Lyrically Loaded

                                                  Artwork 'Sayidah Dreams' By A. Nailah

There Has To Be Something I Missed

Time doesn't wait for you to get it together, nor for you to regroup.Time has no sympathy.It doesn't slow down or speed up or care if you have no clue.It is a ride that is one time only and going only one way.It makes you move forward and does not allow you to physically stay, where your mind may have no intention of going.My Aunt says that "time is a commodity that cannot be replaced."It is also the easiest thing to waste.Some days I wish the sun would shine a little longer, and for the wind to continue to slowly blow.I often wish I could go back and redo.I didn't quite understand the investment or the responsibility of anticipated success.So, therefore, I cluelessly made no attempts to sort through an already made mess.I gather my thoughts frequently and question every theory that I've heard.I wonder, I wait, I test, I observe.I cry and I poutI sigh and I sitI say to myself, there has to be something that I missed.


All rights reserved.

A Invaluable Truth

The way they spoke of him he must have been a local celebrity.

He was known city wide.

He was known for the way that he looked, his style, his hair, the way he danced.

He stood out!  He was distinguished!

What was it that distinguished him?

So many people held him in high esteem.

My father, a person whose mother passed away when he was around seven years old, from that time he was raised with his sibling’s, two older brothers and his younger sister Maxine.

The fortunate thing was that his father was able to have custody of all the children even the oldest two whom my grandfather did not father. My grandfather met a woman who had children and it was my understanding that they were raised as a blended family.

My grandfather ran an after hour’s joint and groomed my father about the business side of things.

I can only assume that this is where he had his first drink, experienced the night life, the partying, and the clubbing.

My grandfather passed away in 1968. My father was in his early twenties and that is the same year that my oldest sister was born.

Unaware of all the facts of my father’s life there is some information that I did gather. That information is that my father had a void in his life.  That void in his life was there from the time his mother passed away when he was just a young boy.

It is my assumption that he felt lost from that point on. That he went through life the best way he knew how, possibly following the examples that were presented before him and staying loyal to his sister as his father advised.

My father met my mother and soon I arrived in 1981 and ten months later my younger sister arrived, born to another woman.

I was told that there were two more siblings a brother and a sister in between my oldest sister and myself but my search has produced no satisfying results. I have not found them yet!

I had known who my father was. That was no secret. I knew the basics anyway.

Early in my childhood my mother spoke in a positive manner about my father, who at this time had moved to Atlanta, Georgia. My mother said he loved to dance and even appeared on Soul Train.

The community, the people who knew him spoke highly of him, said that he was an innovator, tenacious, kind-hearted, a “good guy”.

He had audacity.

He could make things happen and they never left out that he could dance. Hearing about my father from others was like hearing about an interesting movie or an impeccable restaurant, but never getting to experience it first-hand.

The interest deepened, the curiosity increased and I was amazed, intrigued, frustrated, and hurt all at the same time. So my thing now is “Who is this man”? I wondered about my father’s secrets.

I wondered what he did in the in between times, between my oldest sister and myself, after my younger sister and myself was born, before he made his way to New York.

Was my father a lost soul on the run,  a decent good hearted person who had continuously made choices that did not benefit him?

Who is this man? Who was my father?

I wanted to know. I wanted to hold his hand and express my concern for him in person.

My father would call me frequently and send cards through the mail.

My father was a distant father, a person that I felt connected to, but I only remember vaguely the last time I seen him in my childhood. He put some money in my hand and that was the last time I seen him until I was twenty-six.

I remember writing my father letters throughout my adolescence and teenage years. I remember his phone calls and how we would talk.

He was a loving father. Yet he was a distant father. My love grew for him; I respected him and accepted the reality of the consequences of the choice he and my mother made.

Now at a place where my understanding and acceptance of the situation had increased, I still had mixed emotions. Time had passed and the relationship between my father and I had gotten better but our method of communicating hadn’t changed. The consistency of phone calls and cards through the mail continued, but now he would send me pictures of himself. All of this prompted a message. I wanted to get to my father so I wrote a poem to him and it is titled, "Who is this man?"

"Who is this man that you say is my father?

The lack of communication between us causes us both to consider making the comment, “Why bother?”

Putting all aside I truly desire to see and know him.

It makes me wonder about his appearance light or dark complexion, body wide or slim, beard hair unshaven or is it a clean trim.

