oh how i love the weeks after nats.... we will be back..

and with vengeance.
i am chained and shackled.
if i am to be a prisoner,
let it be no place outside
the drumming of
your heart.
i shall remain,
locked
just below your
rib cage.
as i know,
no other,
cell,
lonelier than
the isolation
of loving you.
i don't want to be
released.
nor do i wish
to live the life
of a martyr..
i've torn down that
cross,
sacrificed the wood,
swallowed those nails..
and my spent blood,
has nourished,
and feed
those starved
for my pain.
my wounds,
open, and infectious.....................

kdtaylor, 2007
section 8 coffee publications
all rights reserved

jillio 24 days and counting......................

when you can't apologize for who you love.....

jazzy harlem blues

if I could create a
picture of perfection;
it would encompass
only her smile.
or perhaps the way
she looks into me
to see right through me,
past my hurt and shame.
or the way she loving
hangs courage on my fears,
and rests her head comfortably
against nightmares
that won’t sit still,
even in my waking hours.
she is infinite beauty
sound fantastic tripping
a long the horizon,
gliding across the
night time sky;
attaching herself
to the moisture of
heaven’s passion,
manifesting itself as humidity
clinging lifelessly
against my shallow breaths.
the rise in her cheeks,
rests somewhere between my
great grandmother’s Sunday hum,
and the absence of my mother’s voice.
when she blinks,
the bat of her eyelashes,
clash against regina carter’s
blazing jazz violin
and the brash arrogance
rushing from mile’s trumpet.
once a tear fell,
and I heard
billie, bird, coltrane, and dizzy,
moaning, wailing and nodding
in the shadows just
outside my mind.
she,
well she is simply,
my jazzy harlem blues.
bluer than
historic blue notes
drunken, tumbling out
of wooden doors
onto gritty stoops
of the grimy
manhattan streets.
her movements,
foot steps tapping
concrete and asphalt,
reminiscent to
fingers caressing piano keys.
she, mesmerizing.
when she walks,
she plays a beat
only I can hear.
whether it’s in the distance
or playing loudly against
the clatter in my head.
I can’t dance,
but I try.
moving,
only to the feeling
that encapsulates my senses,
arithmetically dictating
the skipping of my heart’s beat.
and like an animal
thrashing wildly for freedom,
I move desperately as not to be
captured,
alive.
she pounds music,
beneath the
weight of ancestral cries,
and late night calls
that are met with
unrelenting dial tones.
painfully
harmonious.
holding me down,
like a standing bass
base line rhythm.
her thoughts,
banging drums,
with the sting of cymbals,
drowning the mundane
simplicity of my life.
I want to pull songs from
her heart
while kissing the
sway of her hips
and listen to her sweet sultry moans
as a soloist’s soprano screams.
we battling saxes
under red stars in clay dirt.
tribal and on fire.
she is my bass line; chorus,
bridge and break.
breaking me,
breaking me down,
like trip hip hop,
hypnotic percussion, scratching,
against the black waxed
grove of a 45 or
acid jazz sampled over screwed show tunes.
she is simply my jazzy harlem blues
remixed and extended,
playing over and over and over again.
and if,
if I could paint a picture of beauty,
it would encompass only her smile,
because I have memorized her.
she is my favorite song...
and I hang from her notes,
no matter how low or high.
the rise in her cheeks rests somewhere
between my great grandmother’s Sunday hum,
and the absence of my mother’s voice.
a necessary pain.
because she,
well she is simply my
jazzy harlem blues.

kdtaylor, 2007
section 8 coffee publications
all rights reserved

Grateful Wednesdays

Normally there would be a list if thir13teen items/things/people/occurrences that happened posted here. I copied the idea from Angel, who, for the most part, inspires me to be the person outside the public eye in the public. So often, she, like, Mo and ELM can convince me to do almost anything. Mind you this is not a public service announcement for Angel (HEY BOO! BLINKY... BLINKY). This is simply my truth. And I so wish everyone had some one to inspire them or serve as an inspiration to others.

Yes, below a riddle.. because well, hell, people personalize shit, and well.. Prayerfully out of site is out of mind, but some of you, I truly miss. And I want to thank you, thanks for the gossipless e-mails, phone calls and laughter. Thanks for being genuinely interested in me and my well being, and allowing me to do the same for you! Also, thanks for putting up with my butt, and really, continuing to be a part of my life.

