Friday, December 31, 2010

NEW YEARS EVE 2010

I just wanted to give a quick thank you to everyone who reads my blog.  We all seem to be a quiet bunch, but I see you on my stats.  I'd love to hear more from you in the coming year. And, I hope to give you more  creative work as well. I'm hoping to fit more arts events into this coming year. I'll keep you posted. I'm off to celebrate in a safe and sane way and I hope you all do too.  I'll be back with reflection tomorrow as I eat my black eyed peas.

HAVE FUN!!!

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Monday, December 27, 2010

African Diasporic Voices-ORIGINS


Wondering how the African Diasporic Voices page works?  Well let me tell yah. So far, I have listed one writing prompt, but that writing prompt has 4 phases.  And, that writing prompt asks you to take a look at the MOAD website.  The website will take you through the 4 phases as well, but I’d love it if you would share at least some of your poetic creations here as well.  Here is a piece of my origin poem, “Origin”. Just to get us started:

Origin
By Ieisha McIntyre


This is where we begin
--the root.
We spring from blackness
The black ness, the beginning place.  
The place of nothing. before
the place where all things come. together 
and from where all things are born . . . 


There is more to this poem. It will be in book form soon.  If you like it, let me know by commenting!  And please do take a moment and add your poem and a link to the rest of it.  Blessings!

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Saturday, December 25, 2010

Church of The Apostles (COTA) DEC. 19TH Advent poem

     I know it is Christmas Day and everyone is with their families and loved ones, but I wanted to make sure that I put up my Advent poem that I wrote for COTA for Dec. 19th, 2010.  I was so honored to be asked to do so by Abbess Karen Ward.  It was a new experience for me.  Such a challenge! To read a passage from the Bible and then allow it to inspire forth poetry.  Which of course others have done many times over.  But it was new for me.  So, of course, I had to pray on it.
     I had a scribbled collection of cross-referenced notes that could have gone on for days. I could not believe that I was able to pull it all together in time.  BUT THEN! Of course, my printer was out of ink.  So my computer and myself went to the advent service.  Everything all worked out in time thank God.  Below is the passage and the poem.  Please feel free to comment and give me input.


Advent Dec. 19th COTA

Matthew 1:18-25
Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel,"
which means, "God is with us." When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.




Advent
By Ieisha McIntyre
We are all players in dreams
of our own creation.
Dreams rooted--
in our limited human perception,
spun from our limited expectations,
maintained--
through social condition.  


We walk through our mutually sustained worlds
holding up the walls
with our bias.
Prejudice as our mortar,
we maintain the integrity, 
Use tradition, and historical context as our decorative plaster. 
But they are just walls 
and we are still dreamers.


Dreamer, know this,
When kissed by the call to awaken -- 
The vision that is life can become
a seeming nightmare;
a conflicting reality that tortures
a mind desirous
of a status quo existence. 


A call that insists we
Release the dreams we clutch to,
cling to, blind ourselves with;


In resistance, we stop up the passages of our ears, 
Barricade the doors of our imagination
with the expectations of others--
All, to deny ourselves the call.  


Of course we question -- But, 
The reality may be a hurdle worth jumping. 
The storm a torrent worth braving.
We must open our eyes to see.


Yet, A dreamer interrupted can never return
to the previous pulse--
there is always the arrhythmia
of an interrupted dream.


Consider--
Forced slumber makes convict
those with outmoded dreams.
Trained expectations become chains;
Rules of thought the inquisitor.
We fear, we cringe and
cower at the freedom given to us. 
We see awakening as the prison.  
We realize we have been people in a dream. 
And we listen to the call -- suspicious.


The choice is ever present; And, should we choose
we listen, 
we move
beyond the walls and
act on faith.
One must trust in the unseen--
the untested--
the undreamed of-- 
trust that the new reality will not release upon
the dreamer an unmanageable hell.


The Word invites awakening. 
-- to experience divine interruption, 
to have our dream world invaded and gifted
with new life direction.


Awaken. 
The new direction is more than we could ever dream,
The invitation is there in The Word.
And, the Choice 
ever present.

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Friday, December 24, 2010

S.W.I.N.K: A WORD OTHER THAN SPINSTER


From Spinster to SWINKY SWANK!
Hello world! I have long introduced myself as a “spinster.” Whether subconscious or not, I know that is what I’ve done. I never wanted to use the word “spinster.” But now, well past 30, I’ve had to confess that in the past I’ve more often than not fit the definition of a spinster.  I’ve let that go, but there was just no historical way of getting around the word.  I’ve thought and prayed and thought so more and here is my gift to you all the single women out there who are single, sexy, haven’t found a partner or just plain aren’t interested in handing over their independence.  I am no longer a spinster! And neither are you!  I’m a S.W.I.N.K who is S.W.I.N.K.Y.  and when need be, I’ve got some S.W.A.N.K to me as well.  HOLLAH! Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year!!


