spoken word poems

Monica

Bruised

Today was not too bad.  Good thing I stayed busy at work.  Was the exact day that our Beloved one departed from us.  The year seemed to go by so quickly but yet was so difficult for us all.  I want to thank each and every person out there that shared in our grief and supported us.  The journey of healing is not over but it does get easier.  As a part of the healing process, I often turned to writing.  I hope that this poem is received as being straight from the heart and encourages someone to move forward despite the grief.

 

BRUISED  by Monica Terry

20/7/2020

Dark scarlet resulted as capillaries burst underneath brown, supple skin as a result of the initial impact of the horrific injury. As the words, “Hu Neftar” departed from his lips I began to replay my life’s history.  What? Within 24 hours I need to come up with an obiturary?

Blue and purple brilliantly emerged with the tenderness of the skin that received blood into surrounding tissues as we stood and looked at the body before the funeral.  Reality setting in, nociceptors delayed sending a proper signal that was computable.  Stop!  Aren’t there loopholes in the CNS for situations so Immutable?

Pale green didn’t want to show itself so quickly, because that would mean time marching on without him here; as birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs, graduations occur and we all try to persevere.  Is time speeding up?  Maybe he knew the end was very near.  I would like to think that when he was brought back that he said, “Peace out Ya’ll, keep faith, nothing to fear”.

Yellow-brown introduces a new reality as old hemoglobin is absorbed and we make an attempt not to show the discoloration.  The fear that the old and new friends when we speak of him may think it’s an unhealthy fixation.  Really?  And I ask that with a bit of indignation.

Eventually, I know without a doubt that a Pure brown will emerge again, and perhaps other bruises will appear to join the colorful array on our skin; each one’s dermis displaying what phase we are currently in.  It’s bruises that make us who we are so we rise to win……time…. time….and time again.

 

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Photo credit:  Lifeat139a

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Monica

Still Wasn’t Enough

A personification poem by Monica Terry

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I remember being awakened on a warm Summer’s Eve to soft strokes at the foot of my Mountain Kilimanjaro and whispers at the banks of my Niger, Nile  and Zambezi Rivers.

The voices and the movements were unfamiliar to me.  This was another people.  Something different about the way they touched me and spoke about me.  I heard them speaking about how they would  pry out of me my precious minerals and jewels.

Who were these?  They did not belong to me.  They were not the ones that had taken care of me for centuries nor had an understanding of what I gave back to them in return.

As time went on, their softness turned to harshness as they touched  me; it went from caressing to groping at my mountains for my precious minerals, platinum, uranium and iron.  They bore so deep, ripping from me the gold and ravaging at my rich soil in search of my rich black oil.  Often I would smell the alcohol on their breath.

I wanted to yell STOP! But instead I tried to violently react with a sudden volcanic eruption that sent the newcomers scattering for safe ground.  But after the ash settled, they still came back.  It still wasn’t enough to make them leave.

I tried to deprive them various times of water with my occasional droughts, for I knew those that took care of me would know what to do. They could survive and adapt unlike the newcomers.  But it still wasn’t enough to make them leave.  Greed will make one madly blind.

They produced mining industries and forcibly took my beautiful diamonds, selling them to the highest bidders and forcing those that took care of me to grope and hack away in filthy conditions at gun point until they dropped dead.  100 million carats, and still…it wasn’t enough for them to leave.

Eventually the ones that took care of me began to disappear.  Many times, I saw them carted off in ships.  The times I dared to watch their fate, I saw them looking at me as if for the last time.  I mourned with them, for now my fate awaited me to be plundered all alone by the rapists with grubby hands.

After such disparity in socio-economic status, the ones that were left began to be indifferent to me.  They had been hardened and turned cold by the criminality of my stolen wealth.  My borders no longer provided them with what they needed…..protection.  They have tried in the past to revive my damaged areas, but the newcomers killed them.

The newcomers even divided me up into pieces and shared me with others that lust for my riches.  Once my rivers flowed freely from north to south and my mountains and valleys could be inhabited with no care or disputes.  There was even blood shed on my soil that I sorrowfully soaked up.  And it still was not enough to make it stop.

But now a new day has come.  I see the seeds of the ones that were kidnapped and taken away from me and they are strong.  They are fiercely growing into seedlings that sprout bigger into hardened trees with resilient bark.  They are saying NO MORE to my rape and my exploitation!  They are saying ENOUGH!

They are being heard all over the world, crying out for me, for them, for the wrongs that have been done to be addressed.  I see hope of my people returning to take care of me as in centuries past, and I will once again be a shelter for them.

I see that I need not be ashamed for being forced upon and defiled, for I was a victim of unthinkable crimes against me and my caretakers.  And finally, I am not alone in saying “ENOUGH”!

