Reflection 111217

Posted: November 12, 2017 in Uncategorized

For me, in my life… especially in these present times, I’m finding that there is freedom and a certain kind of peace in having less. I’ve been guilty, like many of us, of fallen to societies views or value in “upgrading”, “upsizing “, and so forth. While there is nothing wrong with advancement, sometimes, some of these “ups” decreased me in some way…. spiritually , emotionally, financially, physically, socially, and even environmentally. Pastor Scott said today, “Don’t let your blessings get in the way of your obedience”. That statement went to the core of my consciousness today. #GodIsGood

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He Ran

Posted: June 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

He ran…
because it existed
within his existence.
From ancestors running
from slave masters.
He ran to Christian spirituals
that sang to hearts like rituals.
To sooth the travels
through the middle passage.
He ran to messages dreamed
in dreams.
And you don’t have to be clairvoyant, a prophet, or a King realize that there’s
something missing from society.
Cause they never completely
freed the neuce
just loosen it.
And so,
we are still getting auctioned
and assassinated
on a podium as we scream…
BLACK LIVES MATTER!
We are still campaigning our values
now through
hashtags and banners.
First God gave us our freedom
then man negotiated our freedom through amendments and constitutions.
And now we’re back
to running for our freedom.
He ran because his rights
came to the end of its life cycle.
He ran because today is yesterday.
And the struggles with in
the circumference of racism
was suppose to reciprocate change
but hatred still have us in the range…
being a target.
And so he ran.
Not because of a movement.
But because his movement was a
reenactment of history.
Do you think that death benefits
from social security
is enough to compensate
a child’s pain?
Because there is no one else
paying for these “mistakes”.
C’mon,
is grace AND justice
waiting for us
at the gates of heaven?
And why…
why we should die
to see them.
He ran…
he ran TOWARDS freedom.
Because just maybe…
just maybe,
he felt that
there was life after death.

Pictures of Aunty

Posted: March 26, 2015 in Uncategorized

(This poem was originally written as a tribute to my Grandfather, called “Pictures of Poppa”. This version is dedicated to my Aunt, Marie Slue. ) 

I have these pictures

like they

give me forever.

Easily

mapping out history

through moments

and laughter.

Perfect in distance

and when time alters

our memory.

I hold

pictures of you.

Plastered like murals

in my traditions.

They glow silver

for wisdom.

They are truthful

and give me

an identity.

Passed off to my children

that strengthens generations.

They comfort me

in your absence.

And this is why

I

have the best of you….

forever

A picture.

Hung in my heart

like how the heavens

hover over the earth.

With this

I will never

have to search

for your existence.

I will have your presence

exile in my memory.

Simply still

and ageless.

Framed eternal

in places too precious

to rely on stories alone.

Crowned sacred

by the Griots of history.

You

are my picture.

Preciously

painted

purple.

Posed

in a

place

of

posterity.

Emotionally pixelated

to each smile in time.

I’ve

organized theses pictures

like organs.

As a rebuttal

to my remembrance.

But when I

recap my relapse,

nothing is more

organic than

God.

image

Www.carlenespiritroberts.com

Gallery  —  Posted: July 20, 2013 in Uncategorized
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Posted: November 6, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , ,

 

 

Your vote is your voice.

Be bold.

Be loud.

This is your chance to riot

for Sean Bell

This is your chance to adapt

Rosa Parks’s principals.

Grasp Martin Luther King’s courage.

Create your movement.

Take Tookie’s initiatives.

Voice your anger.

Be faithful to your ballot.

Pray.

Be faithful to democracy.

Pray.

Be faithful to a future beyond you.

For middle class working citizens. 

For upper class working citizens

because poverty is not gradual.

It is sudden.

The

Change

We

Need…

are in our actions.

We are speaking for our economy.

Take your free speech to the ballots.

We are no longer silent…

or afraid.

We are the realist’s

that’s thinking out side the box,

like artists.

We are the oppressed that’s

demonstrating our civil rights,

like activists. 

We are no longer subliminal.

We are verbal like preachers and poets.

This is our neo century revolution.

Be encouraged.

Stay encourage.

Be patient.

Stay patient.

Our moral is infused with adrenaline.

We are no longer hindered by republicans.

Be a spokesperson…

and vote.

For the quality of life.

NOT

the quantity of incomes in a household

to sustain life.

Vote for the cost of living

more manageable for single parents.

We are delaying our adolescents in to the workforce  

and sending them to college.

