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What You Need Thursdays!

Here’s another poem I studied in High School. This week I noticed the early signs of Spring so what better way to welcome the new season than with a poem about flowers? Enjoy!

A Contemplation upon Flowers by: Henry King

Brave flowers that I could gallant it like you,
And be as little vain!
You come abroad, and make a harmless show,
And to your beds of earth again.
You are not proud: you know your birth:
For your embroider’d garments are from earth.

You do obey your months and times, but I
Would have it ever Spring:
My fate would know no Winter, never die,
Nor think of such a thing.
O that I could my bed of earth but view
And smile, and look as cheerfully as you!

O teach me to see Death and not to fear,
But rather to take truce!
How often have I seen you at a bier,
And there look fresh and spruce!
You fragrant flowers! then teach me, that my breath
Like yours may sweeten and perfume my death.

#KultureShocked

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of my naked attacker

I’m in looove with this blog. Here’s a story for women walking alone and some self defense info

Anawnimiss

This is a story from about a year ago, which is when I had just moved into the last house I lived in. It was a few blocks away from the mister’s house (which is where I live now). It was also around the same time I started working at this hell hole of an office. In fact, it may have been the first month of my new found love for western formals and high heels.

I was working late that night, so it was 10:30 by the time I got home. I had no energy to cook, so the mister offered to save some food for me. I was to call him when I reached home, and he would bring it to me while he walked his dog. Yes, he’s sweet like that.

Since it was late, I had to park a little far from home, in a dimly lit corner next to a park. I would normally…

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For My Mother (May I Inherit Half Her Strength)

Did this poem in high school. It’s one of my favourites!

The Books of My Numberless Dreams

My mother loved my father
I write this as an absolute
in this my thirtieth year
the year to discard absolutes

he appeared, her fate disguised,
as a sunday player in a cricket match,
he had ridden from a country
one hundred miles south of hers.

She tells me he dressed the part,
visiting dandy, maroon blazer,
cream serge pants, seam like razor
and the beret and the two-tone shoes.

My father stopped to speak to her sister,
till he looked and saw her by the oleander,
sure in the kingdom of my blue-eyed grandmother.
He never played the cricket match that day.

He wooed her with words and he won her.
He had nothing but words to woo her,
on a visit to distant Kingston he wrote,

“I stood on the corner of King Street and looked,
and not one woman in that town was lovely as you.”

My…

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Weekly Doodle: Sophisticated

The word of the day was Sophisticated.

image

It took me a while to come up with a doodle idea then it hit me. Workplaces can’t handle the increase in the number of naturalistas. There is a debate as to what natural hairstyles are appropriate for the office. Here’s what I say. My hair is not straight, it doesnt lay flat and I’m not always going to want to have my hair in twists or canerows/cornrows. Sometimes the wild, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look is exactly what I’m going for. That doesn’t mean I’m not work ready. My hair and the hair of other black women like myself is just a talented ball of coils. You can’t compare my grooming practices with those of someone with relaxed hair or a different texture of hair. My hair is SOPHISTICATED.

#KultureShocked