Origami

Origami
BY Sarah McKinstry-Brown

They say you’ve got a thing for heroin.
They tell me things have changed,
that I wouldn’t recognize you.

They say you’re an origami girl,
guided by men’s strange hands.
Yesterday you were a fish,
today you resemble a rose. Tomorrow
your mother will knock on the bathroom door
to find you blue
in the face.
With your legs askew,
your arms outstretched,
your clothes not on,

the medic will mistake you for a swan.
Though you’re swimming in some ocean

I don’t want to know,
I won’t tell you to pull yourself together.
I remember our small chests rising and falling
as we chased each other around the yard,
in girl-time,

I hold you
and unfold your lungs,
untie your tongue,
take the needle out of your arm,
pick your dreams up off the ground,
dust them off on my jeans,
and pin them back on your dress.

Thank God for Babies

A good friend gave birth to her first baby yesterday and I'm so happy for her!! I got to hold the beautiful girl only hours after she was born and it was as if the gloomy cloud that has been following me this week suddenly lifted. Seriously, it's been a crazy week, but holding this little girl completely melted my cold and stubborn heart.

Thank God for babies. Despite all of our brokenness as humans, each new child gives us an opportunity to turn it all around. It's as if, with each infant He brings into this world, God is winking at us and saying, "all is not lost. There is still hope."

I was just so inspired that I had to express it in some way...check out this new poem - hot off the presses :)

Baby Sasha Saves the World
BY Susan Baba

Just when you think he has tired of us
our ceaseless complaining
our needless lies

our insatiable appetite for all that shines
the anger we throw around so carelessly
the half-baked love we offer up with similar ease

just when you think he has tired of it all
wrung his hands of all our failures
and left us to bring about our own demise

he opens a woman's womb again
thrusts a crying and desperate newborn
into the world's waiting hands
reminds us that all is not quite lost yet
there is still hope.

Rocking the Scrubs

Getting to spend time with my beautiful doctor cousin today gave me so much respect for her profession. I mean...she saves lives on a daily. Pretty impressive stuff. So, in tribute to her and all of the doctors that rock it out everyday, check out this great Anne Sexton poem.

Doctors
BY Anne Sexton

They work with herbs
and penicillin
They work with gentleness
and the scalpel.
They dig out the cancer,
close an incision
and say a prayer
to the poverty of the skin.
They are not Gods
though they would like to be;
they are only a human
trying to fix up a human.
Many humans die.
They die like the tender,
palpitating berries
in November.
But all along the doctors remember:
First do no harm.
They would kiss if it would heal.
It would not heal.

If the doctors cure
then the sun sees it.
If the doctors kill
then the earth hides it.
The doctors should fear arrogance
more than cardiac arrest.
If they are too proud,
and some are,
then they leave home on horseback
but God returns them on foot.

Take it "Slow"

The coolest thing about March's theme of showcasing poetry by my friends and fam was the opportunity to discover the hidden talents of the wonderful people in my life. Here's one last one to top off the showcase...Thanks to everyone for sharing, reading, and for being your all around awesome selves. I'm blessed!

SLOW
BY Philip Thoms

You said you wanted to take it slow
But how am I supposed to know
What that even means
Slow like my grandma drives to church
Or slow like when Richard Petty takes a turn
I guess the expectations were unclear
And what happened is what I fear
Confusion like a cloud
And now you don’t want to see me around
Well you do and you don’t
Because you say we can still be friends
But what we had for 3.5 months I did not want to end
Such a short period of time
But the Colon back parenthesis has reversed
As I type and try not to curse
And wonder and dissect
To see if things would be different
If we had the same definition when it comes to speed

Black...Like Me

Hello good people. Between the month-long celebration of my birth (teeheehee) and arm wresting my friends into sending me poems, I have been seriously slacking on my blog game:-) Here is a poem to make up for all of that lost time.

The piece below is by my friend Jared, an all around rock star who has been hiding his secret talent from me for all of these years. He wrote this poem "Black" in the style of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven"...when he was just in the 10th grade! Beautifully written and incredibly deep.

It's written in a very traditional English style, but if you're black, you know exactly what he's talking about. If you're not, grab a chair and read carefully. This poem gives you a rare glimpse into the challenges and joys of being black in America.

enjoy!!

Black
BY Jared Simmons

Defined as the absence of light, worn by thieves to blend with night,
No color is linked with endless plight quite like this ominous, dark hue.
Black cats, Black Death, Blackbeard—all are worthy to be feared
Because their names are sadly smeared with the shade of shade, like glue
This word’s connotation sticks to any phrase it is adhered to.
Black man describes a chosen few.

