Love.Speak.Easy. Read online

  Love. Speak. Easy.

  Love. Speak. Easy.

  By: Jennifer NeToi

  Ellison Press & Media

  All Rights Reserved © 2014

  Cover art by Brenda Claiborne.

  The illustration was done in acrylic on canvas.

  The cover was photographed and designed by Kristin Stith.

  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, or otherwise, without written permission in writing from the author.

  Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer-NeToi Claiborne

  All rights reserved. Published by Ellison Press & Media

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Ellison Press & Media

  Silver Spring, MD

  ISBN - 13: 978-1505290479

  ISBN – 10: 1505290473

  Ellison Press & Media are trademarksregistered trademarks of Jennifer Unlimited, LLC.

  To Ellison

  The sun rises and sets by you

  “Love does not begin and end the way

  we seem to think it does. Love is a battle.

  Love is a war; love is growing up.”- James Baldwin

  Definitively

  Love is defined as an intense feeling of deep affection (n)

  Speak is to say something in order to convey information, opinion, or a feeling (v)

  Easy: an adjective

  It means achieved without great effort or presenting few difficulties (of a period of time or way of life) free from worries or problems. It can also be used as an exclamation—meaning, be careful.

  speak·eas·y: (during Prohibition) an illicit liquor store or nightclub.

  Before my daughter

  I am part of this curious place filled with strange spirits, young, old, and in between. I am an odd soul in this menagerie. For a moment, I felt broken and some days I still feel incomplete. Maybe it was the loss of my father’s presence that created this, or the need to be independent of my mother, or maybe it was the love of my life whose indecisive nature made me feel cracked. In any case, I am/was an urban nomad. There are parts of me that are real, and I feel them. There are other parts of me that are undiscovered, that peek out in moments of crushing inhumanity or sincere human kindness.

  This journey called life is a winding path, and there are no right paths or wrong paths, for they are all man-made, and therefore imperfect. There are some paths, roads, which make the journey more difficult, the destination further away. We must always remember that as we travel, the only certainty is death, so when life comes we must celebrate. It is the only thing that truly keeps us human—celebration of the beauty of the human spirit. I have a walked a long path that seems like it is far from home, and there are days where I feel I will never return to the shores of who I was or even days where I remember who I wanted to be. Am I her?

  Is all wandering, aimless?

  Within us all is the will to do good things and bad things, and within our human societies those decisions can depend on so many variables. The ultimate questions are:

  Will I make this journey better for someone else?

  Will I only care about how well this journey can be for myself?

  There is a delicate balance that must be developed and nurtured.

  Love

  How a Good Southern Christian Woman Mourns her Late Husband

  Daisy Tillman had never argued with her mother. This was something she bragged about all sixty-five years of her life. She was a firm believer in the honor your mother and father for this is right in the Lord commandment and all of the other commandments. There was a Bible in every important drawer of her home: the bedroom nightstand, the kitchen, and in the dining room. The second row at church was named after her, a seat that she had held for her entire adult life. The sparkling gold pew embellishment read: Sis. Daisy Tillman, Missionary & Religious Educator. Yes, it was fair to say that Daisy Tillman was well respected. She was God-fearing. She was often revered for having been married for forty-five years to the same man, a virgin-bride, and gave him eight children (6 boys and 2 girls). Her daddy’s pride and joy she was. A schoolteacher for many years, and in her retirement she often volunteered by reading to the little ones and helping the librarian. A good, solid, and industrious woman, Daisy Tillman was described by her fellow church members, neighbors, and people in her community.

  Brother Thomas Tillman was good looking and hard working, nothing more and nothing less. He rarely shared the pew with his wife, but Daisy decided to leave that in the Lord’s hands as she did most things. Big T they called him for many reasons known and unknown. He loved his cognac, the ladies, and his Cadillac. Yes, he loved his family as well—nothing could hold a candle to how he felt about Daisy, his pride and joy.

  Thomas and Daisy Tillman were a good couple, to be envied, and were by some, not all though.

