LOVE
LUST
LIFE
&
LIFT
EDUARDO JACKSON
Carmel Coast Publishing Enterprises
Love, Lust, Life & Lift
Published by Carmel Coast Publishing
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except as permitted under code 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the Author. Requests to the Author for permission should be addressed to eduardojackson1@gmail.com
ISBN 978-0-9829979-2-5
Copyright © 2010 by Eduardo Jackson. All rights reserved.
Cover Design by CCPE Graphics
Printed in the United States of America
Poetry
She Is
Let Me Be Love
The Complete You Completes Me
Introduction To Love
Love’s Prayer
Proposal
Proposal II
Atmosphere
Short Story
Xavier Brown – LOVE
S
She is
wisdom for roads not travelled, rest for the tired,
she is thread
to the unraveled, a muse for the uninspired.
She is
halo to the hollow, she's joy in jaded times,
she is honesty in
the 11th hour, she is poetry that rhymes.
She is
authenticity to the misbegotten, faithfulness to the flawed-
she
is hope for those forgotten, she is awesome to those rarely awed.
She is a
feather to the burdened, she is flight to broken wings-
she is
laughter to the hardened, she is beyond imaginings.
She is the
heartbeat of an existence, she is the footsteps of a life.
She is
the reason poetry is written. She is a love-she is...
a wife.
LET ME BE LOVE
Like the night without stars, he left
you--
A Spring without flowers, day without hours,
Winter
without December...like some dream you can't remember.
You feel
like rain will never wet you,
like your heart will never let
you,
like love has never met you.
To you I say...let me be
love.
Let me be your physician, prescribing
doses of roses
and pills of daffodils.
Let me inject you with
emotion, apply poetic potion
to cure you of the pain he gave,
to
lure you from the love you save,
to make you Mi Esposa--
Come
closa and let me be love.
Let me be your pilot, Mi
Amour.
Guiding you, gliding you on gossamer wings to galaxies
undreamed,
to solar systems where soul-mates sing symphonies of
synchronicity.
Where constellations pale in contrast to your
celestial spirit.
Where winds blow softly-I hope you can hear
it...
Let me be love.
Let me be your
philosopher--
distributing dialectic reasoning sprinkled with
Lawry's seasoning.
Things like...if you blow my mind and no one is
around to hear it,
does it truly make a sound?
My Ororo
Ashiki...do you feel me?
If so, then let me be love.
Let me
be your poet--
slinging alliteration without hesitation.
Imagery
of who we be, O-U and I, Oui, vibing
Two voluptuous vowels with no
consonants between us.
Let me take you to different worlds.
Worlds
where “We are love" and “We be love"
are both
the same vernacular.
Where love in any sentence is syntax
spectacular.
Like a Gen X Giovanni,
Like a latter day Langston…
Let me be love.
Let me be your sooth-sayer,
Your jazz player,
Your here, your there,
Your savoir-faire,
Your last prayer to God before you go to sleep at night.
Let me be…love.
THE COMPLETE YOU COMPLETES ME
Some men love the way a woman’s cooking tastes,
while some simply prefer a gorgeous face.
Some seek intellectual sweetness, some seek round the way honey.
Some seek philosophical deepness, some are just seeking money.
As for me, I have a formula and this is it
The complete you completes me... see I love all that s#*t.
I love the way you raise your right eyebrow when you’re putting me in check.
And I love the way you lower your left when I'm kissing your neck.
I love the way you laugh with your entire mouth,
and I love your goofy grin when I'm going south.
I love that romantic comedies make you weep.
I love your glow after we make love; after I’ve put you to sleep.
I love the way you dance--it’s like God’s choreographed each step,
I love that you’re always upbeat--like you own the copyright to pep.
I love that your bearing is constantly regal.
I love that your sense of humor borders on illegal.
.
I love that your integrity is uncompromising,
and I love that your mood’s jacked at the sun’s rising.
I love that you think you can sing, although you’re really shrieking.
I love that you check my pockets...yeah girl, I’ve been peeking.
I love that you root for my Wizards, but you hate my ‘Skins,
and I love that you were with me way back when I had no ends.
I love that you’re thrilled no matter how often I send roses--and I love the way you greet me at the front door in naked poses.
I love your morning coolness and our late night heat,
and I love how my spooning brings warmth to your cold ass feet.
I love the taste of your cream before my coffee in the morning.
I love the way you get an attitude, sometimes without warning,
and I really love the thing that comes next
‘Cause after the without warning attitude comes the without warning make up sex.
What you aren’t is what makes you what you are –
and YOU is all I want you to be
So, make no alternations, I want you as-is…
Because The Complete You…Completes Me
INTRODUCTION TO LOVE
You
asked. It seemed like a simple task.
He had to wait until
the perfect night.