S.W.I.N.K = SINGLE, WOMAN, INDEPENDENT,NO, KIDS
S.W.I.N.K.Y= SINGLE, WOMAN, INDEPENDENT, NO, KIDS, YOUTHFUL
S.W.A.N.K = SINGLE, WOMAN, ASSERTIVE, NO, KIDS
* and if you want to be S.W.A.N.K.Y just add the youthful nature to it.

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Friday, December 03, 2010

Seattle Slam Open mic "Mother Butterfly" by Ieisha McIntyre (aka) Lotuspapillon

  I went out to the Seattle Poetry Slam and decided that I would ask a stranger for a hand. It all worked out. I decided to read the poem that I tightened up at this year's LItFuse 2010 (a poet's workshop) with help from Tara Hardy.  Here's a new video. Take some time and view it. Leave a comment and let me know what you think.



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Sunday, November 28, 2010

The Solo Book Club-"For Colored Girls. . ." by Ntosake Shange (meeting #1)


          So, I promised that I would continue to share with my solo book club and I plan on keeping my promise.  I have to say that re-reading “For Colored Girls. . .” was very much needed.  I haven’t seen Tyler Perry’s movie yet. I’m not certain that I want to spend the current price of a movie ticket on it.  I just don’t want to be disappointed and out of spending change in the same moment.
          So what parts struck me as more familiar now than when I was eighteen? Well I would have to say the entire choreoplay. Especially, the speech of the “lady in red” on page 13-14 of the Scribner/ Simon and Schuster edition.  “without any assistance or guidance from you/ i have loved you assiduously for 8 months 2 wks & a day.” The way that she addressed her lover.  She courted him with cards, plants, letters, poems, drove to meet him; all as a test of herself. Who's done that? I have. “i want you to know/this waz an experiment/ to see how selfish i cd be/ if i wd really carry on to snare a possible lover/if i waz capable of debasin my self for the love of another.” 
           I wonder, how often female courting is something that happens for women of other ethnicities?  How often does an asian, hispanic, caucasian woman feel pressed to compete to the level of courtship? To test themselves?  How is it that we have come to the place that the brideprice is paid by the high-achieving bride?  How do we as a people continue to advance, if marriage and family is no longer a means of support and advancement? No matter what side of the subcultural political landscape of “black americanness” you stand on, no matter what you think black men are or what black women are, Ntosake Shange’s choreoplay does not misrepresent what many of us can find proof of in our lives or in the lives of our friends.  That there is turmoil in the heart of many of our families, and most of our communities.  And, that this turmoil often takes operatic tempo.
           As I’m writing this posting, my opinion is coming into focus.  Clearly,  “For Colored Girls. . .” should not have been a film at all.  It should have been an opera of the proportion and depth of Gershwin’s “Porgy and Bess”. Perhaps that will still happen.  Who knows? Someone should call Jay-Z. (to be continued.)



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Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Solo Book Club-"For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf" by Ntosake Shange

If you've been following along in with my Solo Book Club then you have had a chance to enjoy some of the poetry of Lucille Clifton.  I've now decided to move into a re-reading of Ntosake Shange's choreopoem "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf."  Now I know this choreopoem has recently come to more of a broad exposure that it was previous.  And if you watch the video that is linked here under Ntosake's name then you will learn that previously her choreopoem has been handed down from mother or aunt to daughter.  However, in true "solo" fashion, I found this choreopoem in my high school library while looking for a play for my senior monologue.

Of course, at the time, I believed that I understood the major issues of the play.  Of course, at 18, I was wrong and understood nothing.  As most 18 year olds; even the mature ones.

In the past few years I've troubled myself and worried myself that I did not have audition material.  The truth was, I just couldn't find something that fit with my gut enough to carry it around.  As I re-read "For Colored Girls. . . " I'm going to see if again, sits well with my gut.  Who knows, I may finally find the audition piece that sits well with my gut.

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Monday, November 22, 2010

The Solo Book Club- "them and us" by Lucille Clifton

Get familiar with the Solo Book Club .  The poem "them and us" Lucille Clifton says so much about the difference between the black and white american mindset.  The power of fame.  The artists to whom we give our allegiance.  So much commentary  in 15 lines! Recognize!

