Marlene's musings: My Inspiration

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

My Inspiration

My daughter, Morenike, whose Yoruba name means "I have someone to cherish" is my inspiration. She inspired me when she was a beautiful, happy baby (See left)...and she inspires me now as a beautiful grown up woman. She is creative, ambitious, extremely intelligent, humorous and loving. I really do cherish Morenike. If you want to know more about her check out her blog: http://www.blackpearlfilmworks.blogspot.com

Marlene's Poetry

MUH DEAR
(1973)

Mixed gray wool, done up neatly in geometric plaits,
Washed out flowered cotton dress, but wearing no hat.
Singing the blues and wearing rocked over shoes,
ironing starch white shirts for stiff white folks,
while papa wore the faded denim kind,
worn out and elbow-frayed, from sweat and years the
price was paid.
Dusting nailed together furniture with care
Crocheting doilies from bits of string
And singing nearer my God to thee
In the Sweet By and By.
Drying my tears when I came home crying
’cuz someone called me a name I can't say.
Muhdear, you took me in your big, wide lap and held me close.
“Now hush, your cryin’ chil’,” you said.
“Youse old enough to know
Just ’cause someone says bad things
Don’t really make it so.”
Muhdear was always there
to braid my hair
to teach me how
to say my prayers
and make my bed.
and iron starched white shirts.
She could always find a dime for me to see
the Saturday afternoon matinee.
Calling you "Muhdear" was the only way we knew
to let you know we understood the many things you suffered through.
You were always working,
singin’,
prayin’
teachin'
lovin’
and we can never repay you

Twice Lost Identity
(1965)

I asked her why she cried.
She sniffled,
Then spread the mingling wetness
across the Nubian planes of her nose
and cheeks.
Sad brown eyes, swimming in the
ebony velvet of her face
looked out at me.
She said,
“Not to know once
is bad enough,
but twice
it’s happened now…
I cry for all my ancestors
whom I can never trace,
And for my father.

TRUE LOVE
(1983)
I remember the soft explosion when we touched.
We sat in quiet intimacy,
We explored…
Our spirits touched, our minds met, we
Talked softly,
then postponed. There would be time…
It would take time, we said.
We met again, and laughed,
and loved.
There was an inner explosion.
I felt warm, basking in the closeness
we felt then…
content in your contentment
And my own.

ORPHAN
1970

He was abandoned,
a small bundled spark of life
left to be snuffed out by the bitter cold.
But someone heard him cry
and took him to a place
he would come to know as home.

He grew up in this walled off place of stone
and fenced-in hearts.
Inside there were no trees to climb
and dangle limb from limb;
or creeks in which to sail a twiggy boat,
and watch the fallen autumn leaves float
in it to their graves.
He found no trails he could explore,
or caves in woody places he could hide
and dream forbidden dreams
of baseball bats and bicycles to ride;
or snakes and rocks and balls of string
(all sorts of curious little-boy things)
to stuff the pockets of his patched pants.
He grew up in this walled off place,
no place like home. Never really living,
but with too much life in him to die.
The boy became a man,
and nobody had heard his cry.

© Marlene L. Johnson 2007

Marlene's musings

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

My Inspiration

Marlene's Poetry

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