WORDS
an excerpt from my book SHOUT MAMMY SHOUT!!!: where the thunder hides. I love thunder and a recurring theme in this book which I wrote as a follow up to my book on my experiences as Adomestic violence survivor (WING-PLUCKED BUTTERFLY) is my love of thunder. SHOUT MAMMY SHOUT!!! is my victory voice over victimization.
Words don’t work in a vacuum
Sucked in between two cardboard covers
Words are to be kissed out
They explode on the scene of joy
Vomit in a firework of anger.
The unspoken word is just that--
Unspoken non-speak
Illiterate unreading.
Breeding depressed paranoia
Ungraced esteem
Blinded by silence
Untouched by the complimentary
I LOVE YOU
YOU’RE THE GREATEST
I MISS YOU
COME TO SEE ME AGAIN
CAN I DO ANYTHING FOR YOU
Words aren’t just words
They are power
The Word was with God
From the beginning of time
WHO LOVES YOU BABY
LOVE YOU MADLY
I LOVE YOU THIS MUCH
To speak or not to speak
Whether tis nobler
to shut up
Or to share
It is the best of times
And worst of times
Thunder…
Can you hear me?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
THE RIVER WITNESS
I watch the news and it depresses me, I have no one to talk to so I needed to get this off of my chest. Where are the Amber alerts and intense Adam searches for the impoverished children of color and underserved populations?:
The River Witness
(To all of the lost, stolen, murdered and unclaimed children of color)
by Kentucky Yo'
My water churned and lashed
Angrily irritated
Trying not to swallow
The tender morsels of flesh
Trying to toss the dark skin
Back to the river bank
But her humanity was
her enemy
Already marred and scarred
In ways unmentionable
If she would only relax and
Let me gently rock away her pain
But she thrashed around desperately
Not wanting to let go
Twelve years of memory
Swallow-shouted “Mamaaaaaa”
But mama couldn’t hear
Mama was working overtime
Earning the unimportant little extras
She would never see
Rock-a-by river girl, rock-a-bye.
Kerscrunch went the crimson painted screwdriver
Tossed out of the devil red Ford truck
I recoiled just enough to reject the unacceptable refuse
Later found by a young boy gone fishing
Slumber river girl, slumber
I will ever treasure your breath in the secrets of my waterfolds
Rest brown river girl, rest.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
REVOLUTION
THE REVOLUTION
I am not a girl
When will we ever grow up?
I am 54 years old
I am a WOMAN.
I was at Applebee’s taking lunch with 2 other women. We were all 50 something in age. The young, bored out of his mind, bad postured, still wet behind his multipierced ears, teenaged waiter appeared from thin air. He clutched his order pad with perfectly manicured black nail polished hands glared at the floor with his perfectly smoky, grey-blue eye shadowed orbs and barked “What can I get you girls to drink?”
My cohorts let out girly giggles, one ordered coffee the other ordered a Pepsi. I said nothing. The waiter puffed out a sigh of intolerant impatience which I easily recognized, being the mother of a 15 year old daughter and having groomed a 24 year old likewise through this same teen phase of life.
Another now harder puff of breath, “And you?” He still had not looked up or met any of us eye to eye. Perhaps he just didn’t recognize who was sitting at his table.
“I would…like…you to not call me a girl. What do I have to do…how much more growing up will I have to experience before you call me a woman or a lady?” He looked up finally and I saw that the dark-sided “emo” revolution in him met the same spirit of revolution in me and he apologized. “I’m sorry, mam, what would you have?”
“Ice tea with lemon.” He vanished as quickly as he had arrived.
Silence…silence…and another dose of silence. I saw immediately that I had ruined our “girlie” outing.
“Honestly, what DO I have to do in order to be considered a woman? What size bra do I have to wear? How many children do I have to have nursed? How many sanitary napkins must I have worn? How many soufflé’s, thanksgiving turkeys, casseroles do I have to have cooked? The minute a boy even sees a hair on his face or his armpit or where the sun doesn’t shine, one hair--real or imagined--people, including himself, start calling him ‘A MAN’. When do I--we--get to stop being girls? When do we get to grow up and be women?
“I like being called a girl. It makes me feel young” the oldest of the three of us said with an unconvincing giggle.
