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Poem: What you wanna do?

If you truly want what you want
Get up and come get it
Subliminal messaging won’t
Move you closer to touching,
caressing or holding me

Unfetter yourself
Reach out, ask, receive,
speak us into existence
Come close
Do what you wanna do
So I can be fully who I am
A blessing and a comfort
Beyond dreams and satisfaction

As you linger in the background
Answer me this:
Is we or ain’t we?
You got this?
or do I have to get you?
If I got you
Then, who got me?
Do what you want as long as
you cover and keep me
Build and cultivate relationship
Grant the joy of proximity

The grace of shared presence
until there’s no doubt
Of who WE is
You are me
I am you
We together are One
One breath
One thought
One heart
One spirit
One body

So, what you gonna do?
Stay motionless or move forward
You, me or we?
All in for everything or
Stay back for nothing but the status quo

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Poem: It Shouldn’t Take Courage to Love a Black Woman

Courage shouldn’t be required to love a Black Woman. 
To accept a heart given freely or a life offered for reciprocal tribute. 
Where is the danger in respecting one who aches with neglect 
from being habitually dismissed and discarded  
throughout centuries of generations? 
What terrors does this global shadow craft present? 
False images of projected insecurities, self-hate, irrational anger,  
exasperated impatience, and I-got-this-don’t-need-you independence.  
The illusions formed by men of hypersexuality, low morality, and mean-spiritedness to assuage  
their proclivities of abuse, torment, separation, abandonment, rejection, and destruction 
Society built a totem full of grievances, animosity and dissatisfaction and  
called it Black Womanhood. Onto this altar are thrown the most violent human attacks. 
Yet despite this intentional sacrilege, the Black Woman’s labor is expected without delay 
or complaint, her support is claimed as an entitlement right,  
her nurturing care as a duty of her skin, gender and status.  
Indeed, no part of a Black Woman’s body or existence is expected to be under her control. Everything she is, society and man claim as their droit du seigneur. 
The world delights in telling Black Women we are nothing.  
We are the least desired and even then, only wanted for what we give.  
We are rarely valued for our personhood; often only praised for  
the volume of our production and serving unto depletion or death. 
Yet ask a Black Woman who she is and be prepared to bask in the light of her glory. 
We see ourselves as the embodiment of love, conduits of grace, dispensers of mercy.  
We are Wisdom, Discernment and Truth.  
We are Unbroken, Unbowed, Still Standing.  
Society sees one thing. We Are Another.  
We are not who you say we are.  
We will not perform to your expectations.  
We will do what needs to be done, but we will be who we be. 
We are Love, ergo we do not require courage to love ourselves. 
It shouldn’t require courage for others to love Black Women. 
We are humans with human needs, Women with human desires. 
We, too, want to be loved, held, cherished, respected and honored. 
We desire to be accepted as fully as we accept others; 
Invited into spaces so hospitable we forget the hostility of the world; 
Spoken to with a gentle understanding that elicits the same kind response. 
We gleefully pour all of ourselves into everyone connected to us 
Even when they feed us nothing in return 
We, too need to be poured into. 
We, too, desire to bask in the radiance of another’s glory 
To be bathed in joy, peace and tranquility 
To rest without anxiety and wake without urgency 
We don’t need this grace from everyone 
Nor do we expect a societal shift out of gratitude for services rendered 
But for our men… 
It shouldn’t take courage to be a man of character, substance, integrity, conviction and discernment 
A man with enough strength to support a leaning respite.
A man who follows his heart and spirit instead of social norms and biases, 
But alas here we are praying for courage to exist, to relate, to be who we are. 
It shouldn’t take courage to live well in this realm,
But alas, here I am alone and unwanted in a world unable to eliminate my joy, exploring life with an unmitigated gall derived from loving myself.

LaShawnda Jones
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Poem: 63 Today

63 Today 
 
Uncle Ed called to say his Big Sis would 
be 63 today. Oh! How alive 
that number sounds! I said I stopped counting 
at 60 for you and 45 for 
me. I’m still living in 2020, 
it seems. It was a good year, I think…. or 
maybe 60 and 45 were good 
numbers for me.  
 
