I Keep Holding On...

When you think you shut down something in order to avoid a terrible mistake, you end up making more mistakes to add to the one that you thought you've avoided. That was destroying something that was already strained in the most fantastic of ways. So i can do what, exactly...avoid being dishonest? I made myself look stupid in my decisions in love, and now I have nothing here in this heart. Working has replaced my emotions. I can't muster enough to recapture what was, nor even spark what little I have left. That explains why my ass is up on All Hallows' Eve typing this shit to you all. But the title has its purpose. I must regain ground. My capoeira has been stronger and trickier than the old mess I've practiced. I have gained three jobs, one being an entrepreneurship. I have eaten and felt healthier. To conclude these revelations for now, I've finally learned how to say "no", without actually saying it! Thank egun! i attribute all of my experiences of this up and down "5" year to my ancestors and orisa, and how they've guided me through my tumult ans triumphs. Albeit there's a lingering love that I still carry for this person, I still recognize that movement happens when you initiate the move. I don't regret the situation. In fact, as much as it hurts to see her smile without me, it actually makes me happy to see her do so, knowing all of the things she's experienced in the past three years. I will continue to ask for more blessing for her family and their livelihood.

As for me...well, I plan on taking this new business further. By January, I hope to make it officially a running non-profit for this community. I made a silly assumption about how I felt and did not listen to the inner God about this person that made a presence after my ex. Thank goodness it was short lived and not a situation of presumable love. I needed true time after my ex, and I didn't give it enough, due to my weakness in accepting the relationship's downfall. therefore, my egun let me know quickly what I needed to do to return back to my higher self. Truth be told, I do miss my ex, but I don't miss the struggling. I wish I didn't have to split with her, but I think we both did so in order to be better people. Maybe there will be a recon or our souls or togetherness. Until then, we are reminded to treasure the good times that or emotions bring us. Funny how love works. I am reminded by Caretta Bell's song verse: "Love Lets You Be Free."

You are sure right, Ms. Bell.

Ifeanyi Okoro
10/31/2010

"At The Hour"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)

Here's #9 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx


So we give thanks to those who wear
The coldest apparel with the general flair
Soldiers with those black boots
Lead by the orisa with that royal red suit
White trim, wielding the ax like he was wired on Grey Goose
Nights afire when lightning bolts get loose
This ain't Santa, it's Sango
Dark like the Congo
Called by the bataa songs sung like the bongo
Tapped and relaxed on the throne like bones
Chaperoned to the ocean floor with revenge to be honed
Left alone to be hung and return like Redeemer
Seen as a crafty one, some say the schemer
Scheduling the scene to be torched to the crisp
Blowing Osun a kiss, but it's Oya he misses
Others think he was born on just December 25th
Misnomered, honored by people frontin' folks with gifts
No wonder the try to confine his entry through the chimney
Simply cause they smoked the history of African memories
Entry to the logs of computerization
Numbered and blogged to synchronization
I'm hatin' not even our own wanna give him praise
Then wanna cry to Christ when all hell gets raised?
This nation did a good job, adorning the door knob
With the "Do Not Disturb" sign near the fresh floor mopped
Of ya past, trashing your ancestors with imagery
Of a pasty male, impaled on a fucking tree
Lucky me, I awake eyes open to mockery
Stopping the utter recycling of hypocrisy
And not to be outdone
there's always gonna be a sound shoutout to those
Who recognize the sun
Coming unfroze...but celebrate that bullshit I suppose
Give me the Nubian-nosed King in the crimson robe
And that's dope.

Kabiyesi Kabiosile


© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Still Another Day (Reprise)" - Neruda's poem

I start to think of Pablo Neruda's poem everytime it rains.



"We the mortals touch the metals,
the wind, the ocean shores,
the stones, knowing they will go on,
inert or burning,
and I was discovering,
naming all the these things:
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye."



— Pablo Neruda (Still Another Day)





So I infused my own wonders of this quizzical feeling
and came up with this...
A reprise of sorts, adding a few elements of my own.



I think of the words of the Chilean
when mists massage heated Texas panes on my domecile
It sends me to sleep with the rain
I once read this poem on a bus stop, and fell in love with it.
That's what I like about poetry.
She likes to do what she wants, when she wants to...
but only with you.

