The Wordsmythe's Weblog…

…On Words, Love and Life

Archive for the month “April, 2012”

A Sista’s Poem and a Brother’s Response

I found this in my email archives. It made the rounds about 10 or so years ago. I have no idea who wrote it originally but thumbs up to you, whoever you are.

Enjoy!

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Do you qualify to be the man I need you to be?
Will you be able to recognize the things you
need to see? Will you be able to understand, that
I’m a good woman and in my life I need a good man?
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to fertilize my unproduced seeds?
Can you fulfill, as I can, all of our needs?
Can you put me in my place if you see I am slippin’?
Can you talk to me, wholeheartedly?
Not constantly trippin??
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be called all mine?
Can you leave the other women and temptations
behind? Can you come to me with your problems and
not wait until it’s too late?
Can you stand up and admit if you made a mistake?
Do you qualify?

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Do you qualify to be the honest ebony man I
would want you to be?
Would you be able to look me in my eyes and
admit your feelings to me?
Could you take me in your arms and make love to
me all night long?
Can you be sensitive and still be strong?

Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be my friend as well as my
lover? Can you put our love before any other?
Can you cherish me as if I were Diamonds &
Gold? Can you make me feel like I’m the last
woman you’ll ever hold?
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be called a good man?
If I have doubts can you reassure me and understand?
Can your love intoxicate me as if I were High?
To be in my life, I need to know,
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DO YOU QUALIFY?
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The Brother’s Response:

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You ask, do I qualify.
Can I fulfil your needs and become the man you need me to be?
My sister, are you prepared for what you’ve asked for?
Can you handle the responsibility?

Can you accept that, by GOD, I am the chosen
one, the authority, the comforter, and the head?
Will you submit and willingly follow my path?
Or will you fight with me instead?

If I am your King, will you treat me as such?
Will I get the best of your beauty and poise?
Or will I be subjected to an appearance
neglected, and checked with some serious noise?

When I talk, will you listen?
I mean whole heartedly and feel me?
Or will you rush me just to make your point too?
Can I be the man at all times? Even when it hurts?
Or is it just when it’s convenient for you?

Can you love me for me, and not who you wish I could be?
Will you see the strong Black Man within?
Or will you always remind me of the all
the past brothers behind me and make me pay for their sins?

If I don’t send you flowers the day your co-worker
received some, will you know that I love you still?
Or will my good name be uttered along with those other doggish brothers?
Will you question if my commitment is real?
Will you be patient and teach me to understand you,
and allow my knowledge of your needs to grow?
Or will you shut me out when I ask, Baby
what’s wrong?
Or will you respond with, “Well a REAL man would know!”
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When we first met, what was it that caught your
eye? Was it my mind, my heart, my personality?
Or was it my suit, or my job, or do you love
what I drive, instead of what’s driving me?

Yes I can, and I will, make love to you from midnight to the dawning of the sun.
But, if I tell you I’m tired, will you trust
I’m sincere or believe that there must be another one?
My sister, I love you and my heart can be yours. No woman could lead me astray.
But like you, I have needs, so I beg of you, please, in this love thang meet me half way.
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In life’s tough times I’ll hold you, in the rough times I’ll mold you;
your simplest wish will be my command.
My life is yours if need be.
Yes you can fully bleed me, and when hell comes, in your place, I’ll stand.
A good relationship is a powerful institution that must be built on a foundation of two.
So to answer your question,
YES sister, I do qualify.
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Now, more importantly…do you?

Thanks for stopping by.

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Trapped

I’m trapped

Within traditional walls,

Confines of mediocrity

Stifled by complacency

And narrow-minded expectations.

I’m trying,

Desperately,

To throw off the shackles,

Claw my way out

And blaze my own path in life.

I’m seeking

To release my oppressed individuality

Throw off my inhibitions

And birth the greatness

Which lies deep inside.

I’m looking

Hard into myself

To find the boldness

That gives free rein

To creativity.

I’m trusting

God for a breakthrough

Eagerly awaiting illumination

And inspiration

To be and do all that I was created to.


