Wednesday, December 31, 2014

CRY MAN





                      CRY MAN

Why would your eyes be dry?
Your soul has been an aquifer for the ugly the world flushes
Your soul, from the shed blood of your elders has absorbed the worst the world has dished out and you stand
Shot you while unarmed, and say you are superhuman almost animal like is not a bad movie 
The Blues you live is real
They strangle you because you look dangerous as you sell untaxed cigarettes, as THEY finance weed shops in hoods like they sell 40oz’s and either it is a mystery or a conspiracy that guns filter into the hands of boyz in the hood 
Cry my brother, as I know you do behind closed doors
THEY Cry - Yuppie-vile as THEY protest an elephant going to another zoo
THEY Cry as Yuppie-vile wants more police protection for the electric cars parked on their white picket fenced hoods
Yeah they want protection from youthful white teens blowing off steam and the poor whites that live amongst them that steal their Amazon package that was delivered to their doors, and THEY want Black boys profiled as thugs to keep them away their daughters
My brother I know you vomit from being force-fed so much disrespect 
I know you’re sick as you worry will your sons make it home
Cry as we – well, some of us are trying to live together, and many white parents and white grandparents now have blended families, and they have the same worry you do that related Black men will be profiled and held down…and killed
Cry when you wake and smell the coffee of a new day, knowing at any point of the day you will witness a racial injustice through the national news or right in your face a backhanded slap
But you act so beautiful in the face of another isolated incident
Being effervescent in the face of a long history
Because you have survived
No genocide has taken your soul
Yet my soul brother, go ahead and cry
Let those tears rain like the rains of God that lifted Noah’s ark to float to a new beginning 
You see, those tears, they fertilize never giving up, and trying in every way to live with the blues
Cry man - my soul brother as you be - your own promise when you see the rainbow of brown hues of your people still standing erect in a pool of tears
You'll never cry alone


©A.L.A.H - Alvin L.A. Horn
Are you reading my novels
Brush Strokes
Perfect Circle
One Safe Place
Also featured in the book, Pillow Talk, The Heat of the Night
And coming, Father's Day 2015, the book, The Soul of a Man II, as I'll be featured along with some of our greatest writers of our time 
www.alvinhorn.com
— with Ramona Robinson and 49 others.

Friday, November 21, 2014

LIPS



Alvin L. A. Horn

LIPS

Your Lips
I like
I love
Wet, or really wet looking, makes me wanna dive in between,
Into a warm-like right out of the oven rising-bread lips
Your lips
I love it when I see you work them lips in the mirror
Juicy looking
You smile with them lips, and I see jawbreaker cheeks I just wanna to suck on them

Place them on me, please
Curl-em, roll-em, lick–em
Make me feel I’m in a cul-de-sac of lips
Let me suck on them
Let me taste your bottom lip
Oooh that top lip too
Kiss me

Smile and I see them lips spread across the rest of your pretty face
And it works me into the last time you …
Maybe I’m looking forward to the first time I taste those lips
I like your lips

Baby, bring those lips over here
So
When you do that big wide mouth O thing
And you do that purse your lips thing
Run your tongue around your mouth thing
Blow me a kiss thing
Then I feel your lips on my face thing
And your lips makes their way to … all over me thing
I go crazy just looking at your lips
I wanna suck on your lips
Sometimes red, maybe an outline of brown and sometimes just neutral gloss
Whatever the shade or flava, I’m staring, my body is stirring

I’m breathing hard from what your lips can do
Making me lick my own lips in anticipation
I love your lips when words feather through and touch my soul
Your words are large, tall, and meaningful, makes me mindful to listen while I watch them sugary lips
You speaking to me is air for absorption

I even love them lips when they're upset and tight lipped
Now my effort turns to parting those lips
So damn sexy no matter what them lips are doing
Please keep those lips near me

You want to feel me, see me, doing me?
Work them lips, honey
Put them right on the tip of me
Whisper with those nasty things with those...
Full lips

Bring me those
Phat lips
Soup cooler lips
Thin but soft, distinctive lips
Lips so big I don’t even look at her booty
Now that’s some kind-of-lips
Lips so perfect I want to suck on her lips and not on her breasts kind-of-lips
Apple curving lips
Peach juice lips
Big bottom lip
Plump tops lip
Hot lips
Making me get hard from the touch of your lips
I’m watching your lips
I’m stuck on the visual, the feel, the thought of those, one of a-kind lips
You got those kind-of lips
Place those lips right here …

© 2011 Alvin Lloyd Alexander Horn
Have you read my books?
Your support keeps me writing

http://alvinhorn.com/

The lips in the picture are those of Lalah Hathaway

Friday, November 14, 2014

Prince Ea



Richard Williams,(Prince Ea)was born September 16, 1988 in St. Louis, Missouri, the youngest of three children, and has resided there his whole life. The alias Prince Ea is derived from Sumerian mythology ("The prince of the Earth"). He has also graduated from the University of Missouri-St. Louis with honors.

   
         Can We Auto-Correct Humanity?


Why I Refuse to Let Technology Control Me.
You need not delete your social networks or destroy your cell phones, the message is simple, be balanced, be mindful, be present, be here. :)

       "LOVE" (Everything you have been told was a lie)


Born and raised on the North Side of St. Louis Missouri, twenty-six year old rapper Prince Ea has a sound unlike most artists coming out from the Midwest. Having a great song writing ability and stage presence, he combines both creative and thought-provoking songs that neatly tie-in humor, wit, passion, and hard hitting punch-lines.

     Why I Think This World Should End


       Prince Ea - Jesus Shuttlesworth


       Prince Ea - The Red Pill


       Prince Ea - The Brain


NAMED MOST INTELLIGENT HIP HOP SONG OF ALL TIME. PRINCE EA DOESN'T DISAPPOINT WITH THIS INNOVATIVE TRACK BREAKING DOWN THE HUMAN BRAIN.
Purchase "The Brain" NOW: http://princeea.bandcamp.com/track/pr.

       Prince Ea - Political Science



Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Army Of Millions Of Women




 Wonder Wombman's post

I need an army of millions of
Women who want to fight
For justice, equality, peace
And world unity

 I need an army of millions of
 Women who want to fight
 To stop the prostitution
 Of young women.