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The Solo Book Club- "june 20" by Lucille Clifton

Ms. Clifton's poems are utterly amazing.  They seem to fold time and space.  How can she force into our minds so much in so few lines?  Her work is poetic gospel.


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The Solo Book Club- "climbing" by Lucille Clifton

WOW! I just finished the first poem of "The Book of Light"  "climbing" and I am blown away!  I can't believe that so much can be said in so little. I just could not believe the use of words.  So accurate, so precise.  And, the images are exactly what I feel now as a woman in her mid-thirties.  All the maybes, all the "should haves", and I'm still hungry.  But, now I am hungry for a time when I am fed by what I do have and not by what I don't think that I have.  If you can dig that, lemme know.

Blessings!

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The Solo Book Club

So often we start a book alone.  And, even though it is a book obviously found by others previous to ourselves, we are overjoyed, enraptured, and certain that we are the first of at least our circle of friends to REALLY love this book. We clutch at the book, let our fingers become intimate with the folds of its pages and the texture of the cover.  We open ourselves up to the possibility that this book may be a new love.

I know book clubs are popular.  I suggest book clubs to others, but I am horrible at them.  I just don't like to share.  But I'm trying to break myself of that selfish greed.  I've decided to start with a book of poetry by Lucille Clifton (1936-2010) and her book The Book of Light.  I'll keep you posted on the poems I like, the questions I have, the thoughts that are sparked.

If you would like to read the book of poetry as well, You are welcome too.  If you would like to share your thoughts, you are welcome to.  If you would like to leave your comments and share my comments with others, please do.

I'll be back in a bit with my feelings about the first few poems that I've read.

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Tuesday, August 17, 2010

PlayScape poetry

The following poems were inspired by the sounds of the school yard. I have more and will put them in a little chapbook soon. Enjoy, and feel free to leave a comment. I like those a lot.


Playscape poetry:
by Ieisha McIntyre

#1
Swish-roar of traffic
cars and people on their way going
or coming from something or not.
I’ve wondered and lost.
But here is this roar-swish and
a window down
children laughing
part-time custody parent,
holiday
with burgers -
fries on the side and
a promise of shakes later.


#2
Seagull, gull, gull  soar-oar
drift-ift on thah-ah-ah
wind-ind
and let-et sun-un
unfurl the day upon-on
your wings-ings-ings.


#3
Thump-thump children on plastic slides
giggling-balance between
childhood fantasy and growing - too big discoveries
of can’t fit and got stuck.
Lifetime to learn and lean.



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The Coming Close of Summer

Hello.  I know that if you are one of the readers who got to know me through READWRITEPOEM, then you are probably going through the same withdrawal from that wonderful community that I am.  I took more of a break from my blog than I thought I would.  I have had quite an amazing May through Aug. So many new opportunities and people have come into my life and I am truly grateful for them all.  I know that my writing and my art will forever be changed by having had the experiences of that past few months.  I will place a video up soon on my youtube channel with some backstage moments from DOUBT.  I also hope to put up a few more spokenword videos as well.  So far I only have one up.  Feel free to take a look and comment about Opening for Adam Falkner @ UWT . Oh yeah, and I'll place a sample of my playscape poems up before the close of tomorrow as well.  Blessings to you all!

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Thursday, May 20, 2010

Got Poems?! or Opening NIGHT?

I know I've been away for a bit and I didn't have a poem for you this week to post.  But I've got an Opening night and I will post a poem and another prompt this coming Sat. so look for it and I'll look for yours.  In the mean time, if you are in town and would like to check out one awesome play come to Gold From Straws production of DOUBT.  You'll get to see me in far more costume than one scene can handle. (lol) Blessings to you!

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Sunday, May 02, 2010

AFRICAN DIASPORIC VOICES-WRITING PROMPT #1

African Diasporic Voices-Writing prompt #1

The Museum of The African Diaspora mentions the four major themes of the African Diaspora as:

origins-(Our origins are in Africa two million years ago. As we move, adapt and transform, new origins take root and the cycle continues.)

movement-(Individuals, families and communities move continuously, sometimes seeking fresh prospects, sometimes forced by slavery, war or famine. Always, our movements reinvent us, remixing the possibilities.),

adaptation-(People and cultures evolve as the traditions and memories we carry with us creatively engage new surroundings and other cultures.)

transformation-(We transform ourselves in dialogue with new places, creating new traditions and new cultures. We carry the seeds of creativity that can transform adversity into hope.)
(definitions courtesy of MOAD).

In the next four weeks we will look at the poems of writers who have used these themes, discuss how they have used them to shape the meaning in their poems, and attempt to write our own poems under these themes.

