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]]> http://stephendantes.net/eXiT/?feed=rss2&p=905 0 http://stephendantes.net/eXiT/?p=894 http://stephendantes.net/eXiT/?p=894#comments Sun, 25 Mar 2012 05:41:55 +0000 admin http://stephendantes.net/eXiT/?p=894 Letters to My Son by Stephen A. Dantes

Give me two mics;
one for the poem
and one for the poet
And as the poet becomes obscurity
against silhouetted night silence,
the poem will echo in eardrums
like tribalism screaming repatriation,
Like love longing nostalgic bondage
and loneliness that inspires stages of wanton

To want some of poem on a poet platter;
Battered words drenched in sweat scattered
left to right wing liberalism,
Drummers kick with heels to BOOM sounds
that reach no farther than cordless microphones
in cramped mega domes of emotions
as they seek to shelter.
The creative create holes they dig with nails
clawing their way to origin,
filled with awe within,
like headless tyrants still walking
as promises die with wills.

Give me just two microphones
and let your ears filter what you must
or lust with me,
Crave the utopia that we all want,
Channel your inner peace and piece with me
this letter,
These words
This request to be more than just the
melody of fanatics
Scream with me like your life depended;
Your life depends as lives are ended
but dreams live on and float-flutter-flies
as each snare that hits and
each crash that makes
you awake to my reality,
Forsaken by a promise of bliss and
betrayed by eyes that see greed as morality
where opportunity is pluralized in pockets of he who rules in the name of government
and govern men like fools to cover dents,
Cracks in humanity where what applies to one does not to another
Endorsed from the highest offices and diffuses from echelon to echelon
until the residue is sprinkle on the grassroots man
like dry dust that fog glasses.

I want two microphones
and I will keep asking;
One so that I can speak into
And the other
as input to words already formed in irritated bowels
aggravated to repulsion yet silent,
Immune to time but bold in moments
My audacity does not expire as yours does
I will speak what I must because I must
even if you remain mute,
I am no prisoner
and neither is my son…
neither is that son, still unborn
Yes,
I do not have one
Not yet
But soon, maybe, and some.
This microphone beside me aches for a poem not yet vocalized
I stand a man, poem-less,
Voiceless,
with eyes wide shut,
Then I make tune to the music of your unknown
with words you didn’t think existed in your knowing
then poem becomes you in denial
and I become orator
emcee,
Just another man standing in front of a microphone
And another mic, there, alone
Still wanting
Still waiting
Still asking to be a coward’s toy
Still needing to be caressed and kissed at the grille
Still…
But the voice to grace it
is unborn, still.

I almost lost my mind
trying
to find reason and right
to understand reason and
right when the years add up
in age and the tears dry up to age
I taste the lips of karma as
bitter sweet as the passion
it once taunted me
with nakedness
a waistline connects
the lust of heartbreaks
a truth mistaken like
vows taken under moonlight
it tears me up
like pen ripping through sacred paper
my ink confesses
the mystery conceived in minds
that sway
perching
back and
forth
forward falling
into a calling not heard with ears
my eyes wander inwards
retracing footprints of
yesteryear
replacing the laces
in the corset of my soul
suffocation
a desolate place remains in
that space I once visited
on grass green
on meadows irrigated
with sweat from the Divine
just as mine did make
a tingle
a sprinkle
a me-just-you mingle
I almost lost what I never had
as vivid as daylight in lily fields
with no pollen I spoke
a word too little
shorter than should
and you did as you always
little too
would I but call chance
and destiny to rescue intent
and wake me from
a slumber of wolves the
smell of which lingers in the air
humid
and heavy
my lungs grasp for
a bit more than once before
and more as what remains of
my heart sounds
a beat of defeat
and yet a warriors shout
quickens my veins
I stand on my chest
as tall as my pride allows me
to reach and I grasp the last bit
of regret with my fingers
and digest the truth
of a lie that was absolute
a boy
walking
in the shoes of a man
too rugged to polish
but my will fails me
and upon my face
I find solace
the smell of hardwood
and expensive veneer
reminds me of the reality
I chose this
I made this
I was pleased for a
time when I had escaped
judgment
my legs won’t dance
the music of my obsession
like it did
before I hugged
the floor unwillingly
unknowingly
and yet I smile
one reserved for innocence
that seeks no means
but justification
and dreams of happiness shared
if only but for a little while
as I thank the morning for the night
the years that were
a fool’s domain
cares taken for granted
fears waiting and wanted
running into forever
with feet facing
backwards glancing
I tried upwards
where the heavens flee
the day
a lie became the heart of me
parting the sea of my sorrows
with the rod of my doubt
still
and maybe never
I listen to the sound
of my heart beating,
breaking
shaking as violently as
the ghost my spirit saw
my ears on the hardwood welcomes
the vibration of promise
I am still alive
awaiting the eXiT
to say the last of my words
on a mic sTiLL haNgiNg.

Inside her burnt emotion called desire
called affection

called love

 called loneliness
called rejection

called hate

 called liar by he whom she hated once rejected lonely in love
called truth with no reason to deceive

 called lust

 called twisted by tongue twists long and listed in ancient archives of contemporary need

 called possible

called probable

called fool

 called dreamer by sleep which flees night at the horizon
called limits

called hurt

called pain

called stupid

 called unabashedly despicably stupid stupor
called fire burning raging engulfing replacing inside

 called her.