 I need an army of millions of
 Women who want to fight
 For a better world, not for
 world Domination and
 the pillage of Nature

 I need an army of millions of
 Women who want to fight
 For education for all people
 regardless of social status, gender
 and life styles.

I need an army of millions of
Women who want to fight against
man-made Borders, racial division,
hatred And ignorance.

© Belmoun Ibolele — with Benjamin Balendjobenjamen and Modler Antoine.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

I Am That Man



Alvin L.A. Horn, video poem, I AM THAT MAN
For his novels, spoken word and written poetry visit http://alvinhorn.com

The Lonely Sun



                  The Lonely Sun
            

                 Alvin Lloyd Alexander Horn, video poem, THE LONELY SUN
For his romantic novels, spoken word CD's and and written poetry visit http://alvinhorn.com




Thursday, October 9, 2014

Good night my love




                      Good night my love            
 By Alvin L. A. Horn

Good night my love
Please Dream
Dream of all the things that make you smile
I dream of watching that smile, while you dream
What a beautiful dream
Pillows in the sky
Flowing across the sky
Billowing                                                                                
Red pillows                                                
Above me
Passing through
Then on top
Me
Alone in my thoughts
Watching the blending
The nightline falling
The last of the daytime
Soon to be dark
Soon I’ll be with you
Flying your way
Soon I’ll be with you
Gazing out the window
A thinly visible reflection of me
Red pillows a backdrop in a fantasy of you and me
Reflecting
Racing my love ahead
My heart has already landed
Love
Is grounded
Seeing God’s rays of light glowing along pillows in the sky
Skyline fading
Anticipating my first sight of you once my body has grounded
You are the one I’ve come to be with
With all that is me
Me, once lonely, whose spirit floated on rough seas
Now I’m floating across pillows in the sky
Approaching you
As dark approaches, light disappears
Stars start guiding me to you
I lay my head on a pillow and only think about you
You are the one I come to
While floating on pillows in the sky
Good night my love

© Alvin L.A. Horn
www.alvinhorn.com
  Isaac Hayes - Medley: Ike's Rap III / Your Love Is So Doggone Good                                                
                   

Friday, August 15, 2014

Is It YOU ?




                 Is It YOU ?

There are times when I need someone to hold me and love me so very bad!!! .....  But it has never been right ,never felt right,never seemed right.
People in my life have always looked to me to be strong,
positive,uplifting,emotionally supportive. They come to me for
answers to imposible life questions and I am expected to have
answers........ I try!!

I have been a comforter to others,Yet I remain in need of comforting.
I have never had anyone I felt I could turn to,release my insides to
for just a little while........ I have tried.... ,but the vacant looks back at me or the changing of the subject to something else lets you know.

I spend my down time with myself.......... till I pull myself back up.
So far I always make it back,but it would feel so good to have
someone........ Someone who felt me sliping and would come and comfort me with love , affection , and caring..

 Is it YOU ?  Is it YOU ?

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Rest in peace



By Alvin L. A. Horn
Rest in peace to, the next lightning strike of the murder of a Black male
Rest in peace to, the next young black male, father, uncle, and grandfather, the kid next door, who is or was on his way to higher learning
Rest in peace to the next black male going under Six Feet

Rest in peace to, all the black lawyers who used to represent our hoods, and used to attempt to protect us within this tilted legal system but now you do corporate law
Hey Black lawyer yeah you...you abandoned us to make mo-money and that's all well and fine, I get it, I want to make a dollar too, but rest in peace to giving a damn at all

Rest in peace to those preachers standing in the pulpit collecting money from women who sons are now buried or soon to be shot or strangled or beat
Rest in peace to, the preachers who are not standing up in the community and all you have to say is "let's pray" and won't get out of your black SUV's and get on the corner with other black preachers like Martin did, like Malcolm did

Rest in peace to "by any means necessary"

Rest in peace to, whatever happened to the Black Panthers who used to feed us and protect us and would go get a gun permit, and go out in our communities to protect us from the thugs who look like us, and from the thugs who wear blue uniforms

Rest in peace for what used to be black leaders and black politicians whose number one priority was protecting us, now those black politicians all stand up and say they are behind Israel beating down other brown people with less then
Rest in peace to, they represent us, in rest in peaceful trains of thought
Rest in peace because for sure you haven't heard of a black politicians speaking up about all the black men being killed by thugs in uniforms who are paid with our tax dollars, yeah how do you rest in peace

Rest in peace to, those who try to deflect with black on black crime stats as being the same as trained legal thugs with badges killing us
Rest in peace; white folks kill each other too, as cops beat the hell out of their wives, yeah check that stat
Rest in peace to the next black man who has been killed by the police, and we scream bloody murder, and sue for money to buy bigger rims

Rest in peace to, I'm tired and dazed and confused, as there are those who say it not a racial thing
Rest in peace that if they knew American history, they could see the police are “hanging strange fruit”
Rest in peace, if you don't know what that means, and you don't find out before your black male becomes “strange fruit”

R.I.P as we need a rainbow of promise not broken to keep our black males alive
©
A.L.A.H.
8/12/2014

Monday, August 11, 2014

We Are Gaza. Look Into Our Eyes.




                We Are Gaza. Look Into Our Eyes.


Published on Aug 8, 2014
(watch the full interview with Kash here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KL57...)


White
White phosphorus burning meat off the civilian bones, burning the single moms hopes of peace, chemical gas greeting the dusty morning sunshine, shelling orchestrating a symphony of death, breath by breath, the long forgotten dream of survival awakens the nightmare of Israel’s arrival, Airstrikes, ground invasion, the rape and theft of an entire nation,

Media, money, and mendacity corroding the remains of a heart sold to the musings of Zionist colonial congregation, the truth locked behind the delusion of defense, the a victimizing story lying about Zionist glory….

return the military funding and start the next chapter of your story, the blood NEVER washes off but your comatose conscience will greet the beauty of compassion as the scars of a killer begin to close with vigor, you’ll soon walk upright evolving in the gaza sunlight



The chemicals in the water can’t be prayed away, Zionism is here to stay

White mobs in the streets, chanting death to peace, leave the defenseless Palestinians deceased, burn the olive trees, drain the pipes of hope and wash away the resistance in the streets, cut the electric lines, poison in the food supply, divide the dirt from the earth to the sky, go to sleep Miley Cyrus has a new song, the newest Iphone will sing you songs all day long, the lullaby that takes a lifetime too long,
just stay passive don’t speak of JUSTICE until dust from bombs dropped on Gaza sits

White cloth covers the corpse of a comrade called Mohammed Hussein Saeed Abu Khudair, at 16 occupying the cemetery the creation of a corrupt colonial congregation, could’ve called him my cousin, the white cloth covers his future contributions, cowards pumped gasoline in the blood stream to light his soft skin, pumped adrenaline in the veins to ensure he’s conscious and awake, while the fire on the flesh forces his fate, the smell of skin burning, the sand storm of bombs dropped on the beaches, flesh wounds, butchered pieces






Well….

