National Poetry Month: Dear Daddy

In honor of National Poetry Month, this is the last of the public readings from the 2008 release of I WEAR THE COLOUR GREEN.

Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy—

Why the hell have you forsaken me,

Your only worthwhile son?

Because I wear the Colour Green?

Because I wear your hidden shades?

You are the man that

Grinds me to the

Blood and bone.

But, dear Daddy,

You can’t forget me.

My eyes are yours

Three-fold.

I have seen and heard

The things you may deny.

I’m so sorry I’m not holy

In your kingdom hall of hate.

No, I’m not!

There is no change,

So you can have your throne

Made of my bones.

Sing your sorry lullabies,

I won’t await your trust.

I need you less

Than when I was a child.

Don’t rock-a-bye me

With your sad,

Sweet tunes of unsung guilt.

I am a stronger man

That Noah built.

Yes, I am a real Man,

Daddy,

Despite what you may think.

I turned out better than fine.

I never had a daddy

And I never needed one.

Can you say the same

For all your other bastard sons?

Sinner, sinner,

Sinner hell,

Why don’t you

Take a chance and tell—

How many boys

By how many different

Wives, harem daddy?

Take back

Your books of wisdom.

Read them well.

I didn’t need them,

Or the verses

Thrown as weapons

From your pulpit, Daddy.

Tell me, Daddy,

Since we’re sharing,

Are you cringing?

Are you swearing?

Suicide had nothing at all

To do with the loss of you.

With Mommy telling lies,

And Daddy feeling hate,

All that’s left for me to do

Is stand and wait.

Who are you,

Dear, dear Daddy?

Is there a book

That I can read

That tells of all the

Sordid deeds,

That you laid at

Our God’s feet

And then forgot?

Did you list your

Next of kin,

Did you

Write of all your sins

That you passed down

To the only worthwhile

Son that you begot?

One day,

I’ll see my daddy

For the man that

He’s become—

So frosted over with his

Guilt and loss.

How dare you judge me,

Daddy,

When you didn’t see me walk,

You didn’t hear me talk,

When you didn’t see me grow

Into a man?

To re-invent myself

Required awful, damned good skill.

You didn’t know me then,

So refuse to love me now

For, no one knows

The places I have been.

You don’t know me,

You don’t love me.

You can’t change me,

So what of me?

I’ll tell you what—

Sit back

And turn the page.

Cedric L. Jones

(I Wear the Colour Green -2008)

National Poetry Month: History

April is National Poetry Month, and I'm working to finish putting together my second book of poetry.  In the meantime, here is a reading from my first collection, I Wear the Colour Green (2008).

History

I pricked my finger,

Out spilled blood.

Thickening history ran

Massahs and missus

And cotton,

On which I wiped

The dripping blood and read

The pages full.

The back doors

Of the alley ways

Swing segregated freedom,

Different water,

Different air,

Different jobs—

In court a separate Bible.

In church a separate God.

My God said be gentle,

His God said be fierce.

White cape, rope in hand.

A structure crackles deep in flames,

Deep in flames.

The massahs and missus are gone now,

Only a couple to spare.

Yet, in my blood

I’m toting on.

I feel the wounds,

But looking back will

Salt them even more.

Dripping blood

Reality

Can lock the alley doors.

by Cedric L. Jones 

Broken

One of my close friends has recently found himself at the lonely end of an unrequited romance.

"How do you get over it?" he asked me.

"Well," I said, "With about a dozen sad love songs, some comfort food, and the occasional one night stand. Y’know, the same as the real thing."

There are no magical cures for a broken heart, the same as there are no instant cures for a broken leg. You have to set it and let time do its thing.

The same is true of that crush - that relationship that only really exists in our fertile and romantic imaginations. It's in the haven of our minds that we find the man or woman of our dreams. They cannot otherwise exist. We project this fantasy on other, mostly unsuspecting, persons and we fill our days listening to beautiful, inspiring love songs. We familiarize ourselves with their comings and goings and adjust our own to follow suit.

"Wounded Cupid" by Lovey appears courtesy of the Open Clip Art Library (www.openclipart.org)

Eventually, events unfold that return us to the realization that we are the only member of this duo with any real emotion invested in the relationship. We are reminded what a wonderful “friend” we are. We notice that he or she is attracted to everything we are not. We meet the significant other. We understand that they will not or cannot return our emotions. We deem this love "unrequited" because the word sounds as hopeless and harsh as it feels. The hurt is valid because the love we feel is valid and the fact that it is not flowing in both directions does not make it any less so.

So, we light candles. We sing along to sad songs. We write poetry.

When a lonely heart is broken

And a smile no longer shines,

The laughter slowly dies

And the fervor melts inside.

When the moment is suddenly broken,

And all dreams are set askew,

My soul turns shades of blue

And my tears burn silent for you.

Then life is set asunder

And the day no longer fades,

But it shatters like a crystal,

And the shards bring tears of pain.

When a lonely heart is broken,

Yet no one seems to care,

I'll cry about my broken heart,

And broken hearts everywhere.

Eventually, we move on.

Cheers,

-Ceddy

The poem "Broken" is from I Wear The Colour Green