She falls into your hands.
She comes through many vehicles traveling
through


Solano Trindade
Gwendowlyn Brooks
Langston Hughes
James Baldwin
me...
and the Chilean




I would love to stick my tongue out in this precipitation
gather all of the words poured out by the angels
and swallow the divine spirit of it.
Spit out their truths,
their pain
their adventures amongst us in flesh covered souls
out in these streets to repeat her verses, like

John Lennon vs. The Christ phenomena

Jimi Hendrix and that "stuff"

Open the Doors to See My Family Stone
sitting high upon these hills I feel...
drenched in the thunder and lightning
I'm under their tears
the Orisas grant what we only ask in honesty
so I watch as Sango and Oya pull back the curtains
showering me with love and poetry
and midnight insomnia
and silent dripping
these are my candy coated dreams that won't go away
Speech! In all it's damn glory I am falling...
another day, still another, I am crawling to bed
Angry at sandmen that promised me temporary death
and torture me with impending prophetic breaths.



Why give me liberty late night
and NOT A VISION OF HER?
I long for her love, for she is worthy to be praised
Like a Lord magnified and raised
I imagine her smile and laugh at her downfall...
it is imminent to slide on the wayside
bedside
beside our backsides
I am waiting to kiss the surface of her brown terrain
that layer her spine and lumbar
I desire to smooth my hands inside of her
blend when these celestial bodies are in her grasp
and planets are aligned with my libido

I am stargazing
Needs want to make it to her
Wants then need to bid farewell soon

But comets shoot across skies
to continue to destinations of forever



why

can't

I

She waits for me to call her on stage
I am of fright whilee she is away
It is written, she is scripted
on my heart, by the Chilean artist
He was just adoring nature
giving me a gift that keeps giving
for tomorrow



© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Still Another Day" - Poem by Pablo Neruda
(all photos used are not used in slander, defamation, nor crude and explicit forms.)

"Iya Yansa's Son of Solemn Transition"

This poem was written sometime late 2008. I was in a relationship at the time, and my poetry was strong, but maybe not my heart for some things. Hence, my poetry has fuel in a bad way.

When the zephyrs appear
so shall my tears
flying in formations with liquid wings
Destination: Home
I wish upon a Hollywood cemented sidewalk
for unmolested peace and
fresh new love to lace up and walk in
I've tasted sinful absolution and
indulged in holy atrocities
Egun awaits my test scores for this life
I think I scored high or something to get me buzzed
Some settle like pioneers I
rustle like autumn leaves from Maple
wanting to travel blue highway
rushing to fall asleep, or at least in
a pile of more like I
I've squandered my savings
I've saved records and memorabilia
I've recorded and memorized songs and poems
I've sung praises of others
I've used all of my energy

Ifeanyi Okoro © 2009

"So You Think You Can (Love)?"

"When you are backing up, going on the defensive about everything, you will be unsuccessful, moving forward, on the offensive towards your goals." - Ifeanyi Okoro II

Loving someone will not be a catch phrase.
Loving someone is not a fad, nor is it a trending topics.
Love is not love, but it is life.
Love doesn't speak in the third person.
Love doesn't recognize itself, because it's more than itself alone.

If you are in love, how were you out of it in the first place?
If you fell in it, you should watch your step, because you can fall out of it. Is there a pothole somewhere?
If love just hit you out of the blue, why haven't you called the police yet? If you don't trust the police, why aren't you fighting back?
To be in and out of love means you wear it like underwear. For some of y'all, you don't at wear it at all. Some of you wear the same ones over and over.
Love has no rising sign, no numerology chart, and no Ori or Orisa. However, it has characteristics, certain days when it knows to appear, and how to help and aid when called upon.
Love calls your name, answer, or shut the fuck up when it calls someone else.

Love is not your best friend, your personal interest, nor your lover. Love is too busy being with everyone to just be with you. Love is an adulterer that is favorable.

Unlike you, love hurts. You just have gas, or a tiny boo-boo.

Love goes by many names. Lust is NOT one of them.
Love is bi-racial, bi-sexual, bi-partisan, bi-cycle. No one else is in this world, so shut up.
Love hates to be hated. Hate loves to be loved. So can Love hate Love and Hate love Hate?

Love is a fighter, not a lover.
Love loves Brett Favre, though.
Brett loves the game.

I Cannot Heart Love. I coronary it, sometimes.

You cannot live, breathe, eat, sleep, think love. Why?
Because you'd be evicted, asphyxiated, empty, drowsy, and thoughtless. Love is not tangible.

Most importantly, love is. But at the same time, so is God.
But if God is love, what does that make you?
If you are God, why the hell are you not loving your self?

Are you love?

Could you be love(d)? (You can't be Bob Marley!)
And if so, you are being yourself (which is love.)
Continue to do so.

So, enough. Love isn't a game, and, if it is, why quit? If it was solitaire, quit playing with yourself. And if everyone can win, then celebrate this and the victory with everyone!


© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro