking down the street. The sound of the city whistles and my ears ring.

The days pass in a swirl of appointments looking out at views through strange windows.

Stringing along, smiling and singing a song;

A pawn trying to escape with no superpowers or magic cape.

The moons gone astray and my minds lost all day.

No one’s home minding the store.

I stay to finish, day after day, between four walls closed in yet so far away.

Another True Story About A Bad New Social Worker

2013-02-28T21:37:00.000-05:00

Too stupid to follow through she’s only good for company he says

Her incompetence creates more work for me

I have to watch, make sure she does what she should

only she hasn’t got a clue what she’s supposed to do

She can sit and twinkle her toes and her supervisor

doesn’t seem to have a clue or know
what her new social worker is supposed to do

New social worker concocts stories and lies about what she needs to do

What she should do, has to do, needs to do and gets away with it too

So she doesn’t have to do what she should do

She decides to socialize with her clients

I guess it’s more fun than work

She gets away with conniving & manipulations too
His therapist confirms what I told him is true

I guess it's easy with the mentally ill

I decide to write a bad service review
and name the culprit with poor skills.

Yelp takes my review down even though there are several others too

Mixing rhythms and rhymes with social excursions on the Internet

Within days Yelp removes all the reviews

Concerning the guilty culprit

But I’ll tell you right now, and I mean this too

Stay away from the Post Graduate Center for Mental Health

Family Is A Bitch

2013-02-10T17:52:00.000-05:00

I'm ashamed of my parents. At least I am really ashamed of my father. They say don’t speak ill of the dead so that is why I don’t speak ill of my mother. It is different to speak ill of my Dad, he's different.
My mom's been dead since I was a teenager. I was ashamed of her too when she was alive because she did a lot of mean stuff to me and also acted mostly unreasonable and never explained things to me. Me, who never stopped trying to find answers for everything.

I don’t want to talk about my mother though – I want to tell this story about my Dad. When I told it to a friend of mine, he said, “You’ve got to write this shit down! Entire careers are built on this crazy shit you’re describing to me. There’s money to be made in writing this craziness down. They need screenwriters like you who can write good dialogue.” I agree this much is true.

“In my family, there was always an inordinate amount of screaming and all types of drama too,” I confide in my friend.

My friend says, “Don’t be ashamed. Sell sitcoms to NBC.”

I say, “Who’d buy this sick and miserable shit?”

"Exactly!" He grins. "I’m getting all these weird funny feelings.”

I’m already laughing with him, “But I don’t think it’s funny!"

Not that I really do think it’s funny, but I can understand how it is tempting to hear others unveil and reveal forbidden perverse territory in families, and how one reading and reliving the drama can feel a sense of relief that it isn't them which can add excitement to any story.

Here goes with this true story about my dad.

May as well say a few words in introduction at creating a picture. Growing up I was luckyto catch my dad in his undershirt when he was home and had no work and no one else was around except for us girls and he. That's it, just his undershirt. Whoops! Is that the family jewels showing there? That's what the experienced nurse said to persuade him back into his hospital robe when he was post op from hernia surgery.

This particular story is about my father's promise to my son and me. Dad promised him that he would contribute to Joey’s college education. This is what he said, right? O.K. Several weeks ago I call him up and remind him of his promise.

“No problem,” Dad says, “I remember, I haven’t forgotten.”

Dad says, “Stop by after work so we can talk some more again about how to go about This. I remember I gave my word.”

I enter the door; I am standing near the door and moving towards the closet when it comes. Dad says, "I can't help you cause you're not free."

I say, "What kind ‘a shit it this. Of course I isn’t free I got an 18 year old boy to help out. And you know I have money saved."

Dad says, "You spend all your money seeing that Bloke guy in England. Besides," Dad says, "I spent all the money you gave me. I don't have none left. I just got a bill from the hospital for Eva for $1100. I’m broke I tell you."

Now I know what my Dad's got. And I know he knows I know what he’s got because I know how much I gave him. Fuck no; Dad's not rich, but promised me eight thousand that isn’t much. I know Dad has forty eight thousand in a bank account in only his name. I know what I contributed twice this amount to Dad’s slush fund. Now I have to break in this story to tell you about Eva to explain what I mean by “my contribution.” Dad’s been living with Eva for 22 years. I met Eva when I was newly married at 20 years old. My father walked me around the block where she was sitting on the porch with a young male boarder. Instead of stopping to introduce me as he’d told me he planned to do, he was two jealous to introduce me and spied on her instead. I didn’t get to meet Eva really to talk to her until they’d moved from what I had thought was Eva’s brownstone. Now I’ll never know the truth, but I suspect the real owner may have been Ms. Kennedy. Eva always had a lot of stories.

