All Things Poetic

A song for Lolo

Lolo Lola Logan I love you

Lolo Lola Logan yes I do

Pretty little girl dressed in pink

Apple of my eye and you don't stink

All Mine

"All Mine"

your smile

your nose

your toes

your ears

your bellybutton

your lips

your smell

your touch

your beauty

your innocene

your laughter

your little ways

your wobbly walk

your baby talk

your mine

your mine

you're all mine to love

Tiffani C. Powell

Copyright 2007

Dysfunctional out of necessity

some words that i had to get out ...

Dysfunctional out of necessity

there is nothing in the book worth writing home about to change stripes when it's easier to choke on them pray for them spit blank words or a one liner with no greeting or signature. bandwidth not well spent such a bother to waste two weeks to dance around a response forced to play the game or move to alaska. woe is me hotline is a joke it's twisted how easy it is to get along without feeling without purpose otherwise to purposely wake up put one foot in front of the other and blame everyone else self service only bitterness not kindness or culpability to pass onto the next offsrping but not this one. there are more lights on upstairs to know better than to engage in parental misguidance ........

more to come. this is just a start

Tiffani C. Powell

little lovely

Little Lovely

little feet dance for smiles

gummy bear cheer lashes lushes

baby paws hold dreams

sweetness behind eyes of brown

tiny creature filled with love

my creation

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright June 2007

Saturday's aroma

Saturday's Aroma

shape your dreams and bring it back to saturday's aroma of waffles and cream our very own lovers lane and vanilla bean.

peep little man blow bubbles, steal smiles and coos to set us free from 2004 took only seven days to fall head under feet along the esplanade of rolling rapids that carried my 10-speed to you.

that torrid affair filled notebooks of words like tangled and twisted and come what may to take your hand to fabricate conundrums no choices but to escape to the Bowry my dowry was not much cuz my love is free.

so meet me at the treehouse by the rivers edge to dwell in happiness an agreement made with a handshake to take off into a space that knows no boundaries.

fresh eyes collect new life movies curiosity peaked now belly is full with functional love to cozy up to and be lazy with.

us now three, the best thing i ever did counts sheep so sweet - your eyes, my nose bonded forever him you me.

those rings fit cinderella style off to golden gates your arts and crafts taught that if you're patient and wait cupids reward is ten times your deposit.

and my account is protected by your guaruntee, your vows and promises came true my dysfunction set free.

no time wasted to create this family tree you envelope me priority to feel special 365 days, weeks, hours you work to ensure his history won't require therapy cuz pre-fab is in and there's no sin against mixing it up - a new flavor for baby boy to savor being different sometimes means taking a chance or a leap.

with your love outstretched you led me to green pastures soul restored and thirsty for more of our story's happy ending began the day you knealt down and rubbed my feet....your world is a beautiful adventure, my puzzle is complete.

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright May 2007

lessons learned

Generic Prescription

Self-medication will only get you so far my dear, better get you some right in the head quick before fate passes you by.
Won’t do you no good communing with the Devil marooned on the island of desperate depressions, it never happens to me, my childhood was lacking this and that… heard enough to know that you whacked! Yes, it takes a village to raise a child but sometimes the offer ‘aint so good.
Makeshift living is not worth settling for-topsy-turvy misusing your own life.
Get over yourself cuz you’re one in a million Americans who suffer from anxiety, dry mouth, my daddy didn’t love me and I have issues with rejection.
Time is ticking, sinking fast 10,000 leagues under the weight of the world on your shoulders and brain and even though you grew up inside a circus, three ring and all, there comes a time when you must take on the day.
Please be advised; that is if you can find time within your busy schedule to relax, relate and release past, pent up emotions and delusions of grandeurs, you’ll find there is a whole world out there.
Put the wheels in motion for the stage of the chrysalis. Actually do away with those coping mechanisms and do something. Strip clean and become at peace with this genetic make-up, freak-show so-called life is in your name; sold bought and paid for.
Piecing together this girl’s life comforted by the sound of the cork popping, pills spilling a drunken stupor of promiscuity has gotten old.
Real old.
So ditch the first idea and go with Plan B. Be trigger happy in group therapy. Direct your inner-child to the reference section and fasten your seatbelt for the cleansing ride of your life.
Try something new: Drown yourself in functionality, semi-normalcy and open up the blinds.
The sun is shinning in for a change and today’s a good day to be alive.