“We always call each other girls. Girls call girls--girls” my other friend whined. At 54 I was even younger than her. I was the baby of the group.
I bristled. “That’s why men don’t take us seriously. All of our lives to them we are just little girls, to be taken care of and carted around like trophies. At the board table with all of the big boy manly CEO’s we are just little girls. And when we command womanly attributes in a manly world we are branded ‘bitches’ not women. But a female dog. Or a ’tough cookie’. A dessert mind you, a dessert!!! You spank, chastise, talk down to girls or you come to their rescue, show them off to your other man friends. A man never treats a GIRL as an equal. We need a revolution, a change of thought about ourselves. Domestic violence will never end until we stand up as well as lay down in the bed as women, not girls. I am the revolution, even if I am a revolution of one.”
POOF, the waiter appeared. He immediately placed my tea before me then served the other two. He turned towards me. “What would you--you…ladies like to order?”
I am not a girl
When will we ever grow up?
I am 54 years old
I am a WOMAN.
I was at Applebee’s taking lunch with 2 other women. We were all 50 something in age. The young, bored out of his mind, bad postured, still wet behind his multipierced ears, teenaged waiter appeared from thin air. He clutched his order pad with perfectly manicured black nail polished hands glared at the floor with his perfectly smoky, grey-blue eye shadowed orbs and barked “What can I get you girls to drink?”
My cohorts let out girly giggles, one ordered coffee the other ordered a Pepsi. I said nothing. The waiter puffed out a sigh of intolerant impatience which I easily recognized, being the mother of a 15 year old daughter and having groomed a 24 year old likewise through this same teen phase of life.
Another now harder puff of breath, “And you?” He still had not looked up or met any of us eye to eye. Perhaps he just didn’t recognize who was sitting at his table.
“I would…like…you to not call me a girl. What do I have to do…how much more growing up will I have to experience before you call me a woman or a lady?” He looked up finally and I saw that the dark-sided “emo” revolution in him met the same spirit of revolution in me and he apologized. “I’m sorry, mam, what would you have?”
“Ice tea with lemon.” He vanished as quickly as he had arrived.
Silence…silence…and another dose of silence. I saw immediately that I had ruined our “girlie” outing.
“Honestly, what DO I have to do in order to be considered a woman? What size bra do I have to wear? How many children do I have to have nursed? How many sanitary napkins must I have worn? How many soufflé’s, thanksgiving turkeys, casseroles do I have to have cooked? The minute a boy even sees a hair on his face or his armpit or where the sun doesn’t shine, one hair--real or imagined--people, including himself, start calling him ‘A MAN’. When do I--we--get to stop being girls? When do we get to grow up and be women?
“I like being called a girl. It makes me feel young” the oldest of the three of us said with an unconvincing giggle.
“We always call each other girls. Girls call girls--girls” my other friend whined. At 54 I was even younger than her. I was the baby of the group.
I bristled. “That’s why men don’t take us seriously. All of our lives to them we are just little girls, to be taken care of and carted around like trophies. At the board table with all of the big boy manly CEO’s we are just little girls. And when we command womanly attributes in a manly world we are branded ‘bitches’ not women. But a female dog. Or a ’tough cookie’. A dessert mind you, a dessert!!! You spank, chastise, talk down to girls or you come to their rescue, show them off to your other man friends. A man never treats a GIRL as an equal. We need a revolution, a change of thought about ourselves. Domestic violence will never end until we stand up as well as lay down in the bed as women, not girls. I am the revolution, even if I am a revolution of one.”
POOF, the waiter appeared. He immediately placed my tea before me then served the other two. He turned towards me. “What would you--you…ladies like to order?”
Sunday, October 4, 2009
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
Who do you think you are? Oprah Winfrey? Angelina Jolie? Madonna? Mother Teresa? No, no, no and no. I am just an ordinary person who stumbled upon an extraordinary circumstance--76 abandoned children living naked like wild animals in the remote mountain villages of Haiti.
Nine years ago God asked me to “GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAINS”--tell of His Love, Mercy and Grace. But now, today, after encountering the multitudes of abandoned, starving and neglected children, God is asking me to “got tell it FROM the mountains”. This is now my quest, to share my testimony in order to bring aide, relief and hope to the helpless. Relief in terms of food, clean water, clothing, and education.