Eva told me how she’d traveled all around the globe to the Man of Isle, and how she brought back a black wild Manx from the isle of Man and how he was so big she kept him in the basement because she was afraid people would make reports and they’d take the wild cat away from her. She claimed this cat died years ago. Eva told me how she went to wildest Africa and ate with tribal kings. And dig this, she did it all for free because her best friend's husband was captain of a ship and they invited her on a world cruise. Eva claimed she owned part of this house and part of another, and now I’ll never know because Eva is long gone and her family just came and buried her. Eva told me she’d gotten beat out of her half of the second house when it was sold because the house had solely been under her partner's name. I admit this sounded pretty porky to me.

I do know for a fact that she gave my Dad thirty thousand as a gift and I guess the reason she did what she did is she got scared when she Dad’s thirty grand gone in two short years. My Dad's always been a compulsive gambler but now because of his emphysema, he can barely walk thirty feet so this was quite a while ago. The good thing about my Dad is that his mind’s all there. I recall when he called the bank manager to argue about twenty dollars more he had calculated his interest to be. The bank manager explained to Dad the interest was calculated by the computer and therefore had to right. Dad explained right back that he’d done the calculations and he insisted the bank manager do the math with him so Dad won. Dad had a natural talent for math and the violin.

Eva said she had this disease eating away at her bones and that the doctors cut out the bad parts and replaced them with plastic bones. On top of that Eva claimed she only only had one lung. If that wasn’t bad enough she claimed she had a special tube inserted in her throat that allowed her to eat and talk. Eva claimed that every two months these special doctors were coming in from Sweden to do this special procedure. Eva said no one here knew how to do the procedure to replace the bone except him. She’d vividly describe how she’d undergo these horrible procedures with only local anesthetic because OOPS, I forgot to tell you, she also had a bad heart, and so she was awake during these procedures. Each time this procedure occurred our lives rotated about a particular ritual.

Gloria and she would leave at precisely 7:30 in the morning since surgery began at 9. Gloria would call several particular times to report how Eva was doing. A few times Gloria said, "We almost lost her." She would tell us how the doctors had to pump on Eva’s heart because it stopped.” I’d be sitting with Dad in his home and Dad would always be on the verge of exploding. Crotchety Dad is not beyond still raising his hand in a threatening manner when he loses his temper but he doesn't hit anymore. Basically he stands over and raises his arm up and threatens but it still doesn’t feel very safe. So Dad is there with me sitting next to him and he’d scream as though I’m nowhere in earshot, "We almost lost her, Do you hear?"

Of course I hear Dad I’m right here beside you and that go him more agitated if that’s even possible. Usually at 4 p m Gloria would come strolling in with Eva holding on to her arm. Eva would first make a big display of showing us where all the loads of gauze bandages were and Dad called her Darling and asked her where she wanted to lay.

Every single day following the surgery, usually anywhere from 9:30 to 11 am, Eva and Gloria would walk up to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. They always pretended they were taking Eva in a cab to the clinic where her bandages were going to be changed.

Eva said that old Doctor Swartz, who was mostly retired, but he used to see her at the clinic. She said he didn't charge her nothing. But she claimed she had put out over thirty thousand dollars to save her leg from being amputated. She claimed that they put her through this machine and looked right through her to see if the cancer was spreading. And each time she came home she had new instructions. First, she had to stop drinking teas, so she started drinking warm water and milk. I bought her herbal teas.

Then she said the doctor told her she had to cut down on salt and she needed to takes special vitamins, etc. Now we can get back to Dad in that in retrospect I think Eva may have made these stories up to keep him from getting some of her money. This way she could take the money and put it in a separate account. Eva said she needed six thousand dollars each time these doctors came in from Sweden. She said they would’ve had to charge more usually flying in from Europe but they didn't charge her all their expenses because they knew her so many years. Besides this same doctor from Europe was the one who put the tube in her throat and took out her bad lung.

So here I am, right? I'm living on welfare, a single mom, and getting student grants, stipends, everything I could finagle out of the system, even baby sitting fees for Eva plus my food stamps and book and carfare money. I was doing the best I could. And here comes good old Eva telling me the doctors are coming again. To her credit I was the stupid one offering her the extra stipends I received, two hundred dollars every month. Like Dad says, do the math. There’s two hundred per month babysitting fees, another hundred in food stamps and the two hundred now from my extra stipend. All this is extra because they had two thousand per month in social security and their rent was only five hundred. I felt good at first before I realized how Eva was racking up.

First Gloria confesses to me that she’d given Eva one hundred dollars a month for six years in addition to her renting the room for four hundred a month. Do the math and keep up – this means Eva and Dad only needed to pay one hundred to make up the rent.

It’s hard to know who to believe because Gloria had a lot of stories too which were pretty good ones. Gloria said that Eva claimed she was in touch with Jeanie Dixon, the psychic, by phone. Eva said she had to pay Jeanie to protect Gloria from being wiped off the face of the earth." Gloria said Eva told her I was involved in Satanism and Voodoo and she better keep away from me and that was why Gloria hadn’t come around in a while. The way I look at it, between Gloria, and me, Dad and Eva are thirteen thousand dollars richer.

This is all history. Let's get back to Dad's promise to Joey.

"I can't give you money because you're not free," he says. So I go over to talk to him. Miriam, his sister, keeps running from her room up until the kitchen where he and I are talking. Back and forth, I hear her footsteps outside the kitchen door where she paces just out of sight of the doorway, pitter, and patter. He starts yelling at me, "I've got no money, you son of a bitch." I say, "I know what you've got." He says, "That's for Eva." Never mind that Eva is completely senile now and her family would claim that money in a minute and put her in a home.

Forget about rationale. He stands above me, towering, glowering, a bent and hunched figure, puffing away on his lingering breath. I get up and look out the doorway and there's Miriam closing the door. So I go and ask her why she keeps running back and forth. "I want to see if the bathroom's free." she says. And I say, "Well no one's been in there since I'm here. You sure you're not just listening to us and want to hear us better?"

This is the aunt I never saw except once when I was six years old. She came over with Grandma and Ruth to explain how they had to bail Dad out of Belleview to keep him from going to jail. That was the only time she’d ever visited.

Now her husband of thirty years is dead, and she moves in with my Dad. Dad says it’s my sister I can’t leave her alone. Miriam claims she never had a fight with him although I’ve heard them bicker more than once. Miriam says, “He never raised his voice with me. It’s only with you because of the way you are. We never ever disagreed in thirty years.” Miriam yells, “ He must've kept quiet just to live peacefully.” I don’t bother to say I've heard her yell and curse at my father, so it's not like she's some sweet innocent newborn lamb going to slaughter. She is a bitch. Miriam thinks it's terrible that I want my father to help my son. Never mind how much money I gave them.

Miriam says, “It's hard to bring up a child and they deserved every penny of it! You never listen to anything. Didn’t they change his diapers until he was four because he was retarded?”

I say, "My son isn't retarded." And she says, "Maybe not anymore, like retardation is something you can throw off like unwanted shackles.

She says, "Whatever,” she says, “I don't want to hurt your feelings, but isn't that why your son was getting bussed to school. Gloria told me he’s very slow. Your father doesn't want to think about the future, that's not a crime. And Gloria’s entitled to that money. She's the one who gave not you. If you gave him money what happened to it?”

Then she goes on about David. “Oh, she says, I don't want to live without my David. “So why isn't she dead yet, I want to tell her but don't. How can I be so nice and stand here and listen to this ignoramus who just called my son retarded? Because I know she is influencing my father and I figure she might have some sense. But she doesn't. So why do I continue to stand here and argue? Honestly I don’t know.

My Dad leaves the room and Miriam enters. Miriam goes on about her health tribulations. Her feet are swollen badly, she can hardly breathe. Then she says, “At least you could take the day off from work to shop for your father. That’s the problem with you young people today never any gratitude.”

This is right after I just heard Dad admit to the social worker that called that he had a small store of food in the house. "I am not allowed to stay home from work they’ll deduct a day of pay and I can’t afford that,” I say to defend myself to no avail. She says, “But you can go to see your goy in Europe!”

“ I always took care of my mother,” she says, “not like you.” I know this is untrue because her sister Ruth was the one who sacrificed her life to live with and cared for their mother. Ruth took care of her mother like a baby. Miriam adds, “ Your mother knew how much I cared for my mother. “

"My mother's been dead over twenty-six years," I say.

"I remember," she says, not even hearing me, "When your mother visited me in 1956 when I left my mother's house in Washington Heights." "That's impossible," I say, "I wasn't born until 1959. Ask my father."

"Your mother had you by the hand and I remember," she insists.

"It wasn’t me,” I insist back, “It must’ve been either Georgette or Harriet. Harriet was born in 1949. Maybe it was her. Georgette was born in 46' so maybe it was her."

"It was you."

"Let's ask my father. Daaad," I call out, "do you know my birthdate. See, my father carries this little black book with everyone's birthdate and everyone's death date as well. You know, he lights the candles still on Purim.

"You're trying to cause big trouble here," she said. "What are you doing?"

"My father should know," I said. "He has this book..."

"That doesn't mean anything," she yelled. "You want to see my driver's license?" I asked."

What for?" she said. "Just like you gave your father money to hold when you were on welfare."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

“Well, you know how to take care of things." Miriam says.

I say, "Well, I can't lie about an official document."

"No, but the date could be changed."

"So you're calling me a forger."

"Calling you, no."

"Well what do you mean then."

"Insinuate is different. I don't have a birth certificate," cackle cackle, "so I'm younger than you." cackle!