We are creating prodigies

with early childhood education.

We will declare unity

that will overthrow decisions.  

In this election we will move

from making history

to TAKING BACK our history

and placing it in the White House.

Your vote.

Your voice.

Your future.

You will make

the change

for your America .

Vote for…

OBAMA!!!

 

Not Too Ready

Posted: September 1, 2012 in Uncategorized

I am just not ready.

There is too much of

this thirst to party

and drink the night away.

And no worries about

how late I came in.

I am lost with in my limits. 

So don’t ask me where I’ve been.

And I know, I know

that his hope drives further

than the 6 cities that separates us.

Believe me, I trust in faith too.

But this life is too new.

Too spontaneous for us

and our vulnerable feelings.

Too fragile for our circumstances

that stands between our options to lust or to love.

Right now, this is my redemption

for my sacrifices that hides

behind my independence.

Yeah, cause I am too much of everything

for you to have any trust in me.

Too much of that woman searching

for her identity through veiled history.

Too hidden behind obligations.

Too much of a child searching for voice

through her self esteem.

Too much of a mothers dream of a family.

Cause I’m too much of the enemies remedy.

Too self destructive.

To the point, I am like to hell with this

And with him and with them

and this drink in my hand.

That makes me too vulnerable to handle

the hands of a man curiosity.

Or too afraid of his generosity.

Too much in denial of this emotional mutiny.

Cause all he wanted is for me to be ready.

Cause he traveled through 6 cities of separation.

Roaming through my 360 degrees of frustration.

Anxiety stained me with premeditated memories.

I am already planning our children’s wedding.

I’m conforming my goals to his beliefs.

My experience was destined for him.

My reality, too passionate for him.

And so I stay numb.

Too hard to feel the penetrations.

And he’s too hard to accept that there are limitations.

I’ve restricted the temptations.

But he’s too eager and too vicious.

Too much into lusting over this erotic moment.

Exploiting erotic movements.

His promised love,

harder than the gravel pavement

he crossed to reach me

Nomads don’t settle, they keep on traveling.

So let’s keep it moving

in our revolt against destiny.

Be humble to my distance

because I know what I’m looking for.

Change requires persistence.

Motivated like the spirits

of our great grandmothers.

But his pending love

have made me too resistant.

My virtues too raped of its dignity.

Too afraid to whore my morals

away in uncertainties.

Sleeping with the enemy with in me.

Ejaculating infatuations.

And I can’t handle the inches

it took to hit my emotions.

Every hour on repeat

cause he stays deep with in my soul. 

He wants to let go!

He wants to let go!

Cause he knows he is unprepared for my innocence.

There are miles of distance with in himself.

But he keeps thrusting at my disadvantages.

I climax his images of mutual readiness.

Each caress ordained to convince him and me

that the only thing between the 6 cities

that separates us is the air

and our insecurities.

 

Copy Right 2006

http://www.carlenespiritroberts.com

http://www.carlenespiritroberts.blogspot.com

Image

 

I can write you words

to form sentences.

To formulate all

the great thoughts

everyone have of you. 

I can offer

gestures to spark humor.

To create laughter

in silent  moments.

I can fill this page

with exclamations,

smiley faces,

hearts,

and butterflies

to make you excited

about all the days

you’ll  share with

your loved ones.

I can tell you about

the smiles

we’ll continue

to exchange

to make

the days warm

and manageable.

I can sit by your side

and read you devotionals

to lift your spirits.

There might even be a

scripture that will fit

in this experience

to aid your faith.

And I can recite it

every night I pray for you.

I can hang

pictures to remind you

of your beauty

when your self esteem

distorts your images.

I can express

cliché statements,

like…

“You’re a miracle”

And

“God has a plan for you”,

to ease the struggle.

I can cuddle you

with my strength

until you embrace 

this reality.

I can…

Simultaneously

tell you all these things

and much more.

I can tell you

what you already know

until they flow like

melodies,

singing freely….

But I’m not.

Because the biggest

tragedy is you…

forgetting

these awesome things

when the burden

take control of your destiny.

I WILL

be your memory.

To remind you

When the state of

absence leaves you vulnerable.

Because I’m your “Wingman”

To make sure

your able to remember

all these wonderful things

you already know. 

The Historian

Posted: October 25, 2011 in Uncategorized

His hands told more stories

than he could recite

in one night.

His calloused finger tips

and extended wrists

spoke of his experiences.

