She walked right passed him. He who was a King. It hadn’t been intentional. And as he straightened his crown; flexing his pectorals. Hoping that the sun’s rays would hit his kingly. That this woman would see him. That she would fall to his feet. For he needed her to be his Queen. She might have been if he had come months sooner.
For in her a sea of intensity had raged. A hurricane of hunger surged through her. Its lightning and thunder awakened her. She could only see the very being she was striving to be. She was manifesting.
Dimensions she hadn’t seen. Dreams she hadn’t dreamt. She was inspired. She was ready to defy. She was ready to fly. She was manifesting. Her being had been rebooted. Schooled by knowledge that had been so empowering. She was manifesting.
She didn’t dress like a queen. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail; sweat running down her face. In her denim jeans were patches of dirt. That represented the business she was building. The degree she was completing The integrity she held on to. The book she was writing. She was manifesting.
There, etched into her black skin were jewels of her hard work. All the things her sweat, blood and tears had achieved. She was manifesting. The king went in search of her. Resting his crown. Putting on his boots. Running towards her Trying to catch traces of the beauty that lingered in the wind; gracing time and changing lives. She was manifesting
My name is Shantae Gray. A proud Jamaican and a graduate of The Caribbean Maritime University. I enjoy long hours at the beach, reading and singing.
I can’t say that writing is just a hobby. For me, it is far more than that. It has become a way of life. A God given talent that I appreciate each day.
It’s funny how my emotions and feelings are tied to my writing. If I can feel it, I can write it. I love that about my craft. It is my feelings and emotions on paper.
I am working on my first book of poetry and aspire to be a renowned self-published author.
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Ethel Beauregard is not dead. Ethel Beauregard is alive. She died, not with a choked gasp, scream Not metal or a screech Ethel Beauregard died of paper cuts on her fingers and face She died, not of heartbreak, but of a heart made whole too many times.
She did not die with her whole life ahead of her, For she was old, and knew better than to dream, Nor with her whole life before her eyes But thinking only of one place…
Somewhere in the world there is a procession of weepers, dressed in black, and circling an open grave. I am not there. I am in a library. A forgotten corner Full of yellowing books of poetry and light from a single window, a wooden chair, and a single desk And perhaps I knew her better than anyone else:
For she did not die full of courage, strength or humility, But full of brass keys to unopened locks to unopened rooms that lay old and forgotten, She died full of yellowed letters, tragedy unread She did not live of cloud and light But of wood and dust she is buried As she always was.
She did not die of old age It was not old age that killed her
Don’t look for her in a hole, or at a grave of stone. She is not there. Ethel Beauregard is buried here In the forgotten corner of a library Among yellowing books of poetry In the light from the window Among spines of poems that mourn and weep the emotions never read The forgotten poetry of the unnamed thousand Covered in dust
Ethel Beauregard is not dead For she lives in the corners of a library Where forgotten things go to rest.
I am a devoted poet and aspiring journalist in Greensboro, North Carolina who writes to perceive and interpret the world around me.
As someone with an innate affinity for words, I always want to get better at my writing and pursue it throughout my life.
When I’m not busy studying or helping with my local poetry club, I’m spending time in my own head daydreaming or I’m trying to rope friends into an impromptu card game.
Somewhere, a child is born yet in another, a life is lost While someone is making a fortune, another person is losing it all Someone somewhere is leaping for joy while someone is wallowing in tears Someone has way too much to eat while someone somewhere is starving to death
Is it then fair to say that life isn't fair?
While someone is living in sound health, another is accustomed to pain One baby is born into riches, yet another into misery Someone is living in a peaceful land Yet another's land is a war zone
It seems like life has different sides, Different folks are seeing different views That's why it's important to be kind, you never know what a person is going through Certain things are just beyond explanation Sometimes, life feels like a mystery.
I'm grateful for the air that I breathe I'm thankful for the soil on which I stand Blessed are the foods that I eat I'm immensely grateful for my health Thankful for the lessons I was privileged to learn from my past I'm full of gratitude seeing the beauty of this present moment I'm thankful for my five senses (and the sixth) I'm grateful for the manifested and the yet to manifest blessings I'm thankful for the blessings hidden in challenges I'm thankful for life in its fullness.
My name is Tolulope, usually called Tolu (easier to pronounce lol). I like to call myself “Gods1son”. I was born in Nigeria and did most of my education there before moving to Canada where I currently live. I work as a Web Developer, I enjoy my work. I was an Agriculture student for almost 6 years before crossing to the I.T field. I love it.
Ever since I found a passion in writing, it’s been one of my favorite things to do. I enjoy computer programming. I play squash to unwind.
I enjoy writing about life, in general, which includes but not limited to social issues, love, technology, myself, God. I will love to publish books someday (I hope soon). But it would be something I’ll be doing by the side. You can follow his work on IG & twitter: @gods1son_