Secrets

Secrets

And the church says

Such a blessed man

Such forcefulness

Filled with the spirit

Fearless

Saintly

Mannersable and charming

Passionate

Aflame with the word

An inspiration

Discerning …

Father I have sinned

I have shepherded your flock through the pastures

Guided them with your instructions

Chastised in your name

Led by example

Your will is my will lord

You knew me from small

You know my heart

My life you know it all

I live to serve my lord

You know this

But lord how keenly I feel the pull of the abyss

Save me lord from the blaze of damnation

I have cavorted with darkness lord

A slave to fornication

I am on my knees lord to you I pray

My flesh was too weak

Upon the flock I prey

No different from ye old dragon or the wolf

my tongue I gave no rein as it honeyed out untruth

I am ashamed my lord

The devils laugh within my head

Mocking me persistently as I lay wrapped up in her bed

And the church says

If you ain’t have nothing good to say

Then don’t say anyting a’tall

She look good doh

Tek you eye off she and keep it on the lord

Well the good lord did come for the sinners not for the saved

What a way to make a living

Hmm hhhhmmm

What you say?

Nothing dear

Father I have sinned

I try to be good father

But I am not

I am lost

And in trying to find self

I’ve sold everything I had including myself

And I’m good at it

Too good

Now I sell people

Two minutes

Half an hour

An hour at a time at your leisure

I provide pleasure

I am a flesh peddler

My wares are always fresh

I am shunned by day

Yet pursued by night

Taken with coin

Or ….

Taken by fight

I am not good

But I am good at what I do

Father please save me

For within me grows the life of your shepherd’s baby

Compassion made him aware of my plight

He sought to guide me to redemption

But it seems our shadows were too much alike

We gave in to temptation

Now I am dying father

This poison eating me

Is this the sum of my iniquity?

…

Well then father, if it is your will

I’ll bear every stripe

I shall drink every drop from the bitter cup

I’ll bear this cross to the grave with a smile

But dear father in whose name I pray

Please lord

Spare my child.

And the church says

Boy that Pastor is a good man

He take that child and raise him like his own

God bless him

Such an upright man

That child should be grateful

Is a good looking child

Very soft spoken

Just like pastor, eh

His mother was such a ting

What she die from, AIDS?

No Cancer

God rest her soul

Indeed

So her den of sin close down

No under new management

Another Madamme?

No a Monsieur

A soft spoken Monsieur who dresses all in white with a big cross around his neck and a hat

(sign of the cross) hmph

Pastor need to look into that

God bless him

Glen Toussaint©2015

My Ninja Girlfriend

My ninja girlfriend stands outside in the cold

Cigarette between lips as red as the chipped paint on her nails

Red like the blood on her boots staining the snow

My ninja girlfriend recites Haiku

While painting erotic pieces beneath the Sakura trees

My ninja girlfriend

Drinks saki and eats sushi

Whilst smiling at my attempts to combat her philosophy

My ninja girlfriend

Is the great granddaughter of a Shogun

Who was the son of the Jade Emperor

Mothered by a sun goddess

My ninja girlfriend

She was raised by Tengu

Was trained by the Buddha

And fought Sun Wukong

My ninja girlfriend

Is a battler

A battle rhymer

A living manga

A force of nature

My ninja girlfriend stands outside in the streets

Listening to dead artists lyricize over melodious beats

Dreaming .

Glen Toussaint 2015©

Dark Talk Continued: This Lover’s Words

This lover’s words were broken words

Of heartless love

Of Sightless desire

Lipless kisses

And voiceless syllables

This lover burned to ashes in flames of passion

The object of objectification

Spent and used and left to lie in this bed of lies

I love you

Or rather

I love the swing of your hips

I love your curves

I love your full laden breasts

I love your bountiful, bubbling butt

I love your thighs

I love your pussy

In all its moist fragrant glory

This lover’s words

Played Bach, Vivaldi, Mozart

Beautifully, visciously, Monstrously

Upon the keys of emotions

Laid bare

To be laid waste to

Meticulously

Obsessively

Compulsively

I Hate You

Or rather

I hate your intelligence

I hate your confidence

I hate your conviction

I hate your wisdom

I hate your truth

I hate your strength

I hate your personification of all my inferiorities

This lover’s words is full of emptiness

This lover’s words are sighs in the wind

This lover’s words are chaff and sand

This lover’s words are loud in its silence

This lover’s words are tainted for you

This lover’s words will ensnare you

This lover’s words are broken

This lover’s words…

Glen Toussaint 2015©

Rebel Music

Why they always taking man for fool

It cannot be because we black, right?

