You know he loves you when he
washes out the bathtub
after a shower because
he knows you like to
sit down in the bath.
You know he loves you when
he puts down the toilet seat
even though you don't
ask.
You know he loves you when
he goes to work with a limp
to put food on the table and
put money in on the rent.
You know he loves you when
he handles that trying child and
let's you have a midday sleep.
You know he loves you when
he brings home a zero calorie soda or a
100 calorie snack to
support your eating habits.
He loves you when he
takes the time to
know your eating habits.
You know he loves you when
he backs the car into the
parking space on the night before you
have to carry down
armfuls of materials for
the big presentation.
He loves you when he
lets you cover his
car seat with
crap for your busy
work days.
He loves you when he
is willing to stock the trunk
with your crap and
hand you your
briefcase.
Love sometimes ain't about
boxes of sugary candies or
big trips to big cities or
bundles of money spent on jewelry.
Love can be giving you
more than your share of the bed
because you
sleep wild
when you feel stressed.
Love can be
fixing you chamomile and
honey tea when you have
sinus infections.
Love can be silence
on your side of the house
during the night
of the big game.
Love can be found more in some nothings
than it might be found in big somethings.
You know he loves you when
and only when he
shows you.
-T. D. James-Moss
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Saturday, April 18, 2015
"The Great Deception," A Poetry Post
If you run fast,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is run,
every day,
and watch the time,
watch the time,
watch the time,
and one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You're fast!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
If you got the look,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is work it,
keep it fit and tight and toned,
paint your face in the perfectest hues,
dress yourself in the most relevant,
and one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You're beautiful!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
If you got ups,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is take a hundred
free throw shots a day and
a hundred shots from the outside and
play street ball and school ball
every free moment you have and
one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You got skills!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
If you got lyrics,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is cut a mix tape
with the hottest rhythms the world has
ever heard and string together a
number of choice words over a
catchy beat and
one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You the king of these streets!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
You won't need anything but the
ability to manage a checkbook and
the ability to read and understand a
legal contract and
the ability to maintain
healthy relationships and
the ability to communicate clearly
your true expectations.
You won't need anything but
the ability to check yourself when you
go too far and
the ability to express strongly in print your
objections when necessary and
the ability to make the right phone call
to the right person and
say the right things at the
right time to
hopefully save yourself from the flames of
destruction.
You won't need anything except
the ability to delay gratification and
the ability to withstand temptation and
the ability to be intellectually and
economically flexible.
You won't need anything but a
miracle to make up for
all the time you wasted
not getting all the things you
needed because you thought
all it took was a single novelty skill to
make it in this world.
The new and beautiful are new and beautiful
for a moment.
The great deception is that if you
live your new and beautiful out loud,
you will never become old and
outmoded.
And the truth is
you need a whole lot more of everything else
if you want even a
little chance of
enjoying your exceptionality
in a big way.
-T. D. James-Moss
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is run,
every day,
and watch the time,
watch the time,
watch the time,
and one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You're fast!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
If you got the look,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is work it,
keep it fit and tight and toned,
paint your face in the perfectest hues,
dress yourself in the most relevant,
and one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You're beautiful!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
If you got ups,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is take a hundred
free throw shots a day and
a hundred shots from the outside and
play street ball and school ball
every free moment you have and
one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You got skills!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
If you got lyrics,
you don't need anything.
All you gotta do is cut a mix tape
with the hottest rhythms the world has
ever heard and string together a
number of choice words over a
catchy beat and
one day somebody gone come along and say,
"My God! You the king of these streets!"
Then,
you won't need anything.
You won't need anything but the
ability to manage a checkbook and
the ability to read and understand a
legal contract and
the ability to maintain
healthy relationships and
the ability to communicate clearly
your true expectations.
You won't need anything but
the ability to check yourself when you
go too far and
the ability to express strongly in print your
objections when necessary and
the ability to make the right phone call
to the right person and
say the right things at the
right time to
hopefully save yourself from the flames of
destruction.
You won't need anything except
the ability to delay gratification and
the ability to withstand temptation and
the ability to be intellectually and
economically flexible.
