Maya in the Spring

Maya in the Spring
Maya was named after the poet Maya Angelou

Welcome , this my corner

I love to write. I've been writing since I was about 17years old. I' am always learning new ways to express my self. Welcome and enjoy my world.



Stefanie

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

“Champions do not become champions when they win the event, but in the hours, weeks, months and years they spend preparing for it. The victorious performance itself is merely the demonstration of their championship character”

This quote means a lot to me. I have son's who play sports. At times they get upset by set backs they face in the game they love to play. Not able to win hurts one pride or so it seems. So I had to focus off of the game that they played but by the way you prepare for it. I tell my boys all the time "its not how you played the game but if you put your best into it." You just cant be good, good is ok, but when you but your 100% best into you cant fail, even if you win or loose.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Spoken Word

It Sat night 2/20/10 its around 8:30pm. Its called spoken word, the night was filled with party life. In the same place they had a party for 107.5 a local radio station here in Columbus. I'm there for the hunger of the words. I want to hear some poetry. I want to live high for a while and thne smoke back w/ease.

There is a group of folks there, they could have been getting crunk up in the glitz and glam but instead they are there for the hunger too. I want to jump for joy, when I see the first poet get up there, his name is Taalam Acey. I've seen him on youtube before. It was something, this artist. He spoke about family, brothers in struggle and most of just love and life. My ears were hungry for that type of spoken word.

Then comes the slam which was the best, all the artist were the BOMB!!!!!!!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Killer in Cleveland

I found this interesting that no one knew about Anthony Sowell's serial killings ways. Until the police came. Does anyone have block watch?
Here is a poem


The bones that lived in Cleveland.
They smelled of dust and dirt from down South
Like the ones from yesterday
They screamed at you and said "Your too old and ugly, like the bad and ugly"!

The bones that lived in Cleveland no one knew
All they knew that potholes filled the back banks
covered with hands
some young and new
with satin wrapped around them
Some sat up in closed off worlds
Yes those bones, no one knew
blind eyes kept shut, sirens only come when the ugly came out

Am I really grown up yet?

I find myself at times asking the question Am I really grown up yet? Not at all. I think none of us are until we stand the test of time.

Look at me, I'm in my 30's. I have three kids LOL. I've made many mistakes but the thing I really grow from is what I can learn from others and my mistakes. I want to make mistakes, I know, I know it sounds odd. But yes I really do, so my understanding of life grows more wiser.

I wonder now about my old age. I'm years from it, but I really want to know. What I'll be doing from 30 years from now. I know what I hope for. What I really want to have is understanding of this life. Does anyone ever get wiser? Yes some do I think. It comes with a lot of mistakes.

The first thing I want are my kids to have a safe life. I want the best for them, I put my dreams on hold so I can full fill theirs. We have something going on everyday of the week. Boxing, ballet classes, art classes etc etc. So I cant really find anytime for myself, its OK. I want that for them I want them to have the things I never did. Its only right for me to think this way, people who have kids understand where I'm coming from.

So in some ways I'm grown up. I don't want to put myself first or my dreams. Its OK to take time out for yourself once in awhile, but to really just but my kids on the back burner while I venture off with my dreams. Well not now, I would think its selfish. I love being a mother, I love my kids when they win at sports or show me a art project they have done. So I have to say they are the ones who have made me wiser.


This is hope...she is on the OSU Campus. She stands in front of the James Cancer Hospital.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Love and Hurt

Why is it so easy to hurt so many people we love?
I find myself asking this question so many times. It is because we know our love ones most inner problems and we as people jus pounce on them the first chance we get? To bring that person down even more?
I've been thru so many things in my life mostly w/family and I find my family maybe likes to tear me down instead of uplifting me.

They treat strangers better than they do me. Then I thought about this question and had to reflect my thoughts a little more. What if I never showed them any love? I tend to always blame the other person but never look at my faults. I'am doing better about this process it will take me awhile. I have made up my mind, to say I love you more. Even when family gets me down, I will bring the best out in me and not focus on others and my WHYS.

911





As 8:46 am it hits and the dim dark dust falls,they stand at post.
Right hand over their heart and the American flag flies ½ mast.. flowing so briskly in the background

And I just sit still now

Brimming my finger over my coffee mug ½ empty dark, no cream, no sugar

I spill the rest by shifting back and forth thru papers on my kitchen table, frustrated and in dismay of what I saw eight years ago

I can remember back to cries, sirens and shocking reviling thoughts

Now its jus a moment of silence

Silence for the victims …

Questions still arises was it group of organization terrorist threat, or inner stage plot?

I don’t know.

All I know is people, everyday people. People of all walks of life, Atheist, Muslim, Christian’s, grandparents, mothers and fathers you and I
Now holds a black frame with no body, no grave, no they had no warning of what this day shall hold forever ,empty towers now rest a memorable grave site.

Seeing thousands line up for a moment of silence, not knowing even knowing what this day means. I had no idea that this day my grandchildren will read this like I read about Perl Harbor.