Take a long look in our eyes, we are the insect in your ears, the rust upon your gears, the resistance you fear, the faith you smear, the justice you want to disappear

We are the Palestinian mothers who continue to send their children to school amidst gunfire, children they gave birth to behind a checkpoint, take a long look

We are the shame on the face of a Zionist at the point of realization, the crux of courage to refute the support of a gangster nation, take a long look

We are the tears of a father holding his mangled child in a hospital about to be set to the fire, take a long look

We are the soldier turning against his battalion, the drone operator turned freedom fighter, take a long look



We are the world knocking at your front door come outside and face the bombs you fight for, the guns your taxes afford, the death your cheering citizens SALIVATE for,

So take a long long look into our eyes, justice is frozen in time, FREE FREE PALESTINE!!

by Khashayar Nikazmrad


Saturday, July 12, 2014

Alvin L. A. Horn - Poems




I REMEMBER … EVEN THOUGH I’M STILL DREAMING OF WHEN WE WILL

I remember when we made love for the first time, even though, we never have
Our future is living in my heart, as if we have always been together
But as of yet, we have not, but I smile, I’m believing in us becoming lovers
When I look at you, you know,
when I talk to you, you know,
when I touch your hand, you know,
when I kiss you, you know,
when I hold you, you know, we’ll be loving to no end
Believe
Open your heart to trusting us
My future love, I’m remembering all the places we will make love as if we already have

Smile baby, I remember when,
on that beach on the shores of Spain
I was between your legs as the warm waters crept and was trying to flow into you at the same time I was hot… hard… and sliding ever so slow going in you as our bodies imprinted in the sand
I told you, I’d love me forever as you sighed my name, as gentle, as the last wave touched our skin

Then I remember there was the time, when we were in the mountains of Brazil behind an Amazon jungle waterfall
Your beautiful lips and soft eyes were between my thighs, and the warmth of your kisses and caress and tongue and fingers had me screaming and growling as a wild animal
You told me to say your name and I did, as I told you I’d love you forever, and you claimed … you couldn’t hear me, and you made me shout your name so loud, my voice parted the waterfall, as you parted your lips wider, and took me to a place of begging for a lifetime of your love

Hmm, I remember the time, I sat you on the washing machine, and the spin cycle vibrated us as I stroked off in your warm and wet human fabric that felt so tight, as if, size 6 panties tried to squeeze your perfectly sized 12 '@$$'

I remember the time it was when we were camping in the desert on that cliff and we listened to wolfs howl at the moon and you purred like a wildcat when my tongue slid in your '@*(!)'

I remember the time baby when everyone left from work, and we were the only ones left… we thought
I made you bend over the desk, and luckily, we had locked the door because someone almost walked in on you biting down on your thong to help keep you quiet as my slacks were down at my ankles
As I humped away inside you we were up 50 stories high and getting higher … it all started with you dancing naked for me on my desk as I stroked my hardness for you to enjoy

I remember the time I handcuffed you to my stand-up bass, and played with you and made you go out of tune, as you made my bass groan
I plucked your tight strings that soon broke along with other things, as I was going down on you

Yeah that was nice, and a hot moment, as all of our moments are intense even though we are yet to have one of those moments, but I remember them, before we’ll share them
It doesn’t matter where we do us, just as long as we will
I got you
I remember when we made love for the first time, even though, we never have
Our future is living in my heart, as if we have always been together
But as of yet, we have not, but I smile, I’m believing in us becoming lovers

© Alvin L.A. Horn

          PHIL PERRY" LOVE DON'T LOVE NOBODY."


ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR AND LOVE DON’T LOVE NOBODY
The biggest war we fight
Us vs the un-committing heart
Or the committing heart vs us
The un-committing heart cares only about its own victory
The wins fulfill selfish-needs
Seemly it has every weapon known to man or woman
The un-committing heart sells to you sweet desires
Acted like it they wanted you for a spellbinding spell
Touched you like they wanted you
And didn’t look to bad next to you
Then wham… bam… zoink… boink; sucker punched to the belly of your heart
The un-committing heart didn’t know themselves that it did not want to commitment to doing the right thing

Damn you got the booty of your heart kicked
It wasn’t the first time
Everybody plays the fool sometime; there is no exception to the rule
But we have something they don’t have, a beating heart that is a bad <!%*#^%+^%^$> and is…
Warm
Sensitive
And yes…
Wounded
Maybe a little jaded
Yet giving up is not an option
We are meant to love

All is fair in love and war and love don’t love nobody

The un-committing heart has won some battles in our lives, but not the war
The war, we can never let the un-committing heart win in the end
Our heart has shields
Although it can be wounded
The heart is strong and heals from hits, wounds, and lies
Actually, the heart is made from love that God created and instilled and that love can never be destroyed
When you’re down, and feeling low let the chance of love walk in
Don’t block your blessing with games, rules and stipulations that makes you no better than the un-committing heart that hurt you
What a fool believes, please don’t believe
You survived even the biggest of blows
Got knocked down, but not out
How so?
The heart is a bad <!%*#^%+^%^$>
Strangest things though, the heart withstand the evilest deeds known to man or woman
It’s the mind that’s not strong
The soul survives our mind getting in our own way

