Morphological Confetti

I want to write I want to write I want to write the songs of my people. I want to hear them singing melodies in the dark. I want to catch the last floating strains from their sob-torn Throats. I want to frame their dreams into words; their souls into Notes. I want to catch their sunshine laughter in a bowl; Fling dark hands to a darker sky And fill them full of stars Then crush and mix such lights till they become A mirrored pool of brilliance in the dawn. By: Margaret Abigail Walker Alexander (1915-1998) It was a beautiful spring day in 1989 on the campus of Savannah State College in Savannah, Georgia. I was an enthusiastic 22-year-old freshman. My major was English with a minor in parties and freshman girls (Yeah, I was something else back then). I was strolling the yard one fine day in April when I noticed a small crowd gathering outside of the Fine Arts Building. The program had just started and the host of the event introduced a poet and a novelist by the name of Margaret Walker....

I hope that everyone had a great holiday. We still have the New Year to celebrate and I can't wait! I just wanted to reiterate what I am trying to do with this blog. I enjoy writing. I enjoy expressing my thoughts or just practicing the art of putting words together. It is my own attempt at art. Now, everyone is not going to agree with what I say in my writing or how I express myself writing and that is fine. I see objectionable material on blogs all the time and I either check it out and write my opinion (a mature opinion) or I just leave that site. Yes, I sometimes say things around family and friends that some would consider objectionable or plain offensive, but that's why I keep it among my family and friends. What I hope for from the blogging community is just constructive criticism that will either help or assist me in my endeavors. I only ask the blogging community to respect that. It's alright to leave a comment, but show some respect. By the way, I'm not going...

I was intoxicated in her atmosphere Dreams can only describe her mesmeric poise and sensuous aura Her queenly demeanor was not act, but rightfully her own I was set adrift on a journey bliss of sable queens and Khoi San princesses I wish that I could see her walk for I knew that it would match her eyes that inebriated my heart and seduced my soul Her curvaceous and ample presence reminded me of my youthful dreams And nocturnal rendezvous

Hey Baby I was just thinking about you On this rainy, cloudy Saturday in June Remember when we use to race popsicle sticks Along the curb after the rain Folks must of thought us insane Water flowing along this ghetto stream As we screamed Laughter permeating the overcast skies Oblivious to judging eyes I love this I love you Don’t rainy days make you want to…be with you? You feel me? I felt you on that rainy, cloudy Saturday in June I asked you to marry me and you said soon Come on baby We can do this right now out here under that tree Oya can be our witness! She laughed and said, Don’t you know that to be one in holy matrimony it takes three? That’s you, the creator and me and that’s all there has to be I smiled and said, Hey baby, remember when we use to race popsicle sticks Along the curb after the rain

This weekend, I had the pleasure of going to a bridal celebration for a South African couple in Baltimore. This is a couple that I've met only recently. They are traveling to South Africa within the next couple of weeks to have a traditional SA celebration of their union. Actually, the Bride is South African and the Groom is an African American from Baltimore (I use the term African American only to differentiate between the two because we're all just Black folks to me). They are a beautiful couple and they love each other very much. Now, whenever I go to a celebration for anyone of just about any culture, I find a way to participate in whatever is going on culturally (without being pretentious). Culturally, my experiences have ranged from Caribbean to Latino. I've only recently come into contact with people from Africa over the last couple of years. I love the similarities and I especially love the differences that they have with African Americans. South Africans love to s...

"I am not less poet; I am more conscious of all that I am, am not, and might become." (Jean Toomer, Writer-1894-1967) Jean Toomer was an American writer during the Harlem Renaissance. He would become famous for his book, Cane in 1923. It consisted of short stories and poems that was inspired by his 4 month stay as a Teacher/Principal in Sparta Georgia. Jean Toomer was born December 26, 1894 here in Washington, DC. Although Toomer's racial mix included Dutch, Native American and a couple of other spices from the mixing bowl he was classified Black by law because that mix also included African blood. This little racial misunderstanding would bug the hell out of Toomer for the rest of his life, but that's another blog. Today I want to briefly touch on Toomers quest for higher consciousness under the teachings of philosopher, George Ivanovitch Gurdjieff (click title for more info). In 1926 he had an out of body experience on a New York City subway platform. Yeah,...

The statues/memorials in DC are most beautiful when it snows. There were about 3 to 5 inches last night in some areas of the DC metropolitan area (Midwest laughs). Anyway, this is one of my favorite snow scenes of the Korean War Memorial. It really makes you think of the troops and also of past conflicts. So, this snowy scene is dedicated to the veterans. I'm a Navy veteran (Doesn't that make me sound old?). **smile**

My grandfather's birthday was on Saturday. He has made it to the blessed age of 87. He lives in North Carolina. He is in Martin County along the Roanoke River. My family has deep roots in that part of the state and Martin County specifically that goes back 150 years. My grandfather is a great source of information and a direct link to the past. He is a joy to talk to because he has become quite the conversationalist in his older years. I have so much to thank him for. He arbitrarily talks about his youth and usually the happiest times of his life. It's funny...he doesn't talk about past loves, but of past cars. I don't care what question I asked he would always mention the car that he owned around that time. I asked him about the time that he asked for my grandmothers hand in marriage in 1945. He responded with, "I had a green 1938 Chevrolet." Well, he did mention that there was another girl that wanted him to marry her, but he wanted my grandmother especially...