Review of Joy Leftow's Blog Written by Carla Zanoni

2013-02-09T10:28:00.000-05:00

At the time this was written, it totally missed my sights. Lucky for me some friends put aside for me and gave to me when they saw. It's old but better late than never. Thanks again Carla!

Volunteer at CAAC (Center For Animal Care And Control)

2013-02-08T15:45:00.001-05:00

Got Milk deserved a home but no one wanted her.

Above is Got Milk. A life lost.

Cats are a part of my life. Recently I decided I would volunteer at NYC Center for Animal Care and Control to take babies in, since I'm always doing this anyway. It turned into a nightmare. When I took home the 3 infants, their entire back legs were covered in encrusted fecal matter and they had very bad diarrhea. This was pretty disgusting and took a lot of effort to clean. The poor weak things cried pathetically during a thorough bathing that was a kind of long process trying to remove and wash fur encrusted fecal matter that had probably been on them since their birth. Keeping them clean was extremely difficult since they all had consistent diarrhea. In spite of this the babies still put on quite a bit of weight during that time. but were still only about one pound each, all with big tummies.

I had asked if they’d been dewormed when I agreed to take them but later learned this was untrue. I took them back for shots but they refused because they said “the vet had no time.” I think they didn’t want to make the investment of the shot. Later one young man who adopted one baby took his baby to the vet. The vet called the CACC not wanting to replicate what had already been done. Surprise, surprise, no papers could be found!

The deal was I was supposed to keep them until the afternoon before I left for my vacation on July 8^th, only 12 days more to help the babies. One of the babies I named Got Milk because I had to bottle feed her and she was so hungry plus she always a white spot on top of her mouth.

After I cleaned away all the shit, hiding beneath the shit was ringworm. I dipped them all iodine. I couldn't cancel my vacation, since my fare alone had cost over $1000. I found two people to adopt, which meant I had to return the unadopted one to the CACC. The lady who had promised to adopt Got Milk, the beautiful very hungry kitty changed her mind when I told her I had treated them for fleas and ringworm. Poor Got Milk had to go back to the CACC.

When I returned Got Milk, they tried to keep me speaking low and said they didn’t want anyone around to know. They said they'd put her down because of their lack of resources. Poor Got Milk had to go.

I remember ...

2013-02-08T11:13:00.000-05:00

IN THE SHADOWS OF MY MIND I LOVE JOY...

was written in black ink across
the dark photo in my hands
A black, fine, scripted line
a message in time
slipped carefully under the door

I examined the photo
She stood in the shadows
her hand draped casually over
the back of her upholstered chair

I remember Rosalie well
with her short, dyed, brunette hair
cut into a keen, neat bob
All held back by a dark brown net
Her clear dark, deep blue eyes
her cool crisp voice,

A cutting edge of guttural coarse sounds
escaped from her throat when she spoke
Rosalie was alive and genuine
moving in a world of reflected off-beat colors
She wavered on the border
between blasphemy and refinement
quicker than you could wink an eye

Rosalie was argumentative yet warm
agreeable and loyal
She could be deliberately cruel
and bitchy when she when she chose to be
I suspect it had to do with suffering she'd known

And I do believe she loved me
Rosalie is dead now almost 20 years ago
She was over 65 when I met her
(don't ask me by how much)
they said she died from a stroke caused by her alcoholism

I remember how our paths crossed walking down Broadway
me cramped over in pain and misery
I looked up and saw her staring into my eyes
and recognized her
Every time we passed one another,
we smiled at each other
I make a lot of friends like that
So me and this old lady had a habit
I meet a lot of people like that
one gal told me you're the most smilingist person I could ever wanna meet

This day I walked in pain, bent over, holding my womb
"What's wrong, dear?" she said, questioning me with true concern
She took me to her house and
treated me with naturopathic methods she'd learned at some fancy class
She wrapped me tightly from head to toe in a big iced up towel
then rolled me securely in a blanket of wool
leaving me two hours to chill out my fever
gifting me with the first relief I'd felt in two weeks
I stood straight as a result of Rosalie's remedies

How could I help but love her
with her wide open eager smile
her passions and her jealousies her quick anger
her petty aggravating assaults on any behavior she deemed wrong

Rosalie... her sudden quirks
and eccentricities
her confessions to what
she labeled high class prostitution
and past alcoholic history

I figured she needed to dull her sharp senses
her gall and quick wit
her tender loving ways
I'll remember Rosalie without her photo
for she inhabits the shadows of my heart
her words forever imprinted

I love Joy in the shadows of my mind

© 1994

I know it I know it I know it

2013-02-08T11:12:00.001-05:00

It’s ok guys I’m putting it away

In and out like the wind my tongue flickers through words faster than my brain can process them, jumping ahead leaping over boulders

my words transcend become one

Eat crow again and again to no end to the viciousness of innocent crimes committed time and again daily

idly imbibing sand fills my mouth escalating escape envisions fantasy visions bleep counting sheep once more it ends begins no end time begins ends