You won't need anything but a
miracle to make up for
all the time you wasted
not getting all the things you
needed because you thought
all it took was a single novelty skill to
make it in this world.
The new and beautiful are new and beautiful
for a moment.
The great deception is that if you
live your new and beautiful out loud,
you will never become old and
outmoded.
And the truth is
you need a whole lot more of everything else
if you want even a
little chance of
enjoying your exceptionality
in a big way.
-T. D. James-Moss
Friday, April 10, 2015
"Heavy Chested," A Poetry Post
When grandma and them used to say
a gal was heavy chested
they suggested it like
"heavy" was a state of width or girth,
like the "heavy" was the bounce
or the jiggle,
like the "heavy" was a
part of the overall body weight.
What they didn't say was
heavy chested is like
having a hard time
finding a bra to
hold all the parts in place that
heavy chested is
going out of the way to
find the right cup size on the
right band that
heavy chested is
rearranging
the way you sleep on your
pillow
so you don't get your
breasts all
twisted up under your
forearms and
shoved up in your
face that
heavy chested is
having to lock them thangs down
when you have to move any faster than a
brisk walk that
heavy chested is like a
perpetual state of caution
when you walk into a crowd
where there is a remote possibility
for rubbing up your
fluffy stuff against somebody's
upper arm by mistake.
This is what they did not say,
but we understand that.
How could they have said it and
still be muted?
Didn't they say,
"Don't let yourself jiggle all over the place.
Get you a girdle and
hold it all in?"
-T. D. James-Moss
a gal was heavy chested
they suggested it like
"heavy" was a state of width or girth,
like the "heavy" was the bounce
or the jiggle,
like the "heavy" was a
part of the overall body weight.
What they didn't say was
heavy chested is like
having a hard time
finding a bra to
hold all the parts in place that
heavy chested is
going out of the way to
find the right cup size on the
right band that
heavy chested is
rearranging
the way you sleep on your
pillow
so you don't get your
breasts all
twisted up under your
forearms and
shoved up in your
face that
heavy chested is
having to lock them thangs down
when you have to move any faster than a
brisk walk that
heavy chested is like a
perpetual state of caution
when you walk into a crowd
where there is a remote possibility
for rubbing up your
fluffy stuff against somebody's
upper arm by mistake.
This is what they did not say,
but we understand that.
How could they have said it and
still be muted?
Didn't they say,
"Don't let yourself jiggle all over the place.
Get you a girdle and
hold it all in?"
-T. D. James-Moss
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
"For Karyn Washington and All Black Superwomen," A Poetry Post
To all you who are marvelous and
to be marveled at,
please remember that
every man or woman in the
superhuman state,
every wearer of the "save the world"
cape or no cape,
had a team.
In Superman's loneliness he made a
mess
until he discovered his
connection to
Krypton and
found himself surrounded by
The Family.
But that's fiction.
Even historical badasses
had their armies,
their homies,
their brothers,
their lovers,
their friends.
But that's history.
Even our current president,
who yes--is a man--
has his posse and
his security and his
cabinet and his
VP.
But that's a man.
Even Michelle Obama has her
mother and her daughters and
her supporters and her advisors
and her stylists and her
campaign managers.
But that's the president's wife.
Even the Kardashians have their
sisters and their mother and their
followers and their friends and their
lovers and their television cameras
to keep them company.
But they famous.
Even your mother,
in her strongest or weakest moments,
had at least one connection--
had her auntie or her sister or her
mother or her girl down the street
or her long-distance friend or the
first lady at the church--
to remind her of her humanity!
To say to her,
when you fall down
it hurts!
When you get cut,
you bleed!
You got weaknesses!
To remind her that her mind
could be hacked,
that her friends
could become enemies,
that her strength could be
a weakness!
Ladies!!!
All of you lifters of heavy weights,
upon the loss of one of the greats
(Ms. Karyn Washington--who perhaps--
became the Atlas type who was intended
only for fiction and circumspection),
let us remember remember remember the
truth about the Black superwoman.
She has always been one of a crew.
She has always lifted up her voice in a chorus.
She has always poured out her power into her children.