For the un-committing heart, a song resonates in the back ground for them “Who’s Sorry Now”
Sooner or later
To bad for them
And all good for us
We can lose battles
But God has a plan, that we should not let the mental pains of lost battles get in the way
We have love aplenty to give
And, there is a love warrior like us who is seeking our love
The un-committing heart wants us to act as if we still want them
The un-committing heart wants us to act like a defeated fool
If we do that, it will just prolong us from using the healing power we possess
Be dammed if we let a chance for love to pass us by letting trials and tribulations knock us out
It’s all part of God’s master plan to make us the winner of the war of love to be
We should keep going forth, knowing we are assured of victory if we let our hearts rule our minds
Funny, yeah, we are always told, it should be the other way around like footsteps in the dark
The un-committing heart does not have the super strength that we possess
That strength is to always to care, and to always give love a chance to be a winner and to be free to love

© Alvin L.A. Horn
multi-award award winning novelist & spoken word artist


Seeing you in blue waves curving and rising your full body as I walk along
I speed up and my heart races as I see your full body like liquid
l want to dive in you to feel you surround me
Engulfed me to taste you
I want lick you to hear your shores crash
I'm here taking you all in
When I'm away from you I miss you so I come to you wanting you needing you
Do you feel me near you?
Like the rocks under me I am always firm when I think of the thickness of your legs going in wild directions
I live to see the smile in your eyes and to touch you and you touching me
Your arms are around me as you talk to me
Do I need to talk ...no I listen to you that's what I do when I come to you each and every day — ........ -- at Seward Park on Lake Washington.

© Alvin L.A. Horn

 multi-award winning novelist & spoken word artist
The author of the New novel ~ONE SAFE PLACE~ ~PERFECT CIRCLE~, and Brush Strokes, Published by ZANE & Simon and Schuster
www.alvinhorn.com

Monday, June 9, 2014

Sister Maya Angelou Memorial & Story


          Sister Maya Angelou ~ In Her Own Words


Sister Maya Angelou was born on April 4, 1928, in St. Louis, Missouri, under the name Marguerite Annie Johnson, and was raised in Stamps, Arkansas, and San Francisco, after her parents sent her off to live with her grandmother in California when she was fresh with a white store clerk in Arkansas, the Associated Press reported.

She grew up to become a singer, dancer, actress, writer and Hollywood's first female black director.

Angelou had an impressive list of accolades: She was a three-time Grammy winner and was nominated for a Pulitzer, a Tony, and an Emmy for her role in the 1977 groundbreaking television mini-series "Roots."

But her success didn't come easily. Angelou's life struggles were fodder for her work.
A few weeks after she finished high school, at 17, she gave birth to her son, Guy. A single mother, she supported her son by working as a waitress and a cook, but music, dance, and poetry were her true passions.

In 1960, she moved to Cairo, where she edited an English-language weekly newspaper. The following year, she went to Ghana to teach music and drama. It was in Ghana that she met Malcolm X, coming back to the U.S. in 1964 with him to help him build his new coalition, the Organization of African American Unity.

It was in 1970 that she published "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," a painful tale of growing up in Jim Crow South, which is now on children's reading lists in schools across the country (along with sometimes being censored for its raw account of rape and teen pregnancy).

"If growing up is painful for the Southern Black girl, being aware of her displacement is the rust on the razor that threatens the throat. It is an unnecessary insult," she wrote.

"'I thought that it was a mild book. There's no profanity," Angelou once told the AP. "It speaks about surviving, and it really doesn't make ogres of many people. I was shocked to find there were people who really wanted it banned, and I still believe people who are against the book have never read the book."

Between Angelou's fiction, non-fiction, and published verse, she amassed more than 30 bestselling titles.

Angelou was also a trailblazer in film. She wrote the screenplay and composed the score for the 1972 film "Georgia," and the script, the first-ever by an African-American woman to be filmed, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.

In more recent years, it was her interactions with presidents that made headlines. In 1993, she wowed the world when her reading of her poem "On the Pulse of the Morning" was broadcast live globally from former President Bill Clinton's first inauguration. She stayed so close with the Clintons that in 2008, she supported Hillary Clinton's candidacy over Barack Obama's.

She also counted Nelson Mandela and the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., as friends, and served as a mentor to Oprah Winfrey when Winfrey was starting out as a local TV reporter. When she was in her 20s, Angelou met Billie Holiday, who told her: "You're going to be famous. But it won't be for singing."

Angelou read another poem, "Amazing Peace," for former President George W. Bush at the 2005 Christmas tree-lighting ceremony at the White House.

In North Carolina, Angelou lived in an 18-room house and taught American Studies at Wake Forest University.

                    Oprah Winfrey speaks at Maya Angelou Memorial Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University  

       

          Marvin and BeBe Winans singing "Stand"


             Michelle Obama Emotional Speech Maya Angelou Memorial VIDEO Wait Chapel at Wake Forest 


            Cicely Tyson speaks at Maya Angelou Memorial Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University


June 7, 2014
Cicely Tyson speaks at Maya Angelou Memorial Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University Cicely Tyson Maya Angelou pay their final respects to her at Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University WINSTON-SALEM, N.C. (AP) — Family, friends and famous admirers including first lady Michelle Obama, former President Bill Clinton and Oprah Winfrey plan to gather for a weekend tribute to poet, orator and sage Maya Angelou.

BeBe Winans speaks sings at Maya Angelou Memorial

Michelle Obama Emotional Speech Maya Angelou Memorial VIDEO Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University

Oprah Winfrey speaks at Maya Angelou Memorial Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University

Bill Clinton speaks at Maya Angelou Memorial Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University

Cicely Tyson speaks at Maya Angelou Memorial Wait Chapel at Wake Forest University

The service, set for 10 a.m. ET/7 PT, will be broadcast on Winfrey's OWN Network and streamed at www.Oprah.com/MayaAngelou.

Angelou is being honored as a renaissance figure and one of the 20th century's most famous black writers at a private memorial service planned later Saturday morning at Wake Forest University. Angelou died May 28 at age 86 after a remarkable life with important roles in civil rights and the arts.

READ UP: The essential Maya Angelou reading list

Born into poverty and segregation, Angelou rose to become an accomplished actress, singer, dancer and writer. Although she never graduated from college, she taught for more than 30 years at the private North Carolina university, where she was regularly addressed as Dr. Angelou out of respect for all the honorary degrees she received.

