Of A Woman’s Worth

woman queen

The value of a woman is not measured in how many cows you pay for her,
Nor is it measured by  how many children she will birth,
It is certainly not measured on a scale like you weigh a choice piece of meat at the butcher,
the value of a woman is not measured in her figure and shape or ratio of her waist to hips,
Nor is it measured in her equality to man
The value of a woman is priceless….
Measured in currency more valuable than gold…
The value of a woman is measured in the same way you measure the worth of any man of worth..
In the depth and goodness of the soul beneath…..

*work in progress*

~B

 

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Of Star Gazing Into Tomorrow

Sometimes the random tweets I post wind up inspiring someone and magic just like poetry happens……..

We can sit and talk
or we can sit and stare at one another,
it’s up to you.

We can sit and talk
outside under a full moon

The magic of conversations
under the moonlit nights

Star gazing,
pure magic.

Counting heartbeats and stars

Dreaming of a future,
that never will be.

Dreams made on wishes,
of the light of stars long dead

Dimmed light within,
lone stars through the dark nights.
And no hope in our shattered hearts

The night sky revealing more than the day hides,
dim stars still shine
and hope,
hope springs from the kernels of shattered hearts.

When will it be over?
When shall it not hurt?
When can I recover
And to joy revert?
When the night is done,
And tears are dry.
When love’s bright sun
Breaks the dawning sky

Night ends,
Dawn breaks
Time flies,
Wounds heal,
Pain dims,
Storms end,
Skys clear,
Birds cheer,
and you realise its tomorrow.
A place different from today.

The darkness never goes away.
Tomorrow you say?
but tomorrow he still does not love me
and my heart is still in pain.
Tomorrow comes and the darkness remains,
I break and mend and break again
In spite of all my acting tough.

Falling apart,
to be remade again,
each piece,
exactly where it should be.
And when you are ready
it will find you.
Come find me when you wake up.
Thats what tomorrow whispers

falling apart

mended heart
~B
Day 23 of Africa Stories from Home

Miss Becka is certifed bookworm and can be found on Twitter: @melaninsodark

 

Of Being Me

dreadlocks in the sun

who am I?
I am not just the product of my DNA,
I am a sum of my everyday existence,
I can not be defined in a single word,
maybe a mouthful of English perchance,
but a whole book wouldnt quite catalogue me all the same,
who I am each day changes,
I am that guy who looks at the world with a child-like curiosity,
seeing everything as if for the first time.

I am the man with a boy in his eyes,
I might not really know who I am or where i am going,
but I am on my way there ,
I like the person I am,
each step reaches out to who I will become,
in my heart I know I am destined for greatness,
what and whosoever we seek,

seeks us also,

I am the guy who *clicks* like on my own posts,
I am the guy that congratulates himself for a job well done,
and raises a glass in toast to myself,
if I dont appreciate my self-worth who do I expect to value me speculatively appreciatively,

I am the guy with the vivid imagination,
my mind’s eye has stereoscopic high-definition imagery,
sometimes I can recall a scene,
and be hard-pressed to be definitely sure
if twas a book I read or a movie I watched or even just a dream I had last night,
I am the guy who still watches anime and dances to opening theme music  ,
some of my best movies of all time are animated flicks,
I watched the lion king countless times,
I still hate scar just for kicks,
and just cause it rhymes,

I am the guy who will watch a leaf,
falling softly to the soft brown earth,
and want to sketch it with charcoal to canvas,
and wonder if it fluttered to the ground,
in the way it did only cause i was watching,
and wonder if it hurt the stem from which it fell,

when eating a meal i like, I eat what I like best last,
to savor the flavor,
I never say yuck to something before trying it,
like mixing peanut butter, sugar, powdered milk and chocolate powder to make a snack,
here and there I even eat a teaspoonful of sugar for an instant energy fix,

Personally I prefer handwritten, stamped and posted sentiments of a tangible nature,
I love words,
words on paper,
words on a screen,
words in a book,
they breathe a life of their own,
heck I even prefer watching a movie with the subtitles on
I have drawer full of unsent letters whose recipients will never know,

I am the guy who doesnt use shorthand in messages and crazy bout predictive text,
I am the guy who will use 180 characters in one text message,
even if it was just to say good morning,

I am the guy that believes in perfection,
but i also believe in bending slightly than breaking completely,
I am not perfect but i seek to do perfectly all my tasks ,
even those I do not like for I know no other way,
doing simple things perfectly than sophisticated things imperfectly,
and sometimes even a poorly executed plan is better than inaction,
I am the guy who will go a long way out of my way,
so that I can come back a short distance,
in the right direction,