And some scars

marked on his flesh

were like a time line

that showed 

he made a mends  

with his past.

And I wondered

if his tribal remedies

healed lacerations

that would last

in some hearts forever.

He proved that ingredients,

like vinegar,

had a deeper purpose.

His smile cast shadows

over generations of humor

when he told tales of

watching Red Fox

after harvesting.

His lingo lingered

over centuries of style 

often hinting

that he refused

to die out with time.

We…

sipped wine

and delighted in conversations

about plantations

from Salem to Indian River.

And how Virginia

were all dirt roads and corn fields.  

Or how meals were picked

from the farm

or came from what   

his Grandfather hunted.

He mounted his values on

family morals and hard work ethics.

Even though he said

that his lifestyle was hectic,

I had this fixation

that his commitments

would involve me past this night.

As an old soul

He did the right thing

by focusing his nervous energy

on entertaining me…

with more stories.

like how Geico once sold

policies to woman only.  

Eventually my curiosity

kept his company past dawn.

As I laid cuddled in his arms

his rapid heart beats counted

out how many years he spent

secluded with in his own

unusual companionship.

His sensual ways

proved that his age

were two decades

above my own.

Maybe this moment

made him forget

the insecurities that kept

him out of relationships.

Or maybe…

within his strict work habits,

he can find the time

for more wine,

conversation and foreplay.

Or even to…

love me. 

As I laid anointing

his heartbeats.

Counting

his every need.

His stories…

went deeper than his fingers

that played with the darker parts

of our fantasies.

Despite our age discrepancies,

I am old enough to know

when a man

gets tired of being…

lonely.

I know he skimmed through

chapters of my own realities.

And that I am worried about

loving too easily.

But I couldn’t resist his hands.

That told more stories

than he could

recite…

in…

one…

night.

Carlene “Spirit” Roberts © October 25, 2011

A Letter To The Morning

Posted: September 13, 2011 in Uncategorized
Dear Morning;
Why are we such enemies?
We are blessed to encounter
the sunlight at these hours…
together.
Think of how many people
that still sleeps with the night.
That never gets to counter react
with…. reality.
Even though some may think
that they rather lay with peace,
than to awake to the transition
of the anew
Some even lay critical
and plead with their deity
for another breath.
That their light
is not isolated
to the heavens…
at this time.
But we…
struggle like pre-school children,
wrestling in the playground
for this secluded attention.
Cuddled by dawn in this
tenacious posture.
But I…
fall in love
when I remember our adventures.
Think of how many footprints
danced with us at the crack dawn
then return back to their existence.
Our groans…
tricked them into thinking that…
we’re some kind of a companion to each other… lol
Or think of the tequila
that got caught up in our rapture.
Left the mirrors misty
and disillusioned our reflection.
You’re the only one that sees me chanting
“Butterflies were once caterpillars”
“Butterflies were once caterpillars”
“Butterflies were once caterpillars”
Meaning that beauty is only skin deep
You lingered with me till the afternoon…
sometimes evening
You soothed my hangover.
Left me sober enough
to remember that…
we are blessed to have these moments
Things like absorbing the essence
of the children.
Nourish their confidence
with our affection.
Our alliance will be an example for the struggle.
Together with our fist
meeting us at Calvary.
where the spirit of Jesus
dictate our path
out of this  vengeance.
Just look…
Our bitter sweet acquaintance
is practically destined
So…
lets just be radicals for harmony
like Gandhi
Meet me a little past the witching hour.
At the time of devotion
I have this poem…
reciting my white flag.

Left In The Morning

Posted: July 24, 2011 in Uncategorized

They always leave in the morning.

Before busy traffic hover

over street lanes

and highways.

They are gone like last night.

Like…

last night was a fantasy

and this mornings empty bed

brings me back to reality.

Their memory

is faded in to my poetry.

Written off like taxes.

And the only credit I them

is for my midnight…

happiness.

But my commitments are different at day break.

I never initiated them to stay.

Even the morning quickie

is quickly time in their departure.

I never offered a menu for a late lunch.

Maybe it was me

why such mornings were so…

temporary.

No day light courtesy.

Maybe

that was as far as my expectancy went.

Maybe

if I went and made space

for their shoes in my closet

instead next to the closest exit.

Maybe

if I hung their picture

on my mantle by my keep sakes.

Or awake with fresh fruits,

whole grain pancakes,

and maple.

Maybe

they would have been able

to stay

for a Saturday

afternoon stroll.

Or even….

forever.