Her magnetism also drew her into friendships with famous figures from Malcolm X and Nelson Mandela to Clinton and Winfrey

Angelou was born Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis and raised in Stamps, Arkansas, and San Francisco. Her life included writing poetry by age 9, giving birth as a single mother by 17, and becoming San Francisco's first black streetcar conductor. She also once danced at a strip joint, shared the stage with comic Phyllis Diller and garnered career advice from singer Billie Holiday. She wrote music and plays, received an Emmy nomination for her acting in the 1970s TV miniseries Roots and danced with Alvin Ailey.

Tall and majestic, Angelou added heft to her spoken words with a deep and sonorous voice, describing herself as a poet in love with "the music of language." She recited the most popular presidential inaugural poem in history, On the Pulse of Morning, when Clinton opened his first term in 1993. She inspired many and became a mentor to Winfrey before she became a talk show host.

Angelou once worked as a coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and lived for years in Egypt and Ghana, where she met Mandela. In 1968, she was helping the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. organize the Poor People's March in Memphis, Tennessee, where the civil rights leader was slain on Angelou's 40th birthday.

           Dr. Maya Angelou's 3-Word Secret to Living Your Best Life - Oprah's Master Class - OWN




 




















Dr. Maya Angelou 
was one of the most renowned and influential voices of our time. Hailed as a global renaissance woman, Dr. Angelou is a celebrated poet, memoirist, novelist, educator, dramatist, producer, actress, historian, filmmaker, and civil rights activist.


Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Annie Johnson in St. Louis, Missouri. Her parents divorced when she was only three and she was sent with her younger brother Bailey to live with their grandmother in the small town of Stamps, Arkansas. In Stamps, the young girl experienced the racial discrimination that was the legally enforced way of life in the American South, but she also absorbed the deep religious faith and old-fashioned courtesy of traditional African American life. She credits her grandmother and her extended family with instilling in her the values that informed her later life and career. She enjoyed a close relationship with her younger brother. Unable to pronounce her name because of a stutter, Bailey called her "My" for "My sister." A few years later, when he read a book about the Maya Indians, he began to call her "Maya," and the name stuck.
At age seven, while visiting her mother in Chicago, she was sexually molested by her mother's boyfriend. Too ashamed to tell any of the adults in her life, she confided in her brother. When she later heard the news that an uncle had killed her attacker, she felt that her words had killed the man. She fell silent and did not speak for five years.


Maya began to speak again at 13, when she and her brother rejoined their mother in San Francisco. Maya attended Mission High School and won a scholarship to study dance and drama at San Francisco's Labor School, where she was exposed to the progressive ideals that animated her later political activism. She dropped out of school in her teens to become San Francisco's first African American female cable car conductor. She later returned to high school, but became pregnant in her senior year and graduated a few weeks before giving birth to her son, Guy. She left home at 16 and took on the difficult life of a single mother, supporting herself and her son by working as a waitress and cook, but she had not given up on her talents for music, dance, performance and poetry.


In 1952, she married a Greek sailor named Anastasios Angelopulos. When she began her career as a nightclub singer, she took the professional name Maya Angelou, combining her childhood nickname with a form of her husband's name. Although the marriage did not last, her performing career flourished. She toured Europe with a production of the opera Porgy and Bess in 1954 and 1955. She studied modern dance with Martha Graham, danced with Alvin Ailey on television variety shows and recorded her first record album, Calypso Lady (1957).
She had composed song lyrics and poems for many years, and by the end of the 1950s was increasingly interested in developing her skills as a writer. She moved to New York, where she joined the Harlem Writers Guild and took her place among the growing number of young black writers and artists associated with the Civil Rights Movement. She acted in the historic Off-Broadway production of Jean Genet's The Blacks and wrote and performed a Cabaret for Freedom with the actor and comedian Godfrey Cambridge.
In New York, she fell in love with the South African civil rights activist Vusumzi Make and in 1960, the couple moved, with Angelou's son, to Cairo, Egypt. In Cairo, Angelou served as editor of the English language weekly The Arab Observer. Angelou and Guy later moved to Ghana, where she joined a thriving group of African American expatriates. She served as an instructor and assistant administrator at the University of Ghana's School of Music and Drama, worked as feature editor for The African Review and wrote for The Ghanaian Times and the Ghanaian Broadcasting Company.

During her years abroad, she read and studied voraciously, mastering French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic and the West African language Fanti. She met with the American dissident leader Malcolm X in his visits to Ghana, and corresponded with him as his thinking evolved from the racially polarized thinking of his youth to the more inclusive vision of his maturity.
Maya Angelou returned to America in 1964, with the intention of helping Malcolm X build his new Organization of African American Unity. Shortly after her arrival in the United States, Malcolm X was assassinated, and his plans for a new organization died with him. Angelou involved herself in television production and remained active in the Civil Rights Movement, working more closely with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who requested that Angelou serve as Northern Coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. His assassination, falling on her birthday in 1968, left her devastated. With the guidance of her friend, the novelist James Baldwin, she found solace in writing, and began work on the book that would become I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. The book tells the story of her life from her childhood in Arkansas to the birth of her child. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was published in 1970 to widespread critical acclaim and enormous popular success.


Seemingly overnight, Angelou became a national figure. In the following years, books of her verse and the subsequent volumes of her autobiographical narrative won her a huge international audience. She was increasingly in demand as a teacher and lecturer and continued to explore dramatic forms as well. She wrote the screenplay and composed the score for the film Georgia, Georgia (1972). Her screenplay, the first by an African American woman ever to be filmed, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.
Angelou has been invited by successive Presidents of the United States to serve in various capacities. President Ford appointed her to the American Revolution Bicentennial Commission and President Carter invited her to serve on the Presidential Commission for the International Year of the Woman. President Clinton requested that she compose a poem to read at his inauguration in 1993. Angelou's reading of her poem "On the Pulse of the Morning" was broadcast live around the world.