Nah man we done fight that fight already

We done walk over all dem dead dead body

So what

Its cause we broke right

Nah man we got one, two, three jobs

One two three bank accounts

Credit card, debit card, paypal

So what, what is it?

Its cause we stupid?

Nah man we gone to pre-school

Primary school

Secondary school

College

University

We got degrees like celcius and Farenheit

Man we bright like light….

So wha de reason

They say our beaches free

But the road have fee

If left gone right

And right left

Wha we gone have leff?

Nothing

Not a dyam thing but a bunch of blind and deaf

Selfish, ignorant and pompous grown ass children

Civilized civilization

More like perfumed

Costumed slaverization

We’ve been emancipated into per annum interests

Given freedom to choose slavery

While we carnival, bacchanalia from church day to church day

Amen?

It makes the conversation sweet you know

Boy tings rough

Boy tings tough

Boy I tired

Boy dem bills

Boy, boy, boy

Boy Come lets pray

Clasp your hands and close your eyes

Complain to god

Tek dem licks

Buy dem new kicks

Make your denied gods rich

Come on

Clasp your hands

Close your eyes

Don’t wiggle

Tek dem licks

Now repeat

Padre nuestro

Que esta en el cielo

Sanctificado sea su nombre

Now click buy now

Place your X here

Sign here

Thine kingdom come

Thy will be done

Turn a blind eye

I said eyes closed

We musnt see when they

Take our lands

Our lives

Our wills

Our common sense

We trusting Google more than people

En el nomine Padre

Y el fille

Y el spiritos santo

What de hell can go so

I aint part and parcel of that bandwagon

I call fire when I see shit to burn

I call lightning when there is ignorance to spurn

I decide my own path

My mind is mine, so is my life

Can you not say the same?

You need to pull up and ask

What game dey playing

Is sweet oblivion sweet so?

You never hear pick sense from nonsense?

You never take stock and listen what day saying?

You sure is in you, you really put your trust in?

You in the car

But who driving?

Who driving?

A man?

Amen.

Glen Toussaint 2015©

In The Walk

You can tell you know

Its really not that hard to see

Well for me

But you can tell

You know?

Its in the walk

Its always in the walk

Sometimes in the talk

But the talk can lie

Not so the walk

Here I’ll show you…

Over there, 

with the coloured hair

and the nose in the air

she can’t be heard

ease up a little

make the lady pass

ha her coils keep wrapping

round your eye sight dropping

you lost to the power of her bubbling….

What you say?

Oh that one?