It only makes sense for us to start with the theme of origins.  For some of us that would mean the land, for others, parents, or even emotion.

The first poem I’d like to share with you can be found on the MOAD site and is by Trina Michelle Robinson, entitled AFRICA:She.  Take a moment and read her poem, listen to the recording as well.  And then, write your own. Be brave with this theme, be open, be accepting.

SHARE your poems on this site, please do so by presenting a link on the comment section of this writing prompt.  If you use another form of inspiration please feel free to share the links to those as well.

DON’T FORGET TO SHARE BY SUN MAY 9TH (MOTHER’S DAY).



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Friday, April 30, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #30: GOODBYE

I'M NOT SAYING GOODBYE! I JUST STARTED THIS FANTASTIC JOURNEY! But Readwritepoem is sadly saying goodbye. READWRITEPOEM and the poets I have met there have inspired many of the poems I have shared via my blog. I hope that you have liked them.  I've added this last poem as a goodbye to the poets of readwritepoem. I hope they will find their way to visit my blog from time to time.  I do say goodbye the the NAPOWRIMO challenge for another year. I didn't make every day's challenge but I did improve from last year.   Blessings all! Now Yah'll come back now! Yah hear?


Goodbye
by Ieisha McIntyre

There are no instructions for farewell.
No compass, nor telescope, no map
nor previous navigation.

The eyes are never strong enough to
watch forever the departure of a loved one.
The ears are never strong enough
to hear the goodbyes.

Without tears rolling
down the face,
Without the ache
welling up in the muscles of the arms,
without the mind’s hurried remembrance
the last phrases of love,
the lasting regret,
the loss of the moment
when,
perhaps everything could have been different,
We are left speechless.
adrift on the uncharted, unexpected.

Who expects to say goodbye,
When blissful moments have been shared,
and promises have been made?
We expect maps out when there is strife,
when there is disturbance,
but with good times, we want frolic and play.

Alas, today we are without our
unicorn dreams of lasting paradise.
Today we attempt in folly
to chart goodbye.

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MAY 1ST- WELCOMES AFRICAN DIASPORIC VOICES

ON MAY 1ST- I will begin to post writing prompts and invite comments and conversation regarding the African Diaspora and the poetry, literature, art, etc. of that specific world population of people.  This group has moved from its original READWRITEPOEM site due to the site ending as an active community and becoming an archive.  I'd like to extend an huge thanks to RWP for creating such an active and equal community.  I was a safe place to be an artist.  Let us continue to create and seek those safe places to do and share art.
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Sunday, April 25, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #25-LEFT HAND SIDE

Left hand side was inspired by the writing prompt of Joseph Harker on READWRITEPOEM NAPOWRIMO #25


Left hand side
by  Ieisha McIntyre



On the left hand side of consciousness
lies the understanding of a child.
the understanding that love is
 the only currency one has,
the understanding that without love
there is only the beg, barter, and steal
birthed from the drive of survival.

The swindle, the duck and dive,
the top dog, the underdog
and always the loser
ever present.

Hope goes unfed.

But, on the left hand side,
is the Knowledge.
The law love gives,
the only law that maintains the peace.

Beyond war and bombs,
beyond the trials and executions,
beyond human sacrifice ceremony of daily life,
love stops us all and bids us

Pay attention.

to the silence brought to chaos by,
the simple touch inspired love,
the gentle voice inspired love,
the grace given through love,

the mercy.

Ah, the left hand side,
for years derided and seen as a
hinderance of the cold hard
 truth of life,
the ravage of life.
The weak will perish

fact of life.

The ten percent who simply must be
converted
in order to
comfort
the discomforted of the masses.
If only the left could be made right.

                                  if not right,

then their difference must be
distorted
and made suspect.
Their influence must be controlled.

Contained to the left’s small circle--further
within the circle, let their difference be
as a thing that brands
marginal-compassion.

So Marginal that mothers ignore
the cries of their children,
force feed them
from the rationed teat--Government milk.

Believe the milk of their bodies to be
the poison diversity serves,
mothers bind their breasts,
make rigid the sway of their hips.

Keep secret the culture of compassion.
Serve their children fresh cannibal
adroitly
singing sweet lullabies of saviors,
eyes overflowing with confusion and tears.
a child
without love’s truth
can only survive.

Trapped in a circle of constant right turns,
they survive only.

Without a left,
difference becomes an
apparition abhorrent,
the destruction of self
a necessity.

On the left hand side,
we see the unmapped,
and are called to our heroic-
Honor the knowledge
of a child.