Since 1981, Angelou has served as Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. She has continued to appear on television and in films including Poetic Justice (1993) and the landmark television adaptation of Roots (1977). She has directed numerous dramatic and documentary programs on television and directed her first feature film, Down in the Delta, in 1996.
The list of her published works now includes more than 30 titles. These include numerous volumes of verse, beginning with Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'Fore I Die (1971). Books of her stories and essays include Wouldn't Take Nothing For My Journey Now (1993) and Even the Stars Look Lonesome (1997). She has continued the compelling narrative of her life in the books Gather Together in My Name (1974), Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas (1976), The Heart of a Woman (1981), All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes (1987) and A Song Flung Up to Heaven (2002).
In 2000, Dr. Angelou was honored with the Presidential Medal of the Arts; she received the Ford's Theatre Lincoln Medal in 2008. The same year, she narrated the award-winning documentary film The Black Candle and published a book of guidance for young women, Letter to My Daughter.
Maya Angelou participated in a series of live broadcasts for Achievement Television in 1991, 1994 and 1997, taking questions submitted by students from across the United States. The interview with Maya Angelou on this web site has been condensed from these broadcasts.
------------------
Yes I Can

by Dr. Maya Angelou

When the land became water and
Water thought it was God,
Consuming lives here, sparing lives there,
Swallowing buildings, and devouring cities.
It was power, mighty power, grown careless
And intoxicated with itself, and
The American people were tested.

As a result of our tumultuous history,
There resides a thought in the American psyche
Which ennobles us high above the problems which beset us.
It appears and evicts despair.
It enters and wrests fear from its lodging.

Simply put, the idea is,
"Yes I can."
"I can overcome."

The one time slave says, "I have proved and am still
proving - I can overcome slavery."

The one time slave owner says, "I have proved and am still
proving - I can overcome slavery."

The North says, "I have proved and am still proving - I can
overcome the Civil War."

The South says, "I have proved and am still proving - I can
overcome the Civil War."

The American people can say rampant crime has not turned
our masses into criminals, and blissful peace has not lulled
us into contented laziness.

This song that was so needed by Americans when it was
written one hundred years ago and needed fifty years ago
by Americans during the Civil Rights Movement, will be of
great use to use, these days, as we reel beneath the blows of
a violent hurricane.

We shall overcome.
We shall overcome.
We shall overcome, I pray.
Deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome.
Let us all pray.
Let us all work.
And, I know, we shall overcome.

My name is Maya Angelou. I am an American


Photobucket

by Dr. Maya Angelou

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I'm clean livin'."
I'm whispering "I was lost,
Now I'm found and forgiven."

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
and need Christ to be my guide.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
And need His strength to carry on.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
And need God to clean my mess.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
But, God believes I am worth it.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches
So I call upon His name.

When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not holier than thou,
I'm just a simple sinner
Who received God's good grace, somehow!

      Dr. Maya Angelou visting Glide memorial Church in San Francisco


 Maya Angelou - A Brave and Startling Truth - A Memorial, RIP


           Introducing Miss Calypso! - Super Soul Sunday - Oprah Winfrey Network


           Still I rise - Dr. Maya Angelou


          Maya Angelou Poem "The Mask"


         Maya Angelou's Poem For Nelson Mandela


Friday, May 9, 2014

Wanda Robinson Playlist and history





Jazz poet Wanda Robinson from Baltimore released Black Ivory (named for her backing band) in 1971 on the Perception label. It offers a portrait of the artist as a (righteously) angry young woman about social mores, political injustices, and sexual politics and was produced by jazz composer and pianist Anthony Davis. The 11 cuts that make up Black Ivory are rooted by a chamber jazz group of piano, flute and saxes, bass, and a drum.

Wanda Robinson was a spoken word artist that recorded with musicians backing her up. On this album she collaborated with Black Ivory. On tracks like The Meeting Place the band is purely in the background, hovering off in the distance. On other pieces like John Harvey’s Blues there is no music at all. Suddenly Robinson and company emerge with Parting Is Such that has some rich orchestration and a little hint of Funk to it. On the Final Hour they’re able to find some Soul, again with strings and a catchy melody.


 The beginning of Celebration, Compromise, Read Street Festival, A Word To The Wise, The Great American Pastime starts off sounding like its going to go all out towards the Funk, but instead mellows out when Robinson joins in for her versus. It actually does touch on the Funk for a short stretch in the middle after a drum break. Instant Replay mixes some funky Soul and spoken word elements with a rhythm track taken from one of Black Ivory’s best tunes. In comparison, on The Trouble With Dreams Grooving things get spaced out and jazzy. Wanda Robinson was a 'jazz-poet' who released 2 LPs on Perception Records. The first, 1971's 'Black Ivory' included the tracks 'Instant Replay' (which used the instrumental version of Black Ivory's 'I Keep Asking You Questions' as the music bed for one of her poems), and 'The Final Hour' (which used another Black Ivory track 'Don't Turn Around').



           Wanda Robinson ‎-- Me And A Friend (1973


I Usta Be Wanda Robinson

Among hip-hop heads and electronica kids, Laini Mataka's former self has a life of her own.
By Sarah Godfrey • July 14, 2006
Interracial dating, periods, and the quiet dignity of shoeshine men are among the things Laini Mataka has decided to discuss today. She’s giving a poetry reading at the Karibu Books outpost at the Mall at Prince Georges, and the audience is filled with teenagers, many of whom Mataka knows from her work through DC WritersCorps and as an occasional guest speaker at the Duke Ellington School of the Arts.

Of all the subjects that Mataka brings up, the one the students are most intrigued by involves their favored brand of sneaker: “Designer shoes on/Restricted feet/Nike chains/Better than shackles,” Mataka recites.

“Can you read that again?” asks one young man, and Mataka does. She then reaches out to pat the knee of a kid wearing Air Force Ones who has slumped down in his seat. “I’m not talking about your Nikes, baby,” she says.

Mataka moves on to other topics: health, genocide, black pride. In one of the last poems she reads, she talks about hair. The slight woman, in African dress, discusses the political significance of her own long locks, and how, for many, locking hair has become merely cosmetic.

“Every time conscious people do something to distinguish themselves, others come along and copy it,” she tells the students. “And then we have to find something new.”

Two books of Mataka’s poems are on sale at the Karibu reading, Bein a Strong Black Woman Can Get U Killed!! and Never as Strangers. At the very bottom of the cover of Never as Strangers is a small parenthetical: “(i usta be wanda robinson).”

That was back “when I was young and crazy,” the 56-year-old Columbia Heights resident says. As Robinson, Mataka recorded two spoken-word albums, 1971’s Black Ivory and a 1973 follow-up, Me and a Friend. Both were released by New York label Perception Records, whose roster included Shirley Horn, the Fatback Band, Dizzy Gillespie during his funk period, Astrud Gilberto, and Baha’i saxophonist James Moody. When Black Ivory was released, it made Billboard Black Albums chart, peaking at No. 29.