She has always linked arms with other marvels,
extended her strength to the falling and found arms to
catch her when she fell.
She is not some singular voice in the wilderness
mounted up like an undead Phoenix.
She is a part of a Parthenon of passionate princesses
that strike fear into the hearts of all traveling packs
worldwide.
It is time to remember, remember, remember
the key to your superhuman strength.
Remember your God,
remember your mother and
remember your self.
No where on earth
has anything great been done
without a true and open connection
to another superhuman strength.
-T. D. James-Moss
to be marveled at,
please remember that
every man or woman in the
superhuman state,
every wearer of the "save the world"
cape or no cape,
had a team.
In Superman's loneliness he made a
mess
until he discovered his
connection to
Krypton and
found himself surrounded by
The Family.
But that's fiction.
Even historical badasses
had their armies,
their homies,
their brothers,
their lovers,
their friends.
But that's history.
Even our current president,
who yes--is a man--
has his posse and
his security and his
cabinet and his
VP.
But that's a man.
Even Michelle Obama has her
mother and her daughters and
her supporters and her advisors
and her stylists and her
campaign managers.
But that's the president's wife.
Even the Kardashians have their
sisters and their mother and their
followers and their friends and their
lovers and their television cameras
to keep them company.
But they famous.
Even your mother,
in her strongest or weakest moments,
had at least one connection--
had her auntie or her sister or her
mother or her girl down the street
or her long-distance friend or the
first lady at the church--
to remind her of her humanity!
To say to her,
when you fall down
it hurts!
When you get cut,
you bleed!
You got weaknesses!
To remind her that her mind
could be hacked,
that her friends
could become enemies,
that her strength could be
a weakness!
Ladies!!!
All of you lifters of heavy weights,
upon the loss of one of the greats
(Ms. Karyn Washington--who perhaps--
became the Atlas type who was intended
only for fiction and circumspection),
let us remember remember remember the
truth about the Black superwoman.
She has always been one of a crew.
She has always lifted up her voice in a chorus.
She has always poured out her power into her children.
She has always linked arms with other marvels,
extended her strength to the falling and found arms to
catch her when she fell.
She is not some singular voice in the wilderness
mounted up like an undead Phoenix.
She is a part of a Parthenon of passionate princesses
that strike fear into the hearts of all traveling packs
worldwide.
It is time to remember, remember, remember
the key to your superhuman strength.
Remember your God,
remember your mother and
remember your self.
No where on earth
has anything great been done
without a true and open connection
to another superhuman strength.
-T. D. James-Moss
Monday, April 6, 2015
"My Kenyan Sister," A Poetry Post
My Kenyan sister,
I am amazed by your bravery.
Because you hold up under the
threat of violence for
choosing to be strong for
choosing to live out your
divine and rightful purpose,
I can't help but smile at your regality.
Because you go to the market
on foot or by transport
whether or not the latest
zealot is waiting to
wreak havoc
upon your day,
I celebrate you.
Because you still reserve the right to
accept or disallow the
treatment of any one of our
brothers--Kenyan or other--
I thank you.
I thank you for holding the line,
for demanding the right to
live without fear,
shop without fear,
pray without fear,
school without fear,
play without fear,
speak without fear,
wake without fear and
sleep without fear.
My sister.
Every step you take into
perseverance
is a sign to the world.
As long as there is a land named Kenya,
which we expect forever...
As long is there is a continent named Africa,
which we expect forever...
As long as there is a faction riding
for the belittlement and
debasement of the African woman,
which we expect--unfortunately--
forever...
There will be a Kenyan sister
stepping out of the house on a Tuesday
walking down to the market for
fresh fruits and vegetables with
only her day's goals
on her mind.
For we will not be dissuaded.
We will not be laid down into a life of
hiding, of shameful curdling,
of depression or depravity.
My sister,
when the fires die down,
we both know
(you and I)
that there will be a collection of
mothers, daughters, neices, aunts and
grandmothers standing in the midst
of the mess hollering out
"Now WHAT? God help us,
we will not be defeated! We will not be
upended! The Kenyan woman
will BE KENYA
forever!"
