The "Softer Side" of Shayla OR Indescribable Indulgences of the Intellect OR Constantly Contemplating the Craft

I give you four poems I composed as a young adult. Each of these four pieces were written when I was co-creator of a local open mike night in Jacksonville, Florida at a now defunct cafe called "Le Chat Noir". The first came as the result of a conversation I had with a kind, elderly gentleman while riding public transportation. The second comes from an insatiable curiosity and an obsession with questioning. The third is a love poem, but it's not what you think and the fourth was inspired by the scene in "V for Vendetta" wherein our heroine walks into the rain after discovering the identity of her captor. I offer these to you because they've been popping up periodically through the course of conversation, so it seems the universe is telling me to reflect on them. Message received.

Discuss on a Buss
I'm a young white woman,
he's an old black man.
We sit on the bus
and discuss.

We discuss our lives,
our trusts,
our shared belief that the man
is taking adavantage of us.

We see the world through different eyes
but come to the same conclusion
that our world is falling apart
and it truly, madly, deeply is breaking both our hearts.
.

He's an old black Christian man
and I, well I am not.
But in this life we're given
we'll give it all we've got.

We don't expect to save the world
perhaps change it -- for the better.
And as I ponder our connection
in my third row bus seat section
I wonder of the tears that fall.

Do they fall heavier than ever?
We talk of crack and road repair
and how misplaced priorities
make us want to pull out our hair.

And as we sit here on this bus
and it slows for his departure
we both take comfort in the fact
we know the others out there.
___________________________________________


By Word of God
By word of god you shouldn't
and you don't,
even if the word of god
by hand of man was wrote.

A new version, a new text
a new translation --
to fit the contemplation
of your sermon.

Pick and choose the lines you use,
just as you swallow a poets pill
to meet them in their madness.
Blinded by the faith your fed --
in truth it's not your will,
your faith inspires in me sadness.

For as you try to save my soul
it's you who will be damned.
Why not give up this battle old
I'm certain in my plan.

See, there's reason for my lacking
a choice of god or structure.
Intolerance for question
is a sin I'll never suffer.
___________________________________________

She
she

she's beautiful, articulate, chiseled
almost angelic in form

if I believed in angels

and I feel
inadequate

she casts her solid, cynically endowed gaze across the room
and seems to be unaware that she could have any man she chooses

and I writhe because she sets her sights upon my most admired

what tortures me more is this
that I adore her too

that her mind and eyes are such that one could be swept away

and she could hold anyone captivated for a time

for a time that could last forever

if she wanted it to 
___________________________________________

Tomorrow
All I had was the rain
and it was beautiful

misting my face like a thousand kisses
from a love I thought lost

I find hope in those
kisses like a breeze
pulling me along
a path I cannot see

and I am unafraid

for I am ready to fight
I am ready to fall
to die
to dream of tomorrow

and there will always be tomorrow.