Robinson was a contemporary of the Last Poets and Maya Angelou, and she seemed poised to follow the same career trajectory. But she virtually disappeared after recording Black Ivory, fed up with show business and no longer willing to offer the world her words for what she calls “less than chump change.” She left the record business, worked at various odd jobs, and continued to write. In 1972, she shaved her head and changed her name to Laini Mataka. A year later, her second album was put out by Perception—but without her involvement.

Every once in a while, she’ll catch a snippet of her old work. A Miss Black America contestant recited one of her pieces for the pageant’s talent competition. Electronica and hip-hop artists delve into her recordings for samples. In 2002, a compilation of tracks from both Perception albums came out as The Soul-Jazz Poetry of Wanda Robinson. Last year, the records were re-released individually by Breathless, a reissue label that specializes in such hipster-certified obscurities as acid-folk band Comus and UK Afrobeat group Demon Fuzz.

The poetry has made it all over the world, in ways Mataka never imagined. “It did do what I wanted it to, in terms of reaching people,” she says. She’s just worried about what kind of shape it’s in by the time it gets to them. Poems have been chopped up and repurposed. Details of her life and recordings have been misstated. Most of her current fans probably suspect that she’s dead—or that she disappeared, mysteriously, long ago.

“You know who I hear is buying a lot of my [work]?” she asks. “White boys. I can’t understand why they would be attracted to it.”

As told by music historians and vinyl collectors, Mataka’s history isn’t extensive: It ends right after the release of Me and a Friend. “Just about nothing is known of Wanda other than what she wishes you to know,” writes British soul magazine editor David Cole in the liner notes to Soul-Jazz Poetry. When he’s informed of the current whereabouts of the poet, Cole says that he’s “glad to learn...that she is still alive and writing.”

To be fair, Cole had little to go on other than a Robinson-penned “about me” insert in the Black Ivory LP. “Try feeding the name ‘Wanda Robinson’ into an Internet search engine and you’ll find that her work has got through to some of the hip-hop merchants and even, on occasion, been subject to sampling,” Cole writes in his notes. “Try looking her up under ‘Black Poetry’ and it’s to no avail. Yet Wanda’s writings are every bit as relevant as those of other black activists like Maya Angelou or Nikki Giovanni.”

Cole goes on to discuss his first encounter with Robinson’s music, the tracks “The Final Hour,” and “better still (if ‘better’ can be the operative word for something that plunged me into the depths of depression)...‘The Meeting Place,’” a poem about a forlorn pianist that, he says, starts off Black Ivory “like a blow to the guts.” “Everybody has a story to tell/Yet nobody listens,” Robinson reads with authoritative urgency. “So they come every night/Hoping to get what they need/Without having to say that they need it.”

The nonfanboy history of Wanda Robinson is, of course, more detailed. She grew up in Baltimore, one of 10 children, and was raised by her grandmother. Her first paid writing gig was composing letters, at a quarter apiece, for girls whose boyfriends were being sent to Vietnam. She wrote about, she says, “things I knew nothing about”: “It was all about love—‘Oh, he broke my heart!’”

As the war progressed and Robinson entered college, her work became more political. After hearing R&B singer Arthur Prysock’s poetry-based 1969 album, This Is My Beloved, she decided to set some of her poems to music. “I heard that and said, ‘I can do that,’” Mataka says. She read poems into a tape recorder with a stereo playing in the background, then played the finished product for her classmates at the Community College of Baltimore. A local DJ, Anthony Davis, played some of her work on his show. Soon after, she got a call from Perception, which asked the 20-year-old if she would like to come to New York to cut a record.

When Mataka was picking music for her album, the label opened its entire library to her. “They said to use any music I wanted—they owned the rights to everything,” she remembers. She selected a great deal of material from Black Ivory, a soul trio from Harlem—and then walked into what she describes as a sort of disorganized, never-ending party. She remembers label folks keeping artists working however they could. “Whatever you wanted, they would get it for you,” Mataka says. “They asked me what I liked, and I told them, ‘Nothing.’”

After recording Black Ivory and performing doggedly to promote the record—at a beauty pageant, on an episode of Soul Train she never saw—Robinson fled, feeling overworked and underpaid. “I hid,” she says. “I said I’d never give my work to white people again, and I didn’t.”

She went home to Baltimore, where she put in time at the CSX railroad, in libraries, and in a warehouse. (“I was the only woman there—in a dress, lifting boxes,” she recalls.) She didn’t want to deal with labels or producers or agents anymore, but, encouraged by friends, met with a guy who’d worked with Maya Angelou. They took a cab ride, he put his hand on her leg, and she got out and didn’t take any more meetings.

In the meantime, Mataka says, Me and a Friend was cobbled together from tracks she’d recorded for Black Ivory. Although she’s never listened to the whole recording, she did once read the lyric sheet. “They didn’t know what I was saying,” she says. “They spelled words wrong.”

Still, the disc has done a lot to maintain her profile among the crate-diggers. DJ Shadow sampled Robinson’s “Nobody in His Right Mind” for his “Shadow’s Legitimate Mix” of an early-’90s track by Zimbabwe Legit, a hip-hop group founded in Harare, Zimbabwe. British electronica duo Pressure Drop used sections of “John Harvey’s Blues” on its 1997 Elusive album. New York house producer Floppy Sounds took a good chunk of “Paranoia” for “Complex,” a track on his 2001 LP, Short Term Memories. Robinson’s unmistakable voice intones, “Talking politics to a friend/We hear strange noises on the phone/And laugh/It won’t be long now.”

And those are just the credited uses. Patrick Adams, who was head of A&R for Perception until 1974, says he’s kept track of who’s used Robinson’s work over the years. When Perception went bankrupt, in the mid-’70s, the catalog was purchased by former Black Ivory manager Lenny Adams. When he died, the Sanctuary Records Group bought rights to the label’s entire output. Even so, Adams thinks that Mataka might be able to regain some ownership of her work.