He’d have all your love,
but
not until the time was right.
He said that you gave his life
meaning--
that you were worth your “wait” in gold
said that
if he was your king, you’d have everything
that his love would
never grow old.
He accepted, you consented,
and for three
weeks, he relented--
but on that fourth week of a bed grown
cold
That brother’s love was…Sold!
To
the highest bidder
to some other sister.
See-for him it was a
game--
for him it was Twist Her.
Right foot, Cheryl, left
foot, Sue.
One night it’s one lover, next night it’s
you.
Right hand, your loving, left hand, her sex--
tonight,
he’s your lover, tomorrow he’s your ex.
You cried--see you
thought he was the one--a wonder
a true love superman with no
cape.
You thought your love the lightning to his thunder
The
unstained window to his drape.
And then came the truth-you’d
made a blunder,
and now you sit, mouth all agape.
He’d left,
took your dimes to fund her
to be her king, to eat her grapes.
After
this, the hard pillage, your heart’s plunder,
he sought
forgiveness with kisses to your nape.
Wishing to fix what he’d
torn asunder
I’m telling you now…don’t look
back-escape!
Escape, Exhale and Examine yourself.
Escape
and wait for a sign from above.
Take that Bible off the shelf,
sit
back, pray, and wait for love.
See,
what he leftover, might be love’s cuisine.
What he slept through
might be love’s dream.
What he couldn’t heat up, what he
couldn’t get wet and sweaty,
love will entice, treat nice-just
tell love when you’re ready.
What he tried to exchange but
couldn’t arrange it,
love will take “as is”… see, love
won’t change s#*t.
What he couldn’t envision might be
love’s foresight.
What he kept getting wrong, Sweetheart, love
will get that right!
I understand it’s hard to move past the
pain.
I realize it’s so very hard to forget.
But, please come
in from the rain-and
say hello to love...I don’t think you’ve
met.
May I introduce you to love?
LOVE’S PRAYER
I
PRAYED For dark brown eyes, for silken skin and velvet thighs.
For
sista hips, for sultry sounds from wistful lips.
For stylish do’s,
for pretty toes in open shoes.
For pearly whites, for precious
days and peerless nights.
I PRAYED For long talks,
for first date flicks and weekend walks.
For flirting looks, for
reading thoughts like open books.
For holding hands, for strolling
cross warm golden sands.
For ardent strides, for equal yokes and
spirit guides.
I PRAYED For jazzy tunes, for
dancing ‘neath the cherry moons.
For evening hugs, for midnight
love on cushioned rugs.
For times when--maybe, we’d speak often
of babies.
For soulful kissing, for all the things I’ve been
missing.
I PRAYED For someone to be mahogany to my
oak--
For someone to soak in bubbles, rinsing troubles from weary
limbs.
For someone able, like battery cable, to connect with my
positive & negative traits.
For a love that can’t wait, for
my God blessed fate.
I PRAYED For someone to moon
over, swoon over, marry in June
over--
spoon over the next 50 years--but my fears?
My
fears were that love was but a fool’s search for tears--A cruel
game--A ruse
Until I found this woman whose
flava flooded my
senses with sensuality.
Whose features featured scenes from this
poet’s daydreams.
Whose walk was sensuous, stylish, synonymous
with where I’ve been--
but then…there was no spirit within
And though
sensation is what I seek,
in this nation of sista’s sleek,
sista’s fly,
it takes so much more than onions to water my
eye.
So, I PRAYED
For a sista that’s God
adoring, spirit soaring,
blessings pouring like steady faith over
solid ice.
I prayed for a woman to love forever,
I was blessed
with a woman in Christ.
PROPOSAL
I've given
it some thought, and I've made the decision,
to revisit,
reevaluate, revise my vision.
To purge my mental picture of female
perfection--
to follow
my mind's eye, and not my erection.
See, in my younger years,
I knew what I wanted--
but that was back then, before my dreams
were haunted
by the loves that got away, by those I so casually
tried,
for after years of dismissing love, I search now for a
bride.
But as I said, my priorities have changed.
I no
longer sleep around; I no longer do strange
I've given up my lust
for 36-24-38's
For what good is a brick house if the value never
appreciates?
What good are Ferragamos if her soul hasn't been
saved?
What good is a sexy walk, if her spiritual path is
unpaved?
What good is a dime piece if she hasn't a cent to her
name?
What good is good times, if love for her is but a
game?
What good is down home good cooking-
if she brings
nothing else to the table?
What good is sho nuff good looking
If
she's phony, fake, a fictitious fable?
Give me a woman blessed
with inner beauty
with strong self-esteem, with strong sense of
duty.
Give me a woman effervescent, brilliant of mind
who'll
walk with me, beside me-but never behind.
Give me a woman
whose voice conveys spirit
whose light is so bright, only good men
dare near it.