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Hello Readers and Bloggers

Hello to my fellow bloggers and readers out there. I hope you have enjoyed reading my blog posts and poems.  As you can see I replaced my map with a revolver map. I love it!  Actually, I am, I believe in love with it.  It shows me that so many people from around the globe have visited my blog.  I would like to invite those of you who are willing to comment on what you like and any questions you may have about my work.

In June, I plan to include writing prompts that center around the topic of the African Diasporia, history, feminism, and quite possibly many other themes.  I hope that you will join me on this writing journey.

Blessings, and I promise I will get back on my NAPOWRIMO postings before the day is out.

KEEP ON RISING TO JUSTICE ! KEEP RISING!

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Sunday, April 18, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #17/30- UNSAID THINGS 2

Unsaid things 2
 by Ieisha McIntyre

One can always recognize hate.
Look closely.
The face of hate is that same ghoul that haunted
your childhood dreams and chased hope from your
heart.

Love is the thing that shifts, changes
transforms and requires that ones eyes adjust,
retrain, refocus. So stunned
we are transfixed
left in doubt, our myopia, makes love peculiar
and enemy in our sight.
too terrorized to shift off our center and turn to the muddle
of love
and
away from the method of hate--
We sit in the darkness of our minds
eyes scaled and souls weighted.

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NAPOWRIMO #16/30-UNSAID

Unsaid things
by Ieisha McIntyre

Step into your blessing,
know that it will free you and alienate you.
Know that you have no choice
 and every opportunity
not to receive.
Know that it is a gift.



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Saturday, April 17, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #15-HOPE

Hope
by Ieisha McIntyre


The face of hope-
more beauty than can be believed.
At the sight, one bursts into tears
believing themselves split to the barest particle of themselves.
struct dumb-while weeping
profound silence split by sudden joy.
sudden as laser light bursting through the darkness-sudden.
Sheer grace and supple.


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Friday, April 16, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #13/30 - MICRO

13/30
by Ieisha McIntyre


The world 
is
 so much simpler
 than 
water and soil.

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NAPOWRIMO #12/30-MICRO!

I've decided to experiment in the interest of catching up and writing in a more micro way but, I also want to see what happens if I write one independent line at a time.  So, here are the first of these.  If you follow me on twitter, you may have seen these already.  If not the lines that follow will be new.  Enjoy!


#12/30
by Ieisha McIntyre

Because,
 I saw God
 at the bottom 
of a teacup.

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Tuesday, April 13, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #11-ALABASTER WOMEN

Alabaster Women
by Ieisha McIntyre

Alabaster women bathe at sunset in
the river of light and shadow.
take time to rub moonstone over their
skin after mud soap has brushed
clean stable all the sunlight soot
of their day flesh.

Lights them moon colored
and pearl eyed,
they swim translucent fish through
water - hair seaweed fresh languid.
While guppies play follicle tag among
millions, cheveaux-like seaweed absent
of seahorses-starfish their fingers
to their thighs and slide through water
oil gentle.

Never thinking of loss, never thinking tender fingers
holding waistline tight against untold horror,
but buck gentle ‘gainst subtide current, sailing shifty-smooth
toward destination infinite, forever calling their truest self
permanent and ever altered.

Alabaster women lie dormant on black sand beaches
roll their bodies covered entire in black tar
volcanic soot sand cover dormant
midnight journeys forward to the past of never
carry all the hope not yet hoped for.

pregnant silent lay in wait
for the sun to bake solid blackness.
Prepare for the scorch of the sun,
the walk of the day.
Dry and prepare sea legs
for land toil walk among strangers.

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NAPOWRIMO #10-HOPSCOTCH

HOPSCOTCH
by Ieisha McIntyre
Trickle drop, trickle drop,
little bee trickle drop riggle
 dance bring all the honey back
 and make the honeycomb fat.

Peony and pansy, honey suckle rose
all the flowers bow and greet the rain
 trickle drop trickle drop
such a loverly dance and sing.

Fat bees of yellow and black strip legs
heavy and pollen feet
full exhausted happy meet again
 peony and pansy, honey suckle rose.

all the work and all the time
 fat bees of yellow and black strip
make yummy sweet and golden nectar.
trickle, drop, trickle, drop.

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Sunday, April 11, 2010

NAPOWRIMO #9-ANSWER

Answer
by Ieisha McIntyre

After all the years of question,
You are my answer. 

To every sleepless addiction bitten night, 
you are my answer.  

You are every prayer’s answer 
for all the days spent off balance and searching.

You are my answer.

My home base and safe place, 
my shelter from the rain. 