This moniker’s dimensions are stretched when placed in front of human flesh
For the vast diversity of Black men can contradict itself, you see.
Just like any other race, there lies a mind behind each face
And, blessed with God’s infinite grace, each chooses what he wants to be.
His choices should not change the way you choose to treat black me.
From this burden set me free.

I don’t carry a colored rag or allow my pants to “sag”
But he that does and I can never live our lives separately.
Murderers and heads of state, though their differences are great
Are bound by the same weight that holds us down perpetually.
Black he and me together will be for all eternity.
Superficial eyes won’t set me free.

The black man’s plight is his alone, for no one else can don his tone
None other caused by grief to moan the moan that comes with darkened skin.
One can’t begin to fantasize about the view from these black eyes—
That of hatred, fear, and lies—but through it all we grin,
And laugh the laugh that comes with this lovely, darkened skin.
We laugh, we cry, we fight, we win.

Anis Thinks I'm Quite the Beauty

I'm certain that he didn't write this poem just for me, but today is my birthday, so let's just pretend!! I discovered this new piece by Anis Mojgani quite randomly, and just had to post it. It seriously made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"come closer
come into this
come closer
you are quite the beauty
if no one has ever told you that before, know that right now -
you are quite the beauty

there is joy in how your mouth dances with your teeth
your smile is a sign of how sacred your life actually is
come into it
come closer

know that something softer than us, but just as holy
placed a piece of himself within our feet"
- excerpt from "Come Closer"

See what I mean? Simply beautiful! Check out the vid below and be sure to pass it on. Everyone needs to hear these words.

sb

"Cheers" By Danielle

Another poem by my beloved Danielle. Love chicks that aren't afraid to bare their soul! Check out this hella deep piece about love and longing.

Cheers
BY Danielle Cooper

I thought of you today
All the good times we never had
All the things we meant to do
That we just couldn't quite make happen

How I wanted to love you
How you tried to love me

Out of the corner of my eye
I caught a glimpse of it
as I ran away

Congratulations on finding her
The one who didn't run from you
My glass is filled to overflowing
I will drink to you and your new found love

To your happiness

Tonight I toast to all the wonderful words
I am now privileged to write
About a life that no longer includes me

Because (Sometimes) Boys are Better

"You are my favorite stick of dynamite
You are the opposite of a rubber ban
There are so many things that I would tell you
If I thought that you would listen
And so many more you’d tell me
If you believed I would understand
But I hope you know
You were never meant to wear this shadow"
- Sarah Kay

Like many little girls, I spent my younger days wishing for a little sister...a fellow female with hair that I could braid and clothes for me to borrow. At first I was very hopeful. I mean, my parents had gotten the job done once with me, so why not another? But, as my mother's belly grew big and then returned to normal size (once, twice, thrice) sans a baby girl, I began to realize that I would probably be the single girl child forever.

It was not easy, but I eventually got over the fantasy of having my own little sis. And today, my brothers mean the absolute world to me. They have taught me so much about beauty and love and laughter. In fact, I've learned to cherish my special role as the head femme of the Baba offspring.

So, in honor of these little knuckelheads:), check out the video of Sarah Kay reading her poem "Brother." Fantastic piece!

Khalil Gibran Speaks of Friendship

Have I mentioned that I have the best friends ever!?!? My 25th birthday is quickly approaching and my two besties planned the most fantastic early bday celebration for me. The party was well attended and we all shook a tail feather until the wee hours of the morning. Bliss!!! It was so much more fun than I expected and made me feel quite loved:-)

Enjoy the Gibran piece below. It reminded me that friends are truly a blessing.

sb

Friendship IXX
BY Khalil Gibran

And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship."
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you
withhold the "ay."

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

God Doesn't Give us Dreams to Taunt Us

Ah spring! For some reason, the warm weather, longer days, and budding flowers of spring make me feel oh so hopeful. I'm not sure how a simple change in temperature can give me the energy to follow my dreams with renewed fervor, but it does. This poem by my friend and ex-roomie Danielle captures those sentiments perfectly! Lots of great lines in there.

Now get off your butt and turn your dreams into action!!

enjoy

Spring
BY Danielle Cooper

I hoped
I chased
I longed
Like there was nothing else
Like there was no one else

Maybe there isn't
Time changes everything

But I will create new hopes
I will run towards new dreams
And won't look back

Well, maybe once
And dare to believe
Some dreams I never have to let go

With Love and Tears

Check out this wonderful piece from my friend Cindy. With all of the madness going on in this world right now, this piece reminds me how much we need a Savior. Peeps, if you don't know my Jesus, please get acquainted today:-)

Enjoy!

