I Don’t Write For You

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I don’t write
because I can
or to have you
in the palm of hand
I don’t write
because I do,
I write because I have to.
Hunger turned inside out
causing me to quake
scribbling like a junkie
prepping his next bake
The high to write
grips my soul
as I begin
to shake
Held fast by
a passion I
never want to escape
No I cannot put it down
until I have rendered her
her due
as I slowly whisper
to myself,
I
don’t
write
for
you.

#blackeagledream

Butterfly on a String 

Reconciled

to write

as

I do

a

strange twist of fate

for

loving

you.

Embracing that

you

be elusive

yet

cling….

Like

a

butterfly

on

a

string.

You offer hope

as a candle

shining brightly

in a

darkened place.

Life

has not

been

kind

but

you’ve never been one to complain.

Always pushing forward

keeping

your priorities straight.

You….

whose

love

has risen

above the fray –

A truly quiet
and

gentle soul…

Lisa

is

her

name.

For Lisa

#butterflyonastring
#blackeagledream

All Rights Reserved

Copyright is mine 12/25/2017

Measured Lines _

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Style is measured
in
increments
of
time.
Some people
write,
some people
rhyme.

A
writer,

a
storyteller,

a
keeper of dreams;

it
really
all
feels
the
same
with
me.

Words
are
the
boundary
lines
of
our
very
existence,
our
lives
measured
in
the
path
we
take.

Malcolm X knew,

image

Martin Luther King too.

image

When
we’ve gone
our
words
will
remain,
celebrated,
or
not.

So yes
write;
and
to
yourself
be
true,
yes
write
until
the
pen
does
bend,
and
the
warmth
of
the sun
is
not
felt
on
your
face
again,
any
more.

Link

Y>our Fears

Life
as a rule,

never
turns
out
the
way
we
hoped
it
to.

But if you live your life
with
clarity
and
purpose,
you
begin
to see.

Like
the
tolling
of the
bell
in
the
Square that calls to me.

In time

we
all
must
go
there,
to
embrace

our fragile humanity.

We
are
much
closer
to same

then

further apart,

depending
on
the types
of
seed
we
cultivate
in
our
heart,
the
source
of
all
y>our
fears.

#blackeagledream

All rights reserved. Copyright 2016

Rippin [the disclaimer]

This blog

will

not be begged

borrowed

or shanghied son

no not beat up

sifted

whipped

nor spun –

it is my

intellectual property

and

my physical property too

so it shant

be quoted sampled or quipped

or

otherwise

fucked

with.

Enjoy the day.

Kawika.

Read

the

Black Eagle Dream Collection @

blackeagledream.com

#rippin #rippinthedisclaimer

#blackeagledream

Mandela: Words and Concord

wpid-nm_mandela_old_photo_110127_16x9_608.jpg

Peaceful words, comforting intentions,
we’re abstract
without
dimensions.

Mandela knew
and had seen;
peace
war
prison
eight by seven,
African man’s heaven.
It will take more
than words
to bring
men
peace.

It was true then,
and is true still.
People of earth
in every land
can you not see?
Man flails,
woman wails,
children die,
all cry.
O mankind,
brother of mine,
will not
a sign be given
and seen;
so all people
can be truly free?
Why is it
you cannot
comprehend
of
what I speak?
This story is through; adieu.

(100 words 4U )

All Rights Reserved 

Copyright Dec. 2015

#mandelawordsandconcord

#blackeagledream 

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Kohala

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O Kohala

the place that my grandma knew,

and her mom,

and her mom’s mom too.

Dense dark forest

filled with

hidden

meanings and mist;

crowd

my dreams

when I think of this.

The orange lava

of

Kilauea

glows brightly in the day.

image

Downward it does go

marching relentlessly

to the sea,

preparing for

an

epic battle

with

an

ancient enemy.

The

glow of fire

reflects

off

my eyes

as I beam at the marvel of creation….

image

But

alas,

it is

this…

Waimea

of

old

that I do miss,

yes longing

for

her

misty

morning kiss

to

caress me

in

her loving arms

once

again.

image

And

as time moves ever forward

and I continue

to fade

it is

in my mind

that I travel back and forth

each

and

every day;

sometimes as a boy

but most times as a man.

The years do pass – people don’t last,

as I continue

to cling

to a well worn

and

tattered dream.

What

does

it

all mean?

