8 posts tagged “poetry”
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." — Jaques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-166)
William Shakespeare- "As You Like It"
You seek attention, don’t you? The consensus is a validating force that feeds your narcissistic personality, isn’t it?
Writing your musings is a liberating feeling, freedom from what sets your emotions and passions in overdrive, doesn’t it? Don't you feel the topic should be the lesson you’ve learned, a laugh you want to share or the brain fart of the day? You’re so clever; you express yourself so well. I understand exactly what you mean. It’s so smart and relevant. They’ll laugh their way into a side-cramping stupor. You will really put something on their minds. Finally something worth a thousand comments from the blogoshpere community, you did it! The major rags will pick it up. That caption of you looking so silly will become a new art form. You’re the newest sensation; the next internet zillionaire because you brought that idea; that argument to the people with style, force, and clarity.
You are so humble. You just told them “the way it is” if you didn’t they’d never know. Why don’t they all just stop blogging and let you handle the internet. As long as you can delete unflattering comments, filter out the unwanted replies, censor the unbiased and thought provoked opinions your greatness will never be tarnished. Your castrato eunuch court will continue to feed the insatiable appetite of your ego. This is why you blog, the stage is set for your act. You put on your veil of anonymity, your eyes shaded by the flash of your own greatness, you speak the beautiful language of Java, and your identity is hidden by that clever pseudonym. Yes…yes…yes, that's why you blog ‘cause if you didn’t there would be nothing worthy of the most precious time…the time we spend sharing our lives with each other.
Yours truly,
The screen you gaze into everyday.
Back to my point, If I were to take a long trip to an unknown place with no knowledge of my return, what would I take? A compass, a map; maybe my cell phone? No, I'm taking my (not that I own her,but she's not his she's mine) Woman. She comes with food (you know she used to feed me when I couldn't feed myself), the ability to please me (not in a selfish way; but I am a Man), she is patient, she has a love that I will never comprehend only yearn for and her mind processes in ways that gives us an advantage, two minds are better than mine alone (although two women [working together] can out think a nation of men). So I find myself preparing for this trip (life's journey), and as I gather the things I need for my voyage (money, clothes, car and things), I would leave them all if I could only carry just one...Woman.
a humbled man,
Bycha Buxton
buxtonbycha@aol.com
Young brotha being young is a requirement; getting old is a privilege. Young brotha I've tried to be an example of a "Strong Black Man" for you; but life can get in the way at times. Young brotha no matter your circumstance never give up, if it (life) knocks you down, get up, dust off and get going. I'm here; I will help you young brotha. I've tried to clear a path for you; so follow me, but not too close cause I've stepped in some traps along the way. It truly is a jungle and you are the prey. Yes my young lion the [lion]keeper is closing in; but I'm here to help you.
Young brotha you can't do it alone, don't even try it. I'm here; I will help you. Even when you can't see me young brotha, cause the brush is too thick, believe me when I tell you I'm making a way through this madness. I love you, I'm here; I will help you young brotha. Don't tell me I don't understand; I just cut the path your going through. They say "when your going through hell don't stop...keep going". I'm clearing the way. I'm here; I will help you, just keep going.
Someone is helping me young brotha; he's just up ahead, clearing the path. And when he tires you'll pass by where he rests; give him respect he loves you too. And young brotha when it's time, you'll know...stand tall and make us all proud. We've been cut and beat and bruised trying to make a way through this jungle. Don't let us down were counting on you...and the young brotha behind you is too.
a Brotha, a Father, a Son;
Bycha Buxton
buxtonbycha@aol.com
I'm from that look between two people.
He saw Her; I was Them.
I'm am passion.
Passion is a boy of love.
I'm from grits and eggs.
Scrambled hard and over easy; the morning after and the night before.
I'm from the empty plate of a full morning that led to passion; the boy of love.
'Cause from Them came I who is He that saw Her.
You know...from between that look I'm from.
Yep, that's from where I come.
It was a moonlit morning in December 'till the 23rd of August
'round midnight of the next day, I was love and on my way.
Where I'm from is not hard to easily understand.
Just new old-fashion humpin' between a woman and a man.
Where are you from?
A boy named loved,
a.k.a.
Bycha Buxton
buxtonbycha@aol.com
There is a small room with three pews, a podium, a stained glass mural of a dove descending from the light of the heavens. A small altar with a cross hung squarely above; next to the altar, a chair.
The room is not square or any recognizable geometric shape, not even the ceiling is flat.
It's a simple chapel on the ground floor of a three story building, with a door in the back corner, displaying three rectangular stained glass windows about the length of your arm and wide as your hand.
There is no need for sacrifice upon this altar, the lamb has already been given.
So in place atop, where would go a sacrifice sits a bouquet of flowers and something very interesting...a single
white telephone.
I wonder if I picked that telephone up would GOD be on the line? Or maybe HIS receptionist Angel?
HE has to be busy with the universe and all; maybe I'll just leave a message with Jesus and HE will review it on judgment day.
This telephone; this direct line...should I tell someone about it?
The room is so small the world couldn't fit in there; and just my problems alone would take a lifetime to work through.
Well I'm going to take a chance; a leap of faith, and dial HIM in...
Is there anything you'd like to say when HE gets on the line?...HE is listening...
Needing GOD right now,
Bycha Buxton
buxtonbycha@aol.com
The poem "Nya's Snow Song" was result of feelings, that I had to express upon leaving and not being able to be present in my daughters life due to the failed attempt at reconciliation between my ex-wife and I. I was on a Greyhound bus to Atlanta, GA from Camden, NJ in the dead of winter; snow, ice and the chill of leaving my precious child in the over-sized bus window is all I could see and feel. I have a son "My Boy" I love with equal emotion but he is now in college at Clark Atlanta University; but this moment of ubiquity was for the loss of time with my baby.
The "snow song" is actually a Marvin Gaye classic from the "Trouble Man"
soundtrack and movie (the 'bio' to part of my life); its title is" 'T' plays it cool". When ever we would ride together she would always want to hear this melodic, trance inducing composition. At four years old she is a very special girl. We would ride the turnpikes of New Jersey and listen. So one trip Nya asked me " Daddy,what the name of that song? " I affectionately replied, "the snow song," since we would both commute and gaze out of the windows at the crystallizing snow pushed to the side of the road and covering everything in our midst. From that point on it has forever been the "snow song"
in her ears and my heart.
A loving Dad,
Bycha Buxton
buxtonbycha@aol.com
NYA'S SNOW SONG (The Love For My Daughter)
So now I exit.
The
long road to the future.
Where will I go? What will I encounter? What will I remember?
The snow song. My Nya's favorite.
Our tribute to the time we spent together.
I will miss the time we shared, My young accomplice.
We learned together how difficult love can be. I love you my child.
Listen to the soft winds of change. How subtle.
It wont be to long. Just long enough.
To say goodbye. Before I see you again.
