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Kivya Lomax Poem
I can't forget so I toss and turn but I can't escape what's forever playing in my
head.
I can't let go so I do things and say things because I can't accept being told no.
I can't think straight because my thoughts are twisted up in knots and since it's
all your fault I don't sleep and stay up late.
I can't move because every time I do, I keep going to the same old places and
that's bad news since all those places I discovered with you, so what am I to do?
I can't die because that's too easy for me and I need to live beyond my memory
and walk - no run to reality - without you.
I can't stop breathing, though each breathe hurts beyond the moment, but since I
must breathe to live and live I must - I relive the best part of all this because I
need to do this for me.
I can't hold helplessly on so I must reclaim my dignity - not so you can say you
helped me - but to prove once and for all that I am strong.
No, I can't and I've said it before but believe this time it's fore sure. I know that's
true - for a long time we've been through- but I refuse to go crazy so I must move
on and be over you, but I can't.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Nonsense. All of this interracial prejudice. All of the real wars of violence are in
our homes and fenced in backyards.
Nonsense. interracial madness. Hating the sight of your own kind - forgetting it
could easily be you in the unemployment line.
Nonsense. Climbing the ladder of success while losing your integrity or wealth of
heredity is a far worse crime to me.
Nonsense. Hating me not for my opinion but because of my dark skin -used to
be our plight with only white men -but now it's with our own kin.
Nonsense. Racial injustice is now our own fault and we still yet fight with unjust
cause. We pass judgement on the shape of our bodies, the style of our hair, our
clothes and , yes the shape of our nose - Ridiculous!
Nonsense. interracial politics is a failure to me. A mission of hatred, while we cry
for equality, democracy and diversity but we have no unity.
Nonsense. Interracially - I look like you and you look like me - all we have to do is
trace our beginnings of lineage and deal with the similarities or our heritage.
Nonsense. Stop treating your brother like he doesn't matter just because he's in
a lighter brown wrapper. Stop stepping past your sister because she doesn't
have a Barbie doll figure.
Nonsense. Interracial politics. If we aren't careful, we will not be just the minority
but we will soon be the next endangered species -
all but extinct.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
I speak loud against the noise that wants to stifle my voice. I speak so the echo
of my message can be heard above the clamor of the ordinary or the mundane.
I speak volumes unknown to man but are already applauded in heaven so that
as true wisdom can be heard even by a turned, deaf ear, which has been resting
in the shadow of routine; never seeking greatness, just able to blend in.
I speak....do others hear the eloquence of the passage of verbage or are they still
standing in line to be the first to receive, "Yeah man, I'm with it". I pray not; for if
that is their plight it is sorrowful indeed.
I speak! Loud, enunciating through teeth clenched like fists, so that every word is
phonetically correct and pronounced without flaws so that I am not
misunderstood and what is gained from me is clear.
I speak loud with a husky voice wrapped in honey and a warm blanket so that the
words are soothing and the message is healing to the very core of man who is
fighting not to die in a world where language is slurs and slanders and what
used to be savored as pristine, mot just sounds like distant clanging to this
generation's untrained ears.
I speak to be understood, to overcome my own obstacles, to encourage myself,
to bless the lives of others, to teach the babies at my knee and to share my life;
but when I speak loud, above the waves of twisted idioms and misplaced
silloquies, am I heard?
I t is always my thought to speak not just to be heard but to be understood; and
yet now, I wonder... am I being heard by my precious mother? For it is her
attention I still desire most and that to me is the most dear to my ear.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
There's not enough coffee for more than 2 per day.
There' not enough ink in my pen and it's only 8 a.m.
There is no time for friendly conversation with so much work to do.
I'm having another Monday - and today is Thursday - sounds like another case of
Workplace Blues.
Overslept and my meeting is at 9.
Got a pink slip because my meter ran out of time.
Walked around all day with unmatched shoes - this is a classic case of
Workplace Blues.
Just got the news that my paycheck is short a dollar or 2.
Just got a call - the boss is looking for me and you.
Just want this day to begin again.
Someone just asked, "Is it the weekend?
I need to escape the Workplace Blues.
Today is the day of my 25th year.
They found out I'm old and grey and need to retire from here.
I'm dressed in my very best and even have a smile that's new.
I'm finally retired from the Woprk place Blues.
No work! Now what will I do?
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Inside the poet's mind lays ideas and thoughts and plans to unwind.
In its thicket are the seeds of imagination which dares to wander out; out of her
pen to paper and dazzle the reader or amuse herself.
Inside the metal machine of the prose queen is the craft of genius that drives her
to write, to read and recite ...the click, click, snap, snap...of the spoken word of her
day.