Give me a woman whose wisdom is amazing
who'll
stand with me before God as we both do some praising.
Give me a
woman
God blessed
Highly favored
Unstressed
Diverse
flavored
Tested, proven
spiritually based
Jazzy, groovin‘
with spicy
tastes.
Educated,
but still evolving.
Complicating,
but
still resolving.
Give me a
woman who'll walk with me through life
Grant me this woman and
I'll make her my wife.
PROPOSAL II
Let’s talk about business as well as pleasure
let’s
talk about a trade.
Let’s talk about how this can be a “win-win”
how
we can both have it made.
See, I’ll give you spa treatments,
you give me sunny beaches.
I’ll give you Luther and Prince, you
give me Herb and Peaches.
I’ll give you Dom Perignon, you
give me Corona with lime.
I’ll give you your space, you give me
your time.
I’ll give you Paris in spring, you give me Vegas
in summer.
I’ll give you a 4 carat ring, you let me purchase
that Hummer.
I’ll give you jazzy Sundays, you give me Hip
Hop noise.
I’ll give you girls night out…you give me Poker
with the boys.
I’ll give you the honest truth if you get
that I can’t read your mind.
You’ll chill when I’m uncouth;
when you catch me watching her behind.
I’ll understand when
you’re drooling over a Denzel smile,
and I’ll run your bubble
baths; if you watch a game-once in a while.
So I’m kneeling
now; and here’s the gist of this trade:
You give my world
sunshine; I’ll give your world shade.
I’ll give you hot
love, you give me a cool life--
I’ll give you the stars above –
if you would be my wife.
ATMOSPHERE
Maxwell playing, saying “Fortunate things”
Main course-lobster, desert-tiramisu.
Taste of citrus fruit while vacationing,
Fragrances of early morning dew.
Champagne from the finest crystal.
Midday skies of the brightest blues.
Temperatures of perfected warmth--
symphonies of your eclectic coos.
Sunsets of blended colors
of vivacious, vibrant, vivid hues.
Perfect night of peace and harmony.
Realization of my constant woos.
King size beds - Egyptian cotton sheets.
Terry cloth robes made for two.
Oceans waves waving only at us.
This is my atmosphere when I’m near you.
Xavier Brown - LOVE
The first move was the cross-over. First dude’s ankles were broken. The second move was the stutter step. Clown number two was a distant memory. The third move though, that was the poster. I still don’t remember number 31’s name-only that he had height -but not as much as he needed. My 42-inch vertical leap out did his wingspan and, SLAM, the place erupted. Maryland State 78 – East-West University 76. I had just won the league championship. Next stop, the pros.
My teammates kept telling me I needed to work on my point guard game, but I didn’t listen. Why should I? I already had skills like the old Iverson - the one with the braids. I didn’t have his hair or his penchant for tattoos, (my body was cut, clean, and I sported a bald cut that made some sisters think of Taye Diggs when they saw me) but I could do everything Iverson could do. I wasn’t a point, but I could dish. I could shoot the 3, I could score off the dribble, I could create my own shot and I could dunk. Oh, how I could dunk. I was the league dunk-contest champion for three years running. All that, and my solid citizen attitude; I should have made it to the pros. I would have too--if it wasn’t for that scout. Hating. That’s what it was—hating. He made a big deal out of nothing, but the NBA listened. So, no NBA. Instead, I spent seven years playing ball overseas; France, Italy, Egypt and finally, Greece. I spent most of the time in Athens, which I loved, but a knee injury robbed my career of its longevity. By the time I was thirty, I figured it was time to go home-back to the good old US of A.
It didn’t take long for me to catch on with an NBA team as a coach. Although I played overseas, I had some fans in NBA coaching circles. The Washington SeaDogs, the NBA’s team in DC, needed an assistant coach, especially one who could teach their franchise player how to shoot foul shots. The first year, the team’s record improved from 32-50 to 49-33, and “Franchise” improved his overall foul shooting percentage from 65% to 85%. On top of that, he had five games where his last second FT’s were game winners. Folks became bigger fans of “Franchise”, but the coaches, the owner and even “Franchise” himself became bigger fans of me. So, there I was in the summer of ’05, 31 years old, making 200K and living in a gated community in Prince Georges County. I was single, but I was living with a young lady, Candria Moore. I’d like to say she was the one, but she wasn’t. The fact that so many beautiful women surrounded the team made it hard to settle, but I tried. As an only child of older parents, not a week went by without Mom trying to guilt me into marriage. She liked Candria, but when I finally convinced her that Candria wasn’t the one, Mom talked her into understanding why we couldn’t be together. I told Mom it was Candria’s unwillingness to have children right away. That wasn’t completely true-Candria wanted children before she turned 30 and she was 28. I wanted children before I turned 40, so I had ten years to go. No, the problem with Candria was her nose. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Too pointy? Nostrils too big? I don’t know. I just wasn’t feeling it.
