Writing and Editorial Background

Writing: Writer for 38 years with an extensive portfolio, which includes the following examples in the categories indicated: novels (The Hallelujah Hat, Strange Fruit, Lizards); essays (Smoking the Blues Away); plays (A Summer Burning); poems (Shine On); short stories (Under the Cover of Darkness); and children’s stories (Wilhelmina and the Whispering Willow Tree). Published in the anthology Explorers and on several literary websites. Released first self-published book of fantasy entitled Cake Tales: 10 Deliriously Delicious Stories of the Surreal (December 2006).

Editing:  Served as the primary editor of my self-published release Cake Tales. Served as a contributing editor of the Atlanta Metropolitan College (AMC) Self-Study Report and the AMC Self-Study Newsletter. Co-edited and assisted in the development of the following official, major Atlanta Metropolitan College documents as a part of my professional capacity as secretary to the Office of Institutional Research, Planning, and Assessment: Annual Report, Fact Book, Comprehensive Assessment and Evaluation Plan/Guide, and the Strategic Plan. Also co-edited all official business related communiqués such as memorandums, letters, etc.

Self-Publishing Workshops

Currently developing a self-publishing manual for use during two self-publishing workshops. The manual will cover the self-publishing process from creation to publication.

Education

B. A. – Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts (1992) – Government

Awards

Third-Place Winner – 1990 National Council for Black Studies National Creative Writing Competition

World of Poetry 1990 Poet of the Year award.

Literary Works

Novels (In Progress): The Hallelujah Hat, The Quiltmaker, Strange Fruit, Lizards, Plenty

Essays (Completed): Summer Bar-B-Ques: Smoking the Blues Away (A Tribute to the 1970’s), The Shattering Screams of Domestic Violence: A Universal Sound, Striking It Rich, The Stranger Who Lived Across the Street, How Shyness Enabled Me to Develop Clarity of Voice and Vision, All the Martians in the House Say Ho!, Money: The Great Equalizer, Growing Up Poor, A Tribute to Hip-Hop Music and Its Fans, Who’s Calling Who a Bird Brain (I Wish They Sold Horse Sense by the Pound)

Plays (In Progress): A Summer Burning, Phillip’s Story

Poetry (Completed): Color Me Woman, This Man of Mine Makes Mighty Promises But Keeps Not Any, Man of Men, Life is Too Short: Count Your Blessings!, One Colorful Sister Gracing the Stage of Life, Chocoholics Unanonymous, And Then the Prophet Shall Rise, Dawn of Our New Beginning, When Souls Fly Free and Dance, Shine On!, Boughs of This Head, Twentieth Century Nefertiti, Little Kacky Dress of Mine, Eyes to My Soul, When I Die, Soothing Cool Breeze, Not Gonna Steal My Joy, The Sorrow in His Eyes, Lil’ Baby Bird, Song for the Lonely, The Pitter Patter of Unemployment, Sometimes…, Ode to Toni Morrison, Madeleine’s Cane, Once Upon a Time in a Midnight City, Mother Your Spirit Keeps Me Free, My Lover Unfound, Freedom’s Tongue, A Christmas Carol, A Painted Woman Who Just Wanted to be Somebody, AIDS: The Great Equalizer, And Then There was One (A Tribute to Malcolm X), Conscious Mind, Dear Father, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: The Secular King of Kings, Dream Saga, Ebony, Echoes, Everybody’s Always Philosophizing, For One Night God Granted Me the Gift of Flight, Howard’s Way, I Can…, I Loved…, I’m the Epitome, Illusion, Incognito, It Oughta Be a Crime to Have to Work on a Day So Radiating with Sunshine Divine, Lil’ Baby Bird, Lil’ Chile, Little Kacky Dress of Mine, Lord Remember Me!, Make-up in the Morning for My Lordy Will Be A’coming, Marionette, Me and My Man Mr. Façade, Mermaids, My Family, Obstacles, Out of Tragedy Comes Poetry, Painter of the Earth, Picture Me, Plenty Of…, Poignant Flowers, Pointing a Finger At…, Repenting, Santa’s Blue Locket, Secrets, Song of the Lonely, Soul Control, Space, Stay the Night, Sweet Child of Mine, Tattlin’ Tina, Tears, The Christening, The Day the Resurrection Will Be Observed, The Fall of the Mighty Giant, The Healing Strength of Memories, The Rage in the Call from the Wild, The Real Mother Nature (A Tribute to My Mother), The Rose, The Secret Key, The Song of the Whippoorwill, The Visitor, Time, To Lose Your Soul Over Nothing, Troubles, Walking Down the Street, What You Expect from a Lil’ Colored Girl?, When the Spirit Soars, Which Will Win the Race?, Who Will the Fiddler Be?, With This Ring I Thee Wed!, You Won’t Lick This Lollipop!, Straight Hair

Children’s Stories (Completed): Penelope the Great!, Bravo Bruce!, Wilhelmina and the Whispering Willow Tree, Mrs. Ragoo and Her Blue Shoes, This One’s for Stacy, Dear Jessica…, Amazing Amanda, Roo Rubin and Lil Ruby, Edna’s Egg.

Prose: Chocolate Tales: 10 Deliriously Delicious Stories of the Surreal

Short Stories (Completed): Under the Cover of Darkness, The Doll-maker

Comedic Sketches (Completed): Forty (40) sketches.

Please Note: The number of works in all categories is continually evolving.

 

Book Excerpts – Cake Tales

Following are three complete stories from my first published literary work, “Cake Tales: 10 Deliriously Delicious Stories of the Surreal.” I invite you to……..

Brew your favorite cup of bliss, find your most comfy chair, take a sip, then sit back and relax. Now, inhale deeply and release as you allow your imagination to…

Travel to a Black Forest Cake kingdom patrolled by the Egg Gnome where caterpillars metamorphose inside of pearls under the heavenly illumination of starburst points in a random and fearless flight. Worlds where fairies in mushroom dresses with angel hair pasta tresses frolic along mischievous paths. Journeys that lead one to gaze upon a halved lemon sun that canopies the leafy heads of a forest of greenery and petrified shadows on sands that shift in the belly of the surreal. These are just a few of the many imaginary characters and landscapes you will encounter as you read, “Cake Tales: 10 Deliriously Delicious Stories of the Surreal”; travels made even more bountiful in their delight as the stories are written in rhyme. From an homage to the Chocolate Cake where a man is seduced by a chocolate cake personified as an enchantingly beautiful woman to a story that magnifies the glorious confectionary that is Marvelous Banana Cake and its role in bringing lasting love, your literary taste buds will be left desiring more; a heftier dose of fantasy served up with the turn of each page. While each story was written to capture the imagination and allow it to soar beyond levels of fantasy possibly already experienced, the central theme gently folded throughout each story, Love, is presented using real-life situations. From elusive love to a newfound romance, readers will be able to relate some aspect of each story to their own lives. Enjoy!

 Buttered Rum Pound Cake: Lost in Paradise

Seashells born a scalloped indigo blue lay still, as the ghosts their voices invoked haunted the sands with weeping

From tears that had traveled across the ocean for many miles; a nest of comfort their bodies sought, eternally cast the depth of their needing

For a sign of hope that one day their owners would find their loved one, carried mercilessly away by a vigorous tidal wave

Certainly they all believed in their mourning that the young traveler had met with an early and watery grave

Even the striped tiger shells dimmed the roar of their gold; a midnight of a thousand blues concealing the playful tapestry of pink, wine, and yellow

That speckled the island’s beach in abandoned cowrie shells; salt water masterful in its distance, a young sea lion prideful in its bellow

It began early one Sunday evening, the wind snapping like air-dried laundry, and the sunset plump with meaning and blossoming ripe

As the fried plantains he carried in a small sack, accompanied by peas and rice and kingfish, steamed to flaky tender and crimson bright

Hot in a generous sauce of jerk; a giant whale casting a blue veil, its dance the essence of pure tranquility

Rising and diving, the traveler breathed in deeply as he watched from the edge of the water, his spirit stocked with thanksgiving and keen with the importance of humility

When traveling the great waters, he made sure to toss a little food overboard, deepest symbolism in his offer

For the sea had nourished both he and his family during lean times; generous with the contents of its coffers

As the fish would literally dive into his boat; edible treasures more precious than gold that ensured a hearty pumpkin soup for at least a week

The traveler was so in awe of the great waters, that out of respect during his excursions, he simply refused to speak

He just listened, the tide cradling his boat as gently as his grandmother’s rough palm had once cradled his newborn chin

Her love was so easy to consume, that in the hollows of her shadow, he prayed to one day be able to blend

And so too, was the feeling he held for the ocean, a connection beyond the strength of even mortal ties

The young traveler made sure that evening to kiss his mother and father, and to grant his young lover a long kiss good-bye

In the background, blueberry lotion-inspired sail cloths moved smoothly, mimicking the flowing motion of his lover’s skirt as it caught wind; the one that would soon guide his trail

When she transformed it into a canvas of sturdy means consisting of strong threads; the one that would paint the destiny of his tiny boat’s sail

With locked fingers, the lovers gently twisted their knuckles white against the peachy horizon, then extended their hands until their arms stretched forth as the limbs of the giant coconut tree That embraced the presence of its fellow brethren, cradled birds nests, and shed the dimness of sweet shade so artful and lovingly

Tonight she would work hard to transform her skirt of carefully chosen color, a bold, but thoughtful, teal

To track the progress of her lover’s journey among the other seafarers, as she consumed the following morning’s pleasure manifested in a modest meal

Consisting of bitter berries and corn kernels crushed to a fine grain, boiled, then sprinkled with sweet honey, ginger, and nutmeg spice

As her lover rode out the shifting tides and their snowcaps, chilled, but not frozen as typical of ice

