Wednesday, December 26, 2007


First there was Prince…
His love was innocent and pristine
Natural and unblemished
It was fresh and untainted with
suspicious feelings from past hurts
His edges were smooth
He fit in without trying
He wasn’t the most handsome
but he was – Beautiful
We were each others
First blushed cheek
On the way to school
First saved bus seat
First butterfly flutter
First intimate eye contact
First kiss
First that and this
His remarkable wisdom formed my need
for a man with a great mind
He moved my behind
on the dance floor
His love was the best thing
only God’s was more
He lived in the Bowen Projects
Where there was a lot of violence
and gun play around him
He was in a harsh environment
but not a part of it
but still became its victim
I remember he once said that
He would be the next Dr. King
That he would take us to the next level
And let our freedom truly ring
I believed him
And then I got the call…

~ *~ ** ~* ~

And then there was Sultan
He was so phyne
Dayum he was phyne…
Athletic and strong
Could go all night long
Could turn no left
Or do no wrong
Cuz he made it so right
Up until that night
But I’ll get back to that later
We met in College
He was 2nd string quarterback for the Gators
Our shared major: Communications
Although he minored in Aviation Management
Cuz, like Kanye
He said he wanted to touch the sky
Oh my
The things that man used to say
Will forever haunt me in the good and the bad ways
A magnificent mind with a 3.9 GPA
He said education was an important tool
And that learning had to become fun
Being that his Grandma worked at his High School
She had raised him and his brother after
Their Mother’s untimely demise
His intellect was jagged and sublime
He was chivalrous
and knew how to pray like a Minister
He contained an inner soul that yearned for a better way
but was dominated by a carnal spirit that was sinister
I always smiled when he took his cap off at the dinner table
An educated thug, Morris Chestnut smiling Dark Gable
Our chemistry together was fluid and aged
He was so funny
everywhere he went he needed a mic and a stage
He knew how to woo a lady with a few rose petals
a poem, and a bottle of fine wine
But sometimes he would be so angry inside
He was so resilient
He never cried
His only flaw was that he was so smart but at times highly unwise
He knew his future was bright if he stayed on the bright side
But he had a habit of detouring in dark alleys and low valleys that
could only be found in the Hood
So much potential fighting with conquered good
He was a visionary
Who wanted his own star
on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood
He couldn’t hug his future though
for reaching back for past ways
My lingering love
was raised in Miami-Dade
Liberty City to be exact
And a third of him never let go
and held true to that
He was fond of the Quran which teaches:
Let the one who is entrusted discharge his trust,
(faithfully) and let him be afraid of Allah, his Lord.
And conceal not the evidence for he,
he who hides it, surely his heart is sinful.
And Allah is All-Knower of what you do
I now know this to be true
We even discussed that verse together
He understood what it meant but I don’t think it really got through
And when I got the call...
just like Prince’s 5 years before
I had to sit again in that pew and ask God the heart-rending “Whys?”
that only our culture affords
I’ve heard about these type traumas Black Women share
and I’ve read about it
and even seen it on the screen
But never in my life
never in my soul
– never twice
in my wildest dreams…

Tara S. Gause aka Poetic Goddess Tara Shenéa
© 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, December 16, 2007


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How hard it must be to be Bryant?
Fearful and aware after viewing OJ’s fall from White Grace
I too am a Black man who has exiled my people
I too have pledged marriage to a beautiful ‘token’ of assimilation
who can do everything a wife possibly can
- except -
understand this very struggle I live
on the days when it hits really hard
This existence –
It is one you have to be in order to ‘fully’ understand
For this reason, our scales will forever be off kilter
I rot internally from the imbalance
For, I do love her…
But in this home there is no remedy or relief from this pain
Except for my blue pills
On the days, I feel the sting of knowing of whom I belong
I take a blue pill
I must always be careful not to fall
For a bed of pointed, razor-sharp spikes await below
And my People are no longer holding the net
So to quell the caged rage within that wants to be freed
I take a blue pill
Blue pills numb the thought but never the pain
I take comfort in my Family, who love me, because they know me
They have the luxury of personally knowing more than just the Brand
But my People, this luxury they do not partake of
And most could care less
This I know, for I’ve found out in certain ways
In turn, I’ve chosen to fully conform to try to fill that much needed void
And on my best behaved days…
I win!
I win my most sought after prize
My façade is a success, and I get to feel it –
that acceptance, that complete feeling,


But on the days when I am force fed the red pill - I know who I am
– I am a man who is invisible to his native people and a
stepchild to my natural predator

I Must NEVER Fall!

How hard it must be to be Bryant, Wayne, Tiger, Lionel, Michael, et al.

A Jew, a white among whites, can deny that he is a Jew, declaring himself a man among men. The Black cannot deny that he is black nor claim for himself an abstract, colorless humanity; he is Black. Thus he is driven to authenticity: insulted, enslaved, he raises himself up. He picks up the word "Black" ["Negro"] that they had thrown at him like a stone, He asserts his blackness, facing the White man, with pride.~ Jean-Paul Sartre

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Tara S. Gause aka Poetic Goddess Tara Shenéa
© 2007. All Rights Reserved.

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