After Candria, Mom was convinced that I needed to meet someone special. She kept trying to turn me on to her co-worker’s daughter. She said she was exactly what I needed. I told Mom that I could find my own way. That, unfortunately, was also not true. On my way to finding my way, I met Shanetra. She was pretty, fine really, but at times it seemed like every tenth word was a curse word. I wasn’t feeling that.
Afterward, I met Hollee. She was even more attractive than Shanetra, but her ears just seemed so big. I tried not to notice at first, but they seemed to grow when I looked at them. It wasn’t working for me.
Suddenly, the flood gates opened, and I found fault with every woman I dated:
• Lisha--short toes
• Amanda--toes too long
• Wrenna--no makeup
• Jenna--too much makeup
And then I met Isabelle…..
***************
The first thing I heard was the music. “Vivrant Thing” by Q-Tip flooded my inner ears as she opened the door of her 2009 Dodge Charger. The next thing I saw were those legs…so long, I wondered how they fit in the car. Now, given that she was rolling in a jet black new-school muscle car, I halfway expected the legs to be the bottom half of a tattooed upper torso. Instead, I saw Isabelle Frontstreet. She was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen. Tall, about 5’8”, slender with a golden dimpled complexion. Her hair was just right, and she had style. She was wearing a form fitting black designer suit that made her look like an angel going to court. She made me think of how Sanaa Lathan and Gabrielle Union would look if they were one person. Fine. Over the last ten years, I’d seen everything that the greatest cities of Europe had to offer, and I had never seen anyone so attractive. An inch more in height and she would easily have been a supermodel. I quickly made her acquaintance and asked her out. I told her that if “her personality was as beautiful as the rest of her” I had to get to know her. She smiled and introduced herself. She was the new attorney for the Sea Dogs. I knew that I would see more of her, literally and figuratively.
Two months and six dates later, I was in love. I guess that’s why I never saw it coming. Isabelle invited me over to her townhouse. Her voice sounded melancholy over the phone, so I had no idea what was wrong. I was worried. In previous relationships, I never really gave too much thought to any feelings but my own, but when Isabelle seemed concerned about something, I was concerned about it too.
“Come in,” she said, as she opened her front door.
“Hi,” I said, reaching out for the hug and kiss that had become our custom.
“Please sit down,” she responded. Her hug had been half-hearted; her kiss near non-existent, so I knew something was wrong. “There’s no easy way to say this,” she continued, “so here goes.” She paused.
“Say it,” I said.
“I don’t think this is going to work.”
“What’s not going to work?” I asked, not wanting answers.
“Us, Xavier. We’re not going to work.”
“But why?”
“Xavier, I think you’re handsome, smart, outgoing…all the things a woman would want in a man, but you’re not my type”.
“If I’m all that, why am I not your type?” I asked. What was wrong with me?
“Xavier…”
“What?”
“Xavier. I”
“What? Say it. Please. Maybe I can fix it.”
“No-you can’t fix it. Not this.”
“What is it?”
“Xavier. I like my men to be…taller.”
There. She had said it--taller. I hadn’t thought about myself being short since that NBA scout during my senior year. Yes, I wasn’t tall. At 5’7”, I had the hops to dunk it, but I wasn’t tall enough for the NBA, and I wasn’t tall enough for Isabelle.
I went home that night and wondered about all the women I’d turned away because of small things like hairstyles and toe lengths. It took me a while, but I found a woman that I love very much. We’re about to be married. It’s been two years since Isabelle, and while I’m still 5’7”, I’d like to think I’ve grown.
Moral
What you want may not want you.
Poetry
Waiting
Wet
Wild
Queue The Love
What We Want
Signs
Polite Seduction
Played Your Eyes (Plagiarize)
Short Story
Victor Royce - LUST
WAITING
I've been
here before, so I know what this is.
This is where you start
holding back till you're my Mrs.
This is
where I bargain with you to let me put this in.
This is where you
counter offer, with multiple kissin‘.
This is where I play
old school flow to get you groovin‘.
This is where my love says
"hello" and tries to move in.
This is where I pull
out all the stops to seduce you.
Petals on your bed, romance in
your head, you're 'bout to call a truce, boo.
But then, this
is where you tell me...if I love you I can last.
This is where I
say "but I got needs that I can't get past."
This is
where you break it down and give me an ultimatum.
This is where I
wonder who hurt you, and I start to hate him.
This is where I
turn to leave, and you tell me you love me.
This is where I pray
for strength to the God above me.
I've been here before - and
each time, I've run for the gate.
But those times weren't love
-this time is love.
This time, I'll wait.
WET