This is an acrostic style poem, in which the first letter of each line spells out a word or phrase.  In this case "Ain't No Niggar."

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A beast of burden you decreed
In shackles from cargo holds you retrieved
No better than chattel you believed
Then branded and sold you completed the deed

Niggar became our new label
One destiny, one race it did entangle

No amount of hate can deny me
Ignorance willful or not won’t define me
Generations of kings and slaves birthed me
Goodness and His will shall sustain me
America’s history wouldn’t be without me
Regardless of the stereo type, I will define me

This is an acrostic styled poem, in which the first letter of each line spells out a word.  In this case "Skeletons."  Enjoy.

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Silky, Spiky, Strappy, Soiled

Keepsakes from erratic moments shared without you,

Electric, Elongated, Elegant, Exotic

Legacies of a lifetime before settling for you,

Evidence, Excuses, Explanations, Exposure

Tormented by lies so often inflicted upon you,

Oval, Onyx, Oversized, Oral

Nothing's worth the hurt from the loss of you,

Skeletons in the closet, Boneyard behind the door.

Sweat leaped off her brow and nose from the effort, four wheat germ smoothies and an enema helped, but not enough. Isolated from the zombie at the juice bar, pseudo ballers on the basketball court, and inane chatter from the showers, Jazz sat in the stall undeterred from her odorous task.

"Eight years", she grunted between pushes. After the last big fight Jazz swore to never waste an instant on Shaun. "If he were on fire from head to toe, I wouldn't waste the time to spit on him", she remarked to her close friends. And for the first six months of their separation, she meant it.

A few weeks later, evites to become a beta reader for Shaun's Pen began to arrive in her email. No matter how many times she deleted, blocked, or marked them as spam, the invites kept finding their way to her inbox. Ignoring them only escalated matters. Event notices, follows, and friend requests from Shaun's Pen pursed Jazz all over the Net. After eight weeks, frustration and curiosity won out over common sense. Jazz clicked the link, registered as a free member, and began reading Shaun's portfolio on FanStory.

Every essay, short story, and poem recounted the same theme - lost lovers reunited. All the hurt, regrets, and faint hope Shaun held scrolled across the monitor for Jazz to pronounce judgment with a simple review and rating. Several days later Jazz read the final entry in his portfolio "The Proposal." Her review consisted of a single repeated word, "Yes."

"Lies, nothing but lies", she grunted. Through tears Jazz focused on the pages from Shaun's manuscript, fanned out on the tiled floor awaiting their turn to serve. "Suga Mamma", "Tippin", and "Playa" were returned to the binder with her own special edits.

On the last expulsion Jazz smirked, the contract addressed to Sean Penn added the right amount of fiber she needed to finish revisions.

Dedicated to my father, Rosevelt Washington.  May you know eternal peace.

**********

The respirator hose lashed at family photos like a blind snake, orange rubber caps bounced off boxes of adult diapers, as Betsy sprinted across the living room to stop her father, Pop-Pop, from ripping out the last of his tubing. Again.

Terminal illness and dementia slow ground body and mind like premium hamburger. The doctor's warned these episodes would become more frequent toward the end.

From the bookshelf loaded with enough pharmaceuticals to warrant a D.E.A. raid, Betsy snatched up his sedative, placed both hands on Pop-Pop's skeletal shoulders, and forced her father back onto the portable hospital bed. Again.

Author Notes:

This was written for a flash fiction contest.  All entries must be 100 words and contain three words from the mandatory list:  blind, orange, hamburger, and puppy.  As always I look forward to your earnest comments.

Together we illuminate, give guidance, and inspire.

A few shooting stars will launch themselves past expectations toward a galaxy of excellence.

May we all continue our endeavors toward this shared journey...

A quick dash around the industrial sized dumpster, and Jordaen's own anxiety clicked up a notch. Three youths lay unconscious at the Were's feet, another cowered against a rear exit that refused to cooperate. Worse, four stories above an exhausted boy clung to the edge of a gutter, while an angry lycan in mid shift eagerly awaited his fall.<< MORE >>

It's been a while since I last posted.  A lot has been going on that has delayed my updating this site.  Some reasons are really great, "Naughtie Notions" and "Pay the Piper", my first ebooks will be published in a few months. 

Unfortunately, the more poignant delay involves my dad, Roosevelt Washington.  To put it bluntly, he's dying of lung cancer. 

I've just returned (2:00 a.m.) this morning from a second trip to Bamberg, South Carolina.  My sister, brother, mother, and self were advised by his doctors to come see him this weekend, while he was still lucid enough to recognize us.

Over the last few days I've watched my father go from highly aware and active (as much as a bedridden patient can be), to increasing lapses of awareness and bouts of anxiety.  I've had to follow behind the ambulance as he was returned to the same hospital that released him to home hospice care, in the hopes that his final moments could be in relative comfort.

At present, my father, Roosevelt Washington is not expected to live to the end of the week.  Part of me has accepted what I must, the other part is falling apart.

I ask that you be patient a little longer.  I'm working on a new writing schedule that I will post and keep faithfully.  I do appreciate your support and constructive comments.  I depend on them to help me realize my dream of becoming a full time writer.

Until next we chat, please view and share the below video.  It can express more than I'm capable of saying.



  

September 2009 - 359lbs

Take me for granted, you're proven unworthy


January 16, 2011 - 234lbs

Take me for stupid, you're proven clueless.

My baby still loved me. I could see it in her eyes. Even through the tomato bisque and chunks of ham salad I spewed all over the window, she still loved me.

The date lived up to its reputation, Friday the 13th, and everything went wrong. The moving company fired the girl who initially booked our reservation for a 30-foot trailer and a six-man crew. Her temporary replacement, the owner's mother, instead sent two teenage boys with a pickup ...

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