Tomorrow is mother’s day I get my way automatically it is whatever I say it is - honor my motherhood day

I know it I know it I know it

I can show you how to do it,

I know it

Listen to the words the beat shows I know it

Reverberations dance in my eyes and visions hide

no one but me can see

Illicit Romanic Encounter

2013-01-17T15:24:00.001-05:00

Meet me out side clandestinely

Kiss me passionately

No one else has to know

I promise not to tell

Agree to meet at Starbucks on
Second Avenue at 80 Street

where hopefully, no one knows us.

I reckon you’ll be late but you
beckon me from the corner

On rare occasions when we meet and you think
no one else see,s you pull me to you fiercely

Playfully and forcefully always by surprise

Press your lips down hard push

your tongue between my lips

enter without consent

your hand holds my neck firmly,

your other hand applies pressure to my face

suddenly like an unexpected summer storm
flashes of lightning and downpour on a sunny day,
quickly disappears, the sun
brighter than before the storm

you’re gone in less than ten seconds

maybe when we’re 80 we can finally get together

again you’ll whisper sweet nothings, stare in my eyes

but then you won’t turn and leave me and we’ll have a few years together before I die

I can always dream
Maybe I'll be a size four when I'm eighty

Then you'll want me forever
you like little slim girls
Not a big girl like me size eleven or twelve

I want to be smaller but that’s not what it is

You just like her more than me she’s trimmer has more muscle

And is artistic just like me

Besides you love her, not me

So why do you insist every time we meet

When I least expect it you act like you’re only being friendly

Suddenly you grab me and my dreams are reawakened in an unbridled sunrise explosion

Maybe when I’m eighty you'll finally be all alone, maybe then it will be different

Spill the Beans

2013-01-07T22:51:00.004-05:00

Scat it verbally

Rift through a blind alley

I stumble through a valley of words

I am not forsaken

I do not deny the allegations swimming in my head

My tone-deaf ears betray my frustration as I try to work through them

Deny the valley of death, I stumble ahead

A new gestation of wandering words joins the tribe

wondering where to go before I die

I digest the contents

Of a symphony, words define my lust

betrays and defines my trust

Ignore the shallow depths, I forge ahead.

Follow a new design

Wallow in just and fine deserts,

dust my mind free of desert sand

Trust in salvation

Like a fruit fly,

I follow light breathlessly without focus

jealousy becomes wounds inside out

from way back in the day,

Lucky to have survived till today.

So many chances and choices - should’ve beens and could’ve beens

never evolving to more than a memory of a dream

Live to survive

Reminisce on what could’ve been; still not dead

An angel stands between me and death

Consumed by an urge for vanilla fudge ice cream

Trapped in the midst of a drug heist

I live to tell how the story went down that night

My son asleep in his bed by the window

they climbed down the fire escape from the roof to enter his room

Stoned cold criminals, killers seeking drugs we survive to tell the allegory.

Our son slept beneath an open window the moon gazing in

My husband went to the window, screamed

Grabbed our son from our one bedroom flat where he rested on his mat

on the floor and handed our son to the retired old couple from Spain next door

took our son from Felix’s arms.

Later they watched Felix through their peephole.

He held a wooden kitchen chair by its leg and went in the hallway, swinging it.

Cowardly and afraid, the criminals ran away.

