Sometime ago I discovered that I do my best writing when I let go. It seems like I do my best anything when I let go (including playing golf). In other words, most of the time things work out better when I don’t try too hard, don’t get too cerebral; just LET GO AND RELAX.

There is power in “LETTING GO’. Not thinking too hard. Because I let go doesn’t mean I don’t care, of course I do. In fact, it may sound counter intuitive but when I’m  sometimes able to ‘let go’ it allows me to care more. I open myself up to all of the positive universal blessings I’m able to receive. However, the DPL doesn’t have any deadlines , but if you do have one; you can still practice the art of letting go by not putting too many restrictions or expectations on yourself and live in the moment.

We writers can always find something to write about or let that something write us. So, why does  such a term as ‘WRITER’S BLOCK’ exist anyway?  Is it just a way of saying that we either don’t have the time, can’t find the time, lack energy and ideas, too hot, too cold, too hungry… Pick which excuse you want…I’ve used them all and then some.

This time as I started writing I thought of someone very dear to me; my lovely fourteen month old granddaughter ZHURI.   As I pondered a title for this blog, this book came to mind: TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE, a memoir by Mitch Albom about a series of visits to his former sociology professor Morrie Schwartz who had ALS.  Since I’ve decide to do somewhat of a spin off of the title, TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE, I figure I might as well commit to read it one day.

When my oldest daughter, Ashleigh, was pregnant with Zhuri, some of my friends (who were also grandparents) told me that I’m going to be over the moon with joy. I’ll admit I was truly happy to have my first grandkid on the way to join my others (through marriage age ranging from twelve to seventeen). I thought it was a bit of an exaggeration. Happy, yes. But over the moon happy?

I knew what, “OVER THE MOON WITH JOY” meant after Zhuri was born and I held her in my arms after she was born. I felt weightless as if I was actually on the moon. It had been some twenty-eight years or so since I held a newborn baby in my arms (my youngest daughter Mariah). It was surreal.  It was hard to refrain from holding her up to the heavens like that scene in the movie, ‘ROOTS’.

We started watching her when she was only six weeks old. It was an immediate bond.  After giving Zhuri her bottle and patting her lightly on her back until she burped, she would then fall asleep  on my chest just like her mom did so many years ago. My parenting skills were slowly coming back.

Since we are retired, any day of the week would have been good but we quickly staked our claim on Thursdays. Ashleigh and her dad (Mike) agreed and it was settled. THURSDAYS would be our whole day with Zhuri, which soon came  to her staying over night to Friday. This became our set day in addition to any other days we are needed.

This was more than serendipity to me. This was a blessing, divine intervention. I was still here. And very grateful to be around to witness this little one grow before our very eyes. She brings so much joie de vivre. I read to her, sing to her (she doesn’t care about my voice or what key I sing in), read poetry to her, play KUMBYA on the guitar,  TWINKLE, TWINKLE LITTLE STAR on the harmonica. She keeps us entertained and we entertain her. And now we’re at the next phase;  she has graduated to walking  and following us, moving about the house on her own mission. Before she arrives, I take my vitamins for the day.

It is especially nice to know that there are many more African American authors of children’s books than there were when my daughters were growing up. And also so wonderful to actually know an African American author, KARA OLIVER (a close friend of Ashleigh’s) who has written a children’s  book beloved by Zhuri called, YOU GO, GIRL!

This little beautiful girl has brought so much joy to all of those around her. Children have the uncanny ability of helping us to think beyond our capabilities. Believe it or not I find that there is a certain freedom to sometimes step outside of my box and into her world for a moment. There are somedays when Zhuri isn’t  here and I still get up in the morning singing, “if you’re happy and you know it clap your hands…”

I must admit it feels good to know that  Zhuri has been the spark that ignited her mom to tap into and explore writing. And also gratifying to see that Ashleigh has started her own blog,  https://www.beyondmamahood.com/

So, whether you are a seasoned parent, brand new, one on the way or thinking  that you might wanna be a-baby-mama: you may find her introspective thoughts on being a working parent/ mom very interesting as well witness her and Zhuri grow together.