Tiffani C. Frost
Copyright 2005

And So It Is

love abound floating on dreams and penny drop wishes made long ago.  here in this place having held on tight to hopes and mistakes and a grandmothers prayer.  a freed bird from little girl to woman she has arrived.  yes, hair down, smile on, life growing and moving down paths made just for her.   the curtains are open, eyes are wide and the unknown is not important.  evolution has just begun.  a miracle is at work proving that God works in mysterious ways for the girl from parkvale road.  cowboys and angels circle this light abundant with riches, what's to come and uncertain beauty.  small joys arrive when least expected to those who are virtuous and forgiving of ones self.  blessings are all around up and down...beyond comfortable quiets.   the time of her life is now...in the hands of this tiny miracle called her baby.

For Your Ear -Sprung

Take a listen to the sexy poem "Sprung" from my CD "On Her Own"

Download 18_sprung.wma

Uneducated Assumption

Uneducated Assumption **You'll find this poem on my CD On Her Own

I am so over labels.  I am so over people defining me, confining me, box me in, seal me up, packaged addressed and ready to bought by the consumer.

What is it with people trying to tell me who I am?  Does it make you feel better or less threatened to know that you’ve lumped me into a category?

Check this box if you’re Black, White, gay, straight, American, Christian, terrorist, Buddhist, ghetto, racist, feminist, Arab, left or right wing, ugly, stupid, rich or poor, homeless or heartless.

And beware because the side effects include: nausea, diarrhea, mood disorder, conformity, genocide, idealism, abnormality and a slew of other adjectives that rape us of our individuality.

And isn’t that what its’ about?  It meaning life.  It meaning you and me?

Be you!  Be free!  Make love not war, peace not hate now wouldn’t that be great especially if you were selling it on a T-shirt?

But life is too short to categorized.

So what if I once was engaged to Jim then fell in love with Sue and three years later turned around and decided to do Enrique.

Am I gay or straight?  Am I dammed or am I saved?

Okay what, I get it.  You need definition.   It’s you who are insecure.  And maybe just maybe, if you stamp a label on me, nutritional value included, you’ll have a better grasp at you.

Shit I don’t know you.  All I know is me.

I like cats, my favorite color is blue, when I was five I loved going down the slide, I suck at Math and occasionally I’ll go out for Chinese.

But that don’t make me a lion trainer, free falling blue faced Chinamen with hopes of an MBA from MIT now does it?

So why you pressed to mold me with the rest?

Yes I write.  Yes I dance.  Yes, believe it or not I am 100% Black so don’t ask if I got Indian in me cuz you think I got good hair.

Yes I was in love with a woman and yesterday my boyfriend made me breakfast in bed and I still suck at Math but I’m smart enough to know that your numbers don’t add up.

There is no expiration date on this one folks.

So generalize me in the simplest of terms.

My name. 

That is the only label you need stick me with.  And it’s Tiffani.

The rest you’ll learn once you remove those blinders and take an educated guess.

Tiffani C. Frost

Copyright 2004

Sweet Valley

the land of golden dreams is right here at the base of these mountains, tucked away in the rivers three, aside rolling hills of green goodness filled with country values and honest living.  yes go west and discover a new life where words come easy from pen to paper, root to tree, orchards and orchards to replenish all that resides. traipsed across country to find a place to call home away from home, hospitality flowing, history deep with folks who truly love the land that was given to them.  downtown calls your name, a familiar smile, a gentle greeting, a break from the day at the coffee shop where only the old time regulars know it's secrets.  a knitters haven to the left, a fox theater to your right, red woods, mt whitney's and homers nose all make this town what it is.   a collected soul of souls.  a place of enchantment from north to south, up and around the grapevine and back to the start again.   so pack your bags for a ride, walk, hike or trek to the best place the valley has to offer.  golden dreams start here...