-T. D. James-Moss
I am amazed by your bravery.
Because you hold up under the
threat of violence for
choosing to be strong for
choosing to live out your
divine and rightful purpose,
I can't help but smile at your regality.
Because you go to the market
on foot or by transport
whether or not the latest
zealot is waiting to
wreak havoc
upon your day,
I celebrate you.
Because you still reserve the right to
accept or disallow the
treatment of any one of our
brothers--Kenyan or other--
I thank you.
I thank you for holding the line,
for demanding the right to
live without fear,
shop without fear,
pray without fear,
school without fear,
play without fear,
speak without fear,
wake without fear and
sleep without fear.
My sister.
Every step you take into
perseverance
is a sign to the world.
As long as there is a land named Kenya,
which we expect forever...
As long is there is a continent named Africa,
which we expect forever...
As long as there is a faction riding
for the belittlement and
debasement of the African woman,
which we expect--unfortunately--
forever...
There will be a Kenyan sister
stepping out of the house on a Tuesday
walking down to the market for
fresh fruits and vegetables with
only her day's goals
on her mind.
For we will not be dissuaded.
We will not be laid down into a life of
hiding, of shameful curdling,
of depression or depravity.
My sister,
when the fires die down,
we both know
(you and I)
that there will be a collection of
mothers, daughters, neices, aunts and
grandmothers standing in the midst
of the mess hollering out
"Now WHAT? God help us,
we will not be defeated! We will not be
upended! The Kenyan woman
will BE KENYA
forever!"
-T. D. James-Moss
Saturday, April 4, 2015
"Holy Wars," A Poetry Post
It's remarkable how
people who claim they are
close to God
go out into the world to
force people into
choosing paths of life
apart from
willful decision.
God himself created
willful beings who could
say they believe or
say they don't believe or
say they will go or
say they won't go or
say they will do or
say they won't do but
people who are "close to God"
determine that their right is to
make those who are free agree to
whatever these godlings please.
Whether you are Muslim or Christian,
Black or White or bronzed by the
beautiful sun you live under,
you are free to live apart from the
bondage of these holy wars.
If you want to lie and cheat and steal,
you are free to do so according to your
conscience, as long as you are
willing to accept the consequences
of your actions.
If you want to stand arrogantly
against all logic,
you are free to do so
as long as you can afford to live
cleaning up the messes left after
blunder after blunder.
If you want to close your eyes to
every universal truth and
do whatever you choose
without regard for the lives of
those in your immediate and
global communities,
you may do as you want to.
That there are holy wars is proof that
you are free to choose.
If man could truly be restrained by
ANY OUTSIDER'S INFLUENCE,
without regard for his own decisions,
then we could stop people from
killing each other to
find peace.
-T. D. James-Moss
people who claim they are
close to God
go out into the world to
force people into
choosing paths of life
apart from
willful decision.
God himself created
willful beings who could
say they believe or
say they don't believe or
say they will go or
say they won't go or
say they will do or
say they won't do but
people who are "close to God"
determine that their right is to
make those who are free agree to
whatever these godlings please.
Whether you are Muslim or Christian,
Black or White or bronzed by the
beautiful sun you live under,
you are free to live apart from the
bondage of these holy wars.
If you want to lie and cheat and steal,
you are free to do so according to your
conscience, as long as you are
willing to accept the consequences
of your actions.
If you want to stand arrogantly
against all logic,
you are free to do so
as long as you can afford to live
cleaning up the messes left after
blunder after blunder.
If you want to close your eyes to
every universal truth and
do whatever you choose
without regard for the lives of
those in your immediate and
global communities,
you may do as you want to.
That there are holy wars is proof that
you are free to choose.
If man could truly be restrained by
ANY OUTSIDER'S INFLUENCE,
without regard for his own decisions,
then we could stop people from
killing each other to
find peace.
-T. D. James-Moss
"Poor Girl's Praise," A Poetry Post
I woke up this morning.
Lord I thank you.
When I sat up,
I felt good.
Lord I thank you.
When I reached around my
neck to
rub my shoulders,
I felt no pain
because I
slept on
a pillow that
supports my
shoulder weight.