In Haiti I have seen mothers and children who have not eaten for five day stretches at a time. The leaders of the villages beg for assistance. They ask if only a way could be provided for the children to eat twice a week, it would make a huge difference in the mountains.
Clean water is imperative. Approximately 69 out of 100 babies do not make it to the age of two due to unclean water and a lack of nutrition. Malnourished mothers give birth to undernourished and sick babies. Mothers who drink unclean water, produce unclean milk by which to nurse their newborns. Thus the babies die.
The medical needs are astounding. Something as simple as pink eye, because of a lack of medication will guarantee that a child will go blind. Malaria, yellow fever and tuberculosis are common ailments. A lack of vitamin C causes abundant cases of scurvy. Gross iron deficiencies cause weaknesses and dizzy spells to be common amongst the women.
Children are abandoned due to parents who die from aides. Children are left abandoned due to parents who go to the Dominican Republic and Port-au-Prince in hopes of finding work by which to support their families. Because of the desperation of these parents they are easily scammed and taken advantage of. They are often killed or just seem to vanish when they demand payment for labour rendered.
It is my goal to be the voice of the abandoned children. It is my goal to be a voice that will raise funds to provide not just the immediate needs but a voice that will bring a sense of hope. A hope with a strategy to teach the children to become self sufficient and masters of their own destiny.
One summer as I was leaving the mountains of Haiti a little naked abandoned child begged, “Give me something please, Miss, give me something.” The only thing I had left to give him was my pen. As we drove away in a huge cloud of dust the little boy chased after me in all of his naked glory shouting, “BOBO, AMERICA, BOBO!!!” With tears in my heart I turned to my translator and asked what did the boy say. The translator said the little boy was shouting, “KISS, AMERICA, KISS!!!” So I have returned to America to bring you the kisses of a little abandoned boy with a pen from the mountains of Haiti.
To have Yolantha come and share her testimony contact her at yolanthapace@gmail.com
Nine years ago God asked me to “GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAINS”--tell of His Love, Mercy and Grace. But now, today, after encountering the multitudes of abandoned, starving and neglected children, God is asking me to “got tell it FROM the mountains”. This is now my quest, to share my testimony in order to bring aide, relief and hope to the helpless. Relief in terms of food, clean water, clothing, and education.
In Haiti I have seen mothers and children who have not eaten for five day stretches at a time. The leaders of the villages beg for assistance. They ask if only a way could be provided for the children to eat twice a week, it would make a huge difference in the mountains.
Clean water is imperative. Approximately 69 out of 100 babies do not make it to the age of two due to unclean water and a lack of nutrition. Malnourished mothers give birth to undernourished and sick babies. Mothers who drink unclean water, produce unclean milk by which to nurse their newborns. Thus the babies die.
The medical needs are astounding. Something as simple as pink eye, because of a lack of medication will guarantee that a child will go blind. Malaria, yellow fever and tuberculosis are common ailments. A lack of vitamin C causes abundant cases of scurvy. Gross iron deficiencies cause weaknesses and dizzy spells to be common amongst the women.
Children are abandoned due to parents who die from aides. Children are left abandoned due to parents who go to the Dominican Republic and Port-au-Prince in hopes of finding work by which to support their families. Because of the desperation of these parents they are easily scammed and taken advantage of. They are often killed or just seem to vanish when they demand payment for labour rendered.
It is my goal to be the voice of the abandoned children. It is my goal to be a voice that will raise funds to provide not just the immediate needs but a voice that will bring a sense of hope. A hope with a strategy to teach the children to become self sufficient and masters of their own destiny.
One summer as I was leaving the mountains of Haiti a little naked abandoned child begged, “Give me something please, Miss, give me something.” The only thing I had left to give him was my pen. As we drove away in a huge cloud of dust the little boy chased after me in all of his naked glory shouting, “BOBO, AMERICA, BOBO!!!” With tears in my heart I turned to my translator and asked what did the boy say. The translator said the little boy was shouting, “KISS, AMERICA, KISS!!!” So I have returned to America to bring you the kisses of a little abandoned boy with a pen from the mountains of Haiti.
