Affirmations: and Other Poems
by
Cherrie P Lynn
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Cherrie P Lynn
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Table of Contents
Preface
sisters in Love
I Confess
Whoever
All of the Above
Longing
Honeymoon
together
Baby Shoes
Sisters in Church on Sunday Morning
Motherlove (for Elizabeth)
A Gathering in the Field
Struttin’
affirmations
Affirmations
One Woman’s Legacy
Who Am I?
Momma, is…
herstory
Harlem Renaissance Time
Poem (for Zora Neale Hurston)
Princess Tam Tam
JO (Woman-Child)
Tell Me About This Woman
To the Black Man
travelin’ shoes
When I Paint my Dream Caribbean
I Want
times in which we live
The Times
Wanderer
Little Girls Should Always Love
their Mommas…
Dellarae
Preface
As women, we rarely get the opportunity to slow down; to stop and focus in on our own needs and wants. Most of us spend our time doing for others for most of our lives. Not that we mind. But often, along with this selfless lifestyle, comes the difficulty of retaining our personal identities, of holding on to who we are or are destined to be. God says in his Word that He formed us in our mothers’ wombs (Isaiah 44:2), and that He foreknew and predestined our existence (Romans 8:29-30). Now, it is merely our responsibility to seek out this destiny and fulfill it.
Though different in scope, most women want the same things in life. We want to be loved right, we want our needs met, our desires fulfilled, and we want to be told the truth. It’s really very simple; we want to be loved and respected for who we are. However, this becomes an impossible task if we ourselves are unsure of our own true identities.
This book of poems encompasses the experiences we face on our journeys to our destinies. We will encounter opposition along the way—doubt, fear, and discouragement—many times from those we love and from those who love us. At times, we will want to throw up our hands, to give up completely. The simple task of living day to day might almost destroy us. Well-meaning advisors will cause us to get off course. Others will try to crush our dreams. When this happens, we must remember an important fact on our way to greatness. No matter how well meaning the advice, if the advice givers are unable to catch the vision God has placed in you, they simply cannot see you accomplishing the goal.
I hope that this little book of affirmations and experiences will enable you, the reader, to live outside of society’s box, and to gain the knowledge needed to fulfill the destiny that is before you. May the wisdom of God the Father, through His Son, Jesus Christ, guide your journey to your true identity.
Cherrie P Lynn
sisters in Love
I Confess
I confess…
I want a man who’ll love me
so much that
he’ll love me for what I am and
what I’m not won’t interest him.
When I’m dripping wet with sweat,
he’ll think it quite appropriate.
He won’t try to change me—too much,
won’t think me not enough of this
or too much of that, and
I’ll extend the same courtesy.
When he gets angry with me
the fact that he’s so in love with me
will make him angrier still, but
he won’t be able to help it,
he’ll love me, even if it’s against his will
(but I’m sure it won’t be).
He’ll steal the covers just to coax me
to his side of the bed and sometimes,
I’ll be the only cover he needs.
He’ll awaken me in the morning
with a nibble of my ear, or a
tickle on my neck, or some such
drippy lovey dovey nonsensical
show of his heart, which will be
fine with me. And then he’ll show
a real interest in my interests and those things
that make me tick—my artistry, he’ll rave
about my creativity. He’ll even brag about
me to his friends and family…probably
to strangers too,
you see…
he’ll love the way that I walk, admire the way that I
talk, melt at the way that I smile, and whatever
I happen to do at the time will capture him, is
sure to mesmerize. He’ll know when I need time to
myself and when I need him to be all over me, he’ll
tell me how good I feel next to him and how soft
I am to touch. His knees will weaken whenever
he thinks of me, and I’m sure I’ll return the courtesy
when he calls me on the phone in a rush
just to hear my voice,
and we’ll spend the rest of our lives growing old
with each other’s idiosyncrasies. He’ll be able
say ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ with ease, because
he’ll mean it, and so will I when I reciprocate.
And on those times when he gets on my one nerve
and I on his, I may want to strangle him temporarily, and
he, me, but that will be just fine, no really
because we’ll love each other and I’ll do things for him,
he’ll do things for me and we’ll make our own
traditions for all our anniversaries, and I’ll confess my
deepest secrets and we’ll pool our dreams and tie them
together as we combine our destinies forever…
and that will be just fine.