My wife and I look forward to not only Thursdays but any day with Zhuri. I am grateful that (so far) I’m in good health. She looks forward to me doing push-ups with her on my back just like her mother and sister did when they were her age. Now, I’m thinking, perhaps I shouldn’t have introduced push-ups into the equation. I hope my back can hold out for a few more years.

I have to continue to do my best to stay in shape. Keep a watchful eye on my health…

AND FOR THOSE LEGGOS ON THE FLOOR.

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COME ON BABY LIGHT MY FIRE

I have a confession to make; I am definitely not your most prolific writer or blogger. In fact I sometime spend more time thinking about writing than actually writing. I get caught up living life. Okay. Okay…another confession. I’m not as disciplined as I would like to be; that is until my back is against the wall and I have to come out swinging, I mean writing. Then I come out like Mike Tyson for a few rounds. Then I go back inside my cavern like those creatures on the bottom of the ocean floor. This may not be the best metaphor but it’s one I find amusing. I applaud all of the literary Mike Tysons out there. Writing day in an day out. Slugging it out. Fighting the good fight and winning…

As long as I am writing; I feel as though I am winning. Or maybe it isn’t about winning or losing. Of course, most writers write because we want to be read. We want to be heard. We want to not only be heard but understood.  And perhaps the reader will internalize, question and understand not only what we want to convey but also be allowed the permission and the freedom to further explore his/her self as well. So, in that regard, it is about us and it isn’t about us.

SOCIAL MEDIA  can be a good thing. It can connect us with friends and family. It can bond us across many miles, across oceans to other countries. Some have met others through social media outlets and have long lasting relationships as a result. Some have met their wives or husbands through social media and some may still be looking.  Others have launched businesses and other positive outlets and platforms too numerous to mention. There is a wealth of positivity out there if that’s what you’re looking for. However, if hatred, darkness and mayhem is what you seek, you can also find it as well.

Long before social media;  back in 1985 (yes, I’m a senior citizen), I wrote a column for the BUFFALO CRITERION ( a local weekly African American owned newspaper in Buffalo, New York established in 1925 ). The column was called, ‘Real Life.’  I wrote about everyday experiences. It was written with a humorous slant. Everything from various television shows to shopping in a supermarket. I also covered other current events at that time. It was nice to see my picture and have my own byline as well as hearing the appreciative comments from family and friends. I finally had to come in out of the rain and get steady employment. So I ended up working in New York State law enforcement and focusing on raising my two daughters. Through the years I’ve had some of my poetry and short fiction published in newspapers and journals, yet I haven’t  (thus far) published a novel or came out with my own book of poetry.  I was too much of a rolling stone in the past. So, all I (we) have is this moment. The past is history.  WRITE NOW IS WHAT’S IMPORTANT.

COME ON BABY LIGHT MY FIRE

I guess what I’m saying is that  DESIRE is what lights my FIRE.  If my desire to write was based  entirely on receiving accolades or monetary gain, welI I would have quit a long time ago. Which to me means my heart really wasn’t in it in the first place. Social media/ the internet has become such a huge part of our daily lives.  I’m on social media.  How can I not be?  It has become a gateway for so many talented people and has become a vehicle for a wide diversity of entertainment and information. However, while it is wonderful to get approval and positive feedback;  I don’t need ‘likes’ to validate me.  But I must admit, ‘likes’ can be encouraging. It has been especially encouraging to some people who have received thousands of views and likes; whose bank accounts have been ( surprisingly) validated exponentially. Thus, the power of SOCIAL MEDIA.

So, you may wonder, wow! ”  Doesn’t he care if I read this blog or not.” The fact of the matter is, I do care. It is always nice when other people not only read your work but also appreciate it for what it is. In fact, if you are reading this I encourage you to  read some of the other thirty or so blog posts the DPL have published. You may find a few golden nuggets of inspiration.  GO AHEAD READ, READ, READ!  WRITE! WRITE! WRITE! I’ll be your biggest fan and cheerleader.  But whether you do or not…one thing is clear…

I STILL HAVE THE NEED…

The post THE NEED TO WRITE appeared first on Department of Poetic License.

Photo by HENRY & CO.