Tiffani C. Powell

Copyright 2006

The Hibernation Period

The Hibernation Peroid

Copyright 2005

only time will tell what exactly this spell is, for the girl from parkvale road. go west young man. knapsack in tow packed tightly with memories from wince she came about.
certificate stamped gypsy, nothing delicate only emancipation proclaims itself a victory.
I-40 itinerary ready for take off no more harboring criminals in her head for she has gained possession of all her faculties traipsing across country.
blue eyed beau to the left, he ever the enchanter, enchanting the enchantress to encompass his incantations of unhurried divine.
go on and fly then.
and what say you for a pleasant tempeture for maximum pleasure? no dragging her down...up up up the Mesa's red as dawn nothing but country all around.
the air is sweet with travels, grandviews, soulmate splenders and what's to come.
she is a thinker, a do-er, a follow-througher, contrary to popular belief. for the time is now to put on that extra fat. that layer that will keep her warm through the winter. cheeks are filled, nuts are buried, food is stashed away, tucked inside that cozy place.
the bears have followed the required task for deep sleep. Sugar plum fairies and dreams of springtime are on the mind.
so...this gypsy will snuggle up and do as the bears do. ready herself for the next coming of the season.

Come What May

Come What May

With limbs stretched wide, head back to the sun and body in motion, she is spinning and spinning.

The buzz is dizzying, mystifying, trek, trek, trekking along the road less traveled for her 2nd, 3rd, 6th change at the luck of life.

The angel which rests upon her shoulder has kissed her with fearless wonder offering mountains of what can be if only you invite it in. And after all this times of chasing rainbows...what dreams may come?

What possibilities from hand to heart create an endless valley in which to plunge into?

Valleys of what will be hers because she has the power to make things happen.

Mile marker sixty and still she has just begun.  Taking leaps and bounds of boundless uncertaintyalong for the ride.

And tucked away in her pocket are the pleasantries and memories that have yet to made.

And that is the meaning of life!

The beginning from the end, to the middle and back to the start again.

Full circle with stumbles there and here, with trips and traps to continue learning from.

Blessed be this birth of light that shines down on her like the heavens had opened up.

Blessed be the gift of time for it was time that allowed her to recognize that she is worth it.

And like a snake that sheds its' skin, it is her season for change.

Winds have shifted and she is ready to soar.

New skin, fresh eyes and drive unrelenting.

Quantifying all she ever needed and wanted to be.

She is spinning, she is spinning, she is endless possibilities.

Tiffani C. Frost

Copyright 2004

untitled, unfinished...

Here's something I started back in January.  Not sure if I want to continue this one or leave it alone...

I got mad verbs.  My verbiage, literage is literally scheming plans at all times necessary so’s my words stay flavorful.  Do’t get it twisted, I know it’s hard to take my style, my flow I glide upon the page as it were ice.  Princess I am sometimes not worthy but you can bet I’ll spit a new line better than the one before.  A new revolution for this revelation of text that is spoken not read.  I am the latest, the hip, the cool, the new.  Steady and methodical my methodology is psychologically fuckin’ with you ears cuz my words are that good.  You might think me conceded but I concede that my theory is backed up with facts.  Yes, confident, head blown, pen dry from purging.  Shit, my momma taught me to be proud, chest out head up and middle finger to those that dare doubt me.  Yeah my stuff is that good.  My purpose is for real, my delivery original, chock full of spices from the Orient and back to my Grandmothers kitchen.  And have no fear: I am diverse in my rhyme, versatility is dynamic, presentation on point and baked fresh daily for your delight.  There is no need to shop around.  Everything you need for your poetic experience is right here.  Close your eyes, open ears and ready yourself for words worth hearing..............

A Comfortable Quiet

He says there is not a day that goes by that I don't think about you.

There isn’t enough space in this universe to fill with that lie.

But I listened anyway.  Innocently childlike with reservations, I listened.  And your words stained on my soul so much that I don’t know how to wash you out.

Little dirty secrets.

They somehow become louder but not loud enough for you to disappear and so I wait.

Impatiently, frantically, my soul will wait for a comfortable quiet.

 

He says, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you.