My husband took my baby son to my sister’s that night

Caught between enemies on all sides, the law and so-called friends are enemies

No one on my side, and me a mother, woes multiply

The world reversed her orbit tonight I swore it was over

One way or another I had to start another life - survive

Wounds of a life lived so hard there’s no escape

I take root in another fight to be won delight in moonlight

A miracle to survive a story to be told

Yes, I had someone to be and someplace to go go go go go

Peace be upon you

2012-12-16T12:49:00.002-05:00

I think of what could be if my sisters, me,

And my brothers were really tight

All the hate dissipated to make the world right

Choose to see with different sight

Please beg for peace, no more fights

Emit brain signals

Send the waves out of mind

Soon will be out of time

Like legions of artists behind

My voice treads on their graves

Pays tribute to wishes for peace

Vibration moves inside lives changed a joint trance

Formulations for peace, throw out illusion

Breathe, eat and sing peace

moves through my hair in my eyes

Feast on peace

Visions move no skin tones, colors

no place alone

peace oceans and sand

breathe peace explore peace

Barish, Béke, Damai, Friður, La Paz, Iri'ni, Laule‘a,

Nanna Ayya, Pingan,

Pokój, Rahu, Shalom, Salaam Alaikum,

Shîte, Wolakota, Udo, Assalmu Alaikum,

Emit the pulse, Om shanti

Om Mani Padme Hum

Peace be upon you

Peace radiating out into the universe

Barish, Turkish

Béke, Hungarian

Damai, Indonesian

Friður, Icelandic

Iri'ni, Greek

La Paz, Spanish

Nanna Ayya Chickasaw

Laule‘a Hawaiian -Peaceful, happy

Pingan, Chinese

Pokój , Polish, Slovak

Rahu, Estonian

Shîte, Tibetan

Udo, Igbo

Wolakota, Lakhota

Life is a story waiting to be told

2012-12-10T20:11:00.004-05:00

At night, my life’s energy burns through my skin. I try to sleep but keep waking up, kicking off the covers until the moisture dries and cools me with tranquility.

Growing more isolated, observing puppets in the grander scheme of events; aspiring, trying and expiring.

Out of sight out of mind.

He told me I had bedroom eyes.

I said, “What does that mean?”

“They’re very sexy,” he said haltingly.

“How lame!” I exclaim, “at least you could comment on the color or say something about how the blue green color is unusual.”

The days pass in a whirl of appointments looking through strange windows.

Stringing along, smiling and singing a song; a pawn trying to escape with no superpowers or magic cape.

The moons gone astray and my minds lost all day. No one’s home minding the store. I stay to finish day after day between four walls closed in yet so far away.

CRAZY BRING IN THE NEW YEARS RANT

2012-12-04T16:35:00.003-05:00

I live in a dream world reality a strange illusion I discover and uncover the truth. I rarely subscribe to common faith. The truth is harder to see than a diamond. I take the diamond to the jeweler who says, “This diamond has occlusions which are usually a sign the diamond is real – occlusions can only be seen by microscope. This color is tinted blue, unusual in a diamond this size with so many occlusions. I suggest we send it out to get tested – it just looks too perfect to be true."

In hope and vain I wait to hear the diamond is real but am told it's a well made fake, just like my reality while I keep performing in good faith and do the unintended not seeing things only exist in my head. Strangely, they remain a clear distant past in my memory – and this memory lasts in my head by circumstances beyond my control. As my dreams unfold and take hold I discover reality is not what I thought it was. History repeats it self again and again and still IT IS NOT enough. Learning the truth is never enough if you refuse to change the course of your life. I sit and struggle with concepts as life unfolds my untold dream takes hold. I struggle to stay tight remain true to the light and the cause. There’s another global warming rooting in my head causing a major tidal wave and reality storms keep smacking me in the face as I try to keep the story straight. Chin up and keep forth in the wind.

This country is no longer what it set out to be fair and equal are only concepts applied to certain certified events by a moneyed society with privatized armed forces. Our country is not what it set out to be controlled by mercenaries.

I am not free will not be set free, am a product of society calmed by money no longer there I fare better than those worse off than me.

When Roosevelt was president we didn’t suffer from so much damn debt that has trickled down to a global economy still based on supporting wars to ignite a burgeoning economy and can’t keep up with the rapidly reproducing human rate.

Get a certificate to reproduce or join our dying planet. I am looking for peace to replace the water and divide it up fairly for all. WE NEED TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR SO MANY RAPIDLY DECLINING SPECIES BEGINNING WITH THE CORAL IN THE OCEAN, WE NEED TO PROTECT REEFS.

Is it any wonder I can’t see beyond the bridge of my nose and my glasses are always in a fog so I never see clearly. I see what I want to see – it’s been proven again and again.

I can see clearly now, the gates to heaven are here on earth.

My brethren, think and breathe peace. Join the vision of great artists and leaders everywhere to create a common place within our hearts where peace and the greater good take priority.

Peace seeps from our pores to infect humanity and will spread to distant corners of the globe. Everyone partakes peace.

I can see clearly now. A common chore, a call to live our lives like a prayer to peace- to inspire peace to grow with our words and thoughts to join human race raise the bar.

Peace!!!

I DENY IT

2012-11-28T15:18:00.001-05:00

I am not an addict; I can stop anytime I want to

Yes I can, I can stop anytime I want to

I just haven’t felt the need to stop

What ‘s so important for me to do now that I finally free 5 minutes from my curfew

Momentarily abandon myself to my dreams

Give myself permission to leave myself behind left out of it again

Yeah, really, I can stop anytime I want to

You ask why I don’t stop if I say I can

Oh O.K., I confess, I did do it again but I didn’t mean to

I know I said I wouldn’t do it again; I tried not to do it, but couldn’t stop myself

the urge overwhelmed me

I was powerless, I did it again

I’m sorry I want you to

Share your secrets too

You’re not perfect

No more throwing stones at me

Com’on, confess your sins

The sins everyone else said you shouldn’t do,
To you it felt right the moment you tried it on for size

I remember your hands got dirty too one time,

you can’t wash away the sins

I saw you pee, you walked away didn’t wash your hands

Stood observing me.