Random ramblings

Forgive me if this post seems rather disjointed, I’m in a funny place. Please permit me to ramble.

Last Thursday would have been my friend’s, Femi’s, 42nd birthday. She died on the 24th of November 2010, a few months after she’d turned 40. She was on Facebook. Facebook doesn’t know she’s dead. An automatic notification was generated reminding all her Facebook friends that it was her birthday. Sigh! I miss her. Terribly. But I didn’t write on her wall. It’s not like she’d read it and reply anyway.

We’re having a grey and windy day here. The clouds are pregnant with rain drops and will birth them any minute. I once read somewhere that when it rains, it means God is crying. I don’t know about that but I do envy those clouds. I bet they’ll feel much lighter once they shed the heavy load of all that rain.

I haven’t been to the gym in a while.My right knee suddenly started to swell and hurt a little. I ignored it and carried on working out. But the voice of reason finally got through to me and I went to see a doctor. He prescribed some anti-inflammatory medicine and asked me to stop all load-bearing exercise until the swelling goes down. Five weeks later, it’s still swollen! I’m suffering from a deficiency of exercise-generated endorphins.

I haven’t done much creative writing this year. And it’s not for want of trying. It’s not writer’s block or anything like that. I just feel like I’m in limbo and until I find some direction, I won’t be able to move forward. I’m trying to edit the manuscripts I’ve completed already and hope that once I start pitching those to publishers, I’ll be able to write some more.

In more uplifting news, Acer Aspire has been replaced, thanks to Mo Cushla. Her replacement and I have since been getting acquainted. Acer Aspire lives on via her hard drive which was rescued. I have to think of a fitting name for AA’s successor, I can’t exactly call her AA too. Any suggestions?

When I feel out of sorts, I listen to music. All kinds. Music has a way of lifting up my spirit. So while trying to make sense of my befuddled soul and muddled brain cells, I’ve been listening to some.

This one, called ‘Mighty to save’, by Laura Story was sent to me by a friend a week or so ago and I’ve been playing it over and over again. Beautiful lyrics! Thank you, you know who you are Open-mouthed smile

This next one is ‘Arms of love’ by Amy Grant. It takes me back to my early days as a new Christian and my university days way back in …Ah! but that would be telling now! It’s quite old and the quality isn’t great. It reminds me of God’s unconditional and unfailing love for me especially when I’m most undeserving.

This last one is called ‘That Stupid song’. I love it simply because it is that…a stupid yet lovely song.

I hope you enjoy all the songs.

I’m feeling much better than when I started this post.

Thanks for stopping by.

Obituary of a well-loved laptop

Acer Aspire of Hertfordshire, United Kingdom died on Saturday the 14th of April 2012 in her home after a fall which resulted in a short-circuit of her motherboard.

Her exact date of birth is uncertain as she was mass-produced in a factory in Taiwan but she was purchased and became a member of The Wordsmythe’s family in August 2009. She was bought as an early birthday present by Mo Cushla to replace The Wordsmythe’s previous laptop which had also died. However, the ‘dead’ laptop mysteriously came back to life shortly after the purchase of Acer Aspire in what can only be described as ‘The curious resurrection of a dead laptop’ but I digress.

 

Acer Aspire was an excellent laptop and served her mistress well. It was on her that The Wordsmythe churned out her not-so-regular blog posts as well as her other writing which include two completed fiction manuscripts and countless poems, some short stories and one unfinished manuscript.

She accompanied The Wordsmythe on various trips around the world and worked relentlessly until her death.

She is survived by her distraught owner, The Wordsmythe. Acer Aspire was a registered organ donor so her hard drive will be donated to a matching recipient.

Details of the funeral to be announced shortly. In lieu of flowers and wreaths, donations for a replacement laptop can be made to The Wordsmythe’s foundation.

Thanks for stopping by.

 

Happy Easter

I was chatting with a non-Christian friend earlier today and he was moaning about having to accompany his family to church.