From the mauka
to

the

kai,
when

my

journey
is

complete;
in
Waipi’o Valley
is

where

I

will

sleep.

image

O Hawai’i nei,

embrace me

as

your native son

as

I

slumber

in your arms

until

that

promised day

has

come.

image

For my Grandmother, Annie Lincoln of Kohala, Hawai’i. I haven’t forgot you grandma.

Written by Kawika A Stafford

All rights reserved.

Copyright is Mine

#blackeagledream

Unfolded Vanity


In

my face,
i
dare
see,

a lifetime

etched
in
glassy
blue
m
i
s
e
r
y.

How
it
is
reverberant

this loss,

this gain,

living
a
life
of
unfiltered
pain.

Down
i
do
go,
to the unmarked
place;

striving
for
things
that
have
no
face.

Happiness

and

Joy

i

have

met

once

or

twice,

hollow

words;

they seem real nice.

My
smile feigned,
sheltering
the
torrent
of
my
tears,

nicely

done

down

through

the

years.

With
my
mind
I
do
see,

everything

and

everyone

that

has

been

lost

to

me.

Ah,
the
unfolding
of
my
vanity.

Chasing
the
wind
in a
desperate
place,
happiness
itself
it
does
escape;
leaving
me
to
grasp
for
shards
of
joy;
in
a
life
of
unfulfilled
dreams.

I dedicate this piece to my coworker, and friend
Mr. Antonio Guevara, aka Tony G.

RIP TONY G… April 1st, 2016

#blackeagledream

Black Eagle Dream

image

Chapter 1 

Book I

In 1996, 

Sonny Ray was living in 

Las Vegas, Nevada when his father died. 

Sonny Ray and his family had arrived at the pow wow on the Paiute reservation on saturday evening.

It was the annual event for the memorial day weekend.
Sonny Ray was standing in line for some frybread when his phone rang.
It was his older brother Stewart, calling from Tucson with some really bad news.
“Sonny Ray,” she called out softly, momentarily interrupting his thoughts. “Are you going to be all right?” Nikko, had taken their daughter, little Raye for a walk, and was not there when he had first taken the call. She was clearly shaken herself, but her concern now was for her husband. After leaving the pow wow early, they headed home, exchanging glances, and holding hands. Sonny Ray stared straight ahead, hot stinging tears rolled slowly from his eyes. Nikko caressed his neck, gently rubbing the nape of his hair.
In truth they were both afraid.
This was the very first direct hit either of their families had taken thus far. Death had struck close to home for sure; as close as a kiss on the lips. Little Raye lay fast asleep in the back seat of the car, as they continued south on the 95.
Sonny Ray was numb. He just wanted to get home to make some calls, and check on a flight to Tucson. They remained southbound on 95, headed for the Boulder highway exit.

The following morning,
Sonny Ray sat on the edge of his bed, thinking about the last conversation he had had with his father. He was packed and ready, waiting on the girls.
Sonny Ray sat on an emotional precipice; teetering on the edge, but outwardly behaving like his life was; as it always had been.
“Sonny Ray can I get you something, are you ok?” Nikko asked again, pleading now more present in her voice. “Yeah I’m
fine,” Sonny Ray responded, trying to sound casual like he had been in a fender bender.
But like most people who find out unexpectedly, that someone that they love has died, there is a sudden queasy pain; like how it felt when you got sucker punched in the stomach by the neighborhood bully.
A dull uneasy feeling coursed through his body.
A feeling that literally wanted to make him curl up in a ball, and pretend he never heard the words. For Sonny Ray, guilt spread slowly over his body. Just two months prior, Sonny Ray’s father had called. He sat on his bed staring at the floor, his fathers question reverberating over and over
again in his mind.

‘Son, when are you going to come down and visit your old man?’

His dad had retired from the military, and had decided Davis Monthan Air Force base would be his last duty station when he first arrived to Arizona in 1970.
“Nikko I’m ready, can we go?”
Sonny Ray sat quietly, because he realized not even his dad dying could alter his wife’s perception about time. She always seem preoccupied; searching for something, forgetting nothing.
Sonny Ray knew he had to keep his composure. “Nikko,” Sonny Ray said without expression, but with the hint of impatience. After so many years of the hurry up and wait routine, Sonny Ray grabbed his bag, and decided to go sit in the truck.

