Baltimore

This city

This rain

This view 

Filled with irony

Regret and Hope

This time

This place

This pain

Of uncertainty

Of confusion

Of why

I look out this Saturday morning window

At the outside walls of a castle with no moat

And wonder what the citizens on the other side are doing

Are thinking

Are planning

Are dreaming

This city

This view of mine

Those words that play tricks on my brain

"Drop the gun or pick a room"

Really?

Is that the answer to this uneven riddle?

To this clumsy cadence?

To this city whose sidewalk cracks still speak in tongues

Understood only by those whose feet can read a broken braille of labored breaths.

Whose eyes can read the before and after

Whose tears go "splash" on the cement

At 5 in the morning?

My son
I run the risk of derision and maybe your embarrassment
As I write a "love Letter" to you
My son

But I don't care

Cuz sometimes when time and circumstance
Keep them apart
A father will do
What he must
To stay connected
To his son
Even if means
Sideway glances
From others who preach
That  men folk are not supposed to write
Love letters
To other men folk
Even if the recipient is their son

But I don't care what they think
At all

Love Letter To My Daughter

You used to be daddy's girl
I used to be your everything
You doctored me when I was ill
I followed you to distant lands
You made me laugh until I cried
I found my smile in your approval

My darling daughter
I fight every day to stay connected to your eyes
To keep my name and title alive
In your mind
On your tongue
In the air
To bring you ease and safety on a flying carpet made of rocks and feathers

My amazing Grace
I fight every day to see you through gilded eyes
As I run a race against time
Anchored to a past that slows me down
With chains of ash and smoke that dull my senses
Leaving me at the crossroads of truth and make believe
Of tears and smiles
Of duty and need
Of you and me on a warm Pasadena afternoon and the valley where you captured my heart forever

I look at you today, my Radiant one
And hope that you know without condition
That my love for you is constant
Is forever
Like God
And Light
And Air
And Life

It never ceases
It Never leaves
Is always here
Is Always yours
Always
Always
Always

Yours
Papa

Friday Rain

Is it me?

Or are my children drifting farther away

While the woman I love has gone far away

And it's raining a rain that even I can't enjoy

On this blank day in December

Is it me?

Is it me?

Or am I back to this rusty familiar

That hides just behind my right shoulder

In whispered cotton thoughts steeped in mud

Ever since I can remember

Is it me?

Is it me?

Or am I nowhere

Everywhere

Here and there

Still unsure of which direction I should send my next breath

Solid in the abstraction of the unknown moment

When I can pretend to be as the others are

When I can sit without the isolation of my singular thoughts that search for knowing ears

When I can be in the mirror of it all and still know that I matter

When the joy and swooping voices of strangers remind me of love

And not fear

Is it me?

I had hoped that one day the day would come

When the birds would join me and affirm my flight

When the sky would wink at me before growing dark

When the ones I loved would come home for dinner

When the ball and chain that stayed on my left heel would roll pass me by

Without looking back but leaving the words "see ya" lingering in the air in its wake

Leaving me to breathe in this free air which until now had danced around me like quicksilver 

Like marshy fog

Like jesus and santa claus hidden in one gift-wrapped present

Only to find an empty box at the end of Christmas Day

I had hoped for this kind of romance and magic and rain and reflection

I had hoped for solid

For clear

For you

But more questions than answers invade this barren afternoon

And the rain feels old and dusty

And I wish I had better news for my ancestors 

My father

My grandmother

And all the rest

Yet all I have to offer up is the question

Shrouded in guilt

Lonely in its final strides to some kind of sunset 

Behind some kind of clouds

Bringing some kind of rain

The question

Again

Is

Is it me?

Is it me?

Is it...

Love Letter To My Children

Know, my children, that this never gets easier
Never gets easy
Never gets comfortable
Never for me - your father
Never

I remember those days of old
When you knew few words
When everyday was filled with discovery made brighter by your smiles
When it was beyond my wildest dreams
When it was profoundly unfathomable
That this reality would become our life
On a regular
Would become our norm
When even a few days away would leave my heart so empty
So sad
So Alone
To be away from you
That it would skip to an irregular cadence

Those were the days when you would comfort my sad eyes
With airport  hugs that left me longing for the smell of your perfect necks
And those eyes that gently looked at me in wonder
That said, 'Why are you sad, daddy?'

