this is a piece I started in February and did not get around to finishing. there is some research I need and want to do to deepen this narrative. There was some apprehension about going to this dark place, but I have learned that we need to lean into our fears and open wide our mouths until the truth drips out.
black history
(c) 2012 by margaux delotte-bennett
knowing that my people’s people are from the idyllic isle of Jamaica does not erase that there is an auction block somewhere in my past
I want to know the height and depth
wood grain and color of this pedestal
used to showcase the wares that would eventually become me
broad shoulders
strong back
long and sturdy legs
how did dripping sweat and spilled breast milk mark the wood made smooth by chain clad, shuffling feet?
can wood also absorb the moans/ fear escaping throats/ eyes that narrowly avoided strangulation and hot pokers?
against my will there is an auction block in my past
Jamaicans don’t talk about at what price paradise was bought
or why I have a French and/or Spanish last name
or why my grandma’s red hair and freckles are repeated on varied faces throughout the island
I know that finally owning myself requires that my past does not define me
but forgotten or not
the wood block remembers
and still
splinters my heart
preoccupied
© 2012 by margaux delotte-bennett
searching
always searching
because what is at hand is never enough
what we had before
what is coming next
anything but now
will be better
will be richer
will fill the empty spaces in our chests
and in our lives
how wide can we grab?
how far must we go to seek a remedy
to the sickness of our own making?
we are ill because
the poisons we are sucking down
the lies we are pouring into our own ears
the smoke filled room we are crawling through
is ablaze with our
fear
ignorance
denial of problems festering
since the last time we decided to ignore them
hatred serves no one
greed eats its host as it consumes more and more
notions of supremacy
in all its forms
will only show others where we are lacking
backing into corners we carefully constructed
out of the bits of our souls we shield from the sun
fail to let thrive
hide from others
including ourselves
we are pre-occupied with everything
besides what will
keep us alive.
Filed under: self reflection
invariably, when i spend time in a place of worship, the poem below describes what happens to me…
at your alter
© 2012 by margaux delotte-bennett
willingly or unwillingly
I come bearing my tears as an offering
at your alter
and in your space
even when I think it won’t happen
it always does
but this time I have not been so moved
I have not been so touched
no tears will fall, not this time
my heart is not breaking open to let light in
breaking because this heart finds it too hard to just be open
at your alter
and in your space
so today I sit
in this hallowed room
this sacred chamber
and no particular thought makes my eyes well up
no particular song causes the first tear
to break free and fall
no particular passage starts the stream
running down and under my chin
first on one side
then on the other
willingly or unwillingly
I come offering my tears
to cleanse my soul
while chipping open this heart
bruised and battered
but allowed to be vulnerable
at your alter
and in your space
once again
Filed under: self reflection
my writing practice
© 2012 margaux delotte-bennett
once you claim you are a poet
people tend to gift you with all manner of
notebooks
journals
inspiring volumes designed just to house your creativity
here is where my poems usually reside
written in pencil or pen
(never marker)
written in stolen time (from work)
borrowed minutes (from play)
written in coffee shops, bus stops and bathroom stalls
even the mall!
where the swirl of the food court
plants a poetic line about humanity’s ever progressing plight
into my mind
any scrap of paper will do
when one of my ‘gifts’ is not on hand
receipts
takeout menus
junk mail and old workshop agendas
paper discarded and repurposed for
grammar play and syntax errors
words tumbling out in one sitting
is ideal
paper revision is usually resisted
while transferring to computer
most of the editing occurs
I transcribe each work to see if it fits
do I know the real definition?
is this the right context?
do I care?
does this term flow freely into the next?
my practice is practiced
week after week
allowing poetry to move through me
in how I think, write and speak
Filed under: self reflection
i’m on holiday so this post is a bit later than expected (for me) but since I just finished this piece, it is right on time (for me and you!)
aim less
(c) 2012 by margaux delotte-bennett
to reduce the time spent trying to succeed
ticking off accomplishments
rendering task to do
done
focusing more on the going
the searching
steps danced through potential rich space that forever hovers out and around us
as we simplify the needs of the aim it is less important if they are met
it has always been this way
but we were tricked into thinking that the target was success
and our time and sanity were its arrows
fate the feathered quiver
plumed guide
the truth is that the less we aim
the more we make our mark
aim less
and be propelled through space and time more
bullseye!