Some would turn their eyes to hate, fighting a war with regret in their eyes. I’ll put you on the line, don’t care if you come home in a tin box remembering those boxes, silver long remembering is so hard. Still I hold my troops and sway them back in forth, saying thank you for protecting my life is not enough.
Holding on to dear life… grudges will kill you dead. More die, sticking with pins and needles … tip toeing around on pins and needles, the truth hurts for some. Crossing the line to gain your agenda.

Oh how those towers those towers replaced with neon lights beaming to heaven.

Yes 8:46 hits the clock keeps ticking, years keep passing and lives keep living and dying.
Yes Dying and living ..the living must choose to live or die, come walk in their shoes?

Someone may regain thought or hope or jus a reassurance that maybe their loved one(s) might walk away from the dust.

No such hope, the dust rose 8 years ago and they still stand year after year hoping the moment silence can return but the clock keeps ticking. Running late was not option trying to be punctual employees.

Many people said coulda woulda shoulda….why was Dear old Johnny not late. Or my wife was late jus yesterday why not 9-11 of all days…these questions still arise for the victims love ones.

But the ones that made it from the dust …the ones that missed that subway and the ones that called in sick, they live with the questions forever, why did I make it to stand here on this day for a moment of silence

Friday, February 12, 2010

इट्स ओनली टाइम इ सीन म्य्सेल्फ़

She walked with a twitch fast pace, her head was oval shape, long and her chin came to a point. Her hair came down her back it was straight, bone straight, thin with no curls or no bangs. It was light brown like Carmel with hint of mint in it. Her cheeks were red and she obsessively was agitated with the wind coming upward as she walked into it. She was about 5’8 and no more than 120 pounds; she was thin had a silhouette like a dancer.

She was young in her early twenties, maybe a student. She was going somewhere important like she was running for a clock.
You could tell her legs where long and she took long steps when she walked with her head still down.

She was wearing some corduroys tan/worn but in good condition, she had brown loafers on and her coat is plaid. Green and red plaid dull colors, worn colors. Like old very old…she could got it at a thrift store; you don’t see Pella-coats like that anymore. The wool you could tell was thick and the coat came past her torso.

But something about her, reminds me of me. She looks nothing like me. She may be distant, yes she looks distant. Maybe it’s me, but something about the way she walks. Yes-her head is down when she walks shows she is distant from the world. She walks in hurry, like I. I can tell she wants control, well I know I want control I get that from years of dance class, sounds odd but true. When you dance everything flows, pasture, head up. I got this control from 11yrs of ballet classes.

I don’t seem so confident anymore.

Angela Davis

It was so amazing last night. Here at the OSU Campus, Angela Davis spoke about issues on a large scale. One that gave me awwww was the struggle for huaman rights for all. Even tho, in light of Black Hisotry Month, I think it was way pass time to hear someone speak about issues and it not be about America. We have problems yes, but I think we should look deeper into this on wider scale.


She spoke about Haiti that moved me in way , that mad me almost want to cry. She spoke about the independence of Haiti, how everyone wants to talk about how poor Haiti is. We never discuss what Haiti did for us as African people or as a culture. They did so much and received so little.

It also was so interesting that she would speak about her first teaching job @UCLA and how she got fired. One because she was black, two she was a women and three she was a communist. Her story is nothng like mine, but in one small way I can relate.

I was born to a white mother and black father, in the late 70's. Most people would say "Oh that's nothing". Well not here in Columbus, Ohio. It seem to me racsim followed my mother everywhere. I remember her telling me a sotry about how an older African-American women came up to my mother and told her in so many words. "Honey you dont know nothing about raising a black child". I was just a baby at the time. But hearing this story and many after compelled me not to be like them or my mother side of the family.

What I took from yesterday was more understanding. We are all human regardless of race, sex you know the rest. hahahhha
But we all have purpose, a true sense of one. Its not about anything else. Its about the respect you hold for all people. It has nothing to do with that Angela is or was a communist or part of the most feared group in America (Black Panter Party). What I got from her was hope, struggle one person faced w/so many other things in this world. Just like us all.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

My prayer

i was never shy
then somehow i met your life
i didnt know what to make of you
you prayed every night and ask
for true love
i went places where it smell like brown rum
and cigars...
u wanted me to go places
where leaves turned and flowers bloomed all year
that was us wanting to be safe
it was easy for you
but so hard for me
i was from a place where the hot sun
beat down on black top
the smell of oil left on my neck,
and taxi men w/yellow teeth picked me up
where men have hardhats
 and women dont wear panties
w/thier dresses
yeah this is my life
your life was of sweet golden corn
slow hills rolling into the heavens
were girls come to you as virgins
w/mothers named Mary
yes this is your life
so lets jus be, no conversation
lets jus be-
 these feelings we have it will pass
we could never understand each others prayers
©SDM 2010

Leonard Peltier

In spirit of crazy horse

Thou shall live free some day
The reminders that injustice was given a sentence of life-
Of imprisonment



Long live life
Long live justice
What my eyes see, I know you have lived
A wrong hand of imprisonment for you
Highest person to over see you
Anishinabe and Dokota/Lakota Nations
Movement for all but for the fairness
For the Indian’s of Oglala Lakota to be free one day


Movement stiff
Movement free
Movement for the people
Prison writings
For the dead to see
noble and peace your spirit will live free
noble and peace as the maker will see