Nah not one

Probably two

Nah she not lost

She just wondering what to do

She probably handling it on her own

Struggling to be a good mother

Hustling on her own

I see you starting to get it

I told you it not hard

When we got to talk

Open your eyes

And just watch the way they walk

Hmmm…ok…tell me about this one

HmmHmm

Ah ha

Hmmmm ok

Well you right about the confidence

That was plain to see

And yes you are right about the recklessness

To that I agree

But you missed that bit of insecurity

But she still pretty young

So you can forgive that easily

No we skipping this one

Because she’s to easy

Pure of heart, optimistic and happy-go-lucky

Now this lady right here

Is a ball of contradiction

Brimming with ambition

But lacking motivation

Ahhh over there

She knows who she is

Why she is

And what she all about

Every action there is purpose

And only sense come out her mouth

Now

This lady

This lady full of grace

Has weathered it all

In time and space

Within her is secreted the seed of wisdom

For she is a tree

Not no flibbetygibbet hurry go bring come

She walks with Time

Although she is tired

She’s regal and poised

And above all the noise

If not for her

Then where would be

That lady is all of us mother

Come let we go walk wit she

Glen Toussaint©2015

Encounter

We met in the club

Neon lights, weed, sweat and smoke

Alcohol in my bloodstream pulsing through my eyesight

The bassline set the rhythm we didn’t need to talk

I grabbed her waist

She pressed back on me

We grinding,

Bumping,

Breathing

My mind was drifting

We rocking

We caressing

Too close

Too hot

Next to the speakers we lost in the moment

And the next moment

And the next moment

And the next moment

And the moment after that

I heard her then

Let’s go

British accent

Mother land body

My vision is blurry

Gripping hands in a hurry

We made our way

The jam continued

In her home

In her foyer

In her living room

In her kitchen

In her bathroom

In her bed

In her satin sheets

Switching positions like gears

Dream catcher legs twist

Smooth like silk and chocolate

Slinks closer like a premonition of a hangover

She bends over

Jiggle her British Afro-Caribbean booty

Begging to be dealt with

She mad wild

Taking totes in the half light

Bob Marley and Mos Def easing out the stereo

Really though

She urging me on

I didn’t need it

She wanted me to abuse her

Like i was a user

A door slammed

Fuck

A man’s voice

I dashed in the bathroom

Footsteps

She laying cool

Silence

Smell of weed and sex

Voices

Soft voices

Soft Tones

Gun shots

Once twice thrice

Silence

Breathing

Footsteps

Door closes

Silence

Glen Toussaint©2015

Lox, Dreads or Natty Part 2

My Hair Journey, a.k.a #MyHairJourney.

I start off with this phrase because as these thoughts were percolating in my head that’s the line that stood out. Why wouldn’t it? It aptly describes what I was ruminating anyway thanks to recent conversations amongst friends. Talking about hair and journeys sent me to take a good look at myself in the mirror ( something I hardly do, and you know I don’t because you would at some point in time jokingly say: Glen wha gwan fi you, while scanning my head and face). I sighed just a little while looking at ‘The Bush’ and thought oh how far I’ve come or fallen depending on how half full or empty the glass is (LOL – yes I just LOL’d, ‘llow me). My eyes examined my face and head from the mass of fuzz from which my thick lox erupted, to the flakes of immortal dry scalp that no amount of oil or shampoo or Tea-tree could murder or render extinct to the hazardous scruff that multiplies on my face calling itself beard. I said Fuck It and went about my business.

Fuck It. Two words I would never have said about my precious lox 3-4 years ago. See my hair journey began a year or so before my daughter, Eva, began Kindergarten (she’s in grade 4 now, do the math). During those early years of Loxification (my word) My lox was like my first child (parents you know what I mean, you peeping and worrying every five minutes, the child kya sneeze or cough, they kya fall or touch ground, breeze kya blow on them) that was me and my lox. I was stressing, fussing, pampering and always ogling. What products should I use, why it taking so long to grow, why it fuzzing so much, YouTubing, surfing, Blogging, researching all kinda shit and all the while Lox-envying everybody who had longer, fuller, more mannersable lox than mine. It was akin to warfare those beginning years, battling negative comments, being self-conscious clinging with faith to words of encouragement i.e: de lox will come man; it going to look mad when it grow out. I used to be at my hairdresser every two weeks like clockwork on a Saturday morning. Now a few years on and a foot and a half or more of thick, fuzzy ropes I am now that parent whose first child is knocking on the door of adolescence and the third child going on like he 2 going on 30. So I say Fuck It, grab two lengths of lox, tie them in a knot behind my head and go about my day.

The lox must come…. I know that now. It was advice that I held on to, and advice I gave to friends who came along that journey as well. I also found out that hair has its own personality and will do what it wants. I chose to ‘llow it and embrace it. I oil it, twist it and leave it unless my hairdresser bullies me into styling it, sigh, damn these hairdressers, I love them though.

I won’t end without mentioning reactions….

…………..

There is no end to reactions concerning lox, granted I give and I receive. I once saw a Martinique-ian woman with lox that were so thick and dark and beautiful I had to comment, I wanted to touch it just reach out and caress it….I now understand why there are persons who approach me with the same vibe…please ask and resist touching (don’t know where your hand been lol).  I find lox beautiful, in all its forms, iterations, incarnations etc. I can’t just let my lox grow though despite the fact I just let it hang until the next hair appoint 4-6 weeks from the last, I’m not that brave. My favourite reactions hands down would be the ones that are stereotypically reserved for the Rootsman. There is no end of nods, Big-ups, ‘ail-ups, ‘yes breddren’, ‘yes Rasta’…., there is also that faint look of admiration in the eyes of those who are too scared to, can’t grow, aren’t allowed to, or used to. People get out of your way, watch what they say…all sort of things and I’m amused each and every time. It’s my secret vanity as well I’ll admit. Just today while I was walking the streets bookmarking points in my head for this blog the way Shaka does in Joanne Hillhouse’s Musical Youth, a Rastaman in full regalia flash me the ‘ail-up and a nod: ‘respect’ and moves on…you know the hail: it’s when the right hand is positioned over the heart resembling one half of a clasped hand for prayer…yea, that. I guess the beard also adds to the overall look, who knows.

Phew…I needed to get that out, I know I have far to go still on My Hair Journey but I just wanted to share this much.

Blessings Rasta