When my words have left me
 as easily as my breath,
 when my heart has not the strength 
to push blood through my body, 
your face is the last that my mind will see.
 the smell of your neck,
 the last scent my body yearns for.  

You are my morning sunshine, kiss of heaven.
 You are my answer.

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NAPOWRIMO #8- micropoem

A simple question
by Ieisha McIntyre

Did you ever wonder 
at the curve of the sky? 
The lilt in your lovers voice?
The moment of your death?

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Chapbook?

Would you like to see a chapbook from me?  If yes, comment and let me know which of my topics you'd like to hear more of!  Blessings!!!


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Saturday, April 10, 2010

NaPoWriMo #7/30 - Friday Morning Rain

Friday Morning Rain
by Ieisha McIntyre

Rain falls gently to pavement.
Pad-taps out the rhythm of the day,
slips soft-silent through the cracks in the soil
and rises puddle.
Waits glass patient for my shoe.


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Wednesday, April 07, 2010

NaPoWriMo #6/30 - The Miracle of Sleep

The Miracle of Sleep
by Ieisha McIntyre

Falling away into darkness
--my eyes are closed
as windows with drawn curtains.

My mind--set free and active,
goes to play upon the landscape of forever.

Finding bits of reality--
here and there strewn over
every geographical point of the unseen.

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Tuesday, April 06, 2010

NaPoWriMo #5/30-Mr.

Mr. 
by Ieisha McIntyre

I wish I could tell you how many times
I looked at you and your forever before
I decided that it could
not be my ever after.

But, there were too many times to count,
and too many days have gone by to remember exactly
what it was that made tomorrow with
you put a bad taste in my today.

I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.

And, you’re over it.

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Sunday, April 04, 2010

NaPoWriMo #4/30-Soul Tending

Soul Tending 
by Ieisha McIntyre

There are Gardens inside each soul--
where the spirit speaks to the creator.
Gardens lined with lush trees,
trees with branches that hang sleepy and watchful over fresh grown lilies.

There are gardens in our souls,
that carry the full scent and memory of love.
Love that has taken up care and pulled out tender weeds,
deep rooted weeds, pulled effortless with even the gentlest of breezes--love.

Plush moss of verdant green couch the ground
--make soft the harshest of places.
In our souls, there are sweet soft places, yearning for care, and tending. Safe sheltering places, where fruit rests heavy and fresh in the palm.

Fruit pulp-full and juicy sustenance. Peel back the rind and sink in your teeth.
Taste the sweetness of tended places.
Let the juice slide onto your tongue and creep toward the throat of you--nourish.
Let it squeeze free of your lips. Slide down your chin--feed.

Feed on this fertile love, make yourself ready to reap harvest.
Make yourself ready to offer free entry to those
in need of the peace--
the garden.

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Saturday, April 03, 2010

Lotuspapillon (aka) Ieisha McIntyre Opening for Adam Falkner!

Opening for Adam Falkner @ UWTacoma

Wednesday March 31st  was one of the most heartwarming and life affirming experiences I have had in a very long time.  Adam Falkner is not only an amazingly enlightened and talented poet.  He is also a wonderfully inspired and inspiring educator!  He has a soulful singing voice and I hope one day soon he will put a few poems into song. If you weren’t at Wednesday night’s performance and you haven’t had a chance to hear his work, click his name and check him out!
I’ve posted a video with some of my work from the performance as well.  Feel free to take a look. Subscribe, tweet, comment!  Blessings all! I hope to do more readings in the future.  I’ll keep you informed!





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Fear of Flying #3/30 NaPoWriMo

Fear of flying 
by Ieisha McIntyre

I climbed to the highest mountain
and stretched out my arms as wings.
Bade the lord to lift me up by the power of his hand.  And with an effortless wave of his finger my feet left the cliffside and I was buoyant.
I drifted as the lightest of flying creatures.
 As the lightest of creatures.

All of this,
I did, inspired by my love for you.
The power of our union made me believe in unassisted human flight.  Lips were not lips,  fingers were not fingers, skin was not a barrier but a joining place. A place of surrender-co-mingle.
 All of my family voiced caution but I was unafraid
and had full faith in the power of God’s hand in our union.

I did not know that faith is made victim,
 God is made bystander,
And free will makes victims of us all.
The terror of love is in the losing,
in the ever present feeling of falling
and failing.
 
Love requires the courage of a daredevil to rest safely in the breast of a saint.
The voice of love works within our fragile minds.
We are made disciples.  
Convinced of our immortality,
we fly,
and give no consideration to gravity.
We lose all doubt of love’s existence.

