Wrapped up in Life with Omniscient Eyes
Sandra Proto
Smashwords Edition.
Copyright 2011 Sandra Proto
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CONTENTS
Blackberry Beauty
Compositions
My Strength
Poetic Rhythms
The Poet
The Storyteller
She was adorned
Haiku #1
Blessed Kiss
Nocturnal Creatures
To a Potential Lover
The Kissing Game
Haiku #2
Cuddle Buddies (for my husband Robert)
Secret Lover
My Man
Why do I feel?
when in love
Wasted Love: The Question
Wasted Love: The Answer
Could it have been love?
If I Apologize
The Dismissal
Meditation
You know it’s over
Losing the spirit
Our Last Night (In memory of my sister Alberta)
My Left Ovary
To My Daughters
under the sand’s surface
Where have all my people gone?
White-eyed Monster
Fatherless Children
Lonely Child
Possessions
We must fight
Words
Gay Pride: The Men (In memory of John “Ms. Rae” Alexander)
Gay Pride: The Women
To a Rapist from His Victim
Corporate America
Omniscient Eyes
Light
Childhood (for Lorena)
Oh, what a memory I have of you (In memory of my father)
Brown young bodies (naked from the waist up)
Knowing You (In memory of my grandmothers)
The Woman with Coils (for my mother)
Lady on a Lawka (In memory of Camilla)
Friendship
Apryl’s Song
The Airbrush Artist (for Tone One)
Haiku #3
The Music Man (for my brother James)
Ray’s Rhapsody (for Ray Charles)
August 22, 2004: A Sunday Afternoon
They Came to the Park (A Salute to the Function at the Junction)
Observations
As the cool air blows,
And the waves rush to the shore like a relay race,
The sand is calm and untouched like me,
I am at peace with myself, for now,
But, soon the wind will blow harder,
And the waves will be at the finish line,
The sand will arise like a tornado,
Bringing everything with it,
And so I am embodied in the sand,
Wrapped up in the tiny grains of life.
Blackberry Beauty
She has very dark skin.
Some say like a blackberry.
When she enters a room,
All eyes are locked on this intriguing figure.
She walks in her own little grace,
Her head carefully lowered at the floor,
Her steps as delicate and graceful as a swan.
When she speaks,
Her voice is a whisper like a quiet storm.
All eyes fall on this blackberry beauty.
Not because she is beautiful.
Some say, “She is ugly because she is way too dark.”
Others say, “She is pretty but too dark.”
Blackberry Beauty is scorned.
She is two-tones too dark.
But if she was three-tones too light,
Some would say, “She is ugly because she is a wanna be.”
Others would say, “She is pretty but too light.”
Blackberry Beauty is torn.
She doesn’t know if she is ugly or pretty.
She doesn’t know if her very dark skin is the cause of her ugliness
or if she is just plain ugly.
Blackberry Beauty has all eyes on her.
She slowly raises her head and smiles at the onlookers.
Her walk is still graceful and delicate.
Her voice is still a whisper.
She says, “I am the beautiful Blackberry. I was made to be way too dark because I am ripe. My beauty comes from my blackberry skin and your ugliness comes from your unripe ones.”
Compositions
I, by myself, compose a song inside my room.
The song has the beat and rhythm of my soul.
All the notes and rests are artistically arranged.
The music is subtle and filled with chaos.
With the soft brass sound of the trumpet,
And the easiness of the saxophone,
The xylophone sneaks in with its whispering suggestions.
I, by myself compose this song because it’s different.
It has the immortality of classical,
Sassiness of jazz,
Earthiness of the blues,
And a little inspiration of gospel.
I, by myself, compose this song, by myself,
Because no one can compose this song better than I.
My Strength
My Strength comes from my tears of joy
When I see your smiling face
My Strength comes from my tears of pain
When I look into the twinkle of your eyes
My strength comes from my understanding voice
When I soothe you with my sensitive words
My strength comes from my delicate magical heart
When it breaks, on its own it seems to mend
My Strength comes from my naiveness
Like a child I have unspoken innocence
My Strength comes from my stubbornness
When I’m right, I’m right
My Strength comes from my loneliness
When I sit and write this poem
My Strength comes from my poems
They keep me warm and tell me to go on
Poetic Rhythms
Like a dancer’s body floating
through the syncopation sounds:
My poetry floats
through my mind
composing poe-ographic movements
with its smooth words
and universal flair.
My poetry takes me to a serene place,
calming my sometimes unsettled mind.
My poetry then travels down my body,
looking for the scattered notes,
so that it can construct harmonific measures
that shoot from my fingertips
to my pen,
creating poetic rhythms for my notepad.
The Poet
I haven’t written in a while
I was too busy trying to please others
That I forgot how to smile
I was too busy doubting myself
With the negative people, places,
And thoughts
All in which surrounded me
And tried to suffocate my voice
But now I’m back
With my voice intact
And like Lorraine Hansberry