My defense is my skin is so dry the skin turned ash,

Undernourished white skin flaking off my hands

Skin Slowly Peeling To Shreds,

before It’s time the skin is dead, skin slowly peeling away

Ready or not, here I come.
Red light green light, one two three

Is that how many chances I get to absorb the flow of the ideas

urges march day and night, the weight burdens me, early dawn

urges obsess me, possess me, I ignore them a day or two then they take me by force

I declare a truce.
Urges have a hold on me won’t let go of me

Separate men from woman, because we know once urges take hold, overwhelms
Together they can’t control overt urges so they cover up

Pretend there’s no drive

Woman’s hair her one true natural beauty

A set up from the start I pull another stinky fart just thinking about it

Force myself to think peace so the word war will fall into disuse
We will all refuse to fight

No more abuse by governments everywhere will have peace-oriented leaders

I dream of peace, a word war floats by a banana submarine looking for oil

Knowledge and power

Peace everlasting.

Meditate the days away instead of lustily fucking following my instincts, my addiction.

It’s easier do what presents than battle in a hot windy desert where you can’t see the only water is an illusion.

Addictions plague me.

It takes only one person’s fart to stink up the whole room how to clean out the smell if there’s no access to air

the hole in the room follow the white rabbit and give in

Doctor diagnoses post-traumatic stress syndrome

Another rant a poetic chant a prayer to set the universe to rhythm

Another beat

ANOTHER DIVERSION

I give in give in give in give in give in give in give in

In Mourning ...

2012-10-08T11:52:00.004-04:00

Felix died, the son of my father and my ex-husband. No one told us. No one called. We don't know where his body is buried.

Saturday I performed at the Morris Jumel Mansion with Dubblex and Demetrius Daniels. My son called me. An old friend called him to report his father had died. I spent the rest of the day in prayer and solitude, some of it with my son. We lit a candle and spoke about him, recounting memories. My son told me how when he was about 6 years old, his father visited him at my father's apartment. I was in school. My dad was in the kitchen and he noticed things had gotten very quiet so he went to see why. Joey was taking apart the TV and removing things while Felix sat laughing and smiling. That would be him.

Joey was good at that. I remember once when he was about 9 or 10 months old I had a shoelace that I used for my keys. I quadrupled the string, put my keys in the loop and tied a double knot at the end. It was tight too. I had no clue how he did it but I had been in the kitchen making dinner and when I came out Joey had the string and was retying it the same way it had been with the keys. I kept the string and still have it in my drawer till this day. I couldn't bear to throw it out.

We talked about Felix's craziness and retold old stories about him sitting at my kitchen table watching the candle slowly burn down. Strange that he died directly after Yom Kipper ended. Over the last year I often thought I'd see him soon. I'd been thinking about it for the past year a lot. It's not easy to find him though. Felix owns land in several places and he travels around the island visiting different people. Felix has no house either. Last time we went to see him, we had to call several people in his family before he heard we were there and came to us. It took 2 days to make contact. After we found him we drove for 2 hours and left the rental when the road ended. Then we got out and hiked for over 2 1/2 hours. We finally made it to a little one room wooden shack nestled in the woods. It was small and basically one room. There was a table and 2 chairs and wooden shelves. It was very neat and clean. I could see a bed in the back with a dresser. That's all there was. Felix said he had a few places like this. I wrote a poem back in 97 about this visit after we returned home.

link to the poem:

Now the opportunity to ever see him again has passed for my son and I. I had hoped to see him before I die. I have to accept I'll never see him again in life. I miss him knowing he's no longer on the planet.

Joey less than 24 hours old.

Above in Santo Domingo City sitting in a park.

Felix's beautiful Mom, Carmen.

Felix's mom's house. Eduardo, his mom, Dad and Sister Dolores with me.

Beautiful house.

Nena's farm

Felix was handsome ...

Beautiful hair ... beautiful body

Felix, like me, loved cats too. We took this cat to Santo Domingo with us on a visit. Felix wanted me to see his aunt's farm so we left Frisky with his mom. When we returned to his mom's house she greeted us crying. She told us a jealous neighbor fed Frisky poisoned meat.

These photos were taken in a rented house in Hackensack, Minnesota, where Joey was born. The photo above he is one month old. The one below he is 3 months old and already standing. Look at his proud father!

On his aunt Nena's farm. That's me, always finding stray animals.