What is his conversation like?

Do the true facts of this situation cause him to be uncomfortable to?

Is it too early in our relationship to say daddy, I love you?

I’ve considered a lot of things, questioned the effects, but I do not believe that it was total neglect.

Daddy I’m open to hear your side. Please tell me everything you need to say.

I’m open to reconciliation in every type of way.

There are two sides to this story and yours is the one I believe.

First I was unsure, but as long as I wallowed in that lie, then I would continue to be deceived.

I would like to know your dreams and all the goals you wish to complete.

Make me aware of your fears. How do you cope, when you are faced with defeat?

I’m open to a relationship with you. I’m open to share my life. I’m open to have love imbedded.

I know I’m close to your heart even though out of sight.

It’s natural to have thoughts of me come across your mind. Who is this man that you say is my father? I desire to get to know him while I still have time!!"

My father kept telling me he was going to make a trip to see us, but he never made it. Something would always come up. I came to a place where I was okay with our relationship.

What choice did I have? I could choose to hate him, but where would that leave me?

What would that accomplish? My father called me one day and he sounded as if he had a cold. Two weeks later he sounded worse and was refusing to go to the doctor.

I knew something wasn’t right, but I did not have the means to make the trip from to Ohio to New York. A few days had passed and I received a phone call and I was told that my father was sick, that he was in bad shape. That was in July. My heart dropped! 

I was way past being concerned; now I was worried about his well being, if he was lonely, if he was at the end of his life.

I called my uncle, my father’s oldest brother and we made a trip to New York probably something that we should have done at an earlier time.

After the long ride I was filled with all type of emotions. One thing I am clear about is that I was glad to see my father, the person I was told that I looked so much like.  I finally met eyes with the man that most people had so much to say about.

I finally saw him twenty-six years into my life, so much time had passed.

I felt relief at the sight of his face. Even though he was not in the best of health, he appeared to be content, uncomfortable, but content. Glad to finally see me all grown-up.

I rubbed his hair and kissed his cheek and thought to myself, “Wow, my father in the flesh”.

I was ecstatic, overjoyed, and full of smiles.

I was glad to see my father. It is unfortunate that it was the effects of pancreatic cancer that prompted a seriousness and urgency, but it worked to both of our advantages.

My father decided against coming back with us so after two days our trip was up and we headed back to Ohio. Less than a month later I received a phone call and I was told that my father would not live much longer.

My Uncle paid for plane tickets one for my father and one for myself in order to bring my father home. The trip was tedious!

My father held my hand the whole time we were on the plane returning back to Ohio. My uncle met us at the airport. He took my father to his house and from there the ambulance came. My father passed away the next day.

His journey was up. Purpose possibly fulfilled!

At this funeral I was finally able to meet my older sister whom I had heard so much about and resemble so closely. People spoke fondly of my father, how he began a tradition where people celebrated in the park, how he would go and get the elderly push them in their wheelchairs so they could participate in the festivities.

A man this thoughtful, a man so caring, how could he stay away so long?

Why did he stay away so long? I can only assume. I can only speculate.

But I’m exhilarated about being able to see my father, hold his hand, talk with him. Maybe losing his mother at such a young age, then his father thirteen plus years later created something in him where he became distant.

Maybe the disappointments and the unexplainable devastating factors in life were too much. Maybe to stay away was the only way to cope.

There is a message that is strictly for my father and that message is I love you! I appreciate you!  Your phone calls gave me hope! You made me smile!  Your love kept this boat afloat! 

"I miss you and every time the phone rings, I’m hoping that it is you.

I can’t seem to grasp the reality that you’ve passed away.

It is not registering as the truth!

Something in me keeps telling me with the next ring I’ll hear your voice.

Oh Daddy if I had my choice, I would see you again.

I’m talking about soon. I would ease your pain from life's inconsistences and for unconditional love make total room. Every time the phone rings I’m hoping that it is you.

Some of our conversations quenched my curiosity and understanding bloomed.

I love you with a passion!  My love for you runs deep.

Out of my sleep awakened in the middle of the night, by your scent

Has your spirit come to visit me, just one last time?

I knew it was you I felt peace of a rare kind.

Every time, every time…

I hear the phone ring, anticipation arises in my heart.