The following is a short story.  A tale of mystery and imagination by Stan Worthy.

Louisa told me I had cop’s eyes. She said that everytime I looked at her I made her feel as if she had done something wrong. My gaze penetrated her, “impregnated the fabric of her womanhood”, as she put it. I didn’t know if I should have have felt flattered or offended. So I asked her, ” Is that a compliment or an insult “.  ” Sort of a compliment.”  I took what I could get and didn’t press it any further.

In the three short days I had known Louisa, she always spoke whatever was on her mind. She seemed not to hold much back. She seemed honest and sincere. She was the type of person who made me feel as if I had known her before. When I first met her I believe I fell in love with her. But I wasn’t as open with her as I believed she she had been with me. I never told her I was a cop. When I was off duty I wanted to remain anonymous. I didn’t want to clock people and I didn’t want people to feel as though I was clocking them. That’s why I never volunteered to tell anyone my occupation.

Once people found out you were a cop it seemed as if they treated you differently They either were afraid to open up or they blitzkrieg you with obtruding questions such as, ” How is it being a cop?” Or. ” Have you ever shot anyone? ” And if I felt the person was being obnoxious I would put my game face on , look them straight in the eye and say, ” No, not lately.” There were some people who were actually afraid to double park if I was in the car with them.

When I was off duty I tried to forget I was a cop. Of course, it was easier said than done. The truth was I was never relaxed, even when I was off duty. I felt I always had to watch my back. Be ready to make a move if I had to. My guard was always up. I liked my space. that song by the rock group ‘the Police’ came to mind, DON’T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME.

Women have always been elusive to me. My life had been a series of platonic relationships. People never knew much about me because I never allowed them to. Besides most women wanted a commitment and I couldn’t make a commitment unless it was for a one night stand. Which meant that I was alone most of the time because most women wanted more than I was willing to give. So, the job became my whole world. Dealing with the pimps, whores and drug dealers and all of the degenerates became my social life.

Many nights were spend in front of my television watching old movies while sipping on a bottle of Jack Daniels. I always kept my revolver close by. In many ways my .38 was company. I had this crazy habit of swinging the cylinder from the gun, removing the bullets; then I would hold it toward the light so that I could see all six cylinder holes. Then spin it like a roulette wheel listening to the clicking sound it made.

Perhaps my eyes did reflect the harsh realities I’d been through. Maybe my eyes were the mirrors of my naked soul. They were trained eyes. EYES that studied people. COP’S EYES.

Louisa was softening my hard edges. SWEET AND KIND. I had never met a women so charming I was never one for that soupy poetry stuff but I was captivated by her. I was transformed into a tulip and she was sunshine making me open.

I wanted to spend more and more time with her. I didn’t know much about her but I was convinced I knew all I wanted to know, all I needed to know. Whenever Louisa looked at me with those big brown eyes my knees go weak and I wanted to jump up and down like I was in church and got the holy ghost.

i wasn’t getting the relationship off to a good start by keeping secrets from her. Or was it a secret? She never asked what I did for a living, but I knew at some point i should tell her that I was a DETECTIVE.

I could hear those voices in the back of my head. The voices of all the disappointed women I’ve dated in the past saying, ” So why didn’t you tell me you’re a cop?” Shaking their heads with hands on the hips…frowning and feeling as if I had wronged them in some way. But I didn’t want to make that mistake with Louisa. No. I had to level with her and tell her I was a cop. ‘Okay, okay I’m a cop for christsake. What’s wrong with that? Someone’s got to do it.’  But everytime my lips started to move nothing came out, not a syllable. She made me feel comfortably numb, smooth like jello. Then the guilt began to set in. I could hear that voice saying, ‘don’t let her bump up against your right side. She’ll know. She’ll feel the gun.’ I began to feel self-concious about my gun underneath my sports coat.

There was a cool breeze stirring up and Louisa suggested we leave the pier. We went back to her apartment in the west village to have a champagne toast. I was glad she suggested it, however,I went with no intention that it would lead to anything else. I was prepared to be patient because I knew that sometimes when a relationship start out too fast, it could also end that way.