It’s impossible to 
not remember, you’re always in my 
thoughts, but I worked today. Current job has  
kept me discombobulated. Life is 
emotionally taxing, financial- 
ly insecure, physically exhaust- 
ing. I’m guessing, life was the same, but more 
so, for you. I know you struggled, but you 
were so caring and grace-filled, it didn’t 
show negatively. How did you manage 
life with no focused care? No time to heal 
from one abusive phase to another? 
Were you ever at ease? Were you ever 
able to reflect and release? Did you 
experience joy? What did you hope for? 
How did you do it? Did you ever heal? 
Had you been allowed to age, would life have  
grown gentle and kind? Were gentleness and 
kindness something you understood enough 
to yearn for? 
 
Your presence was joy to me. 
What was joy to you? Was any portion  
of your earth time enjoyable? Better  
than bearable? Worthy of thanksgiving? 
 
63 today. Each year since you left 
I think I know you better than ever 
and not at all. Who were you, Terry Ann?  
What did you want for your life? Did you leave 
unfulfilled, aching? Did you give in, just  
let go of whatever kept you grounded?  
Wherever you are in life after earth, 
I pray you are imbued with joy, light and 
all good things. I pray no memories or 
shadows of your earthly sorrows travel 
with you. Should our spirits meet again, I 
ask only to embrace you with love and
gratitude. May the Creator of All
convey my prayer, my Beloved Mother.  
 

LaShawnda Jones, May 24., 2023
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Poem: No longer listening

I once heard what I thought  
was a calling. A mating call of yearning, 
of need, of matched desire. 
I listened. 
 
Was someone seeking me? 
The voice seemed familiar –  
its vibration pierced my soul, 
breached the dark midnight of my days  
in the directionless wilderness of life. 
It pulled me, spun me 
surrounded and filled me. 
The melody delighted me. 
Surely it was a call to live;  
to fulfill hopes and dreams 
I kept listening. 
 
Even as I called back,  
I listened.  
Even after I became a seeker  
starving through the ravenous desire 
of a supernova devouring its own light, 
I listened. 
I called back. 
I listened. 
I called back. 
I waited and waited and waited, 
for more than a dozen years,  
I waited for my radiant reply to reach  
the one my soul loved;  
ached for the brilliance of their  
presence to sustain me. 
 
I thought I needed to see, to feel, 
to be seen, heard, wanted, and needed.  
I thought I needed someone to love me;  
someone I could pour love into. 
Yet aging with none of my needs met 
altered my hearing, diminished my longing. 
Silence is not only deafening, 
it deadens the soul and mutes the heart. 
I stopped listening to the void. 
 
A lifetime ago, a whisper tickled my senses  
through the wilderness of the universe. 
But how could that be when  
sound can’t travel in space? 
Relics of my imagination had launched  
on gases of hope, creating orbits of dreams 
in the echo chamber of my heart. 
So… I’m no longer listening. 
 
I will feel what I can, be who I am, exist as created 
with no regard for the sliver of sound heard 
in the wilderness of loneliness, that had only  
ever been my own echo reverberating off stardust. 

LaShawnda Jones
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Poem: the blessing of ordinary  

if i should happen in quite 
some ordinary way 
to remain 
sustain or 
simply maintain 
my existence 
i would count myself 
among the extraordinary 
 
if I should happen in quite 
some ordinary way 
to breathe 
consistently 
deeply 
repeatedly 
without thought 
difficulty or obstruction 
 
if i’m able to exist… like air 
then certainly i’d number 
among the extraordinary 
 
we’re conditioned for selfishness 
immediate self-gratification 
taught to despise emotion 
ignore empathy 
discount sympathy 
without understanding practicality 
taught to live in the moment 
for ourselves 
for what feels good 
we’re told self-focus 
makes us extraordinary yet 
such flings us like a wisp of wind 
 
appreciation of the ordinary 
exposes abundant blessings 
allowing for extraordinary 
insights in a world where 
we’re expected to accept  
what’s given to us 
done to us 
told to us 
shown to us 
where we’re not expected 
to think for ourselves 
of others or beyond  
what we see, feel, want, or need 
 
however, having learned to 
grow through vulnerability 
navigate darkness and greyness 
unlearn toxicity 
confront abusers and their enablers 
having learned to love myself 
embrace and accept my wholeness 
reenforce my strengths 
confidence and faith 
basic life elements 
uncommon to many 
yet necessities for wellness 
it’s clear i’ve been favored 
 
if I live to remember  
a dream 
loves embrace 
happiness’ pursuit 
then the ordinary has  
become a path to the divine 
 
so many years of yearning 
for extraordinary happenings 
only to discover blessings  
in the ordinary course of days 
 
Asé 

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Poem: What are you getting in exchange? 