Monica

Garden Whisper

This poem and mood was inspired by my modest window garden.  I truly miss planting in the earth and having a big back yard, however, sometimes you have to stir what you got!  Be grateful in all that the Most High gives and He will increase what you have beyond your dreams.  Such order in nature and as I observe the growth of my tomato and melon plants, avocado, lemon and pomegranate trees, although small, I get a sense of calm as I care for them and watch the progress made from week to week.  Did you know that since the mid 80’s hospitals began to take advantage of the calming effect received by patients who suffer from pain and anxiety.  These are huge sources of stress that damage our immune systems.  So, test this theory out on a stressful day and take a stroll through a garden.  Even consider starting your own.  Even a window garden like mine can be beneficial.  Isn’t your health worth it?

Monica

Glass Box

The girl sat alone in her own glass box

Observing others in theirs

Her box labled Dancer

Another’s marked Teacher

The next, Doctor…and an endless line of labeled boxes followed

A voice called out and asked,

“What are you?”

The girl nervously replied, “I guess I’m a dancer, that’s what the label says”

“Come out, my child”, the calm, still voice softly commanded

“Can I?…. should I?” said the timid girl. “But what will people think?”

And the voice said, “Let me worry about that and just be what I created you to be.”

As she slowly opened the door, still a bit intimidated, she took one step out of the glass

With the next step, she noticed her neighbor’s glass door opening

Before she knew it, others were doing the same

They felt free for the first time to become who they were

Free of labels and endless possibilities

Monica

“Violence” Poem by Gabby Y

A poem by a very talented friend of mine, Gabby Y.  Pray to see more of her beautiful work soon!

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Bloodshed, in reality and on that square we call TV
Nothing but immoral wickedness is all we see
Insanity filling into the brains of youth
Everyone on the same path, so never knowing the truth
ink-303244_1280The world frying it into our minds
Leaving a permanent scare for generations to find
Continuing on what The Man’s goal was
To keep our people against one another
Because of The Man who would kill his own mother
Violence is a sin against the Father
One must stand up and follow the path of his forefathersink-303244_1280
Not the path of this devil
Who enjoys killing, hurting and scheming, yeah that’s his revel
So the people of Judah, wake up NOW!
Stop killing and betraying and take one big bow
Before the Father and pray for forgiveness
That we may all repent from our sins and be sinless
The Father has no intentions of allowing us to inherit
The Land of Milk and Honey with and evil state of mind
We must get rid of that Babalioness, and let’s combine
ink-303244_1280Our knowledge, talents and numbers
So that we may do the Father’s will and this time stay in our Mother!

 

 

Monica

Do You Love Me?”

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Starting something new in 2017!  A short poem from yours truly illustrating how in my imagination the Father may define LOVE as it pertains to His relationship with us.

Do you love me enough to……

Not put anything or anyone before me?

Put away your idols for your soul to be free, living to work so you can pay the bills and afford that Audi?

Not to create things with your hands to put before your eyes as a mighty one;

Realize that I am He that brings forth life and can send death when it’s all said and done.

Not to play with My name and utter it as such a small thing;

or mix it with foul words as you think it’s clever when cussing.

Not to forget the day that I ceased to work, but remember to set it apart;

it’s not for gettin’ in your over-time, clubbing or fillin’ your grocery cart.

Not to forget whatever your circumstance, that your earthly Mother or Father,

or whomever I gave to raise you, never make them feel like a burden or a bother.

Not to plot to take the life of anyone for this you know is wrong;

going against the 1st command, be fruitful, multiply, sing praises to Me all the day long.

Not to lay with another man’s wife, no matter how much your flesh yearns;

Use reason over emotion and from her gaze and grasp you must turn.

Not to take from one another, without permission what isn’t yours,

with the intention not to return it; go get your own from your pick of stores.

Not to hide the truth from or about your neighbor, spreading lies and even slander;

not stand for behavior of those that devise and deceive, don’t be a by-stander.

Not to wish or thirst for anything that is owned by any other person;

their spouse, car, job, wealth, for this also to Me is a strong aversion.

If you truly love Me my child, just start with these 10 SIMPLE THINGS.

Stand up to the entire world, be different and see what righteousness brings.

by Monica Terry, AKA Taptutor

Please share your thoughts about this poem or one of your own.  Would be happy to share it with other tapin2life blog followers.  Remember to share this poem by clicking below.point-24974_640

 

 

 

 

Monica

Rebellion of the Gridiron Gladiators, by Bryan Long, Featured Guest Artist

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As many of you may know, there has been an enormous amount of injustice done and still being done to African Americans in the U.S. on many levels; just to name one, the criminal justice system.  As an African descendant that was born in America, the injustices that I see on a daily basis hurt me very deeply.  What hurts even more is the inability of others to be able to have any empathy whatsoever.  The following are words of reflection from this talented poet, writer and activist for justice regarding the game in which quarterback football player, Colin Kaepernick, for the San Francisco 49ers refused to stand for the playing of the national anthem in protest of what he sees as wrongdoings against African Americans in the U.S.  Many citizens of the U.S. are beginning to understand that the mistreatment of African Americans boils down to a matter of not civil rights, but human rights.  Bryan uses his poetic skills in a creative way in this poem to demonstrate just this point.

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