smells like a dirty hamster cage and socks.
I was in a car accident today. No one was hurt. No one human that is. My car (if it could speak) would dispute through a broken grill and bent hood that a crushed bumper is less than okay.
The cause of the accident – a sudden stopping woman in front of me. The light was green. GREEN! It seems someone took an illegal left turn in front of her and rather than proceeding cautiously on her right turn, she slammed on brakes. So did I. After I ran into her.
I called the police and the officer (who was very nice) told me that the state of Georgia deems me to be entirely at fault. Now I have a citation, a court date, and a less than pretty car. It does NOT feel like Kennsday today.
Well, at least I’m not hurt. My body that is. I suspect my wallet will be in reconstructive surgery for the next couple of months. I am calm and seething with a feeling of injustice at once.
This morning at 7am I ran my first marathon (actually a half). I have been training for this 13.1 mile skip for about four months but I didn’t prepare for what faced me. Most of my training was during the sweltering months of late summer so my body wasn’t quite ready for the cold wind and lower temperatures. I was encouraged by the number of people of different ages and body types participating.
I finished under the allotted time and I’m glad that I took on such a task as I feel quite accomplished with a nice medal to boot. Will my next adventure be a full (26.2 miles) marathon? Tune in to this same bat-channel next week to find out.
Today, Genex (the company at which I am a Flash Developer) announced that it would be closing its Atlanta office and consolidating business to its LA office by December 23rd. ‘Tis the season to look for employment elsewhere
Faith licker, finger pricker, blood thicker, pull trigger, click clicka
Run Bigger run nigga, dirt kicker, mortis rigor, faith sicker, God digger.
How can I concatenate to He?
Dossier of my prior won’t let me be
Judged and tried and can’t pay the fee
Then suddenly released on a technicality
A loophole and prophecies thrice said
A bruised heel crushes a wicked head
To win His bride, He obediently shed
God dredge. It is written. Jesus said.
Vampire hunters just bear it
Followers of heresy just swear it
Thugged-out rappers just wear it
The homeless mission just Jesus Cares” it
Do they dig it though? Can you dig it?
The cross the cross the old rugged cross
I’m not saying she’s a God digger. Her loss.
© 2006 kenn Bivins
Once upon a time there was a young boy whose name was… well… let’s see
To protect the innocent, we’ll address young Kenn discreet and anonymously
So this shy, young boy who lacked no love grew up in a loveless town
Shy though spry with a detailed eye his imagination knew no bounds
Then teenage years and the furlough of tears and more than his share of rage
Young boy departed from Nadine and pristine to work where sin offered wage
Of Shakespearean tragedy or a life less than raggedy, boy succumbed to be spent
Not Allah nor Buddah nor Vishnu nor Gouda could clarify at all what it meant
Near ending his zeal, boy cried to ceiling for a purpose or some hint of reason
Then a fit of pure Grace and a Love apt for lace gave fruit to seeds planted out of season
Intellectually revealed, God showed boy His will and how Jesus was more than a cross
How He suffered then died and is now living inside and with Spirit he’d never be lost
Hallelujahs and praise and bent knees for days and walking together in rain
Then sudden or slow or how I don’t know but boy experienced a dim change…
Boy didn’t call half as much or want to be touched or trust that God could allay his fear
And the forbidden thought of taking hold of another came close where it never came near
Duplicitous and ambiguous and suddenly conspicuous, this accord an inconsistent haze
No engrossed studying His missives or echoes of praise or covenant of sun-filled days
Who was this boy? This Jekyll and Hyde? This Jesus on his skin yet someone else inside?
Mirror mirror on the wall please do confide, He’s not Clark Kent so one of them must die
I… no… he… no… boy… no… you see… this story, my story, like rain… grace and peace
Forgiveness and a funeral dirge has become this boy’s recurring theme. Continued to be…
© 2006 kenn bivins
Symmetry is but skin deep and I’m in a sentimental mood
Kaleidoscopes and Coltrane and the serendipity of you
Intoxicated ramblings drunk from the elixir of your dew
Never said I was so sinless but I am an heir of a great Jew
Some say that the crop is considered from the root
Some say the fool is wisest when he’s mute
Some say that I am a man of good repute
I say your skin makes me wonder of your fruit.
Nerve endings and oil glands and blood vessels do compose
And collagen and elastin and goose bumps when youre cold
I love your skin and the fruit within if I may be so spry and bold
And this love, dear Dove still stays above when gravity wins the fold
Some say beauty is skin deep from the tooth
Some say my unannounced Dove looks a lot like you
Some say what’s within is worth declaring all the truth
Your vellum dermis casing skin it lovingly announces… YOU.
© 2006 kenn bivins
Hand in hand and flesh to flesh
Entrapped am I beneath your mesh
We take our time, breathe deep and slow
Pure ecstasy, our adagio
The clock has afforded with her chime
The sunset has deemed this is the time
Waxy, oily, balmy, wet
So unlike the runner’s sweat
Cool breeze caress our moistened skin
As I meet you, out then in
Wearing you as some dermis or suit
While suckling nectar as from rare fruit
Sip and lip and drip this wick
While flicker soft, the candles lick
Our shadows dance and lance and prance
As we are held in frenetic trance
Mellifluous is this pictured state
Onlookers would weep and salivate
Museums might have you if I were dead
So I’ll linger long and keep my head
Blessings and doorposts covered in red
God bless this bed from which was wed
I’ll feed you bread, repeat what’s said
No dread, misled, or worn down tread
Aroused from dead, once atrophied now fed
Ensnared am I betwixt your thread
Tenacious, lubricious, moist, and torrid
So much like the protected Forest
Where became my rib when I was sleep
This one I love and eternal keep
We proclaim forever, low audible pitch
Our adagio, our forever fix.
