I want to know why You wanted to go


 

Beside my bed

Is a brown-eyed dresser

These voices in my head

Should make me the Professor

 

It would take so much more

Just to find the right door

I guess I’m going through a phase

Of Jungle Boogie or School Days

 

Did I read the wrong signs?

Are there thorns in my eyes?

I’m just a lover of all kinds

Helping others see different skies

 

I need to know

Why you wanted to go

Tell Me

Don’t show me

I may not want to join the cast of your show

I need to know

Why you wanted to go

 

Trippin’

There were times I felt like slippin’

Dippin’

There were times I couldn’t stop drippin’

Flippin’

Only you can stop me from trippin’, slippin’, dippin’,

Drippin’

Almost got me crippin’ and hippin’

 

So, I need to know

Did you find a brighter light

That makes you want to go

In a new direction of right?

 

I need to know

 

Strawberries and cream

Passion fruit made of tears at your seam

If you couldn’t shame hang

Why come in for the bang?

 

I need to know

Why you wanted to go

‘Cause if you need to leave

Give me time to grieve

 

Truth in Journalism


See me in print

Yeah, that is me

Or so I think

Can I really be read

Like an old magazine

I am the dream

Add to it what you may

Maybe one day

You will be able to then say

I felt like I was there

Right there with him

Singing that upbeat battle hymn

Forget how grim

Or how the words made him look so damn gloriously slim

Along the absence of image

Can a mirror

Ever offer up a game of scrimmage

Played in Black and in White

Whether or not you score

Behind the door

There is the light

How much duller

Threatens the typed joys of color

What they don’t know

Let them make up

Dyslexia can be like snow

When an author drinks from a dirty cup

What really fades

Doesn’t require shades

Throw yourself on the blade

Save the anecdote that you made

 

 

//

How Blue Bell turned me into a ‘Nana Puddin’ Junkie!


     Making the transition to the South was hard enough.  Leaving behind my mom’s historical southern flavor was enough to make me long day in and day out for home.  Upstate New York, sure there was a lot of cultural diversity…that is, museums, music festivals, but true conversation was never lacking.  As long as you definitely had something worthwhile to share, you were somewhat accepted.  Atlanta, Georgia had it all.  There, you wouldn’t have to look too hard to find an open cross-dresser, an open audition for a nondescript Tyler Perry film, a shopping mall that insisted on the valet of a Lamborghini, dog grooming salons that truly pampered your pooch in Hollywood glamour, and grocery stores with parking lots so clean you would think you had self-parked at a hotel resort.  ‘Nuff said, Atlanta was culture shock for the Northern Boy. 

     I managed to keep in shape.  Walking and a stellar gym membership became my pastimes.  That’s really how I kept up with the corporate Joneses.  Appearances meant everything in the new L.A.  Your reputation meant everything when it came to networking.  But, with keeping up appearances came the corporate dinners, albeit lunch or dinner.  For some, it was both.  I began to miss real flavor.  Just the first bar of my mom’s voice ached to ask her to FedEx a dinner my way.  There were a couple of places that came close to easing my homesick pain:  Mary Mac’s Team Room in Midtown and the Horseradish Grill.  Everything I ever devoured in the North was not all Southern.  It was just about the flavor.  That’s all.  And the only one who seemed qualified to satisfy me was my Mom.

     Maintaining my demeanor, I needed to relax, unwind.  It didn’t help any that Atlanta’s weather promoted even the chilliest of deserts – any time of the day or night.  I had always been a fan of Breyer’s ice cream in the North.  It was probably because it is the most widely distributed brand in the world.  While grocery shopping at Publix, the cleanest grocery store in all the South, one night after work (managing called for late hours), I found myself loathing the site of the salt-infested Breyer’s Butter Pecan ice cream that I had come to adore.  No other brands or tastes peaked my interest.  That is, until I noticed a yellow tub-container with a gold-rimmed lid.  It was Blue Bell.  It was Blue Bell Banana Pudding!  Had I found the flavor I was looking for?  Had I found that homesick replacement?   I couldn’t get home fast enough to tear open that sheer potential for goodness.  With the correct coloring, the moist but fresh vanilla wafers brought excruciating, yet delightful, joy to my palate.  I was hooked from the very first dip.  I found that I could eat this ice cream for breakfast.  Thank goodness my body didn’t welcome lactose intolerance.  But the late night night-cap in a Pier1 Import cereal bowl eased the discomfort of another busy day ahead. 

