The Poet Essence

The Poet EssenceI am a Soul-Blessed woman. When I write, I speak of knowledge learned and experienced, not “collegially” taught. These poetic verses are not to be associated with the typical reading material so frequently distributed as best seller’s because of clout and degrees. I am an Activity Director, who thrives to please the elderly, as well as enhancing the quality of life so frequently ignored in the geriatric population. ( Dementia/Alzheimer’s). I have been a classified poet for a little over 13years, it is now in my middle stages of life I recognized my gift of free speech. I look to ignite an idea, thought or a solution within each individual I come in contact with. My ultimate goal is to be mimicked through-out history now and then…

I have performed in the following places: ShowTime at the Apollo, Harlem ,NY performed about 7x within the last 2 years taking first place on October 5,2002, November 13, 2002, and returning for the showdown winning third place December 20, 2003. Most recently performed on April 28, 2004. Open mike spots includes:Featured Poet @ Chingy’s (Philadelphia, PA), Blue Note( NY, NY), New Age Cabaret (Albany, NY) June 15, 2004@ Bayou Cafe Albany, NY Performed @ Valentine’s open mike, Fuze box, Lark Tavern, Soul Kitchen, etc.,African American Blackfest (2 years in the row), Local Block parties etc., Mother’s Earth cafe (Albany, NY).




When I was considered to be the night,
I was dressed in chains with my arms fully extended over my head.
My solitude slipped away.
The very idea of being free allowed me to beg, enticing me to become a slave, to lose all integretity fades into decades of the same shade.
“Black Like Me”
Night was an imposter a housemaid, just another colored lay.
I was never the person who graces over the shining sun light, or white.
I was classified as the colored girl struck by Gray clouds of apartheid.
Segregation was the freedom song sung by slave owners with the bluest eyes.
And I, I was just categorized because we were the cotton guys or the “Go fetch my pail Boys” Deep South Negro type.
Blinding the sky with my double scoop, chocolate stars so bright.
Why couldn’t I just be the struggling African Queen with human rights.
Starved for liberty, to be judged by the true character of my creed unleash hate chains disguised as a RACE color you & I bleed differently, uniquely connected by the locks of unity.
Place your heart where my Soul lies
Imagine being



An artist expresses the identity of one self through an hourglass of life.
Perseverance to touch the lives of others via song, art, film, book or Poem.
An artist is the love of passion obsessed powerfully through the soul.
Some wonder if the creativity is natural, chosen only by chance, or a gift secured by the fingertips of my poetic hand.
It is a rhythm toned.
Set free by feelings, mixed emotions, bottled loose. pouring deep
Slow motion connects the beat of the creator.

The French Bistro’ Welcomes you. Elite
Sit down spill your guts to me, craving “The Artist” space
I submit and gently I speak.
Leaving only drop jaws and intoxicating eyes to embrace
The poet sighs only exhaling grace.
Fitting in this dwelling of curiosity I continue to feed starving mouths with information of reality.
The Truth is finally spoken, at last.
In a trance I forced my fellow artist on their feet together they did the finger snap.
I smiled bashfully.
I knew then at that time each line, rhyme or free verse I taught my lips to recite
Exploded from my mind like dynamite.
Classified as the Elite Artist.



I believe now, more in life than believing in life after death.
There is a sweet mission I have to overcome
Before the heavens accepts my last poetic breath.
This danger zone I have been placed in
Won’t hold be back from chasing
The dream of speaking adjacent to a thousand individuals,
Where Color-less faces is judged as equals.
Hoorahhhh.. To the people
Let’s all raise a fist high after every pervasive power line has settle in.
I envision the little kids tugging mommy
Asking for definitions of the lyrics I just spit,
Or conservatively recited.
The cure is wisdom and knowledge
I need to signify the reasons I am living without dying.
I’m walking the halls of fame now!
Shouting the truth out loud-
Those dark clouds can’t contaminate my common ground.
(And) until I can change a million debilitating frowns
In to a zillion invigorating smiles.
I vow to become the empress of speech
Even when my physical body has been buried six feet deep.
The need to record this session
Will not be necessary
It is a blessing to leave metaphors studied as a history lesson
The most innovative feeling is caressing
My sweet- mission of touching the young, old, newborn or adolescent.
I believe in life.
Like the Essence who believes in life after death.



Officially when does an urban dream team
Make it out the streets?
They would have to be predominately of middle class status and attend a private school.
Who changes the rules for what you call loser’s struggling to get by?
No infrastructures built to protect the starving eye.

Destiny develops a myth of judicial laws,
So only the rich survive and the working mom,
Even the neighborhood whore is cheated,
I blame the constitution.

We adapt an illusion, eluding the real reason living is chosen.

Life is selected by patterns of strife.
We lose links of chains to leaders practicing what ‘s not right.
And we are Complimented by jail house’s and high class group courts,
But if this is all we have to dream I would much rather swim in the
Ocean and dwell with the undiscovered lives lost.

At what cost or degree do we start to believe?

There’s a higher power securing our needs but not efficiently.
Tainted years rob the very breath of fresh air discovered by fear.

Who cares if the pavement permanently shield shadows of homeless men and woman.
Protecting hungry hearts initially starved from with-in
Bleeding starts and confused minds stagger to win.
In the end
They say it’s just to meet our destiny.
I’ll die still belonging to the “Urban Dream Team”.