Filed under: self reflection
Sunday 1/8/12 was the inaugural meeting of Second Sunday Scribes, a creative writing gathering that a dear friend and I are convening. I have always found it very fruitful to have a dedicated time and space for writing and meeting with others who want or need the same thing is wonderful. though this piece was not written on Sunday, it contains many of the phrases generated through our opening free writing exercise. each participant had to pick 2 words out of a bag and just write whatever came to mind without stopping or editing. the words i picked: essential and complete.
what is essential
© 2012 by margaux delotte-bennett
the she that is sometimes me
wants to be without fluff
without unimportant and irrelevant
wants to fill her heart and space
only with those things that
must be
need to be
belonging to the essential understanding
of who she is and where she resides
essential denotes essence
contains a truth bold enough to claim space
steps wide
is firmly rooted in nutrient rich soil
essential for the next bloom
the she that is sometimes me
knows what is important
touch
talk
connection
focusing firmly on the joining of hands and hearts
or hands and hearts held open
there is a circle/ season/ cycle that is completed
by the laying on of hands
breath deeply shared
birthing elements of fire and ice
wind and rain churning
matter broken down into its essential elements
those popping bits of light are sometimes me
so too those throbbing seeds
ready to burst
brand new! just finished this one a few moments ago. enjoy!
what she has never done
© 2011 by margaux Delotte-bennett
she knows what she has never done
she has never lost herself in love
her grip on what is too tight
or light when it comes to
should and might
wanting to follow
often defaulted to lead
but only as far as the current need
she has never lost herself in love
arms reaching out in surrender
white flags waving overhead
off guard and unprotected
fully open to what can be envisioned by we
because me and I can only try to be complete
she knows what she has never done
she has never lost herself in love
running completely wild and free
without scars
without restraint
speeding towards her heart
housed outside of her body
yet overflowing with her love
given and received
love under which she can gleam
she has never lost herself in love
forgetting her choices
her fears
her need to control what, where and when
not the lost of the misplaced
overlooked
a something special no longer found
where it was supposed to be
but the lost of the traveler
discovering where this road will lead
envisioning the magic that can only be found behind
that door
so she continues to search
to uncover
to explore
because losing herself in love
is all she really longs to do
i found this poem on the back of another poem…
my liberated muse
© 2010 by margaux delotte-bennett
spiraling towards indefinable perfection
felt in the base of my womb
open to birthing all that is supposed to move through me
this day
this way
out of this shell
chipped from tripping
falling towards
a tomorrow unafraid to shine bright
strong
wholly connected
to the me
I’m supposed to be
without the fear true individuality
insights
can the fully realized me,
soft and pulsing with possibility,
make it out there
truly free?
yes, liberated one.
indeed.
i started writing a poem today about the color pink (not my favorite color), but i didn’t get very far. i was walking at the time and the lines were still forming in my mind… i’m very excited for a day off tomorrow because it may allow me some time to write and regroup.
the piece i am sharing today is also a work in progress. it is funny how my understanding of a ‘finished’ piece has shifted throughout this year…
the test
(c) 2011 by margaux delotte-bennett
color lines
drawn in the sand, but still drawn
delineating
separating
starkly marking where
one begins and one ends
outlined by fear
reinforced by ignorance
held onto because of the false security they exude
invariably (but only for a moment)
i often tense up when i see a group of
young (i can no longer claim it)
black (just like me)
males (what i am not and never shall be)
they are always up ahead
standing
lounging
styling and profiling
one, two, three more
than me
my good-
-morning
-day
-evening
-night is often met with a head nod
a hey
a parting of taut bodies to give me way
i speak to dispel my tension (though fleeting)
and my greeting is always responded to
i often feel like i have passed some sort of test
as i walk through
have you?
what does post-racial even mean? i have not a clue, but it seemed like a good title for this post that is very racial and sometimes a little wrong, but hopefully in a good way! here is a silly poem that danced in my head before finally making it out and onto some paper. please don’t take it too seriously, though there is some truth found within…
brown boy renaissance
© 2011 by margaux delotte-bennett
my heart is having a brown boy renaissance
it is centered and open
as it dances around trees
waiting patiently for its Bollywood hero
kicking
singing
sliding across rooms on his knees
before jumping up
shoulders shaking
as he dances around me…
my heart is having a brown boy renaissance
if you hail directly from any of the four corners of the continent
and your mother tongue starts with a Ki-
the rights of passage through which you came of age
wasn’t a hodge podge of activities
gleaned from TV,
but you have a spear or at least a big stick
call me?
my heart is having a brown boy renaissance
if corn and its derivatives make up most of your diet
even in sauces and drinks
I’m willing to try it!
and if various wars on drugs have decimated
your family, culture or land
give me a try
beside you I’ll stand…
my heart is having a brown boy renaissance
be it Arab summer
or Arab spring
brown boys taking a stand
makes my heart sing
I will be your cheerleader
your champion
your main supporter to a tee
now if I can only get these brown boys
to want me!