Whoever
Is there to be
NO RELIEF?
Am I to
EXPLODE—
for lack of his
TOUCH?
WHOEVER HE IS?
WHOMEVER HE MAY BE?
(Where IS HE?)
All of the Above
Isn’t it grand
just to hold his hand?
Isn’t it bliss
to receive his kiss?
Almost too much
just to feel his touch?
Isn’t it a charm
to be in his arms?
Passionate fire
to be his desire?
All of the above
when you’re truly in love?
Longing
Enduring the inevitable loss of your
presence. In your absence,
the inability to touch. The linking
of our souls, hearts in the distance of space,
so empty…needing
your embrace unable to feel,
touch, hold
you
holding me.
Honeymoon
We spent our honeymoon in
South America. “Brazil is a beautiful
place,” you said, “we’ll be with the
beautiful people,” but I couldn’t help
thinking you just wanted to see
topless women in thongs.
So, we spent our honeymoon in
South America. Brazil really was a beautiful
place, just as you said, and the women,
topless, wearing thongs…and I couldn’t help
thinking, must be in the water…
We did all the things that newlyweds do
on our South American honeymoon; we
walked along the white sands of
Copacabana Beach, we
shopped in trendy boutiques, we
ate rice and beans and made
newlywed love under the stars.
One day I felt queasy, before
blacking out, I remember, must’ve
been something I ate, you said. When
I came to, you were lying next to me
in our King-sized honeymoon bed, I was
somehow surprised to see you there—
your chest, rising and falling in my
peripheral vision, the soft, rhythmic
purr of your breathing—on our
honeymoon, always…it seemed
I was seeing you out of the
corners of my eyes.
together
Baby Shoes
okay. so
this guy walks up to me an’ my girl-homey while we coolin’ it on the steps at her house an’ he sees her little girl is coolin’ it on the grass an’ he’s got this little bag with him an’ then hey says “hey miss, what size shoe yo’ baby wear?” real quick and whispery like so my girl-homey says “size 8” an’ he says “i got some gym shoes for little girl feet/only costya 5 dollus” an’ my girl-homey says “i just bought her a pair” an’ then he says “3 dollus” an’ my girl-homey says “sorry brother/things is kinda tight money-wise” an’ so after my girl-homey says that he looks real sad in the face an’ turns an’ walks away mumblin’ somethin’ under his breath that sounds like it coulda been “thanks anyway” an’ after that we just sorta looks at each other an’ after that we 3 just goddup an’ went in the house to watch TV.
Sisters in Church on Sunday Morning
Songs of Amen
and Hallelujah! rise up
above glorious bouquets of
flowers and feathers,
beads and bows…
Delicate fibers dipped in liquid
crayola, every color of the spectrum
atop the heads of Praise
Givers in all their crowning
glory
Rows and rows of Praise
the Lord and
Thank you Jesus! rise up above
colorful bouquets crowning the
heads of Sisters…
in church on Sunday morning.
MOTHERLOVE (For Elizabeth)
You sent whispers of
Motherlove
to the womb…
to cushion my journey…
Upon my arrival…flames of fierce
Motherprotection
insulate me from the elements of harm,
engulf me in the cradle of
Motherarms…
to cushion my journey…
Loving me always through good and bad
child unlovable times.
It seemed too much for any one
girlchild
to carry on her shoulders…
to cushion my journey…
You dismissed the expectations
of others, told them that I was Yours. Your
Mothermedicine
healed my sickness in the night,
comforted me in chairs,
waiting in doctors’ offices, afraid
of needles, wiped my tears
with lollipops,
hamburgers, French fries and milkshakes…
to cushion my journey…
Motherwinds
of wisdom lifted me to the sky where
the sun awaited to light my path
through life,
and when the light went out,
You were there waiting,
beacon in hand…
to cushion my journey…
With
Motheranticipation,
a never ending craving
for knowledge and life, even
Cancer demon cells could not impede. With
Daughterlove,
I take you on my journey…
Now…
Our journey begins again. Together
at the helm, we visit new worlds,
taste new treats, live new lives, as
friend and mentor
MothertoDaughtertoMother…
And I am swept up
in waves of fleeting joy,
a selfish need to float
serenely upon a
Mothersea
forever…
to cushion my journey.