Daddy, I miss the song my heart would sing,

Just to hear your voice, Just to hear you laugh.

You would already have what I needed sent to me before I asked

So every time the phone rings,

I wrestle with reality, that by the way has the strength of ten kings

I just wish you would call me soon.

Because with you I realized anything that is watered can bloom!"

My father was a person that I knew so little about yet I mirror profoundly.

I inherited so many of my father’s personality traits, his friendly nature, and his compassion, his love of music, of dancing, his secretive ways, and his audacity.

Thoughts of my father, at times causes me to become emotional.

I desired for my children to experience having a grandfather.

It is an opportunity to cherish, moments to hold dear. One of the best things in life!

In all of this, I have realized to not take for granted the gift of life, the opportunities that come along with life.

Not to put off giving a hug, a compliment or sharing a invaluable truth.

You may be able to wear those same shoes!

There were some kids sitting outside on a stoop.

They were having a ball laughing and pointing at everyone who walked pass.

They made fun of the man with the limp, the woman struggling to carry all of her grocery bags. They also made fun of the couple whose clothes were worn, dirty, and old. They laughed at the woman missing all but one of her teeth.

They made fun of the beggin’ addict and how the irate alcoholic slurred his words. Everything made them laugh from the sound of someone passing gas to the vivid misfortune of those living right there in their community.

They gathered there on that stoop and laughed much like we did when we were younger.

When we were younger everything was funny to us to, we breezed through life, lived in the moment.

We lacked the mental capacity to understand that there are consequences for every one of our actions, also that there are some things that are inevitable, and that your past follows you.

Even in making all the “right”, logical, good, beneficial choices you may find yourself where you never expected to be.

The man with the limp, I know him personally and I am the woman struggling to carry all my grocery bags.

The couples whose clothes are worn, dirty, and old were once in a position to help others, but now they reside in the housing projects struggling to help their selves, trying to manage their misery.

The woman missing all but one of her teeth is one of my closest friends.

I have heard from others that the kind-hearted boy that I attended grade school with is now a beggin’ addict.

The irate alcoholic was once the most athletic and intellectually vibrant person I knew.

We are no longer the kids on the stoop, laughing and breezing through life.

We have become what we had no expectation of becoming.

Laughing is wonderful, joking is permissible, but when it is at the expense of others it is questionable.

We often laugh or poke fun when it is not us or when we believe that it could never be us or someone we love.

It is only funny when you aren’t in those same shoes or when you can’t see yourself in those same shoes faced with that same circumstance!

Be careful you may be able to wear those same shoes!

An Invisible Mechanism

Why do birds sing so loudly?

Why does a cat meow so softly?

Why the humble is made to walk among the haughty?

What have I become a slave to?

Who put me on the chopping block?

Who bought me?

Our lifestyle and habits…


You see someone else with it and you just have to have it.

Some of us have no clue as to why we do what we do.

Never arriving at the conclusion that there could be an underlying cause.

An invisible mechanism.

Comprehension And Its Dimensions

I have come to the conclusion that there are certain things and situations that one is not able to comprehend unless they experience it first- hand; like being a mother or a father, the only child, the oldest child, the middle child, the youngest child, like being in a complicated relationship, or living with a chronic illness.

“I knew you were going to do that”, that is what my sister said to me after I called her and told her I decided against going to my youngest sister's birthday bash, that was to begin at 10:30pm and end at 2:30am.

I found myself to be offended.

Offended, because I thought that during all the time that we had been spending together she was beginning to understand the force of uncertainty that has consumed my life since Lupus chose to rear its head.

Not enough explaining can ever cause her to understand or anyone for that matter, what it is like to live with this autoimmune disease, unless they have experienced it first-hand.

I have found myself always having to explain to every third person why I am not working, why I cannot remember our recent conversation, why I’m hot in the middle of winter and my nerves keep jumping in my eyes, forehead, lips, why I can’t bear to be around smoke, and my heart rate increases without excitement, and etc.

I guess my expressions are too negative for the optimist ear. If I state anything about my circumstance that isn’t “positive” then it is complaining.

Then I’m a complainer.

When we are outsiders we have to be very careful when assessing someone else’s situation.

As an outsider you have to be mindful of what the person maybe going through, what exactly they are living with and how it all affects every aspect of their life.