Tormenting, shameful, cruel and hateful role model take me and lead by examples of lies, betrayal and mistrust?  No! No I won’t follow.

But I will have to wait.  My soul will wait for a comfortable quiet.

 

He says, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you.

The demons, the childhood terrors they plagued me.  Tried to overtake and consume me, please!  Consume me with beauty.

With a conscious dream.  One that I can accept.

My grandmother says, I don’t always understand but I accept it, I don’t always understand it but I accept it, I don’t always understand it but I accept to breathe life into the one that you attempted to steal and from when?

When will the haunting stop? Where will it find me this time?

In the park?  Making love, reading a book, writing a check, stubbing my toe or just simply trying to cross the fucking street?  Until then I’ll wait.

My soul will wait for a comfortable quiet.

 

He says, there is not a day that goes by that I do not think about you.

Day?  Night? Afternoon, brunch, tea and or coffee?  I think.

I think why am I here in this space?  Why were you in my space?

Well, everything happens for a reason.

So explain to me the reasoning for a woman to run from her childhood.

To resent, hate, condemn, loathe and even spit on and denounce your existence if I do…

Will I have to wait any longer? 

Will my soul have to wait any longer for a comfortable quiet?

 

He says, there is not a day that goes by that I do not think about you.

And I wonder.  I wonder if you live in a comfortable quiet.  A place where you’re allowed to look at yourself in the mirror without crumbling from shame and I wonder if you breathe.

I wonder if you breathe in a comfortable quiet or do you gasp for the air of a clean soul because I breathe!

I breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8…the eight years we existed together.

9,10,11,12…I breathe in the years I escaped you.

13,14,15…I breathe in the years I tried to ignore you.

16,17,18,19…I breathe in the years I tried to resent you.

20,21,22,23,24,25…I breathe in the years I tried to condemn you.

and 26?  26 I breathe in…….

 

Tiffani Frost

Copyright 2001

For Your Ear-Cool featuring Matt Jones

**Here's another poem from the CD featuring Washington D.C. musician  Matt Jones.**

"Cool" written in 2004

This recording was one of six takes.  No rehearsal.  Each take was an improvisation on both our parts and was a lot of fun!!  Matt (multi-talented and so gifted) played a different rhythm for all six attempts and we decided to go with this one. * I definitely want to explore this more for the next CD- the whole music with the poem thing.  Maybe even try my hand at creating my own sound/music?!  Well, take a listen and enjoy :-)

Download 07_cool_music_by_matt_jones.wma

For Your Ear-Like Cocaine

Listen to "Like Cocaine" a poem from the CD,  "On Her Own"

This poem, written in 2001, always gets the crowd talking.  Enjoy...

Download 02_like_cocaine.wma

"Like Cocaine"

I have a secret.  She's my secret.  It's her.

I'm taken in swirled around and intoxicated by her like cocaine, sweet chocolate and sex all at once my secret.

Every time is like the first time.  Her clean and pure tastes like candy I beg for more.

Even though she's everything I am not.  Everything they told me I could be yet I still love her like cocaine.

I'm addicted and high off her.  There, there she is laughing at me, deep devilish laugh because they say she is it.

Her it resonates because everyday I see her and hear her and study her and it stings like the first blow and yet I still love her.

Will she release me?  Am I free to taste and indulge in another for I try.

I try to turn on her.  Sniff in and blow out but quick and cold she can be my secret.

But who can ignore the goodness?  Her long, hot shot of perfection her it.

Even though she taunts me.  Even though she pulls me in only to shut me out I still love her like cocaine.

But she is who she is.  The epitome of desire.  Honest desire.

The perfect white line on the perfect clear glass of my body and I continue to love her...

I can't help it.

Copyright 2001

Tiffani C. Frost

For Your Ear-Come What May

Listen to "Come What May" a poem from the CD

Written in 2004 and inspired by love...

Download 12_come_what_may.wma

Try This On

Try This On

What you know about what I got?

Don't you know I am that woman?

My revolution as a master scientist of a not-so-good Lesbian with the old college try, always a mover, 100% brown outside and in, colorblind heart chewy-middle.

Girl from Rockville, fighter of good, every now and again was lost in love but supplemented with large doses of poetry.