I believe in fairytales, human angels and happy endings,
I like to think there’s basic goodness in each of us,
deep down where it really counts,
I talk along to my favorite movie scenes when watching them again,
sing along off-key to my favorite songs,

like a teabag whose tea’s strength can not be judged till it is put in hot water,
my best creations are when am under pressure and deadlines due,
I believe we make our own luck but it wouldnt hurt to wear lucky socks,
and so what if i can not wolf-whistle, tie a hangman’s noose or write anything that rhymes,
it still feels like poetry to me,
I cant paint like picasso, raphaelo, michaelangelo, davinci but I can put ink to paper in a fairly describe a landscape or portrait,

I like to be alone ,
but only when there are other people there,
I feel lost in crowds but I love company,
I find meaning in silence,
I may not always say all that i mean,
but I always mean what I say,
I am true to my word,
I try to keep promises I make if i can ,
I am the guy who says thank you all the time and apologises always ,
even if it wasnt my fault , that the weather was too cold for the picnic I promised to take you on,

I am that guy that hates being the cause of anyone’s distress, however indirectly I might have caused it,
I am the guy that can not help but help and feel guilty at the sight of a crying lady even thou I didnt cause the tears,
I am the guy whom if you told you loved flowers I’d pluck petals from my own heart,
I am the guy that watches you being happy with someone else even thou you would be happiest with me just because
I dont want to be the reason for you to break up,
I am the guy whose heart if you should into a million pieces break,
I’d still love you a million times with each broken part,
I am that guy who is a hopeless romantic at heart,

I am the guy with strands of wisdom far beyond my age

beaton

I am what I am I dont want praise I dont want pity,
I bang my own drum, some think its noise , i think its pretty
…..and your life is a sham till you too can shout i am what i am

that is who i am,… who are you….???????

~B

Africa: Stories From Home

Of An Ode To Time

Existing as a whole,
Yet uniquely,
Fragmented,
Balanced,
The weakness of strength
Counter balanced by
The strength in weakness
Infinite possibilities,
All linked,
as the time piece turns,
Measuring,
Ticking,
Cogs within cogs within cogs,
turning,
Varying yet aligned
The shapes that give us form and the lessons we learn from.
Our mind and the Soul.
One mysterious,
the other simply complex,
one a machine,
the other a ghost within.
Birth and death,
Beginnings into Endings
To begin again,
As time just is
Connected to all things………,

Ending just as eventually all things END

The END

time

~B

Day 15 of my blog everyday challenge…… A poem, an ode to time, the mystery and fragility of life……

 

Of Moonlit Letters To A Muse

My Dearest Mable

Today is neither your birthday nor the anniversary of the first letter you wrote me on your blog almost a year ago. I remember each word almost like I just read it before I started writing you this letter…………..

dear Beaton letter

Ok, ok, I confess, I just finished rereading it again, for the zillionth time……….

I have always started to write a reply back each time and have gone as far as:

Dear Mable

And I then I fail to come up with words that would be a reply worthy of the honour you did me.

letter from mable

letter from Mable

Today however, I will sit here and I will write.

Today is not a holiday neither is it your birthday, it’s not even a full moon night, this February did not have a single full moon although January had two including a lunar eclipse. Imagine I am writing this on a full moon, as I imagine you reading this beneath the moonlit night sky.

You make me smile, you make laugh and most of all you just might be as crazy as you think I am.

That sounds like something I ciuld have whispered to you, in my past life, you might have been my favourite wife, or the lady who danced to all my songs and finished the sentences to all my stories made them right…

The universe might have conspired to place time and distance between us but across various timelines and multitudes of possibilities we would always find each other.

I love the sun

But I dream of The Moon,

All that The Sun gives away

The moon takes,

Sunlight by day

Moonnlight by night

Fulfilling the promises

Let The Be Light……..

Imagine this were a moonlit night and I whispered these words into the breeze, beneath the moon’s milky twilight, petals in the wind dancing with their beloved, as the moonbeam strikes a chord on the window seal.

On nights such as these I stare out of the window to see the moon of my dreams and picture myself howling at it, like a mythical being as I imagine you looking at the same moon and thinking of me too.

The same moon that shines in my sky watches over you too, wherever so you may be, its as if I too will be there by your side. Even when the sun itself is shining we will always have the moon, it may not be as big nor as bright but it is way more magical……

Moon howling

The Full-moon Poet

Today is not a holiday, neither is it your holiday but I thought to not let it pass without me immortalizing you in the only way I know how

All My Love

~B

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Coffee And More Cake

African Sunset Cake

We are going to need more cake……..

If you were having coffee with me, I would be very happy to welcome you to my this hear wonderful space, I would ask you if I looked older?

Beaton Grey

Rich with strands of silver, Embracing my beard’s winter As I stand in the sun….

It was my birthday just the other day in case you missed it……. Your birthday is when you get to experience what it feels like to be a celebrity, people being nice to you simply because you were born, but only for a day.