In the making of love
it is made real as blush red,
hot sweaty and sweet tender.
What need had we of parachutes?
Lovers defy gravity and history every day.

No one hears the tales of the fallen,
the ones who fly too high, or reach too far.
Their stories are consumed by the heat of the sun.
All trace of them left as ashes on the wind.
All memory, left to drift with the gentlest of breezes.

The fear of flying left unexplained.        

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Friday, April 02, 2010

NaPoWriMo 30/30: #2/30

Here is my second poem in this great writing adventure that it is called NaPoWriMo. It is based on the #2 writing prompt on ReadWritePoem take time to check them out.  Many of you I do not know. And it fills my heart with joy that you are reading my work. I'd like to take this moment to invite you to say hello.  Ask me questions, and if you have advice I may not take it but I'm willing to listen. I hope you like it! Blessings.


NaPoWriMo #2: RWP Writing prompt for 30/30

Regular White Paper
by Ieisha McIntyre

Regular white paper says nothing on its own--
on its own it is only fiber and glue.

There are no contracts, promises, messages or vows without ink.

Without the rhythmic wave of process--
                                    the pen in hand
                                    and the cursive script,
                                    the paper would have nothing to say.

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Cat Bird NaPoWriMo #1

Having accepted the challenge of NaPoWriMo, I present to you my first poem.


Cat Bird
by Ieisha McIntyre


Cheshire cat grin behind steel teeth,
 and she is all that he can think about.
She is all curves and muscle.
Too many years behind her to be a girl
and to many days of sin to be spinster,
he is lost to her sex and sensual.

Smiling at her as a boy
who believes he’s the first to see a stone skip across water,
he is her captive
and doesn’t even know it.
All he knows is the grin and
the slow hard feeling in his crotch.

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Monday, March 29, 2010

Rain

Rain
By Ieisha McIntyre


Rain--
the soft sound of my lover’s voice.
It falls gently to my skin,
seeps into my body and drums against my beating heart--
his intentions.
All love and never harm, never malice,
nor contempt--
only nurture and breath.

Like rain, my love clears the dust,
and shoos away the drought of neglect.
He is my fresh homecoming.
My ambassador of spring.
With him, the soil of my spirit is made ready,
and receives without complaint or resistance.

Darling,
buds peak forth and test the light.
This sun, he brings after the tempest.
This scorch-less sun -- food. Fresh, green leaves stretch to blue-kissed light.
Fare well in these gentle winds of new cast love -- these are surely the most sweet of times.

Trust,
that when disturbance enters this garden,
and the light has grown stark-jaundice,
the rain is never far.
Grey flannel clouds will gather.
Pull close about and shelter.
Bring the welcome tender strum of his rain.

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Friday, March 19, 2010

Thank You!

I'd like to take a moment and extend a thanks to all of you who followed my Valentine's Day Challenge and even participated with me. I hope I encouraged you to write about a topic that you haven't had a lot of comfort with.  Feel free to share your experiences.  If you check out the about me section of my blog you'll find contact information for this blog as well.


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National Poetry Month is COMING!

NATIONAL POETRY MONTH is coming in April.  April 1st to be exact.  What idea or theme has been burning a hole in your self-conscious this year that you would really like to get off your chest?  Take some time in that last few weeks of this month to contemplate them.

For myself, I've been thinking about weight and body image quite a bit since January.  I've tried hard not to  lose perspective of my goals.  When I've lost focus, I haven't given up, I've just gotten right back up on the horse.  Conveniently, in April, we have the opportunity to write a poem a day for 30 days and try to get all these concerns off our chests and on to the paper.  Oh yeah, and READ,WRITE,POEM will provide writing prompts for each day, just in case you need an extra push or a new perspective.


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Thursday, March 11, 2010

A Moment

A moment
by Ieisha McIntyre


Give me a moment of sexy
and a dash of forever.
Hold me in the hands of your memory,
hesitate to release control
lay your heart
bare.

I understand your fear,
how much loss
can eat away at hope.

Give me a sprinkle of maybe.
We can season our lives with
more than salt.



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Saturday, February 27, 2010

Bellocq's Ophelia

Hello Everyone! I thought I would lend a change of pace to this blog by including some of what I’m reading.  I just finished reading an amazing little collection of poetry called Bellocq’s Ophelia by Natasha Tretheway (She also won 2007 Pulitzer for Poetry for Native Guard) a winner of the 1999 Cave Canem Poetry Prize and published by Greywolf Press
. Bellocq’s Ophelia is a journey into the rarely discussed world of the “Colored” brothels of New Orleans.  The exotic nature given to the ivory skinned African women by white culture combined with the conflict of being trapped between two worlds is explored to surprising depth in these brief pages.  You do not leave this slim volume of poetry without wanting to know more about the world describe in its pages.  It is truly titillating.  You want to know more about the lives of these women, you want to know about the lives of the men who visit them.  You want to know more about the world that would keep them in a state where they are enslaved, not by their skin tone but by the skin tone of their grandmothers. I was left wondering about how many ways in today’s world, African-American women are still forced to make choices based on the perceptions of others instead of the strength of their spirit and the power of their intellect. 