We drank champagne as we listened to the steamy horn of Miles Davis playing in the background. It was late. She suggested I spend the night. “You can sleep on the sofa, if you don’t mind.” “Of course not.” I said. Somehow I managed to grab her arm gently pulling her close to me. We kissed. Stared at each other speechless. We kissed some more. Then she said, “You know everytime you look at me you look at me with bedroom eyes.” And I thought, ‘My, do I look that hungry for her?” She pressed her chest against me. We started eyeballing each other again.

I knew she was testing me. She wanted to see if I had any discipline. Most guys would’ve taken that line as a come on to try and make a move to jump into bed with her. It was going to be hard to resist the desires of the flesh, but I was going to show her as well as myself how much of a gentleman I could be. “Goodnight Louisa.” I kissed her on the cheek this time as I took the pillow and blanket from her. ” Goodnight.” she said.

After she left the room I took off my sports coat, then took off my holster and gun. I laid the gun on the coffee table next to me and covered it with my jacket. It took a while before I could get to sleep. I started to have cold sweats. Something was bothering me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. My mind was trying to recall something but I had too much champagne. The last thing I remembered was hearing Mile’s, SKETCHES OF SPAIN. Then I fell asleep, out cold.

I woke up early to a quiet and seemingly unfamiliar place. Then I remembered where I was. I was at Louisa’s. I sat up on the sofa and that’s when it hit me. The FBI poster at the precinct, that most wanted poster. “Louisa. No! It can’t be you! ” I quickly reached for my gun on the coffee table. It was gone.

That’s when I felt the barrel of a gun. COLD STEEL pressed against my back.

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Let’s say that you are shopping for a car. A random salesperson approaches and introduces herself. She asks what type of car you are looking for. You tell her and as you are walking around she’s asking you a litany of questions. Then she tells you about her son’s baseball game. You are trying your best to be polite. You don’t really know her but you’re glad his team won. But she keeps talking and talking until she talked her way out of a sale. Why? Not because she wasn’t a nice person. She just talked too much, especially about herself. She didn’t listen enough to hear your needs and wants.

Most of the time when we think of negotiating we think of buying or selling something. A sales person wants to please us and make money. We want to buy and save money. Usually when both parties walk away happy, a good deal was brokered. However, we negotiate (sometime without realizing) on a daily basis, for example, times, dates for appointments, even with our partners on  choosing a restaurant.

Two Ears One Mouth

The best negotiators use “active” listening. They listen to our needs and wants in order to find out how better to assist all parties involved. A writer should always be a good listener. We can learn more about people by listening to the way they speak and also observing body language (non-verbal communication). Is the texture of a person’s voice high pitched, low, hard, loud, hostile, soft, squeaky or does it quiver?  Well, it depends on the person. How he or she may feel at that moment. What is interpreted, internalized and experienced.

I love language. I love listening to different people speak. It doesn’t matter where a person is from: north, south, east or west. Even if I can’t quiet understand the language, I still like to listen. And if I’m in another country, I do try to learn some basic words like, ” hello, please, Thank-you, goodbye, good morning.” People in other countries are usually more receptive when you make an effort to speak their language.

When I was in my early twenties, one of my favorite places was the historic Allendale movie theater in Buffalo, New York. It was where I watched my very first foreign film. I didn’t mind reading the subtitles. I just liked watching the movies and listening to people speak different languages. And although I didn’t know the language, I was able to learn some of the more repetitive words by listening and reading the subtitles. However, I’m not suggesting watching foreign films as a means to learn another language. You may want to try  Babbel first.

Two Ears One Mouth

So no matter what language we speak. One universal truth applies; we cannot speak together. As it’s been said, ” we can sing together, but we can’t talk together.” Have you ever had a conversation where someone is talking while you’re talking? ANNOYING RIGHT!!!  Of course we know because we’ve done it too. Two people talking at the same time. Two mouths running and four ears trying to keep up.