When I encouraged him to try to see beyond everything else to the message of Easter, he said;

“Organized religion bears subliminal messages of subjugation. They are tools of oppression by men, of women, children and the weak. No one should submit to those teachings…”

I had to agree with him. Except for his spelling of ‘organized’, he’s American, they can’t spell properly! On a more serious note, I had to concede that he was right about organised religion.

Organised religion is an institution to express one’s belief in a higher power. It is an outward and often social articulation of belief in higher powers, often practised in community settings and may include participation in rituals. These are definitions from a couple of dictionaries.

However, I do not subscribe to organised religion. I believe in and have a relationship with God, three in One. I believe The Father made me in His image and likeness and endowed me with all of that He is and represents – love, forgiveness, mercy, kindness etc.

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I believe that Jesus, the Son, was crucified not for any wrongdoing on His part but because it was the only way to ensure my salvation. An exchange needed to be made; a life for a life, and He gave His for mine, willingly.

I believe in the Holy Spirit. He is there to comfort, guide and teach me.

Increasingly and unfortunately, Christianity has become a set of rules and regulations, dos and don’ts, rituals and traditions instead of a lifestyle of faith. A lot of Christians are now more concerned with what people can see on the outside as opposed to what is actually on the inside. It has become less about the state of our hearts and more about putting on a good show, less about pleasing God and more about conforming to other people’s expectations.

I’m so thankful that “The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7. He is the only One I need to please

It saddens me to agree with my friend but he has a very valid point. Manipulation has become the order of the day in the church; toe the line or fall out of favour.

Jesus does not manipulate. He doesn’t play games or hold his cards close to His chest keeping us guessing about what He wants. He is very clear when He says He loves us unconditionally and accepts us just the way we are. He doesn’t put undue pressure on us to be good. He doesn’t have unrealistic expectations for us. He invites us to come and reason with Him Isaiah 1:18. He offers rest for our weary and burdened souls Matthew 11:29.

He says He loves us with an everlasting love Jeremiah 31:3 and nothing can separate us from that love Romans 8:38 and I believe every word.

It will probably take my friend a whole lot more than this post to be persuaded that true Christianity isn’t organised religion and that’s ok. If someone as erudite and eloquent as Paul was only able to ‘almost’ persuade Agrippa to be a Christian, I have my work cut out for me Acts 26:28 – 29.

However like Paul responded to Agrippa, (and I paraphrase) it is my prayer that whether now or sometime in the future, you too, will become a Christian just as I am.

Happy Easter, everyone.

He loves me

Mo Cushla, I know it’s not your birthday nor our anniversary. It isn’t Fathers’ day or Valentine’s either. As a matter of fact, it’s not a special occasion at all. It’s just an ordinary day. Another day in our lives together. However I don’t have to wait for a special day to tell you that you make me feel special and treasured every day.

I can’t say it enough; I love you and I am especially thankful to God for bringing you into my life.

All I want to say to you is captured in Jill Scott’s ‘He loves me’, apart from that weird caterwauling at the end Smile.

Enjoy!

You love me especially different every time
You keep me on my feet happily excited
By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence
You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me
You school me, give me some things to think about
Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me
You incite me to chorus, ooh
Ooh…

You love me especially different every time
You keep me on my feet happily excited
By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence
You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me
You school me, give me things to think about
Invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me
Incite me to chorus
La, la, la…
Da, da, da…
Do, do, do…

You’re different and special
You’re different and special in every way imaginable
You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails
You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new
Oh when you touch me I just can’t control it
When you touch me, I just can’t hold it
The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

Today was a good day. It could have been worse.

I have to say, today was a good day. It could have been worse.

Even though I whacked my golf ball so hard it flew right off the green hitting that little boy between the eyes causing him to pass out. He did come round once the ambulance arrived. Thankfully the paramedics pronounced him well enough to carry on playing his game reassuring his parents that the golf ball-sized swelling (no pun intended)  on his head would eventually go down and he wouldn’t suffer any lasting effects. It could have been worse.