To have Yolantha come and share her testimony contact her at yolanthapace@gmail.com
Saturday, September 12, 2009
B.A.D. Coalition (Bad, Audatious & Divine)--LET THE REVOLUTION BEGIN
Let us inspire one another to GIT GOD'S WORK done. Last night God prompted me to start the BAD (Bold, Audatious and Divine) Coalition. Won't you join me? I'm looking for women. Not whiney,sniveling, pms chained girls. Not 50 year old females that prefer to be called girls cause it makes them feel young. But women. When a boy get's his first extracurricular sprig of hair, he embraces his manhood, even makes everybody call him a MAN, cause he is DE MAN. I shut a group of 4 girls down this week cause I knew I was gonna wretch if they called themselves "girls" one more time. We were aged 32 to 65. I said, "What size bra cup do I have to wear? How many children do I have to have nursed? How many tampons must I have changed, before I am a woman? SILENCE. Utter silence. LET THE REVOLUTION BEGIN and this time it wil be led by A WOMAN. (yeah lil Wayne, come and git me)
Lil Wayne
If Lil' Wayne and all that he does and doesn't stand for can capture the masses why can't I. I wanna announce myself as DE BES' INSPIRATIONAL WRITER IN DE WORLD!!! Do ya hear me "carter"??? Come git me!!! And I got yo' lollipop scriptured rat cheer!!! And "carter" it ain't all about BLANG-BLANG!!! It's about what you "BRANG-BRANG!!!" AND...Lil Wayne I got a lil. sompin, sompin for our Katrina. It's called ATTIC OF DREAMS. Come git me lil wayne and BRANG BRANG yo Styrofoam cup cause I'm gonna have my communion glass wid me!!! And all yall out there who will read this and know lil mr. carter, tell him I'm bad, real, real BAD (Bold-Audacious & Divine) Tell him I'm old enough to be his mama's mama--and I ain't skeered! All yall out there in the cyber world tell Lil Wayne to come on--BRANG EET--on behalf of New Orleans--COOOOME OOOOON!!!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
KISS, AMERICA, KISS!!!
KISS, AMERICA KISS!!! The writin' is done, the prayers are on. Now I need to get this bad boy published. I have spoken the word into existence. Book in hand is just minor "take no calities". My challenges stem around the understanding that I am a trench woman. I am the doer. My forte is on the mission fields, wiping noses, praying over babies being blinded by pink eye, stumbling up mountain paths to bring plates of food to the blind and severely handicapped.
I am being strangled and derailed by the minutia of monies to self publish again. I am couch potatoed by the challenges of having all of the testimonies written but no stage, podium or audience.
I received a call from the supervisor of one of the orphanages I fed this summer. Telling me they were out of food. But worst of all the children are not crying over hunger, they are in tears because there is no money to hire a teacher this year. There will be no school for 2009-2010. Nine year ago, God asked me to "GOT TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAINS" of His, Love, Mercy and Grace. After discovering 76 abandoned children living on the mountains naked like wild animals God has now called me to "go tell it FROM the mountains."
My prayer this morning was Holy Masterful Father, move, move now in a big way on behalf of your angels on the mountains. And I will give you ALLLLLLLL of the Glory. And lookah, lookah, heah. I open my gmail to find out of the Divinely Appointed blue--an invitation to become apart of Premier Writers. How perfect, because my God is THE PREMIER GOD of all gods.
Yolantha Harrison-Pace
I am being strangled and derailed by the minutia of monies to self publish again. I am couch potatoed by the challenges of having all of the testimonies written but no stage, podium or audience.
I received a call from the supervisor of one of the orphanages I fed this summer. Telling me they were out of food. But worst of all the children are not crying over hunger, they are in tears because there is no money to hire a teacher this year. There will be no school for 2009-2010. Nine year ago, God asked me to "GOT TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAINS" of His, Love, Mercy and Grace. After discovering 76 abandoned children living on the mountains naked like wild animals God has now called me to "go tell it FROM the mountains."
My prayer this morning was Holy Masterful Father, move, move now in a big way on behalf of your angels on the mountains. And I will give you ALLLLLLLL of the Glory. And lookah, lookah, heah. I open my gmail to find out of the Divinely Appointed blue--an invitation to become apart of Premier Writers. How perfect, because my God is THE PREMIER GOD of all gods.
Yolantha Harrison-Pace
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