If you were having coffee with me I would tell that if I had to share a slice of cake wwith everyone I promised a slice, we would definitely need more cake. I would share some of my favourite messages from all over the internet:

Edwina

Zilencube

RaggedUrban

Mablees

The best rumours I have I heard about me I started them myself…

Fiona

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that I am a walking contradiction, my totem is a flame and my spirit animal is fire but my star sign is Pisces a water element, what happens when Fire meets water; why magic happens of course.

T.W.

pisces born 22 february

I still haven’t watched Black Panther scandalous as that may be, and so I navigate my internet timeline cautiously trying not to step on spoilers as people go about tagging #WakandaForever. I wonder wakanda character I would have been if Wakanda were real, but not to fret soon as I watch, a review will be coming up!!!!

If you were having coffee with me I would ask if you see the irony in saying:

 “The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is with a good guy with a gun”

when the only person who gains from is the person who manufactures/sells the guns.

I don’t watch the news much, but it still filters down to me, the atrocities people commit for various reasons and causes. The really is no-one is more dangerous than a person who believes in the righteousness of their cause.

If you are having coffee with me I would tell you that birthdays are but an excuse to eat cake, so we are going to need more cake….

africa themed cake

~B

PS Final its complete the poetry duet I was doing with Mable where I would write something and she would RIGHT it give it a look see:

I wrote Of The Broken Mugged Man

She replied with Bruised Not Broken

I wrote Of UnBreaking

She responded with Hearts

Next I wrote Of Heart Petals In The Wind

And she said finally righted it You and I

PPS Mable definitely next Wednesday.

 

Of Heart Petals In The Wind

rose petals drifting

Once upon a time,
I stood by the window,
I watched as the breeze,
Blew away with harsh ease,
Petals from the flowers in my china mug vase,
I watched as they floated away from me,
Just like so many of my dreams,
petals from the deep folds of my heart,
one by one all but forgotten,
I watched still,
as the last petal blew past the window sill,
Freely given

rose petal in the wind
I held out my hand out the window,
and reached into the breeze,
I closed my hand around it,
and felt it flutter in the palm of my clasped hand,
like a tiny beating heart,
fluttering like a butterfly,
The happiness it brought was enchanting,
I feared clutching it to tightly would crush it,
yet I feared that opening my palm,
would free it to be gone forever,
freely given,
I unclapsed my hand,
to reveal the gift the breeze held.
If you too would float away,
My petal in the wind……

heart petal in hand

~B

5th part of a 6th part duet, I write something and Mable rights it

She last wrote: hearts

 

Of UnBreaking

heart shaped bandage

Hearts,
Hearts are delicate but never fragile,
They bruise but neither broken nor unravel
Like pieces of a favoured porcelain mug
With a bit of patience and a lot of glue,
I put back each piece as best as I could,
The sharp jagged edges cut as would tiny a razor blade,
A price I gladly pay for my mug remade.
If only it had turned out the way I hoped
Alas its a crazy quilt jigsaw,
Stitched up with nothing but glue,
Each day I learn to like it a little bit more,
Even appreciate its flaws as my own.
Its ok if nobody else likes it,
I am good all by myself.
The once favourite mug broken and glued together again,
Its no longer what it was,
It leaks ever so slightly still
Now a vase for a flower by the window sill…….

broken mug flower vase

 

~B

Third part of a six part duet; I write something and Mable rights it……

She Wrote: Bruised, Not Broken

 

Of The Broken Mugged Man

 

broken Mug

Broken china cup pieces,
Litter the kitchen floor,
I am awake picking up the shards,
A fragment of a red red heart,
Broken,
Just like mine,
Losing words and heat,
Just like me,
………………..shattered

broken heart mug
I never wanted much,
Now I expect even less.
Yesterday this was my favourite mug,
Today it’s a mess,
Yesterday I was loved,
Today I pick pieces from the floor,
A shattered mug bleeding out its core
Just like mine
……………….Unlovable,
Where do broken mugs go?
Time ticks everything away,
Picking up pieces from the floor,
I don’t weep I know how this story ends,
You told me yourself,
The unlovable wind up in one place
Just like me
………………..Discarded.

Discarded

 

~B

This is the first part of a six part duet, I write something then Mable rights it…..

 

Of Why I Write

flipping pages

Blank pages ……

I am genetically engineered to write,
My genes are punctuated with metaphors,
And an irresistible need to write..
I am writer,
It’s not what I do,
It is who I am,
I take off my shoes before I write,
To sort of humble myself before,
All the words inside of me,
Words written but never spoken,

Words to fill up the blank pages 

….You read a part of me in every word I write…
The parts of me you read, are not just pieces of me, but make me up.

Every word of mine you read,
You take a part of me with you

What will you do with the lil bit of my soul that you take with you?

Dipping a pen into my blood
I write myself a soul
pouring out a multitude of words,
brushing away the excess,
A little more of me drips onto every page,
In time,
I will be the book and the book will be me
and my story will be told

Becoming The Muse

 

~B

 

page scrolling

becoming the muse why I write 2018