I used to be all fucked up in the head, inherited that dirty job then beat that stereotype dead.  May have been feline in a past life cuz landing on my feet is elementary, silver lining didn't come cheap.

Just so happens that my husband is white, raised by mom in predominantly black less towns, ran Madonna's records in the ground, cheered it up with the white girls on the football field and yes my Daddy did slack but that don't mean I ain't still black, as I am an investigator of new places, stomping grounds from Lincoln Park to Jack Frost and beyond.

Maybe I was five when I made the choice to conform to so-called normalcy, debated patriotism, attempted vegetarian, dance my ass off if the groove is right.

Contender for best mom award?  Who knows what the future holds.  Womb might expand to accommodate a life who too will be gifted with a loaded pen but not subjected to the Devilish hands of the past of incest, my ancestry runs deep, chains and shackles Kunta Kente?  Maybe.  But that don't concern me. Onlookers of brotha's who claim they can't get a break but I peep potential all day.  Saving graces seems to be to give it to God and get on your mutha-fuckin' feet.

I've abused excuses longer than most, I've lied to lovers I've loved, drank more than my share and til this day say praise the Lord for good therapy!

Now PhD. I don't got and if you check my cabinet you'll find that I'm fresh out of pot but plenty of bottles of good lovin'.  Made some bad choices, took too much criticism to heart but kept my eyes on the prize, a worker-bee of watch yo-self before you get got cuz the man don't exist in my world.  Those that want more get it done-question, argue and explore all possibilities beyond the capabilities of both hands.

I dress to impress maybe 62% of the time, fly in my sleep and if my husband's feeling generous he'll give me some good lovin' on the creep at night or day I am deep enough to make a point, be somebody to someone I don't even know, configure my thoughts daily to make sure this mind grows.

Entertainer on stage I choreograph words that include Miles, Nina, Ani, Jill, Alvin Ailey, Maya, Langston and my Grandmother.  Those that send me to write, dance and weep, shut me up and put me in my seat to reflect who I am and where I'm going.

I am more that what is seen.

I exist.

Try it on me.

Copyright 2005

Tiffani C. Powell

STOP

*You'll find this poem on my CD "On Her Own"

STOP-

I want to stop writing.  I want to stop writing.  I want to stop writing about pain.  I want to stop writing about my childhood.  I want to stop writing about him.  I want to stop writing about my dysfunction.  I want to stop writing about feeling low.  I want to stop writing about my fears.  I want to stop writing about how confused and dusted and busted my soul is.  I want to stop writing about why me?

I want to write about choice.  I want to write about love.  I want to write about the good that is inside of me.  I want to write about the gift of life my mother gave me.  I want to write about the special place I go when I dance.  I want to write about how poetry saved my life.  I want to write about how blessed I am to be a child of GOD. I want to write about something, anything, away from, far beyond and different than they eight years I sufferred.  I want to write new words...it's about time.

Copyright 2001

Tiffani C. Frost

Where Art Thou Beauty

**You'll find this poem on my CD, "On Her Own"

______________________________________

Where art thou beauty?

Isn't it plain to see in its flashing bronze caramel tone?

Flesh that turns the shade of a fresh fallen autumn leaf when kissed by the sun.

Pride that holds strong from hundreds of years of torment, stolen names, adversity and will.

The deep, rich, misdocumented history that is our ancestry of Kings, Queens, slaves, niggers, coloreds and others.

It is bone straight.  A curl, a kink, a nap, the kitchen of an array of follicles blood rich-good hair and bad hair included.

It is a dialect, a language, a slang, a talk, a jibber-jabber, a pig-widge of tongues.

A word that is bond.  A brother and sisterhood chained and carriend from one generation to the next like the shackles and ships they sailed in on.

It is Black.  A mystery to some, a life for others.  Light skined, high yellow, red boned, pass for white, too light and damned near white, pale complected, brown, tan, almond, bronze, caramel, black, dookie black, blacker than tar, the blacker the berry the sweeter the...struck match black, blue black but beauty no doubt.

Where art thou beauty?  Look around you.

Copyright 2001

Tiffani C. Frost