      I became so enthralled with Blue Bell’s Banana Pudding Ice Cream until I let all my northern friends and family members know what they were missing.  Some even asked if I could FedEx them a carton.  It wasn’t at all possible.  Soon, the thoughts of home subsided.  I would still frequent the popular restaurants in Atlanta…just as long as I could imagine what was waiting at home for me.  For six years, I continued the same routine:  working, dining out, Banana Pudding.  Notice I didn’t say, “working out?”  I did try to stay in shape by doing a few reps with free weights here and there, a few push-ups to keep the chest hefty, or even a few squat thrusts to…keep my pants up.  Once word spread about my newfound joy, I became delusional when I had to search different stores when Publix was out of my Banana Pudding.  The girls at the Customer Service Desk must have thought me neurotic the way I would nearly bang my head on the counter when they informed me of the next shipment of my fix.  Then, I was told that the drugstore CVS carried Blue Bell.  With gas prices not as high then as they are now, I didn’t mind going store-hopping.  CVS did charge a little more, but my CVS Advantage Card saved me considerably…at times.  It just didn’t save my waistline though.  My body seemed to had grown in the most obvious places.  I carried the weight of my world above and below my Coach belt.  I even began to seem more managerial to my guests.  All that weight was mistaken for solid muscle.  Okay, it still was muscle, but it savored a little something extra – like high-cholesterol, high-blood pressure, borderline diabetes.  I had suddenly contracted in the South what I should have contracted in the North because of Mom’s purity and sweetness.  Just when I thought the South would be my savior, it became my demise with the diagnosis of Blue Bell Banana Pudding Ice Cream.  Need I really say how much weight I bore?  Good.  Because it doesn’t matter.  All those wonderful years in the South found me now fleeing upward. 

     With age, you are not really expected to keep up the same look or physique from high school.  But I did exactly that while I was in the North.  One would think that as salty as any Breyer’s ice cream was I could have just been a catastrophe in the making.  Always on the go, always trying to be up on everything, maybe it was my mobility that kept me from falling earlier.  Once I became comfortable, I never really thought about the Joneses anymore.  My happiness was found in a bottomless tub with a gold-rim. 

     Back in the North, the absence of Blue Bell Ice Cream was both a blessing and a curse.  After so many years away, and the ceasing of praise towards such a culprit, Blue Bell could not be found.  I even wrote the President of Blue Bell, Corp. to ask as to when their brand could be purchased.  All I was told was that there weren’t any immediate plans to distribute it to the northeastern part of the country.  What a shame!  Even after my physical ailments cleared, I still found myself longing for the taste of Blue Bell’s Banana Pudding Ice Cream.  Because of all the work that is involved in the making of Mom’s own banana pudding, she couldn’t make it as often as I would like.  But she knows better.  Now, with the weight off and me back to my sociable self, I still crave my ‘Nana Puddin.’  I can’t even look at another kind or brand of ice cream as I did Blue Bell.  Its classy but deceptive packaging made me see just how much I have in common with the crack-head or recovering alcoholic.  I admit I am still a ‘Nana Puddin’ Junkie.  I really do hope there are no plans for Blue Bell in the Northeast.  If there are, I hope there’s a rehab facility that won’t laugh at my insurance plan.    

//

I am my Mother’s Keeper


I am my mother’s first

Crazy as it may sound

I am her soul image

Despite who helped

she released me

into the world

to walk and talk

and carry on

 

Because

 

I represent

everything that she is

What she is not

depends on her

But I

am my mother’s keeper

What I don’t know

is of no need

The past is past

I am the end

the beginning

and the middle

I am written and sealed

and my fate lies

upon her lies

her truths

The few who know

look upon me

as forgotten

when my goodness then shines

She made a path for me

to escape the warm and cold world

And though I may not always be

she does hold me

reminding me

of everything

 

Because

I have been kept

and keep going

onward

Because

I really was her first

 

Man’s Own Box


Appearances are everything

Along with that

despite one’s name

shaven better than beard

endowed rather than not

Cold is like hot-headed

Shy is worthless

while quiet means nothing

to live without doing

Who wants that recipe?

Mankind wears a button

of those they know and love

and hate

Still, they are in the know

Trying

Doing

Lest one tries to produce

Failure is a label

worn after grief

Alas, appearances are everything

when we remind ourselves

that we are so worthy

Thinking of my own


The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris
The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Today, I realized I was the one

 

When I woke up

 

Next to myself and someone

 

I was good enough

 

To have them in my home

 

I couldn’t have been that bad

 

Time to stop being alone

 

Thinking what I could’ve had

 

 

 

(chorus)

 

Thinking too much about my own

 

Thinking only of me

 

Too much thinking of me

 

 

 

Today, I realized I was then one

 

When I woke up

 

And knew I cared for someone

 

Spend a little idle time

 

At the drop of a dime

 

Until I didn’t want to drop one again

 

And then that’s still

 

 

 

Thinking too much about my own

 

(chorus)

 

 

 

I couldn’t find a problem

 

But I always try to solve them

 

Can’t just let things happen

 

Is it a fake or a gem

 

Why would I worry

 

Was I in a hurry

 

I said “Time’s Up”

 

Before I could even fill my cup

 

 

 

Before I even had my own

 

I was thinking too much about my own