A GATHERING IN THE FIELD
There was a gathering in the field of Sisters,
sitting around a grand table sipping tea,
exchanging words like diamonds on their tongues,
writing their very essence on the wind
like so much brilliance…
And the stars came down from Heaven and listened—
as these Sisters gathered in the field
weaving tales of woman’s love for family and kinship,
spreading their wings in flight through HERstory times,
back to Great-Grams who gave them Queenly Beauty,
dipped in sun-ripened plum juice,
poured in finest crystal,
shimmering reflections in golden rivers
of spiritual revelations like so much Africa Blood
pumping life through the veins of the Nile,
giving birth to her future generations
of Ebony, Bronze, and Topaz daughters
gathered in the field…
as the stars came down from Heaven, listened,
and later…whispered all they’d heard
to the WORLD.
STRUTTIN’
We strutted, me and my
Girls
Up and down Julian St.
From Prairie to
Livernois
in unison
on hot summer days
of fun and no school.
Neighbors on front porches,
takin’ in the scenery,
seein’ us strut our stuff,
shakin’ their heads and
askin’ us “Who are you
supposed to be?”
“We’re the Julian Street Gang”
we said,
young almost wimmin,
showin’ our legs,
head bandin’, cornrowin’, afro tossin’, and
dirty gym shoein’
up and down and around
our Julian St.
domain…
While the fellas walked
behind, beside, around, and
in front yellin’ “Hey baby!”
and talkin’ stuff of
young, boy-men dreams.
We weren’t impressed outside,
but
inside was a different story…
where the giggles and the
flutters of the
butterflies played our
heart strings to the
beat of Sly and the Family, and the
Funkadelic tone, while
Marvin “Heard it through the Grapevine”
that we were “Signed, Sealed, and Delivered”
by Stevie Wonder-ful, and of course, that
made us fell
Supreme…
So
We strutted our stuff
up and down and around
our neighborhood…
The Julian Street Gang,
the rainbow girl-wimmin’
coalition, friends forever
sittin’ on the steps,
surveyin’ our kingdom
in our early
Queendom…
Singin’ sweet harmonies to
musical mentors
whose sounds caress
the bodies, playin’ tunes to
strut by,
singin’ soulful lullabies,
while we dance in
our dreams and
plot out our schemes
for another day of
Struttin’.
affirmations
Affirmations
Before you…
I WAS
In spite of you
I AM
Just to ignite you…
I WILL
With or without you…
I CAN
Forget about you…
I MUST
because
Before you…
I WAS
One Woman’s Legacy
doings speakings
emotions thinkings
ideas ideals
images impressions
that rip and run and scream and shout
awakening the consciousness of
future people…
blazing engraving
in their hearts on their minds
wishes dreams
concepts schemes
that intrigue and insight revolution and evolution
reawakening the consciousness of
future people.
Who Am I?
Though I may defy all
of what you’ve been taught
by the Runways and
Magazines to think of as
beautiful,
Beautiful is what I am.
Look closely.
My wisdom will astound you,
for I know all of what
we were, could be, should be,
what we are, can and
will be.
Listen.
I am your
Grandmother, your Mother,
your Daughter, your Sister, your
Aunt, and your Niece.
And they are me.
I am the essence
of our existence, I am
our past, our present,
and our future. I am
worldly—Africa, America,
Europe, the Caribbean.
I come from
Everywhere.
Who am I?
I am
a
Black Woman.
Discover me.
Momma, is…
“Momma, is
black still beautiful?”
she asked. Little Nubian Princess
with big brown eyes that shine with
brightness of African Sun and
plum skin aglow, bathed in luminous
Egyptian Moon Beams…
her crown, a mess of coal
coarse ringlets, stubborn against
the pulling, tugging, pressing, twisting
of acceptability; her legs glistening
(like) golden light reflections along
the River Nile—through layers of
petroleum jelly…
and I answered,
“Yes, never ceased to be so.”
and my heart swelled inside me, big
rushing flood rivers overflowing my
soul…and I looked in her face and saw
the confusion of contradiction/perplexing/
contemplation/of what is said/ and what
is meant…
but then…
she smiled, nodded her belief
and my swelling heart calmed in
relief while trickling waters of
sadness still remained, knowing that,
before long, she’d have to
ask again.
Herstory
Harlem Renaissance Time