  When Thomas took ill from lung cancer and other ailments one gets from a lifetime of drinking, smoking, and loose women, Mrs. Daisy was there, in the hospital every day. Brought him home when the doctor (his oldest son) said that there was nothing else they could do for him. Read to him every day. Made sure his affairs were in order. He passed on a Saturday night, right after reading the Lord’s Prayer.

  Yet, when Brother Tillman passed away, Mrs. Daisy broke her sixty-five year streak of no arguing with her mother. It was a curious, mysterious thing. It was indeed a shock to the community that there was not going to be a funeral, only a closed memorial service. Strange to say the least, it wasn’t money, cause his plot had been paid for. But now that would be of no consequence. He was cremated, and according to Grandma Josephine (matriarch and mother to Mrs. Daisy) “burnt up butt naked.” A true disgrace to the good Lord and her family proclaimed Grandma Josephine, and stood a true puzzle to her family…Yet and still, his ashes were placed in a beautiful, yet small urn on top of Daisy Tillman’s mantle. When asked by her daughter as to why cremation instead of a burial, she simply replied, “I’d like to see his damn whores come and visit him now.”

  To Someone I Loved Dearly

  Would you believe me if I told you I loved you?

  I can’t believe it myself sometimes

  The rhythmic rhymes of our loving times

  Is so sublime, it makes me blind

  And I can’t see myself

  So I look for the wrong in you

  So your light won’t shine as bright

  And I won’t have to fight

  So hard to keep you away

  Don’t listen to the things I say

  I say them because

  I don’t want to say

  I’m afraid

  I might end up saying

  How much I truly Love you

  And never find my way back

  Most times my mind is crowded

  With my own poster of myself

  But when I hear your voice it all crumbles down

  And I feel FREE, and that scares me

  All this liberty you bring to me

  Letting me be myself

  Taking me off that shelf

  But now that I’m here

  With you

  I don’t know what to do

  I’m swimming in uncharted water

  And I’m screaming to the top of my lungs

  SAVE ME

  But I just won’t get on the lifeboat

  You

  When I think of you

  I find myself on hillsides

  Covered in wild flowers

  Deep and rich and southern

  Just like you

  I feel us dancing soul to soul

  To old warm love songs

  Melodiously humming sweet and tende
r

  I feel like loving you

  Even in my sleep

  As slumberous comfort romances me

  I dream of breathing harmoniously with you

  You are essentially my sunrise

  Over southern hills

  And southern mountains

  You are the glow on petrified rock, centuries old

  When I think of you I breathe in your passion

  It revives me….I am soothed

  If they’re ever was a truth

  In love, it was your presence

  That sparked my fire

  An inferno burning, spreading

  Contagiously over my being

  When I think of you

  My faith is renewed

  Chivalry is not dead

  I am reborn and reminded

  Of my ability to submit

  To your manhood

  I am in love with you

  And I relish in your presence

  You are the beginning of days

  The center of my thoughts

  The spirit of my love

  And the force of my soul

  Brother, when I think of you

  I think and think and think

  Him

  Yesterday, I looked in the mirror

  And I saw his ghost, lingering behind me

  I tried to rest

  But, I could not sleep

  He crawled into bed with me

  I turned over to hold onto him

  Yet, he disappeared

  He would allow me to touch him

  If I could say . . . . .

  He snatches my breath and

  I cannot breathe

  I can only pray this haunting will end

  He haunts

  But he will not possess me

  Bedside

  We are back in bed

  Again

  Body to body

  Meeting up

  Sneaking

  Laying…standing

  Backing it up

  Back in bed

  Again

  A Real Duvet

  I sleep better

  After the right fight

  I cannot be so

  Haunted by ghosts

  Of gone affection

  I breathe a little more deeply

  With the weight of want

  Removed from my chest

  I sleep better

  Now that I have spoken the words

  Long harbored in my better days

  I can sleep now

  Rest now

  Push nightmares away with slumber

  Too busy to scare me now

  I sleep now

  One day, each day, peacefully

  Thinking

  I am thinking hard

  About us, you, about me

  Thinking, just thinking

  Text Msg #1

  Here I am out of

  Place, out of sorts, out of sense

  Not in sync with life

  Text Msg #2

  Sitting at sermon time

  I listen to every word

  Praying to my God for a sign

  Kisses

  A kiss is sweetness

  Poured over slow churned poison

  Hot delectable

  Sheets

  Between the hot sheets

  We find ourselves loving hard

  Feeling overcome

  K (a private message)