Even when the spikes of my 4-inch high heels dug into the 12-foot bouncy castle, puncturing and causing it to deflate and trapping all the screaming and hysterical children in it for a few minutes. That is, until the attendants managed to untangle us all from the huge tarpaulin mess releasing the children to their frantic parents and guardians unharmed while sending me looks that could have shrunk the genitalia of an elephant.

It is not my fault that I did not notice the huge, almost billboard-sized sign right next to where we queued, which asked that people take off their shoes before getting on the bouncy castle. Nor did I realise that at the grand old age of twenty-five I should clearly not have been on the contraption meant for children 15 years and under. I can’t help it if I look fourteen! Besides I just wanted to have some fun. Anyway, it was a good day. It could have been worse.

Even when my car suddenly stalled at the traffic lights, and hard as I tried, I couldn’t restart it till the lights turned green. And the drivers behind me created a cacophony of horns that gave the BBC Symphony Orchestra a run for their money until a few kindly pedestrians took pity on me and helped push my car out of the way.

When the roadside rescue service arrived, he didn’t even pop the bonnet open but took one look at the dashboard, shook his head in exasperation while muttering under his breath then promptly informed me that there was nothing wrong with the car, I was simply out of fuel. Is it my fault that I didn’t know that the bright orange light on the dashboard indicated that the fuel gauge was nearing empty? It was a good day. It could have been worse.

Even when I walked to the nearest petrol station, which happened to be two miles away, in my 4-inch high heels of bouncy-castle-puncturing fame; my feet, a bloodied, blistered mess. I proceeded to fill a jerrycan which I had found at the entrance of the station as I was in too much agony to go into the shop to buy one. And no sooner had the fuel hit the bottom of the can than I heard a loud whoosh and felt my eyebrows and nostril singe from the heat of the flames.

I quickly flung the jerrycan to the ground. How was I to know that this was no ordinary jerrycan but a cigarette disposal bin? How was I to know that some foolish smoker had not extinguished their cigarette but before tossing it in the can? Am I a smoke detector? Thankfully the fire died out as the jerrycan hit the floor. It was a good day. It could have been worse.

I’m home now. Finally. Well, I’m not really at home but I’m in the vicinity.

I got home after the very long day I’ve had. I threw two packets of Indomie noodles into a pan of water and set it to cook while I sat and soaked my blistered feet.

I can’t tell you what happened for sure but I can swear I didn’t fall asleep. Anyway, the next thing I know there’s this loud banging and smoke everywhere. I was disoriented for a few seconds. I stood, wondering why my feet were in a bowl of tepid water. Then something or someone crashed through my front door, knocking it off its hinges and sending splintered wood flying across my front room.

I realised it was a fireman, dressed in full protective gear. I was rooted to the spot for what seemed like ages but in actual fact could only have been a few seconds. He looked around and then lurched forward as he spotted me. Faster than I could say ‘Jack’, he flung me over his right shoulder and carried me out of the apartment like a sack of potatoes.

So I’m sitting just outside the cordoned-off area near my block of flats now. Thankfully the fire which was caused by my over-cooked Indomie noodles has now been put out and it would appear it didn’t spread beyond my now rather charred and sorry-looking kitchen. I’m just waiting for the firemen to give me and my neighbours, who are now looking at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, the all-clear to return to our flats.

I do feel sorry for them, my neighbours I mean. It is, after all, 3am on a week night and they probably all have to go to work in a few hours. Also it can’t be any fun milling around in one’s nightwear in below freezing temperatures. However it’s not my fault that the manufacturers of Indomie noodles did not put a warning stating that their product is an incendiary device. Nor is it my fault that I am a deep sleeper and didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off leaving the fire to gather momentum, not that I’m admitting to being asleep when said fire started!

Though ‘today’ is now yesterday,it was a good day. It could have been so much worse!

PS This character needs her head examined! How much worse could the day have been to not qualify as a ‘good day’? I’m quivering in my boots just imagining what a bad day would be for her.

Hope you’ve enjoyed the story. I’d love to hear what you think.

Thanks for stopping by

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