one drop
DESCRIPTION
My journalTRANSCRIPT
Sometimes I get caught up wanting the entire ocean
of life. I want to live at both extremes at the same
time. I want the carefree nomadic life of hammocks &
coconut water & selling poems to buy rice
since I’m only feeding myself. But also I want the security of
a bulging bank account and little babies I
call my sons and daughters. Most times I want it all.
But in my soul I know that all I need is one drop.
One drop of joy. One drop of laughter. One drop of
water. One drop of blood. If I have one drop, I have the
essence of that life.
This is a journal about gratitude. It’s about
resourcefulness. It’s about creativity. These are
plenty. These will last me generations.
ONE DROP
Thursday February 16, 2012 Earlier today I was rushing. I had no appointments, but I was nearly running to get to the library. Urgency. I felt it in my shoulders. My breathing was shallow and huffy. I wanted to get to the library and work on this journal because it feels like I’ve been in labor for a long time and it’s time for something to be born! I feel swollen! I even dreamed about it last night! In the dream, I was walking down my street towards my house and some young boys drove by in a car and one of them yelled out, “Yo belly sticking all out!!” It is time to give birth to this. But I recognize that it is coming in its own time and with its own spirit. I am a vessel, a channel. And the less sensitive and unrushed I am about it, the better prepared to welcome and nurture it. *siiiiigggghhhhhhh* After I decided not to be so rushed about life today, I walked across a trail of brilliantly red rose petals on the ground. I figured they were from someone’s Valentine’s day romancing. To me, it was a blessed sign to keep looking around. Stop being so stiff. And to live. This is One Drop. Welcome to my journal.
This photo was taken on a beach in South Carolina, 2010. I was clearly in the moment. Joy is so evident when present.
I got an idea!
Let’s do what we love
to do so that we can
keep doin’ it and doin’
it and doin’ it well
(thanks L.L.).
One Drop is about
taking our individual
tools & talents and
building civilizations.
For custom orders or questions,
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INSPIRATION
IS
EVERYWHERE
Wanted:
One guy, two
girls…
Who want to flex their
theatrical muscles in front of
serious theatre-goers.
The play to be performed:
Home
WRITTEN BY Samm-Art
Williams
It’ll be performed during
Fisk’s 2012 Spring Arts
Festival. So bring yourself to
the
Open Auditions
Friday, February 17, 2012
4:00 PM
@ Fisk’s Little Theatre
For details email Mrs. Felder-
Fentress:
GO OPEN MIC SERIES Location: New Student Lounge of Fisk University/Every other Friday Ambiance: Intimate. Dimly lit. Poets and musicians coming together to share
what inspirations have hit. Features
include live bands like Life Gang Pirates. slam poets bring fire and ice. Poets read poems as subtle and swift
as a bird's whistle. Folks read from their favorite books of poetry like Yusef
Komunyakaa's Neon Vernacular. A nice mix of
young people sharing the colors of their souls. Check it out. Bring your voice!
Next show Friday February 17th @ 7PM/ CPT: 7:30ish.
__________________________________________
You Shoulda Been There!!! Valerie and Erica's 25th Birthday Bash Location: The Cool Kid's House Ambiance: Feverish Fun
On Saturday February 11th there was a serious house party. Turning 25 is
a huge deal... I mean, You can finally rent a car NO EXTRA FEES! So nothing was spared for this celebration. There was food, music, and other things we can’t discuss in
detail here...But the pictures won't lie... (LINK to site with photos)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY LADIES!!!
I’M NO ANNE FRANK, BUT THIS IS A HOLOCAUST. I JOURNAL FOR MY SANITY. I JOURNAL FOR GENERATIONS TO COME.
www.issuu.com/liveinword
Safe Subjects
by Yusef Komunyakaa
How can love heal
the mouth shut this way?
Say something worth breath.
Let is surface, recapitulate
how fat leeches press down gently
on the sex goddesses eyelids.
Let truth have its way with us
like a fishhook holds
to life, holds dearly to nothing
worth say -pull it out,
bringing with it hard facts,
knowledge that the find underbone
of hope is also attached
to inner self, underneath it all.
Undress. No don't be afraid
even to get Satan mixed up in this
acknowledgment of thorns:
meaning there's madness
in the sperm, in the egg,
fear breathing in its blood sac,
true accounts not so easily
written off the sad book.
Say something about pomegranates.
Say something about real love.
Yes, true love -more than
parted lips, than parted legs
in sorrow's darkroom of potash
& blues. Let the brain stumble
from its hiding place, from its cell block,
to the edge of oblivion
to come to itself, sharp-tongued
as a boar's grin in summer moss
where a vision rides the back
of God, at this masquerade.
Redemptive as a straight razor
against a jugular vein -
unacknowledged & unforgiven.
It's truth we're after here,
hurting for, out in the streets
where my brothers kill each other,
each other's daughters & guardian angels
in the opera of dead on arrival.
Say something that resuscitates
us, behind the masks,
as we stumble off into neon lights
to loveless beds & a second skin
of loneliness. Something political as dust
& earthworms at work in the temple
of greed & mildew, where bowed lamps
cast down shadows like blueprints of graves.
Say something for us who can't believe
in the creed of nightshade.
Yes, say something to us dreamers
who decode the message of dirt
between ancient floor boards
as black widow spiders
lay translucent eggs
in the skull of a dead mole
under a dogwood in full bloom.