Fine tuned but ever sharpening her tools of quick wit and quicker response to a
perhaps, " coined phrase". Yes inside the poet's mind is justice untold and
stories unfolded to the tender young ears of her audience or the seasoned circle
of her lyrical peers.
Inside the imagination of rhymes an music that create her own blend of
linguistical rhythm that moves men to their feet and yet soothing enough to cradle
her sweet angels to sleep.
Ah yes, the mind of a poet, it holds mystery, romance, questions, history,
laughter, and elegant language..and yet it is able to convey the feelings, hurts,
surprises and loves of life in a simple statement.
A poetic mind? Absolutely spontaneous genius.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2007
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Inspiration is found in the gift that is given from the soul. It iminates and
resonates as drums beating and nature singing bring forth swift sound
movement and rhythm to the inner being.
It is often initiated silently so attention is not focused on the giver of this gift but its
recipient.
Inspiration is found in the laughter at one's self over the life led and the things left
behind are now quietly amusing. Some small memory now brings a smile as the
thought transpires into imagery and if note worthy, is transformed to prose put
down by pen to paper and if found - even much later - shall bring as much joy to
the reader as it first did to the writer.
Inspiration, like beauty, is too found in the eye in the beholder but not so much for
the joy rested upon the sight of the onlooker but the inward delight brought on
partaking in the wonderful exchange of words held captive in intense
conversation.
Inspiration is found in far off lands where watching growth and development
seem surreal and suspended and yet touches the heart so indepthly that its as if
you too were right there, joined at the hip, at the hand or even more importantly at
the heart.
Inspiration is found in breathtakenly simple parts of humanity that are often
overlooked - until it is too late, often underrated until the world embraces it or
denied until someone takes notice and simply loves it.
Inspiration is found in the faces you seek to love, love to see and leave you
forever seeking more. Both now and tomorrow, inspiration once again has
embraced my heart through the soft spoken of one such inspirational,
phenomenal life.
Inspiration - I give you Maya Angelou.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Why do you want to be my friend? Why do you want to be in the skin I am in?
Or living my life that's fitting me? Aren't you pleased? Are you where you want to
really be?
Yes we were created equal but you are you and I am me and it's the uniqueness
of each that best defines our special qualities.
Don't shorten yourself by following the pattern I set; you lessen the chance of
changing the earth with your own original mind set.
Why do you mime my time with your different flare. Don't be ashamed of your own
skin or your textured hair.
Don't waste precious minutes breathing used air, but show who you are within
your atmosphere.
Remember it's cool and ok that you want to be friends with me but be yourself,
who you you really are and then you can appreciate all of the wonderful things to
share while you get to know....me.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2007
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Check out the drama scene. "Mr Do Right" and the drama queen. Making a fuss
about the "ifs" and the "buts" of life they call marriage made in heaven on earth;
now do tell - is all this drama what it's really worth?
Here in the final hour is Mr. Goodbar and his woeful Mrs. Wallflower who no
longer can "Fight the Power"; in the days of her youth she was all about the
business of making it work for her good. Now 20 years later he is as loud and
strong and as good as they come but Mrs. Wallflower looks like "Mrs. Doubtfire"
and is plainly and painfully misunderstood.
We strive for golden anniversaries and "pie in the sky" while we wear rose
colored glasses on our newly wed eyes but after 7 years, sleepless nights
children and and many wept tears, we realize that "Our Love Thang" is more than
just a foolish lover's game but it is the hardest, most rewarding work we have
committed to in all of our adult years.
Marriage: Long live the dream.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Miffed by society's resolution to dis and unsatisfy the efforts of its own to change
the way automatic convenience has simply taken over the job of its human
counterpart and creator.
Amiss at the lack of attention paid to the impossibilities supposed by the errors
and injustices that are the result of inanimate objects allowed to do the job that
requires both human emotion as well as intelligence.
Miffed that we allow other means of communication to substitute for the original
means of conveying information via conversations by human voice.
Amiss that as intelligence gives way to the advancement of technology; we are
foregoing the most important and successful way of sharing ideas, exchanging
information and engaging in the challenging but rewarding feeling ,when your
conveyed insight is welcomed by the live, warm response of " Hello, how may I
help you?"
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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Kivya Lomax Poem
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord wrapped in the laughter
and the sounds of a five year old.
Truth is marching as I witness commencement exercises across the university
law campus.
Bombs bursting in air has a truer sound and a detailed message as I reread the
letters from my son who serves his country overseas.
This is where the real pledge of allegiance is silently read.
Copyright © Kivya Lomax | Year Posted 2006
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