What are you getting in exchange 
for access to your body, mind, spirit? 
your energy, presence, time 
your knowledge, skills, and resources? 
 
What are you receiving? 
for pieces of you? 

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Poem: Attention Seeker

You have my attention
never lost it, despite
trampling it with dismissive ridicule
What will you do with it now
What have you ever done
To keep my focus and hope
other than laugh and brag with friends
while keeping me in perpetual limbo
Indeed, have you ever given me
your purposeful attention
Focused your energy on me
Strove to be more than
a nice guy liked by all
Did you ever envision yourself
as a man of integrity standing by my side
A man of purpose joining his strength to my vision
Unlikely, as your form of noncommunication
layered with emotional hiding
seduced me into the shadows
I can think all the thoughts or not one,
do nothing, say nothing
and get the same wide-eyed,
“I’m a nice guy” non-response
received when I did everything
to look like a fool out of my depth
A foolish woman
who gathered all my available courage
to speak all my known words
of admiration, love and desire
To a being who sparked the light in my spirit
yet could not comprehend the nature of my offer
Now I understand my vibration
was beyond your frequency
You couldn’t perceive me
beyond the physical appearance
you considered unworthy of your commitment
My attention meant nothing when it was all I had to give
Even though it’s what you wanted most from me.
You were attracted to my light but had no respect for it.
Yet here we are orbiting still
What are your intentions?
Do I willingly enter your rabbit hole
of emotional grief with no hope of any satiation
To allow you to feast off my energy
Watch you eat
As I starve
You bask
I wither
You soar
I drown
You chose someone else
I grew in grace, seeking understanding
from a God who would put you
in my spirit, yet keep you out of my life
Maybe you were never the one
I was to commit my future to
Perhaps the real test is trusting God to provide
beyond what I sense in a life set on orbiting you. 

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Poem: This is a test

this is a test
and only a test
if I do nothing
what happens
if you do nothing
what happens
if I do something
or anything
perhaps one more thing
what happens
if you do nothing still
what happens
if I do everything
all things
reach down to move your feet
or up to puppet your lips
what happens
and if at the end of it all
you still do nothing
what could have possibly happened
your heart and will
are yours to control
mine are mine to protect
for every level of effort
I perform, the outcome remains
no forward motion
no synchronicity
no reciprocity
so I’ve learned to do nothing
like you ….  
flirt with the air
deny responsibility
through inaction
save energy
stay where I am
move forward on my own
momentum with no
expectation or disappointment
after, it was only a test

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Poem: Have I ever loved?

Who am I if not
A creature created in the
Image of love?
But what is an image
If not a facsimile?
Non-original
Incapable of being
Authentic
If love is a reaction to receiving
For we love because
We have first been loved
Then what of the love
That was supposed to pour into me?
What am I pouring out
If I haven’t first received?
In this dimension there has been no
Sheltering arms
Encouraging embrace
No partner or mate
With whom to lay down
Or to build up
What would I know
Of a gentle touch
A tender kiss
A thrusting merge
An expectant birthing
A purposed feeding?
How am I to learn
The deep nature of
Sharing in true
Relationship?
When my existence
At every level
Has been solitary
Relating to myself
Even in
Disagreement
I am right
Though my conclusions
May be wrong
If I don’t even know
What love
Looks like
Feels like
Sounds like
Smells like
Tastes like
How could I possibly
Recognize love
Identify myself
As love
Give what I haven’t
Received?
All these years
I thought I was offering
Though I knew I was begging
Trying to avoid my emptiness
Attempting to camouflage
My brokenness
Seeking to heal to
Wholeness
While offering my image
Of wholeness to the broken
But if love is
Absent from my being
How was I ever whole?
How was I ever able
To offer myself?

7/15/19