And I want tell ya, thanks for allowing me to be and do me.


keep it appropriately moving.

holla,

k. i. am.

Good, bad or indifferent. If you know my heart, you know where you stand. In true me fashion, a f'in riddle. I loves ya.


01) A village - tat coming soon.
02) My stink, my niece and nephew
03) Dark, rich, wood
04) An angel
05) A flowing color
06) A dream and a month
07) A baby kangaroo
08) color girl downtown
09) aw shucks chucks
10) Terri/Adrienne (decades of friendship)
11) sorry, ________ i am fa real! never meant...
12) a muse
13) echo to my heart beat.

my mantra

that jillio will be released in 36 days. she is my true first love.

Ghosts

my heart pounded a poem
my lips are afraid to part with
or for…
fearing they may betray a secret.
betray you.
your presence deceivingly
has stolen my shallow breaths.
my heart paces against time
racing our lives back into your God’s womb.
my tongue etched and blistered
with bastard languages
unknown to man;
whisper wishes
inaudibly in frequencies
only she can hear
traveling
braille like across the expanse
to fall softly upon her ears.
I want to witness the inception
of her heart’s desire.
the separation of land and sky.
birth of the first sun’s set and rise.
the light of her eyes
or wisdom’s water
flowing freely from
the sultry rouged pout of her lips.
stripped of inhibitions,
exposing frailties
as innocent as man’s
evil intent
on bended knee,
I pray
and wait to taste her essence.
even if waiting forever
means a solitary drop.
it is she
I truly thirst.
like the beaded sweat a top
an angel’s wing’s flapping frantically
against the wind and storms,
carrying human error
toward the pearly skies
I am doggedly determined
to begin inside you.
like hours to minutes to seconds to oblivion
I am
stilled in the space between pregnant pauses
and dead silence.
paralyzed.
forced into a parallel existence
skip
-ping along the pained surface
of hues that bleed and meld
like rain bowing backward
into a mischievous grin
against a kaleidoscope
of colors swallowed whole.
I am…
blackness.
infinitely dark.
painted with bleak possibilities.
mimicked tears fall against
the backdrop
of my indiscretions.
my mind remembers
fingers burned by
nothingness’ familiar complexities.
I pull back cautiously
caught between suspicion and illusion.
I want, but
can’t,
love you.
I have loved the unknown,
slept with bed sheets that breathe,
morph,
shape shift into lovers
that creep between
dissatisfaction and self- annihilation.
we can’t love ghosts (thanks jo!)
but we repeatedly allow them to
fuck us into submission.
I have desperately
loved
those hidden,
locked in dungeons,
stored in closets
crept among cobwebs,
residing somewhere between
my heart’s betrayal
and the cracking of it’s break.
I want to run to you,
dropping my past like a
million pennies
cascading across the sky,
and not wait for
or want to hear it’s fall.
your scent of hope
is reminiscent to
first goodbyes
and fisted dollar bills
sitting neatly a top
dank desk drawers
in seedy motels.
don’t judge me by
utterances from
mouths disguised as
bathroom walls
and stalls…
they speak their truths
all lies in my eyes.
simply the
sound of chains bellowing,
dragging my love
across dusty floors
along corridors.

kdtaylor, 2007
section 8 coffee publications
all rights reserved

Repeat.. I needed a laugh

1. Love is a schizophrenic transsexual wearing a mini skirt with stiletto heeled combat boots, and, DAMN that BITCHISFIERCE.....
2. Love is a fat, lazy ass, selfish, last big piece of chicken grabbing mofo that cares for nothing other than, well of course, the big piece of chicken.
3. Love is a felony convicted, STD infected, $5.00 whore, with a dime of excuses appearing in front of a county judge for the umpteenth time.
4. Love is a never ending bombastic, super stesno-phonic fart echoing along the aisle of a public library.
5. Love is a seven eyed, twenty legged, fourteen inch, green german cockroach plummeting from your refrigerator, clutching the last cold heiniken.
6. Love is a toothless, nearsighted carnivorous vampire sucking bone marrow from your eyeballs while you are trying to sleep.
7. Love is twin two inch puss-filled zits, surrounded by a zillion ant bites, and one REALLY BIG WART, covering your face the night of your senior prom.
8. Love is a winged, usher for the devil who mistook you for a garden tool, and used your teeth, gums, toes, and finger, sans fingernails and nailbeds, to claw it's way from hell.