“I wasn’t privy to the details of her contract with Perception,” Adams says. “I don’t know who owns the sounds copyright and the publishing copyright, but they should have an obligation to pay her as a writer.” Adams, who worked with the likes of Eric B. & Rakim and Salt-N-Pepa post-Perception and has been nominated for induction into the Dance Music Hall of Fame, adds that he’s surprised that the woman who used to be Wanda Robinson is no longer recording—and that he would love to work with her again. “She was a rapper before there were rappers,” he says.

A few years back, Mataka says, she and Adams engaged in a brief correspondence. She remembers that he talked about her work being an important precursor to hip-hop. “He was saying, ‘You have no idea how many rappers have used it.’

“I said, ‘You’re right. I have no idea.’”

In the mid-’70s, Mataka met Paul Coates, owner of Baltimore’s Black Classic Press. Once he began the process of starting a publishing house, he told her that if she waited for him, Black Classic would publish everything she ever wrote. Coates made good on his promise. In 1988, the press released Never as Strangers. In 1994, Restoring the Queen. 2000 brought Bein a Strong Black Woman.

“I know that she’s the real deal,” says Coates. “Even 30-plus years ago, her voice was a unique and original voice—and it still is....Even today, there are many Laini imitators, and they don’t even know they’re imitating her.”

But there’s one book that Black Classic hasn’t published. In the liner notes accompanying the original release of Black Ivory, which haven’t been changed in reissues, there’s a portion that reads, “The poems on this album are excerpts from The Daze of Wine...Without Roses, a book of poetry by Wanda Robinson.” Mataka says the book doesn’t exist—it was never published. “I was thinking about publishing it now,” she says.

She’s also allowing herself to be gradually coaxed back into recording. Last year, a friend paid for her to go into the studio and read over music. “The equipment was so state-of-the-art,” she recalls. “I was almost intimidated. If we’d had that equipment at Perception, it would’ve been a day’s work.” She’d like to release the sessions on CD someday. If that goes well, she’d like to try singing, too.

“When the money is right, I want to take vocal lessons,” Mataka says. “I want to mix it up—start a song, then stop in the middle, like a jazz musician, and run a poem. Then pick up on the other side. I don’t think anyone else has done that—I think I could do very well.”

In the meantime, she’s continuing to work with young writers, constantly composing poems, and trying to finish up a novel about a childhood boyfriend who was killed. That last project, she admits, is giving her some trouble: “It needs a happy ending,” she says. “And I don’t know anyone who’s having one right now.”CP

               Sistas/poet Laini Mataka

This is a poem that speaks of the
Lack of quality Black Man in the
Black community for many many
Reasons.the unseen hand of
Racism White Supremacy is in
Factor in it as well;therefore
She says that man sharing at
Point will have to come into
Play or some sistas will be
Without there very own mr.
Wright.poem by poet
Laini Mataka color me poetry




               Wanda Robinson - The Un-hero


               A Praise Poem by Laini Mataka


              HALF STEPPING THRU HISTORY
       A Poem By Laini Mataka about our ancestors, slavery and today's generation







Thursday, May 8, 2014

Arthur-Prysock-This-Is-My-Beloved-(Extracts)

A Great and Mighty Walk - Dr. John Henrik Clarke



        Dr John Henrik Clarke - A Great And Mighty Walk

This documentary is about Dr. John Henrik Clarke our Grandmaster Scholar Warrior. This documentary is Narrated and Directed by non other than Wesley Snipes. It focuses on how Dr. Clarke started studying African History and covers thousands of years of history. It is accentuated with dozens of pictures and film clips. This documentary is a must see and should be part of anyones collection. You can purchase this DVD as well as many others at www.AfricanHistoryNetwork.com.

John Henrik Clarke (born John Henry Clark, January 1, 1915 – July 16, 1998), was a Pan-Africanist American-African writer, historian, professor, and a pioneer in the creation of Africana studies and professional institutions in academia starting in the late 1960s.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

In Search Of



Live Performance at Afrodisiac in Seattle WA. Musical accompaniment by Romantic Blues (Alvin L.A.Horn) Upright Bass, Frenchie C. Lamont Percussions & Akua Violin.

Makeda - "My Own True Nature" - Transformative Visions 2013



Spoken word artist Sandra Hooper Mayfield (aka Makeda) performing "My Own True Nature" with The Destiny Muhammad Project at OneLife Institute's 'Transformative Visions' event - March 16, 2013 at Studio One in Oakland, CA. Destiny Muhammad (vocals and harp), Gary Brown (bass), EW Wainwright (drums), Tammy Hall (keyboard), Frederick Harris (keyboard). For more: www.onelifeinstitute.org

Nakia "Precious Gift" Dillard - "My Sista, Love Yourself!" - Transformat...



Spoken word artist Nakia "Precious Gift" Dillard performing "My Sista, Love Yourself!" at OneLife Institute's 'Transformative Visions' event - March 16, 2013 at Studio One in Oakland, CA. For more: www.onelifeinstitute.org

LONELY LIFE


                        LONELY LIFE by Wanda L. Harrell
So many things constantly remind me I am alone…

There’s no one is here to remind to turn out the light,
and no friendly warfare over which TV program to watch at night.
One apple, one orange and single banana in the fruit bowl,
and the cabinet is full of large serving dishes used long ago.
There’s no one to lie beside me, listening to my heart beats,
and the passenger side of my car is laden with papers and receipts.

There’s one plate and a fork and a spoon in the kitchen sink,
and one coffee cup and one glass out of which I drink.
Daily, I hear the clock tick-tock, instead of conversations,
and I drive somewhere just to hear the GPS voice its navigations.
There’s only one toothbrush in the holder made for four,
and knowing I put it there if something is laying on the floor.
No one to discuss what to have for a snack or a meal,
and encircling my waist, there’s no arms that I can feel.

There’s no one with whom to share a fascinating thought,
and it’s instant decaf coffee instead of a freshly brewed pot.
A single towel hangs by itself on the rod in the bathroom,
and there’s no reason to wear sweet smelling perfume.
I’m always wishing that the wretched phone would ring,
and there’s the quiet, blasted quiet with no off key duets to sing.

There’s one side of the bed to make up when slumber is past,
and knowing whatever work lay ahead, it’s always a solitary task.
There’s no one to give me a good morning or goodnight kiss;
There are so many things that I desperately miss.
Yes, so many things constantly remind me I am alone;
It’s just me now, an empty house and a silent telephone.