Lord I thank you.
When I stood I
felt rested because I
sleep in a bed that
holds me like a
queen
when I lay my
body down.
Lord I thank you.
When I walked into my
bathroom,
my feet were warm
because the
carpet greets me when I
put down my first step and my
pink cotton slippers
wrap my feet in
comfort
before I cross over onto the
cold morning tile.
Lord I thank you.
Lord I thank you because I have
slept on bare concrete floors
covered with cheap government tile and
used carpet pads
for my pillow and
slept many nights with
pain and
got up many mornings in the
cold and
had to tiptoe
across the floor in my
bare feet and
now a poor girl remembers that
every little thing
every little thing
every little moment is a moment for
praise
praise
praise.
Lord I thank you.
Lord I thank you.
Lord I thank you.
-T. D. James-Moss
Lord I thank you.
When I sat up,
I felt good.
Lord I thank you.
When I reached around my
neck to
rub my shoulders,
I felt no pain
because I
slept on
a pillow that
supports my
shoulder weight.
Lord I thank you.
When I stood I
felt rested because I
sleep in a bed that
holds me like a
queen
when I lay my
body down.
Lord I thank you.
When I walked into my
bathroom,
my feet were warm
because the
carpet greets me when I
put down my first step and my
pink cotton slippers
wrap my feet in
comfort
before I cross over onto the
cold morning tile.
Lord I thank you.
Lord I thank you because I have
slept on bare concrete floors
covered with cheap government tile and
used carpet pads
for my pillow and
slept many nights with
pain and
got up many mornings in the
cold and
had to tiptoe
across the floor in my
bare feet and
now a poor girl remembers that
every little thing
every little thing
every little moment is a moment for
praise
praise
praise.
Lord I thank you.
Lord I thank you.
Lord I thank you.
-T. D. James-Moss
"The Spots," A Poetry Post
In the end it was the
balding spots that
made me love my
natural hair.
I suppose I could have
preferred the straight look,
but I couldn't find it
anywhere.
I permed and pulled and
pressed and cut and
did all I could to
achieve success.
But as days went by,
in two weeks or less,
the kinky came back and my
hair looked a mess.
So what could I do?
I retouched when it krinkled,
and I hot combed my tresses
as soon as they wrinkled.
In time I would learn that
before forced to fake it,
my head would revolt and
traverse the earth naked.
I decided; I knew truly!
My head holds my greatest treasures!
The least I can do now is
treat my scalp a little better.
So I cut off the damaged hair,
whatever bits were left,
and I grew back my kinky tresses
in the way that they love best.
When my hair asks me for water,
I embrace it in the bath.
And when my hair asks me for sun,
I wash and pick and let it go.
When my hair asks me for moisture,
I massage in the earth's oils.
When my hair asks for a breather,
I fluff it wildly and leave it so.
And that's why my hair is growing.
I believe it and I see.
I can't deny my very nature.
It is my hair.
It's just like me.
-T. D. James-Moss
balding spots that
made me love my
natural hair.
I suppose I could have
preferred the straight look,
but I couldn't find it
anywhere.
I permed and pulled and
pressed and cut and
did all I could to
achieve success.
But as days went by,
in two weeks or less,
the kinky came back and my
hair looked a mess.
So what could I do?
I retouched when it krinkled,
and I hot combed my tresses
as soon as they wrinkled.
In time I would learn that
before forced to fake it,
my head would revolt and
traverse the earth naked.
I decided; I knew truly!
My head holds my greatest treasures!
The least I can do now is
treat my scalp a little better.
So I cut off the damaged hair,
whatever bits were left,
and I grew back my kinky tresses
in the way that they love best.
When my hair asks me for water,
I embrace it in the bath.
And when my hair asks me for sun,
I wash and pick and let it go.
When my hair asks me for moisture,
I massage in the earth's oils.
When my hair asks for a breather,
I fluff it wildly and leave it so.
And that's why my hair is growing.
I believe it and I see.
I can't deny my very nature.
It is my hair.
It's just like me.
-T. D. James-Moss
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