BY Cindy Whitaker

Poor and parched, the land cries out for rain
Even so does my spirit thirst for you
Draw me Lord that in your presence
will flow tears of shame, relief and joy
To water the land

Weak and cold, a marriage cries out for refuge
Draw us Lord that we may look in your eyes
and know love unearned, unmatched, unyielding
To bind our souls

Too strong, too weak
Too hot, too cold
Lord teach us your compassion
To serve, to love, to lead, to listen
With love and tears

To Michael Jackson - Naija Style

I love making new friends!! And, on one of my recent trips to New York, I was able to do just that. I met a brilliant Nigerian writer Osahon Akpata, and was so impressed by his work that I made him send me one of his short stories to post on here. This is a great piece that honors the memory of Michael Jackson quite beautifully. Lots of nicely placed Nigerian references. Enjoy!

ps...He's currently working on a coming of age novel about a young boy, attending a Nigerian boarding school. From the bit that he read to me, its gonna be a good one.


BY Osahon Akpata

It was Sunday after church and Tunde was excited. His parents had finally, after much begging and pleading, agreed to take him to his friend Tijani’s party once the service was over. He had made the point that Tijani’s home was only a five minute drive from Our Savior’s Anglican Church. His friend was from a Muslim home and was doing the unusual thing of hosting a birthday bash on a Sunday. Tunde’s mother had first objected.

“We can’t go straight from church to a Muslim house for a party,” she whispered to her husband. “How will that look? What if the meat has been prayed on by an Imam? Is that the right thing for us to do if we eat it?”

“Calm down dear,” his father said gently, “it is important for our son to be religiously tolerant. We can just stop by for a little while.”

Tunde had overheard the whole conversation and could not be bothered about the theological argument. All he cared about was that Tijani always had the latest Michael Jackson music and dance steps at his party. He even had a red leather jacket with zippers all over it, very much like the one the star wore for the Thriller video.

Tunde was crazy about Michael Jackson music too. All young boys in Lagos in the 80s were. Some made his music their own, bastardizing the lyrics to “Come on, je ka fo so ke, don’t stop till you get enough!” or “I’m bad, I’m bad, so mo, I’m bad!”
Thirty minutes later, his stomach gorged with jollof rice, goat meat and coke, and reverberating from the loud speakers thumping out juju music, Tunde got his wish. Tijani’s older brother changed the cassette to a Michael Jackson mix tape and all the boys gathered around in a corner, ecstatic to hear their idol’s voice.
“You know Michael Jackson is Nigerian,” one of the boys said. “His real name is Mukaila Jimoh.” Tunde and the rest of the others nodded in agreement. It was the thing to do, claim anyone who was successful had to be from their country. No wonder Nigerians are said to be the happiest people on the planet.

blessing the boats

BY Lucille Clifton

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

From Quilting: Poems 1987-1990 by Lucille Clifton. Copyright © 2001 by Lucille Clifton.

I Call You Sister

I heard this Rachel McKibbens poem on the Indiefeed podcast ages ago and was so moved by it that I play it at least every month. The whole piece is wicked good, but the last portion (which I've included below) especially speaks to me and is about the strong bond between true BFFs. I wont get all sappy on ya'll, but...yeah. I have some awesome "sisters" in my life!

Excerpt from Untitled Poem For a Girl
BY Rachel McKibbens

though we did not crack from the same troubled womb,
i call you sister
and if ever you should appear on my door step
heart, torn fresh from her roots
understand, i would then break my own
and offer you the other half
though we live so far apart
we live together all the same













refusing to shrink our voices to fit smaller minds
ladelineg Opheliacs from rivers with our bare hands
to teach their warn, heavy souls
to float
welding our skins with beeswax and gathered lightening
we are the women, who are willing to love alone in the dark
lock our hearts in each others' chests
and touch
like our fingers invented it

An Ode to Tax Season...and ME!!

So, the back story is very necessary here:

I asked my friend Phil to help me with my taxes, because he's a whiz at all things financial. Then I decided to try to work it out on my own, because I felt like I should at least try the TurboTax deal before pawning my junk off on others. I thought I was bring thoughtful, but he was DEVASTATED (or so he say...lol).

He decided to whip out his poetic charm to write this beautiful ode to...my taxes. Talk about nerd to the n-th power:-) Despite the "surprise ending," I loved it a bunches and was way flattered that he took the time to write me a poem!

enjoy this hilarious piece!

Susan Baba’s Taxes
BY Mr. Philip Richard Thoms

It was a birthday party of a mutual friend
Never would have guessed it would be the beginning to the end
A yellow scarf and your beautiful natural hair
Looking like an Amberly Village millionaire
When you looked me in my eyes
I felt like Jet Li fighting in Shanghai
The words I thought you would never utter
My heart began to race than flutter
Philip, “Will you do my taxes?”
You were the logs and I was the axes.