It never got easy.
Never
And I was always disappointed that I wasn't stronger
That it would be you who would have to comfort me
And each time I would promise myself that this time would be different

But

Broken promises

And Years later

Broken promises

And Years later

This heart still skips to an irregular cadence whenever I have to say 'goodbye' to you

My children
My breath
My light

 .... Papa @MSP Airport

Ballad For The Sisters (From a Brother in Solitary Refinement) November 2008

My sisters, my sisters, I've been here you know
But it's damned if I stay, damned if I go
So I stand still and wait and hope
That you might hear this solitary drone
Or notice me on the side of the road
With my thumbs pointed neither east nor west
But out to you as you fly by
On your golden throne which, believe it or not,
I willingly shine as you sleep at night

My sisters, my sisters, I've been here you know
But it's damned if I stay, damned if I go

Though I confess that I did once look to foreign shores
My nostrils found the air devoid of salt and spice and soul and You
So I turned away with hull intact
Sails puffed out on a holy mission
Determined to to prove my love to you
Confident that you would notice

But the winds blew my heart to and fro
And I lost my way in a fog of whispery voices
"Where have all the good ones gone/
You can't find one/
Unless he's married/
Or locked up/
Or lying/
Or cheating/
Or beating/
Or with a white girl...

The whispers say

So I ask the question, since I've not been had
If the good ones are gone
Does that make me, in my blackness, bad
And what do I do with your looks of surprise
When I step through the door with arms to myself?
And you turn away as if to say
"What's wrong with him?"
"Something must be wrong with him."
While I'm left standing with that "save face" smile
With a dampened forehead
And hands looking for a place to hide

Yet I'm willing to stand and hope for you
'Cause you look like the queens who raised me, you do!
And as you sleep I'll continue to shine
That Golden Throne - yours and mine

So my sisters, my sister, I'm still here you know
Let them damn me for staying
'Cause I'll be damned if I go!

written at the Givens Black Writers Retreat - November 8, 2008

My 15 year old Son

As a friend said recently
I'm not trying to be smug
And it's not that I don't care
It's just that it's all been said
Time And Time Again
The question remains
What do we do

My 15 year old son
My African American son
My African American Teenage son
Called me last night
And we talked
About stuff
And it was good
And my love for HIM
Grew Deeper
Surprising me
For it had already been the deepest thing I'd ever known

We talked about
Police
We talked about
Being aware
We talked about
The white neighborhood where he lives

We talked

We talked about
His girlfriend
And football camp
We talked about his job

We talked

"Police"
"Be aware"
"Live"

And we hung up
And I was left
Grateful
And Fearful
And sad

For my son
My African American Teenage Son
Lives in a world
Where he will never be allowed
To just be.

This Piece Of Road

Oh Lord, Lord, Lord...
This piece of road is cobbled like my heart today
Is empty like my stomach
Is steep like the cliffs in my eyes
Falling
Rolling
Down.

Oh Lord, Lord, Lord...
This piece of road seems  not walkable today
It pushes up
Heavy against the bottoms of my feet
Hidden shards of broken bottles
Cut me
Again and again
And Again

(written back in March (i think) while in Milwaukee)

This Gipsy

(This entry won't be poetic)

Sitting here in my dressing room
Act III of A Raisin In The Sun
Playing George Murchison so I have a lot of time to myself
Sitting here
Worried
Trying to hold on to a feeling of gratitude for the blessing of this job
Knowing that there are a lot of actors who are unemployed
Trying to stay positive
But worried
Again
About the next moment
About the great unknown
This thing that I do
This thing that compels me
For I know that I would not
Could not survive this life
If I were not able to do what God put me here to do
What my ancestors fought for
My right to follow my calling
So for that, I am grateful
Because I want to live

This is my calling
I really had no choice
I HAD to do this
The few times when I've looked to other shores
I've not been able to breathe
I've found myself drowning
Dying
Slowly
And that is why I know that if I want to live I have to follow this elusive thing
It pulls me like the tide married to a thousand ancient moons

But Lord, why is it still so difficult?
Why, after 29 years, am I still wondering how it is that I'll be able to make this month's bills?
Why, after all this time; all this work; all this life lived
Why am I back at this perpetual ledge of self-reflection?
Self-criticism
Uncertainty
Humbled to admit that I am what I am/where I am/all that I am
A black man in the american Theatre
A black man who looks Asian/Spanish/Mixed/Filipino/Indian (Not Blackfoot but BlackIndia)
Guyanese/African American/African Caribbean
A man in the theatre

"Where are you from?"
"What should we do?"
"We need to create our own stuff."
"Why don't we support our own stuff?"
"There's Tyler..."
"Don't hate the brother. He's doing his thing."
"Why don't we create our own stuff?"
"We have enough money in our communities."
"We have issues."
"Whose money should we take?"
"We talk about this all the time."
"I've had this conversation before."