You would never know it by looking at me; I appear to be healthy, physically well.

But the truth, as devastating as it is, I’m not well.

I’m living with a chronic illness that gives off no warning of a flare, an outbreak, and that has the potential to be fatal.

I could go on and on and give specific details of my experiences, but I wouldn’t dare depress myself any further.

Even though I stated earlier that there are some situations that one is not able to comprehend unless they experience it first-hand, that doesn’t stop me from wishing that my sister along with others understood.

I often get the impression that others along with my sister think that I hide behind excuses.

I get this impressions because of the sighs and write offs, and the comments of its just lupus, when I’m unable to or just don’t have the energy, but only if they knew.

I may appear to be well.

I may laugh, joke, and smile.

I must do these things for the sake of my sanity and emotional stability.

Support The Cure For Lupus @ Lupus.org

You’re Twelve Years Old, What Do You Mean...?

You’re twelve years old,” what do you mean you’re too old to jump rope?”
No, you’re too young to deep throat.


You’re rushing yourself.
You don’t want to need drugs to cope.


There is only one that can fully construct that boat.


In the meantime you’ll be patched up and pacified.
Some may tell you the truth will you believe it you’ve heard so many lies


Weighed down because of soul ties.
We’ve all traveled a compromising path, spiritually unsupervised.


We’re attracted to the baby makers, the emotionally detached, the heart breakers, that tell us let’s do this now and I’ll love you later.


We become drawn in by our own pretending and find ourselves subconsciously submitting.
The shoe that you are trying to wear doesn’t seem to be fitting.


They’ll slide off and cause you to trip.
Take time to learn and observe then let the words flow from your lips.


The throwing of your hips, just quit.


I don’t know if you were told, but there is a time limited on being a hottie.


Don’t wear out your body
And leave your emotions in a mess.


Strenuous on one’s mind is that thing known as regret.


In some respects, I believe that youth is wasted on the young.


I urge you to take a walk, ride a bike, go for a run.


Don’t open that door that gives all access to your heart, soul, spirit, and mind.
Yes. It is a challenge to tame and takes a conscience effort to keep in check.


Don’t give him none.
Don’t give him it.
Resist!


©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas,All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.

Watered

I’m in full bloom with red leaves, like a tree before mid-fall
I feel like I haven’t been watered at all

Maybe because there was a drought this season
Watch how I can give all these reasons


Why I feel the way I do


I’ll be careful with how I communicate my feelings lest I lead some astray or aloof

My pillow is wet from my tears and covered in long strands of my hair that are no longer attached to my head


My legs won’t cooperate therefore I can’t even get out of bed

My face and body is red, brown, burning and itching


I am laying here and it is family, friends, companionship, and love relationships that I am missing

I am missing the ease of physical mobility

I am longing for peace and tranquility

All of this and I still consider myself to be in full bloom, like a tree before mid-fall

I am in need of a little water and need not to feel like I’m up against the wall

I have not stopped writing

I have not stopped dreaming
But I do notice that my mind is clinging

To everything that could’ve been


I’m banging and yelling at the top of my lungs
Yet no one will let me in


My pockets are empty and my purse is flat
My ambition is untamed


But the outward appearance of things doesn’t support such facts


I am in full bloom with red leaves, some leaves are beginning to turn brown and fall


My thirst is overwhelming
I feel like I haven’t been watered at all



©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas .All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.

As We Go Through Life

As we go through life we do our best to live with our painful past


Claim to keep it real
But we wear so many masks


Our response when asked how we are doing is, “I’m fine”


When we are really tired and hurting
Feeling confined


In some cases spiritually blind
The response, “I’m fine”, is just the less complicated line


You know I’m blessed
But it is this I must confess


I’m all out of solutions


Woo! That felt good to get off my chest
My emotions are in such a mess


Oh by the way there have been some promises and secrets I should’ve kept
Had friends that I should’ve never befriended


Wrote letters and should’ve never sent it
Please know that if I never told you I loved you I meant it


I apologize if it was you that I offended


As we go through life we do our best to make due
Live with the lie and or haunted by the truth


We are who we are, by far


We either soar in spite of
Or do what is necessary because of the constant reminder of the scars


As we go through life






©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas .All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.