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Monday, February 15, 2010

I Forget

 Valentine's Day poem #14 is up.  I was a few minutes late but Nina Simone songs deserve to be listened too closely.  This one is inspired by her song "For a while." Blessings Lovers!


I forget
By Ieisha McIntyre

Just for this moment love –
Kiss my hand and take me for a drive around town,
With the windows rolled down,
In the dead of winter.  Let’s do something that defies all sense.

Just for a little while,
Let us be the last human beings on earth.
Kiss me in the street, pull up flowers by the root,
Kill off all other traps of human life, and remember only
Me.

Look at me first my love. 
Look at me first when you think of your tomorrow, make me
The central player.

Pull yourself away from the influence of friends and privilege. Choose me,
I will forget your avoidance. 
I will forget and go on
Not one hour has passed in my day.
I live only for your love.

For all that guides me in this world is my love for you.
I forget—
You are gone.


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Sunday, February 14, 2010

Just Friends


The following poem was inspired by Nina Simone's version of "Every Time We Say Goodbye."


Just Friends
By Ieisha McIntyre

Standing free of your touch,
my lips remember you.

Every time.


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The Prairie


 Valentine's Day Challenge poem #12.  I'm having an ekphrastic day! This one was inspired by listening to Lucia Micarelli . (Click this link to hear the exact song that inspired this poem!)  

The Prairie
By Ieisha McIntyre

The prairie, outstretched and vast in its greenness. 

You are farther away than ever the years or distance could make.
Close held in memory is the strength of your arms,
The heft of your weight against thighs.
Your breath against my neck—
Only the touch of the breeze as it contorts itself through the pillars of the house.

My feet pad gently against the course wood grain of the weatherworn porch. 
Lured toward the light of the setting sun—
I can hear your voice travel through the brush,
Just above the hum of the fireflies as the sunsets.
You rush upon the warm summer wind, graze the hem of my dress, slide finger light
Up the crease of my thighs,
And the curve of my waist,
To the cleft of my breast.
Defenseless, I breathe in the warmth that was you.

And for one moment,
We are shining light of love and harmony. 
We are partner friendship, forever.

But the gathering of night comes to our day,
And the cold creeps into the breeze—
Pounds out the rhythm of ending that all living things hear and deny.

Bare feet to the dusky ground,
I start my evening search for the clothe blown free of the line,
Call the cat,
Draw the water and wash the porch free of the dust of the day,
Lend coolness to the night’s thoughts.
Speak softly, gently the words that came from your lips.

Look my love—
All the plain is amber and orange.
Red.

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Valentine's Day Challenge

I know I'm behind in my Valentine's Day challenge that I set for myself.  I was at a loss for inspiration, and you know how that can be.  So I went on writing other things.  But here I am back again and only 3 poems behind.  So my goal for today is to write three more before midnight. I hope they will improve in tone.  If they don't, oh well!  I hope you can get something out of them.  Please feel free to comment! I've included a link to  The Handbook of Heartbreak: 101 Poems of Lost Love and Sorrow so that you can take a peak of some of the masters of lost love poetry.  See if you can roll with the big boys!


Python Heart
By Ieisha McIntyre

My love, can you adore me?
Even though my heart is enraged
And in full flame
And lost to concealment?

Beloved.
Can you love me? Can you take all of my acerbic charms?
Can you stand faithful even when I cannot stand you?
Even though in full two year old tantrum—
I insist you stay
While shouting NO. 
Will you tolerate my lost nature and directionless heart?
My childish mistrust of anything
That doesn’t look like mommy’s hand?

I promise. I’ll pay you back.
I’ll pay you back—
For every scar I place on your heart and your soul.
I’ll pay you back in kisses and caress,
I’ll give you every beautiful moment I can muster
From the turmoil of my warring heart.

I’ll let you become addict to narcotic me. 
I promise you won’t feel pushed upon. 
Not until you are fully hooked upon
Me and all my poison.

I promise, you are my antidote. 
I will help you be more than prince,
More that savior.
I will let you be more than methadone.
I will let you be cure.
If you can love me.

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