Lost Love

2012-09-20T21:36:00.001-04:00

Ain’t no sun up in my sky today

Rain keeps falling on my head

I got the blues so bad I’m dancing with fire
in the hell of night

Promises and dreams not in sight

No delight in life

a bout in myself in an endless fight

in a world where nothing’s right

no sun up in my sky too down to cry

waiting on motivation that doesn’t come

I lay awake waiting for my lover to come on home

Frustrations growing
waiting on my lover makes me quirky that way

Comes sneaking through the bedroom door in the dead of night

The bed bathed in moonlight

Soft red hair brushes against my shoulder

Our promises of together forever have grown older

Each day finds us colder

As she lies down beside me

My eyes closed pretending I’m asleep

I awake to an empty bed

With words left unsaid

sadness that never ends

Never thought we’d end that way

Rain tapping on the window pane

left me on a rainy day

She called later that day said someone was waiting on her

someone easier to take, someone older more mature

someone who knew who knew how to play the game of love

standing in the rain left lonesome each day hoping the rain will go away

my tears blending with the rain

sun’s gone away and rains keep coming everyday

Got to go sometime...

2012-09-15T00:13:00.003-04:00

Death hits on the fritz, at my wit’s end,

Same way we’re birthed same way death bangs on the door

In a fleeting solitary moment gone in a blitz

A spin on humanity why we enjoy comedy folklore

Right next door, death knocked on the door

I hear the wife’s wails late that night way past midnight

I let myself in and sat for a while, the police were still there

He lay down after dinner, about 5 p.m., said he needed a nap

And in a snap he was gone gone, gone! Gone baby gone

Early that same morning I heard him vacuuming as I

watched the sun rise against a pink damask sky

No choice when death comes uninvited banging down our door

Write or wrong we’re in this together son

I’m my brother’s keeper but not for long

I see his son Luis is despondent

I say, “I’m sorry for your loss Luis."

He responds, “My father did all that he could to stay healthy,

He kept a good routine, ate breakfast at 5 a.m

went to the Big Gym everyday to lift weights at 6 a.m.,

Everyday he ate dinner at 4 p.m., good healthy food too,

rice and beans, aguacate and Mama made him steak everyday

all that he did and what good did it do him, he’s still dead

all that hard work for nothing.”

Luis has learned a new lesson

A sudden burst of knowledge

Death stalks us all

If you believe in an afterlife or not

I’ll come see you at 3 a.m. night after next

Stomp 3 times and you’ll smell me

There at your side ready at the crack of a whip

Bam your time’s up now son ready or not

There you go and the people who love us are left behind wailing

Wailing for those who left us behind

Death hits the spot, ready or not.

It’s ok I said, I've been there too

2012-09-09T12:31:00.002-04:00

I understand where you’re coming from

Just show me the dotted line and

I’ll be ready to sign

I promise I’ll make no demands

For alimony or child support

My life’s worth more than you could ever pay

The gun trained on my face

I heard the click

And saw him pull the trigger back

Imagine the surprise on his face when we

Still stood eye to eye

the bullet jammed in the chamber

My life handed to me on a silver

platter that day, I understand now

But for the mercy of God

I’d be dead not only broke

Lucky not to succumb to a bullet that day

I said, “Show me that dotted line

I know when it’s time to sign and give in

Because I’ll never get nothing from you

except a hard way to go

You never liked sharing anyway

so I’m glad to let you know

I’m glad to see you go

I want you to know

I’m glad you know

I don’t need you to have my own

I had my own before you were born

no - please don’t interrupt," I said

holding up my open palm,

"You misunderstand.

I said it's ok. Go with your government job

and all your big benefits.

It’s ok if you refuse to share.

I swear I don’t care.

I’ll sign it all away to you

as long as you let me go my own way.

I'll sign that dotted line,

I swear I will!

I’m not giving in to death yet –

it’s premature to date.

Please don’t make me

leave my son motherless

Hand me a pen

I’m willing ready and able to bend

I’ll sign on that dotted line

I absolve you from all your future debts to me

Please let me go by the grace of God

Thank God I’m not dead

Here I go, I got a pen in my hand

I’m ready to sign on that dotted line.”

The surprise registered in your lifted brows

as you pulled the trigger

and stared me dead in the eye

no remorse for what you planned to do

"An eye for an eye," you quoted,

"So bang you’re dead, gone in the wink

of an eye," and you winked at me.

We thought it was for one last time.

Certainly for me I thought this is the last wink I’ll ever see.

Pulled the trigger in the blink of an eye

A gleeful smile on your “no mercy for the bitch face”

A New York City minute changes life

when you saw no bullet had emerged from the chamber

no bullet came clambering through

no bullet went through me and

by the mercy of God I still stand here before thee

So let me be me and I’ll allow you to be free of me

Free from all my demands you could no longer stand

that made you be so cruel to me

Now I’m ready to sign on the dotted line as long as you’ll let me be

Yes I’m ready to sing there’s a song in my heart

Glory Hallelujah I'm so glad I survived

I'm so blessed to be alive

money ain’t mean nothing to me I’ll give it all up to stay alive

I got a song in my heart so glad to be alive