I don't know what the answer is.
Does somebody
Anybody
Have an answer?
Have a new perspective?

We are a beautiful people
With a light that survived the middle-passage
The sugar cane
The rice
The tobacco
Plantations

The journey north
The rope
Hoses
Fires
Fear

Does anyone have an answer
A new perspective
Because I'm at that ledge again
And it's almost time for curtain call
And this gipsy is worried
More than ever
If there will be another one
In his future

I love my children
And so...

I've Been Traveling

I haven't written for a while
But I've been traveling

From Guyana
To Chicago
To DC
To Cincinnati
Where I saw Jesus
In a crocheted scarf
Newly made
From fingers of love

I've been traveling

To Minneapolis
Again

To Minneapolis

Again

I've been traveling

Where I
Some twenty years ago
Found home in a place
Called Mixed Blood
So it was fitting
To return there
Where it all began
With Black Belts
And I-beams
With, "Jack, I'm an actor too..."
And "I haven't forgotten."
With, "I'm a musician, too. I write songs..."
And "I know."

And so it was
That in the Land
Of Ten Thousand Lakes
And Things
That I was blessed
With opportunities

To Succeed

And fail

To work

And grow

To live

That I was
Blessed
With the Opportunity
To help
To create
My greatest gifts

A son
A daughter
A reason
To live
To live
A better life
Each day

And so it was
And is
That I continue
Traveling on
This journey
This journey that brought me to
Milwaukee
Last night
Tired
Smiling
Ready to turn the page
Blank with possibilities

Ready to go for a run
And find my people
Like I always do
In a new town
My "my People" radar
Never fails me
In a new town
Never

So I know I haven't written
I know that it's been while

Yet I will find
Us

I will find
Me

I will find
It

I will find
You

I always do
No matter where
I've been traveling

The Burial

Two days ago
I helped to slide a box
That held
The shell
Of a woman
Who was my grandmother
Into a cement room
The box coming to a gritty halt
At an angle which left me unfulfilled
On top of another vaulted dwelling
That houses my grandfather's shell
Next to yet another where my favorite auntie

A Saint
Is laid.

And there they will stay

Until the winds
And storms
Of a future time
Scatter the dust of their remains
Into a a new world which I cannot conceive.

Two days ago

I
Along with Seven other Men
Navigated two precarious wooden planks
As we crossed the trench
And landed on a small patch of mud and grass and Ashes

And Old

Carrying a beautiful brown Wooden box
Which held within its finite walls
A beautiful Brown Lady
Who looked vaguely familiar
Yet Nothing like I had imagined.

And the women

Her daughters
Sang hymns
As a stranger
Poured water
And mixed
More Cement
Piecing together
A jigsaw puzzle
Of stone
And mud
The wall
The gate
Growing in size
Until it reached the top

More water

More hymns
Bodies shifting
High heels magically remaining upright
In the uneven Earth
In the old.

Two days ago

As the dusk landed on our heads
And in our hearts
We celebrated the end of an era
As a stranger smoothed the last of the wet cement
With indifference
And my cousin carved the brown lady's  beginning and end
With lines that slanted
The woman who gave me warm bread

Every day

Was finally laid to rest
Leaving us
Her family
Her tribe
Here
To Carry on

Salt Fish and Bakes

104 years old

My grandmother has one foot in this world
And one foot in the next
Granny
I pray that your journey is full of joy and laughter
I pray that Granddad is right there waiting for you
I pray that all your undeniable faith is rewarded
I pray that you're okay

I love you with all the heart that you gave me

You took me in
When no one else would
You gave me safety
And Bread
Special hugs with arms that felt as if made for me

You also tore this ass up
On many
Many
Afternoons
As the salt water breeze came through the 3rd street window
To a chorus of "NO GRANNY, IT WASN'T ME"

We all got it
"and in this judgement there is no partiality..."

You gave so much
To so many

A legend
Built from sheer will
Sweat
Solid arms
And bread baked every afternoon
Bread that would be shared with all who were fortunate enough
To walk up the steps on the side of the house
And venture in
To Granny's house

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Adams"
Serene
Mums
Itta
Granny

So I pray for you this day
Wishing that I could do more
Knowing that what I can do
Will do
Must do
Is all because of you
And your You
The beauty of it
Undeniable
Unshakable

Serene
Madeline
VanSluytman
Adams

Granny
Gran
Granny
Gran
Granny
Gran

Granny.