ça va sans dire, it goes without saying Love can be painful, but it's worth the journey once you get to the other side.

two days latter

That's me at the beginning of my poetry week... mouth open... in Mo's writing workshop. Goofing off in front of the camera...

I know not to blog to early, as I am emotional, and emotions bleed from my pages. With the negativity behind me, and in the BIG scheme of things it was soooooo small. 'cUZ EVERYTHING ELSE IS HUGE! THANK G.O.D. FOR THE FIRST TWO WEEKS OF AUGUST!!!

My poetry vacation started out cool.. Mo came down and did the Institute. Damn good show as always and the highlight of the week was not just the capacity filled ballroom (TO SEE AND HEAR POETRY!!!) it was also the capacity filled workshop she conducted. It was HUMBLING to watch educators, parents, social workers, substance abuse counselors, write poems about themselves. DANG!!!! To see the smiles upon their faces while writing a poem about themselves. Then placed in small groups to write GROUP POEMS about their GROUP!! Hella cool. Who said you couldn't do a group piece in fifteen minutes. They were amazing and entertaining.

One hella show at the Blanton came a day later. Neo made me so proud.... Truly..

The weekend included a "street show", a night of jazz and poetry which was as hot as the night's temperature. Again the Team did well. They were ON POINT......

Sunday, PURPLE ticklers and bag stuffing.... HAHAHAHAHAHA I got a black one!!!

Monday, I was so damn excited I could hardly contain myself. Early arrivals... Man a lot of hard work. Again thanks for all people who participated in the volunteer efforts. You did that... No matter how small you believe the contribution.... even if you stuffed bags!!! You did that and thanks...

My girl Vicki created and donated t-shirts to the Team.... They loved them... It made me so happy....

Tuesday was the hardest night. I watch Neo go up without me. I have ALWAYS REP'D NEO, so this HURT LIKE A MUTHER... DAMN.. it was bittersweet and I experienced A LOT OF regret... One day I'll trust someone with these emotions. Not today.. HOWEVER...I was so happy and proud of their week long effort. Of the Woman who emerged as a leader... and the Women who came though as performers... Of everyone who stepped up and out of themselves.

By Wednesday, I was tired.... so tired... Dominoes late night was off the chain!!!! We kicked ass.. We gotta go gambling somewhere with that partnership! HAHAHAHA

Earned the nickname Domino (from Jive) for the game against my partner 7... You had to be there. I was drunk and tired. The brother, 7, has love from me for life, he put up with my bs so well....

Thursday, I was the walking glazed over... 9am to 5am ain't no joke.... I could go on and on and on about the positive, because there was sooooooooooooo much.

I mean the week, has been one of my yearly highlights for the last 4 years... can't wait till next year.....

NEO, MO, NUYO, JIVE, QUEEN SHEBA, DASHA, OZ, THE STALKER PIECE, THE WIZARD OF OZ PIECE (fcking clever!), Q, MAZE FOREVER, COPA, THE MIRROR PIECE, THE WOMEN'S READING, SEVEN, BROTHER SAID, MANNY, WILL DA REAL ONE, CHUNKY, LOUDER, KILLEEN, ANGEL H, ANGLE W, FRANCIE, MZ JACKSON, JO VZ, ERICA, GAS PRICES, WHOOPIECAT, KATT, MISSY, PIMP JUICE, DOMINOES, CARDS, HYATT, LATE NIGHT TALKS, WALKS, VOLUNTEERS, EVERYONE, POETRY, POETS, GOD, MOST HIGH, WEED, BEER, STARBUCKS, EVERYONE, TOO MANY TO LIST, JIBBERISH, JIBBERISH, JIBBERISH, THANKS MIKE FOR CALLING ME...

Grateful nonetheless....

01) mo beezey and jive.. 'nuff said.
02) one fantastic hellafied week of poetry.
03) seeing old friends, making new ones.
04) my new nick name "Domino" hahahahahahaha
05) the Lou... Copa give 7 my number...
06) watching Eb and Lizz shine in a piece they claimed as their own. domestic abuse, faye and eb, ugh danm.
07) all the help i received from my friends.. it was thankless, but i am grateful...
08) reciting at the women's reading.
09) beginning to plan the show!!!!
10) returning home.. yes, it's always good.
11) putting things in perspective... this is the time i don't read anywhere, just write, i love this time of the year.
12) putting my eyes on the WOW slam...
13) g.o.d and all that i am able to see and feel when i just relax.

bonus... a phone call, just to hear your voice on the other line, so many memories, pain, joy.... damn.