Write Like You'll Never Write Again

Motionless! Stagnant! Complacent! Brokenness!
Fragments Of dreams


Tied up! Torn down!
Shaken! Shook up!
Trying hard to get out and stay out of this rut


So I’ll write to express
So my vulnerability will be evident


As if I’m in front of a crowd totally undressed


Revealing that I’m striving but I feel like I’m a mess
Weary and in need of rest


Songstress without a song
Drums without a drummer


Clogged to capacity
But there is no plumber


Get a snake and some extra strength Drano
I’m so tired of the same ol’


Backed up
Resisting the temptation to act up


I’ll write like I’ll never write again


A letter to my lover
Notes to my friend


Words can provide encouragement
If honest we all have tendencies to fall short


A good dream
A goal we abort


If we can’t see a clear path


I’ll write as if this time is my last


Express love even if not asked
Take off all masks


And regardless of the repercussions
Go all the way and not half step


Live a life of less regret


So when I write
I’ll write with a passion unheard of


When you read what was written
I’ll be someone you want to learn of


I’ll write until I’m raggedy
Until I can’t write any longer


Go thru it head on
Believing that it will make me stronger


Millions of words phrases and sentences


It will be so clear
No need to ask, “What is your mission Miss?”


I’ll write like I’ll never write again


A gift !A golden opportunity!


Even when I put my pen down writing continues to pursue me


So I’ll write like I’ll never write again






©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas .All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.

Hold My Hand In Public

Hold my hand in public to signify that we are together


Like the kiss on the forehead or that embrace you like to give me
To make me feel better

Hold my hand in public

To confirm what you say in private

I'm feeling you. You're feeling me.

Why hide it?


Hold my hand in public


It is such a subtle yet extreme form of affection

It gives clues into the seriousness of a relationship

The gesture assures. The gestures says so much

Your palm in my palm
Innocent, yet intimate is such a touch

Hold my hand in public




©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas .All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.

The Familiar Look

The look I saw in his eyes was familiar to me.
It took me back…


I began to think about the boys I knew in elementary.


Those who had so much promise!
Those whom hope had such a hold!


Those who were convinced they would be “somebody”!
Oh where did that type of mind-set go?


He looked at me as if he knew he was wrong.
His own conscience had judged him and though torment was evident he chose to go on!


His look replied to me, I’m at the point where I need to be rescued,
I’m starving rapidly… I’m so close to doom.


But my momma sees me as just another man and not her child
There is no in between


As for my father and me we have no common ground.
I choose not to say all of this out loud… I imagine how this may sound!


I am a Black man, who is hopeless,
Yet somehow I’m coping!


Came so close to doing the unnecessary on the lines of straight up locin’
The potential that I possess my circumstance is choking!


Am I the only one that believes in me?


Society along with my family can’t seem to look past the stereotypes, that paint me as the poster child of negativity.


Yes, His look said all and more to me.


I’ am unable to fix the problem that he faces, but I do believe there is a remedy!


The Familiar Look!


©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas .All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.

Eleven O' Nine Woodside

Eleven O’ Nine Woodside, where I first learned of moonshine


Backyard barbecue
Hearing grown folks conversations and their views


Old ladies that drink
Man, did alcohol stink


Loud talking and cigarette smoke
Men,women ,and children laughing


That was a good time
It was what was happenin’


I remember my Aunt’s smile and her eyes
The impact that she had on so many lives


The mosquito bites and the sweltering heat
Drinking juice after juice and can’t wait to eat


The patience of a child


Full, packed yard
Street filled with cars


Music playing
One of the best occasions


The smell of barbecue
The smoke from a grill
It always takes me back here


Eleven O’ Nine Woodside


A cozy little spot
Situated across from my elementary schools
Man, I miss my Aunt!


Fun times, good food
Adults- some nice, some rude


Some unpleasant and you hate to see them coming
Laughter of children excited
Through the yard running


Cooler temperatures will be coming and school will be back in session
This taught me how to not treat people
Not quite ready for another lesson


Eleven O’ Nine Woodside
Contributed to my views on family and quality time
Where I experienced backyard barbecue's and learned about homemade moonshine


Realizing it is better to be kind and be careful what you say
Don’t hide behind masks
Appreciate the moment and live for the day


Eleven O' Nine Woodside


©2010 Atiya Meadows-Thomas .All rights reserved no republication of this material, in any form or medium is permitted without expressed permission of the author.