  you are my love

  inside my thoughts

  I hide you

  K #2

  He is in my head

  I want him in my bed

  I want to hear him breathing

  Close to me

  I hear him in my head

  I want him in my bed

  His Spot

  I cannot lie in his spot

  It’s wrong

  I mean, it is his spot

  In it or not

  I cannot lay where he lays

  It is just wrong

  Because it is inside of his arms

  See, that is where I belong

  I love this man

  This is his spot

  This is our bed, like it or not

  He is my love, this is his spot

  No temps or replacement

  Or love out of love chasing

  No worldly evils to taint it

  His spot is nearly sainted

  This is his

  Spot.

  Help

  Someone call a doctor

  Because I think I’m going to die

  My heart is aching, I know it’s breaking

  And there’s something burning in my eyes

  Someone call a doctor

  Cause I won’t make it through the night

  My soul is tearing, my mouth is swearing

  And I won’t win the fight

  Someone call a doctor

  Cause there’s turmoil in my mind

  My thoughts are racing and pain’s erasing

  Everything that used to shine

  Someone call a doctor

  There’s something lumped inside my throat

  I can hardly speak, my eyes they weep

  And I think I’m going to choke

  Someone call a doctor

  Cause this breath will be my last

  I’ve given up and given in

  Cause love don’t seem to last

  Re-GROUP

  If I dream of you

  Would I be wrong?

  Ever since you left

  I’ve felt so all alone

  There just went a love song

  Friends. Money. Fast times.

  Nothing, nothing can take you off my mind

  I can’t perceive the thought

  Or even the notion

  That you won’t second my emotion

  Um… another love song

  You’ll never be my saint

  I cannot be your sinner

  It seems in this game

  No one comes out a winner

  I step back from you

  Keep you arm’s length

  I run back to you

  My heart has no strength

  Luring me in with pleasant kisses

  And past reminisces

  If I could let go, would I be right?

  My mind in pain

  My body I fight

  Let me have some peace

  Some small piece

  Of

  You

  Waiting

  I am waiting for you

  Long. Endless.

  I am waiting

  I am anticipating

  And my faith is slowly fading

  I am waiting for you

  I am concentrating

  And participating

  In the tedious waiting

  Believe me, it’s not elating

  In this task that’s so frustrating

  I am waiting, for you

  In my mind

  My thoughts are stalling

  Wondering why you are not calling

  Still can’t help myself from falling

  It’s so demeaning and appalling

  That my body needs some mating

  So I’m still sitting here

  Waiting

  Haiku for you or me rather

  You said you would stop

  You love her. You love me not.

  Tangled, twisted, plot

  Small Poem

  No more of me for free

  No more love for rent or lease

  No more break ups, shake-ups

  No more us

  At best he was my ending

  To a twisted, tattered tale

  His eyes so deep and dark

  How do you stop breathing air?

  You can’t

  Like loving a man

  Like loving this man

  Who swims through my veins?

  I love him

  I love him

  I love him

  Can I Get a Heartbeat?r />
  A heart is an amazing thing

  It beats rhythmically

  For a thousands different reason

  To keep us living

  To keep us loving

  So special, so sacred, so fragile

  Our life force, our love force

  A heart remembers love

  Like our faces remember warm sunshine

  And our eyes remember daylight

  A heart remembers beauty

  Like our mother’s perfectly made hands

  Perfect because she loved us with those hands

  A heart remembers sadness

  Like our skin remembers the warm salty raindrops

  That visit upon our cheeks

  Our heart knows

  Our heart feels

  Our hearts remember love

  A Fancy

  He is my heart’s fancy

  My love’s own love

  My dream without sleeping

  My inner most keeping

  And everything that is

  And everything that was

  Only exists because

  He is my love

  I carry him dearly and completely

  He drives my living

  And he can do no wrong that cannot be

  Forgiven

  The Absence of Affection

  No kisses. No hugs. No love.