Safe

~As we approach our final week of performances
It has become more clear than ever what a gift this play - The Brothers Size - has been~

Such is this gift
That I don't want to let it go
Yet I must

This has been one of those moments that, as an actor, I have craved
The timing has been perfect
It has allowed me to grow and journey
Into the fertile land that is the love between Black Men
A love that I continue
A love that I try to throw against the wall in my work
A love that has pulled me, pushed me, held me, terrified me, kept me
For most of my years
Alive

Such is this gift
That I feel I can't let it go
Yet I think I must

As is the case at the end of every run
One moves on
One lets go and moves forward
With hopefully a little more than when he started

Yet

This play - The Brothers Size
Has brought back to life my best friend who was... is... is...
Elegba
Lil Legba
Legba
Drifting like the moon
Appearing at my window
Like a Glimmer Of moonLight
For a moment
Standing in the early morning air
For a moment
Singing a song
Eating candy
For a moment
Is gone
Is gone?

Such is this gift
That I don't want to let it go
Must I?
Should I?
Dare I?

"Hell to the nah!"
This is one of those gifts that comes along once in a LifeTime!
Once!

So I think I'll keep this one
Sew up this hole in my pocket
And place it there
Safe
Safe

I'll keep this one
Put it in my pocket
Take these pants off
Put them in a secret
Safe
In the moonlight
Safe
From the midnight riders
Safe

Safe!

My Gratitude

A rainy, chilly morning in the Mini Apple.

I miss my kids.

Even though I saw my son's football game yesterday

And relived so many childhood and adolescent memories through the way he played

The way he moved

Even though I saw him

Looked into his eyes

I miss him this morning

I miss his sister

My daughter

Even though we're in the general vicinity of each other

Even thought we "connect" through texts and messages and distant laughter

I miss her

I miss her mind

I miss her heart

I miss her hugs

The way she would rub my head when I wasn't feeling well

And tell me stories until I fell asleep

My STRENGTH and WISDOM

My PRIDE and JOY

I miss you

I miss you both

You are my gratitude

You are my breath

You are my gratitude

You are my breath

You are my gratitude

You are my breath...

Sunday Morning

 Sunday Morning

I've always heard my fellow actors worry, as they come to the end of a job, if they'll ever work again. I suppose I've felt that trepidation at different times also. What I know now, at this point in my 30 year career, is that every opportunity is priceless and absolutely unique. I know that there are no guarantees about that next gig no matter who reminds you that 'you work all the time!' I supposed I'm a little (or maybe a lot) worried today because, once again, as I look down the road I have no real idea of what I'll be doing - nothing tangible, nothing guaranteed. Yet, as I stop to pause, I realize that none of us really knows what's down the road. None of us! And though some may have a clearer idea than I do, I refuse to be consumed by fear and trepidation on this SUNDAY MORNING. Why? Because it's Sunday Morning, and today I'm choosing to be filled with God's Grace; today I'm choosing to be grateful for the job that I DO have; today I choose to be thankful and relish in the blessings that have been gifted to me. I have two amazing teenagers who fill my world with joy. I have the love of a wonderful woman who has my back. I have the gift of creativity that God gave me. I have my health, and yes - I still have a job - I get to go onstage later and spit HOLY WORDS written by one of God's Messengers.  Today, I have it all.

This Sunday morning - I am the most blessed man in the world!

That Bridge

Okay world, HERE GOES.

I'm new to this world of blogging and, even though I've planned to do this for a while, it just hasn't been the right time. To tell the truth, I still don't know if it's the right time. From someone who is very private with... well... private stuff, it's a huge leap to share my... private stuff. Of course I'm thinking to myself, 'well then share stuff that's not so private. What do you want to say? Why? Who's it for? Get out of your comfort zone. Connect with others. Stop procrastinating.' Um... yeah.

So I'll go slow and be simple and hope that my offerings will speak to someone out there who reads this.

STILL STANDING
I went to that bridge
I really did.
And started to walk across.
Midway
I stopped
And thought
And looked
For an answer to a world that had landed on my head
For a reflection that would say my name
For a song that would straighten my back
And girder my voice
And entomb the dark ashes
That skidded down
Stopping, only for a moment,  on that high cheekbone ledge.
My face
Lost eyes
Empty hands that had forgotten their hue.

I went to the bridge
That bridge
That door
And Midway I stopped
And looked behind
For an answer
To this song with no music
Looked to the sky
For that bird
Looked to the water for a mermaid
A siren
Another world
Where I could be
Where I could simply be
At rest

And in that murky
December water
With voices underneath that would be trapped till Spring
I stole the briefest glimpse
Of a man
This man
Oh, man
Still standing