© 2006 kenn bivins
Where my jiggas and darkies at?
Imma ’bout to drop the verse
Bend over limp dick monkeys
And feel my terse until it hurts
Got the snub nose to yo’ flat nose
Don’t care if it brings the po pos
I hate who you reflect
And Imma ’bout to make yo’ toes cold
My momma was a moolingnon
My grandpa was a yoyo
Strange fruit swingin’ like the hate I’m bringin’
Southside set of J Crow
Step wrong, mammy spook
You better come heavy ’round the waist
Lookin’ at me sideways?
You jemimas bout to get a taste
You don’t wanna roll up on me
Else this sawed off kiss yo’ face
This Bigger’s furnace run so deep
That the po po won’t find a trace
House monkeys stay the porch
Real monkeys run the vine
Zulu mammies can’t hang with this
Sellout crispies don’t know the time
Where my spades and jungle bunnies?
I glorify the fiend
I am every desired flavor
While you the black, unwanted jellybean
Got love for my mammies and jemimas though
Got something to make them cream
Ain’t like them zulu tar babies
I done went and made a new team
My brother was a jigaboo
My sister went off to school
She forgot where she came from
She forgot she a fool…
Coons howl at the moon dancing with a broom while a silhouette plays the spoons
Broadcast Emasculation Tragedy signs fools for tunes less forty silvers and a mule.
I think that if I’m nice to some stranger, he will reciprocate. Too often I’m reminded of how naive I may be in that thinking. Today I spoke to a group of obviously gay fellows in passing and got cold stares for my efforts. I wanted to pause and say something to one guy in particular who seemed to have the most disgust for my jovial greeting (I guess gay doesn’t mean happy). Instead I wrote about it. Enjoy my vent.
Muscle-bound black and brown
No hairline with just a frown
On the low be down
Pants around the ankles
Tips touch the ground
Ripped and round
Free yet bound
I said, Hi – he look around
Dude be rude
Ain’t no excuse
You all collude
Provoke this muse
No eye contact
No gimme a pound
Not a sound
Swish and swish
As fox to hound
I’ll verb your noun
I’ll loose your wound
I’ll flat your mound
I’ll help you drown
Black and brown
Low be down
(c) 2006 kenn bivins
Consciously and mindfully and fervently I make my choice
To utter a word and ardent verbs with lack absurd behind this voice
This choice to voice my choice mere hoists, my right and droit and still my choice
Rejoice I voice, fear is slain and moist neath our treads and exploits
So this choice I speak of so literally and deliberately
Is to say something others say so easily without thought or think
Or they’ll wait several moons to allege or to speak
As if the passage of time makes it truth or replete
This thing I choose to say I swear I do mean
And daily renew the vow with the signature of a keen
I feel it, I do it, I want it, don’t rue it,
I will remain true to it, tres palabras renew it
Idioms and dialects and tongues can articulate
Luminous yet simple words that linger and still emanate
Out of mouth yet in the mind and heart and being all around
Vexed, perplexed, and second-guessed, its origins still seem unfound
Enveloping the tangible and vanquishing where I once did shrink
Yielding to express my heart while acting on the words I think
Omnipresent beckoning and vertical lines exploit the voice
Unanimous and magnanimous I consciously have made my choice.
kenn bivins (c) 2006
Gravity like lead, could I be dead?
Can’t focus my mind, can’t feel my legs
Worn down to the wire and way past the treads
I’m beginning to think I’m whatever they said
Eyes half-closed, can’t get out of bed
What faces me otherwise or stands in my stead
Fills me with fear that I’m frozen to dread
What grade would I get? Is it marked up in red?
It’s getting harder to breathe, someone please call a med
I’m in a crowd full of grooms and the only unwed
Away from home for weeks and the fish haven’t been fed
Maybe manna from heaven or just molded old bread
Perspective is vigilant if I can just lift my head
No more squares to triangles or tents without pegs
I’m sure I’m not dead and my Dad has more than once said
This heavy expression is all in my head.
(c) 2006 kenn bivins
Reading an old journal entry showed how deeply someone close to me once hurt me. I chuckle at the intensity of some of my words and how I have a more sunny disposition in my writing these days. Enjoy the words of this once-angry-black-man.
Without me, she’s without kenn
Fettered, unfit, and dark within
Going nowhere and hope so slim
Too deep to tread, too vain to swim
The stench of vomit and rusted sin
And dark and dank and bleak and dim
Her dirge plays like unfamiliar hymns
No sing-alongs nor hopeful glims
Without me, no weeds are trimmed
Her moniker lies, her smile still sins
Like windows and mirrors with broken lens
Or brothers and sisters not akin
Or bleeding organs ‘neath swelling skin
The rainfall floods, the speaker is grim
Hope once had, from my grasp she rends
No apologies nor attempted mends
One day she’ll see but until then
Do cry for her for she’s just… sans kenn.
I wrote this not too long ago and recently shared it with a friend. It had been some time since I read it and upon reading it again, it revived the feelings that wrote it… and it is Spring.
Before autumn and you, all my countenance beheld
Was decay and the podium from whence Hope fell
Stenciled silences and empty faces would pretend,
Lifeless bodies slept ‘neath stoned etchings and then…
I hear you…as an inaudible breeze
Evident by thawing a posthumous freeze
Where once charred birds could no longer fly
I exhale before you as distant lovers sigh
These callouses once protected and fulfilled a need
These callouses now soften, am willing to bleed
To caress, to feel, to sucumb and to reel
To live therefore to heal, to be within your will.
Your will, unchilled embraces of be
If only you’ll believe
For looking to spring we’ll plant the seed
With you, I shall be freed
Meet me in fall.
Ribbons of orange and red and sky and all
Bereshith, my Love, when we meet this fall.