If I say that I knew you;
A gorgeous girl
Running the morning’s pride
Dancing to bird-music
Making nature gloat
At the oddest hour,
Would you believe?
That girl who dreamt
And once held,
Played,
Embraced the joy
Of the sunlight’s thrill
Bear-hugging worlds
As far apart as
Heaven molesting Earth or
Venus’ tango with Mars,
And she who remained
Young in old skin,
Yes, I knew her.
Tiny footprints tattooed with
Laughter on sandy fronts
And virgin green, lush,
Over hills and deep
Singing tweets, tweeting chirps
In rain and sun.
I remember her stares -
Her piercing
And searching – lit with
Pride reserved for diplomats,
Stripping naked
Making uneasy walks to
Stumble, then straight,
Even I have fallen
Obsessed with what was
Once, Or should,
As I can recall.
Oh fair maiden
Of lands bought with
Whips and chains
And battles,
7 times British and 7 French,
And coloured skin,
I remembered you
Today,
And yesterday,
And days gone when it seemed
Like I had forgotten,
Like I had given up
Or given in to another.
I know you
We once ran wild together
And I hid my face
Between your bosoms
Peaked for invite, and you
Welcomed with joy-tears sulphuric black
And temporal-
Ly confused,
Then offered me diamonds
As if I, myself,
Was a woman to be friended,
Or showed desperation
To be considered by you…
Maybe even loved.
I wanted more
I want more
More of the memories I have
Of you
And me
And us,
More of paradise.
My lust is beyond what can be
Contained
I need you, the you who
Once was ostentatious
And cared not,
The you who was tanned with tropical
Bliss,
And heavenly.
I remember you
And miss those,
My love,
Oh, how I miss you.
And Now,
I’ve come back and
I want to run
And dance, oh sweet Helen,
And be intimate with you
One more time,
And make love like
My life depended,
Caress every crevice
And pluck every string.
I want you, Helen,
As will I endlessly,
Tomorrow,
And the day after;
My fair Helen,
Saint Lucia.

Chapter 16:
…   In a final attempt to persuade the love of her life to give her one more chance at love with him, she spoke as softly and clearly as she could.

“Greg, you can have any other woman you want if you don’t want to have me alone. I wouldn’t mind, as long as you keep me as your home girl. I want to be yours and yours only. I don’t want any other man. All I need is for you to want me. I really don’t care if I am not the only one you date, but please, all I ask is one last chance.”

Her desperation eclipsed her wisdom and she was prepared to accept second best. And if that meant settling for only a part of Greg, she was willing to accept whatever she got.

Greg shook his head in repudiation. His heart broke into a thousand pieces when he heard Bernice’s final plea. He wanted so much to shout out ‘yes’ to her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her the truth behind his refusal either. …

Chapter 14:
…   “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Greg?” Larna asked and laughed as hard as she possibly could.

Greg looked at Larna, a bit embarrassed at the fact that he was unable to cook well on his own. Not even the country escapades with his friends – Trevor et al – had prepared him sufficiently to woo his girlfriend with some appetizing treats. He looked at the mess he had made in the pan and felt embarrassed.

“That’s not the way I envisioned this,” he said ashamedly. “I saw this coming out differently. The chicken is not supposed to be so black. And I can’t even smell the Curry powder. I’ve watched my mother do this over and over and not once did this happen. Watch; I can’t even see the… This looks like mashed potatoes to me. There are supposed to be hard chunks.”

Larna peeped into the pan of potatoes sautéed in a mixture of curry powder and oil and was surprised at the appearance. It looked as if they were finely mashed and mixed like porridge. She then looked over into the pan of chicken in a similar curry powder and oil mixture, a prerequisite for making the Trinidad-famous and St. Lucia-altered, Roti, and was even more shocked to find that there was no yellow or orange colour which would normally appear when the mixture was done properly.

Larna burst into laughter as she watched a humiliated Greg cling onto the spoon in hand. “Baby, it’s ok. Don’t feel sad. You know I will eat it even if it kills me,” she tried to restrain herself from saying. But the humour in the statement was too good to allow evading her thoughts.
Greg didn’t find any humour in her statement. He didn’t smile.

Larna turned around and held Greg and said, “Let’s do it together now. It’s almost done and I really don’t care if you are not able to perfect the Roti. I love you regardless.”

“Oh so now you love me? A while ago you were making fun of my cooking,” Greg said grudgingly.

“Don’t sweat it my love, you know that I honestly will eat the food whether it’s good or bad. And don’t be mistaken, I will let you know if it’s bad, but I would ingest it regardless.”

“Well thank you,” Greg forced out sarcastically, still evidently embarrassed at the ordeal.

He had never cooked for a girl before and for some unknown reason, it was as if he was holding the future of his relationship with Larna in the success of his cooking.

“Don’t be dismayed, I am not making fun of you, Greg. C’mon, you can’t take this that seriously.”
Greg inhaled deeply then exhaled. “I guess I was just trying too hard to please you again. Sometimes I feel like I have to work extra hard to keep you.”

“What are you talking about? I am not going anywhere. I am here to stay, Greg. You have to stop trying to get me to stay and start enjoying me because I am already here. I am already staying. I am yours, boy. Don’t you get it? I am yours.” Larna kissed him tenderly on his lips. “Nothing and no one can take you away from me, not even your terrible cooking. And, well, let’s hope that looks are indeed deceiving and this Roti will taste better than it looks,” Larna burst out laughing.

Greg joined her in a hearty laugh and then said teasingly, “You know, I really hope that this Roti doesn’t kill either of us. Wait until I mix the potatoes with the chicken. Let’s see what a mess it all becomes them.”

The two lovers laughed at the ignominious cooking debacle. After eating what turned out to have tasted good enough for consumption and a pass for a first try, they spent the rest of the day lying next to each other on the chair in the living room. They soon fell asleep and didn’t wake up until it was after 6:00pm. …

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