If we listen to hear rather than listen to reply; we will find that we will get more out of the conversation. Sure we want to make our point before we forget. But not at the risk of stepping on the other person’s toes. No worries.  It’s a conversation not a debate. Be patient. Your turn will come. You will find that when you practice ” active”  listening, ” actually” hearing what the other person is saying; you will develop an ear for writing dialog. Thus adding enrichment to the characters in your fiction writing and flavor to your journalism. And you also might become a better conversationalist as well.

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According to Wikipedia, a dream is a succession of images that occur involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep. Dreams can be an enigma, an invisible transcendent world of thought, feeling, attitude, belief and imagination.  Most of our dreaming is done during REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. It is accompanied with low muscle tone and the propensity of the sleeper to dream vividly. The eye movement themselves may relate to the sense of vision experienced in the dream.

REM sleep occurs within the first 90 minutes of falling asleep and the rem sleep cycle repeats several times during the night. It accounts for approximately 20-25 percent of an adult’s sleep cycle and 50 percent of an infant’s. So, it’s no small wonder why we have dreams.

Dreams are part of the landscape of our minds. All of our experiences are recorded, whether we want to remember or not. The good, the bad and the ugly; it is stored and waiting to be inventoried. Even when we are awake we might take a stroll down memory lane remembering, bringing back those pictures of the good times, the happy times. Most of us do not want to remember the bad and the ugly. Because it is just that UGLY. However,  when we are  sleeping our minds will sometimes unravel, dream and take us on a journey.  It is free to take its own wild inventory.  We’re not the boss anymore, we’re sleeping.

WE MAY GO FOR A WILD JOY RIDE BEFORE IT’S OVER

It may feel like a roller coaster ride experiencing all the physical manifestations as if  the body is actually in the dream; sweating, rapid heart rate, rapid breathing, laughing, yelling and screaming. Some may refer to the mind  as being in a primal state. We can not be the director of these irrational movies of bewilderment. We don’t even get to choose the actors or the scene. Upon awaking we try in our own way to make sense of what lead us to dream what we dreamed. That’s if we can remember it. Sometimes we’re just left with pieces of a puzzle, picking up the pieces of a dream.

ROW, ROW, ROW YOUR BOAT…

Our physical body takes all the nutrients from our food;  once it gets what it needs it gets rid of the rest in the form of waste. Perhaps our minds need to do a similar thing in order to further process our past or give us a glimpse into the future. Sometime we may have the same reoccurring dream over and over again. We relive the hurt, the pain, the insecurity and fear. In some ways we may feel that we our being further tormented, that our mind is betraying us. But perhaps it is what our mind needs to do in order to row the boat down that river towards healing and new discovery. It may need to happen over and over until we get there, to a place of PEACE, HOPE AND LOVE.

IT’S SHOWTIME!

Dreams can also be entertaining. There has rare times  where I have dreamed in sequences. I would wake up. Go to the bathroom, come back, fall back to sleep and pick up where I left off. I thought it was pretty cool because it was a fun dream. It was like going to the movies.

Try to keep a pen and paper close by on your night stand. Upon awakening (if you can remember) WRITE down whatever you can remember.  Keep a DREAM JOURNAL. There might be some interesting stuff in there. There may be a story, art, music or you may even gain further insight into solving a problem of some sorts. Whether you are a writer, scientist, artist, butcher, baker or candle stick maker you might be able to create something worthwhile and learn more about the psyche.

Some of the Spanish artist Salvadore Dali’s artwork depicts very dreamlike imagery. The German organic chemist, August Kekule discovered the carbon ring in 1865. In a dream he saw atoms dancing around linked together. Then in a second dream he saw atoms forming themselves into strings and moving in a snake like fashion and formed an image of a snake eating its own tail. This dream gave Kekule the idea of the cyclic structure of benzene.

So, what have you been dreaming lately? Perhaps you are sitting on a wealth of ideas and imagery that can lead you  write, to create, to heal, to love, smile and laugh. Remember, let’s not take ourselves too seriously. JUST KEEP ON ROWING. IT GETS EASIER WHEN YOU’RE ROWING WITH THE CURRENT.

ROW, ROW, ROW YOUR BOAT

GENTLY DOWN THE STREAM

MERRILY,  MERRILY, MERRILY, MERRILY

LIFE IS BUT A DREAM

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