Federal, State, and Local
It was loud so I had to be vocal
Though I tried to stay nonchalance
You could tell by my stuttered response
That the excitement I could not bear
It was as if you asked me to have a love affair
Because I knew what it really means
To possess the knowledge of what one does with her green
Subtract line sixty-three from sixty-four

One deduction only! Score!

A week passed
I knew, I knew I was not miscast
Until I received that fateful call
And you said Ese will do it all
I tried to stay composed
As the tears down my check flowed
You hiding all your deductions
Caused an emotional eruption
Your total income line is what I desired
But before I was even in the game, I retired
So Susan Baba I will give it to you straight
All I have for you now is hate.

I Love You Because...

When I decided to start this blog, I was
1. nervous about over-sharing AND
2. scared that no one would read it. eek!

But, like so many times in my life, I've gotten over both humps, thanks to awesome friends. My (online and offline) buds read this darn thing, comment on my posts, encourage me to continue my passion and inspire me stretch myself, creatively. Yes. I know. I'm blessed:-)

So, in honor of their fantastic support, I'll do my best to spotlight a few pieces from my friends this month in addition to a few poems that celebrate the beauty of friendship.

Can't wait!

-sb

Stuff I Write: The Work of Loving an Ocean

Every once in a while, my 9-5 extends me the good fortune of seeing another city besides the Nasty Nati (As we locals oh so affectionately refer to it). This time around, it was LA. And, while the man was trying to keep me down by having me spend all day Monday flying in, all day Tuesday working, and all day Wednesday flying back, I was able to sneak a few moments away for myself. Two moments to be exact.

In the first "moment," I reunited with my OSU bestie. Fellow accounting class flunkie turned law student. ::Heart:: We had an awesome dinner and, after the obligatory, “what have you been doing since undergrad Q&A session,” we had a really great conversation about life, law school, and the scariness of getting older.

In the second “moment,” I snuck away and went to the beach. I’ve always had this weird love affair with the beach and knew that I would forever regret being so close to the coast and not visiting my love:-) So, I grabbed a cup of Starbucks, hopped a cab and bounced off to Venice beach. It was early and still and, apparently, too early for the crazies and homeless folks to be out. I felt like I had the whole beach to myself (minus the studly surfer boys) and felt more than inspired to write. This is what came out of it.

Enjoy!

The Work of Loving an Ocean
BY Susan Baba

You come
And lick my toes coyly
If I didn’t know you, sly boy,
I would think you shy as you softly caress my feet
Ankles
Calf
Then my whole leg
White hand wrapping around me

Strong
Surrounding me
Threatening to take me with you
And, for a moment, completely mine
Before you pull away from me,
I surrender
Before you retreat,
I whisper a promise of forever
Come back, water lover
I promise to be everything you cannot be
Promise you legs to engulf
Flesh to hold on to
Promise to give you freedom
If only, you will belong to me
You come thundering back towards me
A white crescent of a man
Arms extended
Wooing me with your cool, inviting kiss
This is what love is like
Sometimes unrequited, yet filled to the brim with promise
Always stretching farther than the eye can see
I follow you
Wait for you
Puff up with joy when you return to me
Stand quietly
Preparing myself for your slow flirting
First toes
Then ankles
Claves
Knees
Your soft tongue licks them all
You’ve swept away countless lovers like this, I know
And though you’ll be gone again without notice
I’m prepared to dance like this forever.

Who Was Peter of the Earth?

Peter James Conti was a poet, a painter, a changling. He loved calamari and The Simpsons. He is the best friend I have ever had. I cannot recall when or where we met. It is as if he had always been a part of my life. He was the Mulder to my Scully. Homer to my Marge. He was my heart. I do not know who I will be in this world without him. But I know that my days are full of more love and light and laughter because of his incredible spirit. - Felice Belle
From Words on Asphalt

After reading this excerpt from Felice's tribute above and listening to Marty McConnell's touching poem "Alignment", I was inspired to find out more about this beautiful man whose untimely death in winter 2005 was so beautifully mourned by many in the NYC poetry scene.

Read another triubte here

I was also inspired to write a bit myself. Enjoy!

To Peter
By Susan Baba

Peter of the Earth, I never knew you
But my heart feels like it did
You see, I know you only through verse
Free words careening into beautiful
Through the living memorial your friends have build to you
in poems
Precious homage
Blessed praise
In lyric
Through metaphor
I hear their voices cracking with every line
They feel your absence like empty at their doorstep
Yet they honor you with laughter
With every line,
Praising your voice

Your joy
Your free, free way of calling every moment special
You poet turned angel, you
They have honored you well