Meet Milo Greene!!!

Folks I feel in love. I saw them perform once, I bought a CD , a shirt and I haven’t been able to get them off of my band. This California-born band has stolen my heart, the correct colloquial terminology for what I am, I believe, is ‘sprung’. I am Sprung!  I’d never heard of them before that day but gosh oh golly how I was ashamed of my ignorance as soon as that first guitar was strummed and that first note was belted out. I was and still am in awe. There is only so much I can do but I hope this post introduces even if it is a handful of people to this band, that would put a smile on my face. They are amazing. Please have a listen.

Their Youtube Videos:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDntuu7EDYA - Autumn Tree by Milo Greene

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUazz0gML00  – 1957 by Milo Greene

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UEy74PhQlSQ&feature=related - Silent Way by Milo Greene

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7F_Iiie5vA&feature=related - Don’t Give Up On Me by Milo Greene

Their Links:

Their official site: http://www.milogreene.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MiloGreene

Twitter: @MiloGreene

There you have ladies and gents, go out and be inspired.
Lots of wet kisses,
The Poet.

 

 

California As Seen by Upile

Hey Guys,
I’m sorry for being so silent. I am in California visiting a friend hence there hasn’t been much time for internet and the like. But the good news is I missed you and I will upload a little teaser of the pictures that are to come. :)

The University of California at Riverside campus is very green and it has plants from all over the world. I saw so many trees and flowers there that I had in my yard in Malawi growing up. It made me miss home so badly. I picked up their leaves and smelled them and I was immediately back home playing in my yard. It was an amazing feeling.

 

More pictures to follow. Hold on tight. :) .
Happy Saturday lovelies!!

The Woven promise

I was told you’d care for my edges
and put comfort at my feet
bathe me with adoration
and together we’d make a people
that you’d make a queen out of my
body and dispense kisses so that
every spot that makes me jitter
and laugh and flicker is a kingdom of
its own
I was told that men know women like
their names, they enunciate each letter
giving each its due
swinging an identity out of the alphabet
it was promised

what I was told
was that we’d never argue
because my opinions would count
like the cufflinks on your shelves
my thoughts would matter
like your three-pieced suit
they would be dragged out into the
cold
and washed clean
they’d be heard
they’d be welcomed
they’d be begged for
and treated kindly

I was told you’d make me feel like
a woman
like my curves were royal
assuredly my physique was a sanctuary
tree
that you’d lay with
not on
that you’d care for
not  own
my femininity was promised
my equality was unquestioned

The woven promise
that I could strunt out as I please
and have my dignity in my palm
call myself respected
and know that I am loved
it was promised
but never given..

..looking left then right

I am not proud of my want,
it is like untied laces
it keeps my eyes downward
making me miss the picture
making me miss the lights align.
the frame.
the casting stone.
the fumes of newness
right off the coast of redemption.
it makes me miss the smiles,
the quarells I can now have with someone
other than the mirror,
the gush for wind,
the lighting that shakes the skin off
your bones.
I miss it all because of my want,
the coffee conversation,
the tall jars of man,
the scheming predatory woman,
the shy girl who webs a boy,
the pauper who wins a princess.
I’m too busy looking at my want
looking at what I think my body could
handle.
I met with him twice last summer
sneaking away behind shuttered windows
exchanging each other underneath sheets
my petal fell in his hands and I felt
secure
and then again,
we chose panting over bickering
we chose collision over conversation
and it felt purposeful to be there,
a button on his flannel shirt
a knot in his chest
a shiver down his back,
nicotine fingerprints
cold blue eyes
freshly shaved chin.
he was my want
creeping up on me
un-sheelving me
un-knotting me,
making me miss the world
ride its bicycle by my window frame.

..Mexico

I remember living in Mexico for a year
drowning myself in mariachis and
dancing at the quinceaneras of strangers’
daughters,
I remember living in the Wing of an old house
in San José
covering myself and feeling like I could
sink in to the sea of lavender sheets
it was like home
yet nothing like it.
like my tree-climbing days in the mountains
of India
like my ranting and roaming in the apple city
it was all the same yet so different
and I could fit in like the feathers in my pillow.
I watched moons and sunsets
and paid no attention to my unkempt hair.

I remember my stay in a ranch in Aldama
it changed me more than anything
it was silent and the sun hit me with a million
rays
I knew nothing about riding horses
or milking cows
I sunk in it, it was serene
a gratifying moments
where distance meant safeness.

I made creases in the dirt
and held myself tightly so as to keep
my bones in my shell.
I  remember the lake your father made
out in the back
When the moon set orange and its
light hit the water
I could swear it was one big flame
one big ring of fire.

I remember the cold at night, how
it burnt my skin with goosebumps
how it seeped in through the window cracks
how it rattled the bird cage

I remember the preacher in the old chapel
how is back arched like a weasel
he called me el extranjero from time to
time, but why then did he remind me
so much of my own father? when then
did his seremons touch my soul
and damn near make me want to believe
that there is a reason for all this

I remember saying goodbye
with parts of León still stuck to the bottom
shoe,
change from  Chihuahua stores still ringing
in my pockets,
San José still chiming in my ear.
who would I be without it?who now?

Where I am headed and where I want to end up
are never the same,
no matter how many maps
I draw on my palms
no matter how many people
I stop.
They never sink,
they never mesh.
But I go.
still
I go.
Mexico.

..Goddess

From her womb to the tips of her
lashes
she felt inferior,
inadequate,
but everywhere else she was a
goddess
she gave his bones thunder
whenever he swam between her
thighs
and yelpt sorrow.
when he shook her knees apart
she owned him
she was in charge
and you could tell by the way she
swayed those legs around,
swerving curves.
lying hips.
limber Lioness!
she knew it.
you could tell.

Poem of the week: From Song to Myself by Walt Whitman

       An exert from the poem:From Song to Myself
***
I have said that the soul is not more than the body
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his
own funeral drest in his shroud
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the
earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds
the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it
may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel’d
universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed
before a million universes

Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment
then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign’d by
God’s name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe’er
I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.

    ***

                  by  Walt Whitman