My pain
is like those white spots
you see in the sky at night…
It’s where the light shines thru.
And my love
for all of my past loves
is like the moon
Overtime
you might see less of me
but I’ll always be there
for you.
B.
Category Archives: love
There’s just something about somebody
who just
shows up
unannounced, no calls
no signals
just appears
He just shows up
from around the corner
gives you that look
that you can’t look
away from
Britta B.
Virtually trapped on a
literal locomotive
I go places only with my body
while my mind sits, stuck working
overtime
filing memories from the wastebasket
into fresh refurbished cabinets
Oh this present
just isn’t as good as
what I can make the past become…
Britta B.
When my Papa passed away
although painful
it wasn’t tragic
His funeral was the most beautiful gathering I had ever been to
Black people
of all shades
came together in celebration of his life
Black people
of all degrees of enslavement
came together in celebration of their own lives
We wore colours
We ate soul food
I sat with snot and tears like candle grease on my face as I filled my tummy
filling the room
with an extra pair of shoes
an extra prayer saying grace
I’m telling you like it is because it feels like it was
just yesterday
just an hour ago
when my father
burst into my bedroom
woke me from an afternoon slumber
sun shining
but no light in him
I distinctly remember how hot-damned-well that sun was shining
beaming
bitterly
as I hurried to pick up a lamp that knocked out the light
from my father’s pretty dark brown eyes
and held him
trembling
like he was child again
trembling like he was small again
in my Silly String arms
sucking air and bellowing back, “He’s gone! My daddy’s gone!”
At the funeral, a youth gospel choir sang “One Glad Morning”
and I always confuse that one line for “One Black Morning”
probably
because
that’s what death means to me:
running out of light to give
Thankfully, my father
still has light to give
He found it on a highway, I believe
where he was beckoned to an honourable memory
of his hero
Sometimes
the signs are designed
to reach us at eye level
and others greet us
6 feet
under sound
Britta B.
You look
so
divine
You must have discarded
a whole heap of dirty garb
to get that clean
How did you
shed the rust
of your unhelpful relatives?
How did you free
the remedy of your inherent habits?
Can you take it for what it is
if you bring
it out of me?
Nature has Her ways, souls
rubbing souls
for Earthly calibration
I am the catalyst
You are the Scientist’s prescription
for a healthy heart
Good health
is sensitive to unhealthy servants
and no one knows it more than you
how even the undeserving have a purpose
“There’s nothing more necessary
than the unnecessary”
There’s nothing more divine than losing your religion
As I sit
with you
under the toenail of a
closed cathedral
I wonder, what if
out of the 144,000
you were the first
When the question hitches a ride with
the westbound wind
you catch on too with your photo-maker
causing a traffic jam raising the blade
of your eyebrow all to say without sound:
I’d be the first to refuse
See, this is why I like you
you’re no anchor
no black hole ether
You just haven’t met anyone
who catches light
like you yet
Britta B.
Special Thanks to: Paul Janicki, producer/editor
One night, I was walking
hopeless
I remember this moment
when I was tired
and I was loved
I was tired
And I was loved
I thought I was empty
I thought I was done
And still
I had love
to give
And still
I am FILLED with love to give
I am filled with love to give
I am filled with love to give
I am filled with love to give
I am
filled
with love
to give
Britta B.
For pictures from the shoot and more eye candies, check out Andy’s blog: http://andyjuma.blogspot.ca/
She who has yet to learn to love landscapes, not men
Loses herself in thought, constant thought, thinking and feeling
Her imagination is cruel
She’s obsessed, addicted to
Nature, and her attempts to nurture it
(she’ll die from natural causes anyway)
She is a mountain lion on a public beach
She is but a loose thread from a ripped sleeve
Wrapped around a thrusting heart
A heart that pumps and bumps into many things
All she wants
Is to be still
Growing old in her mid-twenties from looking
At love through the eyes of the past
Compulsive thinker she is,
Her mind uses her
All she wants
Is to be still
With candles lit, hot tea sips
She begins now to
Break free, open
Puts her mind between her hands and into a good book
She watches where her mind goes, loses it
Enlightened, she
Realizes she is not the thinker she thinks she is and instead
Watches her self think
Observes her self feel
She disconnects from mind and body
She is a soul again
Resting alive in peace
“You are one with all that is”
Here
Now
Please, be still.
Britta B.
yeh u kno me! 