“I love you more little girl,”
Sonny Ray said, as he held his five year old daughter Raye, in his arms. Nikko kissed Sonny Ray on the lips, and squeezed his hand gently.
“Don’t forget to feed my horse,” Sonny Ray said trying to give his wife the stink eye. “Whatever
Son,” Nikko said, feigning offense. Nikko had forgotten to feed his horse, one Saturday when he went to Casa Grande to ride a few bulls in a small jackpot.
Over the years it had become their banter. Sonny Ray gave her a quick kiss trying to prevent her from pulling away. Nikko arched her head back laughing.
“Come here baby,” Sonny Ray said in his best Barry White.
“Would you go?” Nikko pretended like she was going to put her truck in gear.
“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Nikko pulled away from the curb. She winked and gave him a little tongue wave and a smile. Sonny Ray smiled, and stood waving at his family until the truck was assimilated into the warm Las Vegas night.

‘I can only give him a five and a half on that one,’ Sonny Ray thought to himself, as the jet touched down at Tucson international. Sonny Ray had flown on many an airplane, and as a kid he and his two brothers had made up the game of rating the pilots. If they landed smoothly they would be given high marks. Most pilots sucked anyway, but it had been fun to play as children. As an adult they still hadn’t improved that much, but the truth was Sonny Ray was always happy and relieved when the lights came on, and he heard the simultaneous sound of seat belts clicking. He grabbed his bag out of the overhead compartment, and stood quietly impatient like everyone else; desperate to get out of the confined space. His older brother Stewart greeted him at the gate. They bear hugged and left the cool confines of the airport, venturing out into the warm Arizona night. Although it was ten thirty at night it was a crisp 102° as the two men walked to the parking lot. Sonny Ray looked out to the north, seeing the outline of the Catalina mountains. They were like a close friend that had not judged him harshly for leaving. Sonny Ray, and his family had migrated to Las Vegas two years previous. The two men had barely spoken. After a few miles Stewart asked, “You feel like stopping at Johnny’s for something to eat?”
It was their old man’s favorite spot. “Sure, let’s go,” Sonny Ray replied.

“Mommy, when is my daddy coming home, huh when mommy?” Nikko smiled as she tucked her baby in for the night. “I don’t know baby your daddy has to help uncle Stewart with the funeral arrangements…” Nikko suddenly realized she was speaking to a five year old. “Daddy has to help uncle with grandpa’s things.” “What’s a funernull? What did you call it mommy?” “I called it goodnight little lady, mommy will talk to you more about in the morning. Sleep tight. I love you.” Nikko kissed her baby on her cheeks, as was their custom. “Okay mommy, love you.” Nikko double checked the window. Nikko finished the dishes, and made herself a cup of carob tea. She sat curled up on her couch, wrapped in a hand knitted afghan. She looked at the picture of her husband, and her brother in law Stewart, in happier times. “I hope those two can keep it together,” Nikko thought out loud. For two brothers who were really close at one time, they could be equally stubborn about a lot of shit. Typical petty shit. Nikko changed the channel, and enjoyed her tea before heading off to a hot relaxing soak in the bath.

Posted from WordPress for Android

Black Eagle Dream

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Chapter 46

The Black Eagle Dream flew high above the devastation that was America. The charred trees and the scorched earth, blackened the landscape as far as the eagles eyes could see. The people, like little ants, while enjoying the comfort of numbers and real estate, had long forgotten to wit; how it was that they had arrived at such prosperity. It had an ample source of both water and food. The other smaller nations, having been displaced; tried everything they could to survive and get along with their arrogatious neighbors. It was as if the large colony of ants had neglected to remember, that they too were nothing more than ants themselves. Inexplicably, within the hardened casing that lodged their dwarfish like intellect; they had evolved, and become great ones in the imagination of their existence. And at the apogee of their arrogance, they had stepped out on the sidewalk of relevance, and discovered that they, like their indivisible indigenous neighbors, could not only suffer loss, and pain, but be devastated within the borders of their own country. Not in some war torn country, so called third world, ass backwards, not as good as us, country. What is worse? To have nothing, and lose little, or to have it all; just for it to be undone in some, unforeseen occurrence? An ant is an ant, much like a caretaker who takes care of the earth. Take care, to take care,
of what takes care of you. The fire of greed burns out of control. The world is on fire, and getting hotter by the day. Change your ways before you lose all claims to humanity. For whose to say where we will be tomorrow? Put your trust in realities, that cannot be devoured by fire. The Black Eagle Dream continued on it’s way, flying higher, and higher above the little ants of mankind, who for the most part had lost their reflecting glass, and forgotten their true identity.

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