Hell... I forgot.. They Called YOUR NAME FROM THE STAGE Though

Thanks ELM and JO V.Z not always clear about my expectations, but you guys really helped me in the end.. I know neither of you had the week off like I did, so... what you did when you were able was good...
didn't think about it until i realized how "messy" my friend and volunteer comment could be interpreted...

National Poetry Slam

This past few days have been some of the highest and lowest points. Felt a multitude of emotions which left me feeling conflicted, confidant, loved, and like my sister who recently shed the "old" to allow "new" into her life, I, feel the same. Let's begin....

- Mo Browne has got to be the coolest, illest, sister friend I have met in a long damn time. I feel like crying each time she comes into town, because I know eventually we have to say "see ya later" and that later is always months..... Thanks for giving me that extra burst... And thanks for Guy.... I love my nick name: Domino. Where ever I lay my head, you can always call it home. Love you...

- Angel, Tee - Tee, Ebony.. you already know. Chucks, Veedubs and B-ball....

- My baby girls rocking the shit out of Daddy... Eb and Faye rocking Domestic Abuse.

- Team Charlotte (Slam and Respect the Mic) "... all I ever had, Redemption Song."

- PSI asked me to be the Volunteer Coordinator for the Women of the World Slam, March 2008. I told them I would definitely do it, if I do not earn a spot to compete.

- Neo is in the top 25.. Killeen earned # 2 spot.. Congrats to both Teams.

- I found my muse.

- Thanks Angel W., Angel H., Francie, Mz. Jackson and Dora for filling in at the last minute. It meant a hellalot. Trey, Rocky, Myra, and Angie' thanks for following up and through. Angie, let's go to Chicago!

Of all the compliments and accolades I received during the week. Steve Marsh asking me to do Chicago was the BESTEST! I lost at least 5 pounds, and it's the hardest I've ever worked in my life. Over all it was a blast, I met a lot of interesting people. The compliment from Louder after I finished my poem at the Women's reading was like whoa... FCKING LOUDER ARTS!

The lowest... I know I cannot please all... I can say that I have tried (AT TIMES), and it's exhausting. The volunteer and "friend" shit was disappointing. Really. I knew better, but you live and learn. I worked my ass off every night from 9:00 am to 1:00 am. Going to all five venues every night! Thanks to those who called me everyday to see what I needed (bRandy and Angel). Francie and Angel thanks for making sure I ate. Now....

The chair shit. And all it REALLY is, is just that, "SHIT".

Note: I asked three friends to work finals selling merchandise for me, as I had two volunteers that had to go home for emergencies. I saved three chairs for them to sit in as a favor. A small reward for what they were willing to do for me. I can't be responsible for anything other than the three that were CLEARLY MARKED "Taylor". If your last name was not Taylor you should not have been sitting there. I could have REALLY clowned you, those three seats were reserved by NPS for the THREE WOMEN WHO VOLUNTEERED FOR US AT THE LAST MINUTE. I owed them a decent seat. I don't owe an explanation to ANYONE, however, it's better to PUT IT HERE, so that when ANYONE bitches about it, it won't be misconstrued. Matter of fact, it might be best to apologize to Angel, Francie and Angel H. I am not responsible for anyone else and where they sit. I never said I would hold seats. I never said I would create a spot for people to sit. I was responsible for things much larger than petty shit regarding who and where ADULTS would sit in an open seated theater. But I was RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT I SAID TO THEM. So while you want to talk crazy to me in a theater, make faces, roll eyes, and all the other shit you do... To be insulted or caught off guard by my insistence on who would sit in those seats is an insult to me and THEM. I WORKED MY ASS OFF FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO DO THAT FOR THEM! I OWED THEM THAT! For YOU or any one else with sense of entitlement or the simple minded belief that some how I owe YOU something is fcking insane.

And if you're mad and stop speaking. I mean decide to stop faking. COOL. 'Cuz honestly, I don't call you or talk to you, and you'll be helping me shed A LOT of weight. The weight I've been trying to drop for along time.... Really.