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?
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.
Love.Speak.Easy. Page 1