Peaks

The juice of the berries falling into the valley of her breasts, her spirit somehow knowing that this final parting would be symbolically bittersweet

But for now the night prevailed, a candle’s flicker the only other light under the moon

As she crafted a sail worthy of any sea captain; many hours, as a small garden, it took for the sail to bloom

The night was restless, captured by the ocean’s increasing volume, which stirred the sands to rise into a shifting dust

Forming from a halo of shadows that canopied their small shack, her mother watched in the background, fingers thick with wisdom’s crust

Holding a coconut half with its bottom scraped out; its hairs as wiry as the crop that had long since sprouted about the circumference of her graying head

A blue and gold flame dwindled in the center of the shell until a sprinkling of cayenne pepper caused it to settle sufficiently dead

Awakening a smoke that shown as red as the pomegranate; the color of the vessels that bulged through the whites of her mother’s eyes

Where earlier steel drums had given life to the vast beaches, soon the moans of death would rise to terrorize the skies

And she knew it, as deeply as the burn that stirred in her wringing hands; an essence typical of the radish’s charge

The sounds of foghorns bellowing in the distance, announcing the arrival of a seafaring barge

“Proceed daughter not with your heart; your head can provide the greatest caution and source of common sense.”

Her mother was a quiet woman, but when she needed to speak her conscious, her words she refused to mince

“Be still mother, be still,” the young woman bemoaned, her thread traveling across the fabric at an easy speed

Still a mother would be remiss not to respond when sensing in her child such a torturous need

For a daughter to know that everything between she and her lover would never, ever change

That their laughter together would remain as constant as the texture of the rains

Grown swollen and dry from the frequent misting of ocean spray, her tongue became entangled in her emotions

A warm palm soon settled on her chilled cheek; a comfort seeded in the natural oiliness of its lotion

“Innocence is lost every day to the sea,” her mother counseled, the moon causing the gray in her hair to bristle with light

“Now come, it’s time we both found rest in what is left of this very long and spiritually draining night.”

“Soon mother, very soon. Just minutes more of threading and a sail more beautiful than the haunt of a mermaid’s song,

Will serve to guide my sweet lover back home, by my side for good, where God has destined him to belong.”

Eyes probing, the warmth from the coconut smoke mixed with the chill in the air, made tears of the respiration wafting from her mouth

Her mother asked, as any caring parent, “He does plan to abandon being a fisherman?” once a decision clouded in doubt

“Yes,” responded the young woman guided by innocence, “red corral will make a pretty bouquet.

“Only death this time will be the thief of these plans; his word only death could surely betray.”

The mother removed herself to settle among the tiny walls of the shack’s cavern, the warm light of a kerosene lamp her only cover

As her daughter sat, knees cradled, the teal sail about her shoulders blowing as gently as a butterfly’s hover

Morning rose interestingly, as the thought provoking pages of a carefully crafted book

That would prompt the more curious observer to consider a more probing and intense look

Into its space of celestial gray, which now displayed clouds in a strange hurry reminiscent of the tourist shuffle

When passing through the impoverished villages of Negril; vacation justifying their apathy, the possibility of securing novelty items, propelling their hustle

But the clouds made a promise to respect their covenant of secrecy, as a group of old men with whiskers for ears huddled together wearing fedora hats and trench coats, thus the reason for their curious pace

For had they stood still it would have been easier for the young woman to pinpoint the panic that cloaked the crackling raps of thunder and burdened each cloud’s weathered face

After preparing a meal of ackee, boiled bananas, and fish, the mother laid down a shawl

To make the sand floor of their ocean shack more welcoming, into which the young woman hungrily, and happily, did crawl

“He travels today. I shall plan to meet him soon to present him with this precious sail.

“I can’t wait for his return to the shores to listen to all the wonderful stories he will surely have to tell.”

But somehow she could intrinsically sense that this was a reality to never be; the sky growing darker by the minute

As a room building in a heightening lust of shadows being conceived; doom jaggedly etched in it

However, the brightness that suddenly struck through the opening of the shack was enough to magnify the surface of Mars

To make a peacock cower in jealously, or dim the shine of the North Star

The young fisherman, with his chiseled chin and dashing personality, lifted her into the air without laying on a hand

Excitement coursing through the veins of each word as he excitedly shared each minute of his plan

“I shall bring back a bounty plentiful enough to feed the entire Negril nation and then I will plant this bow about your neck!”

Listening, the mother’s shadow soon excused itself from the room, more out of pain than a show of respect

As yellow as a sunflower blossomed to full bloom and the sun’s cast, combined together

The bow was enough to electrify to fluorescent, the gray that loomed in the menacing presence of the ever-worsening weather

Tying it slowly, he softly kissed her lips, then locked her back in a loving embrace

Honor keeping him from going any further; a promise to her mother he did not want to mar with disgrace

“It’s time I leave, but I will surely be back to officially claim you, as bees the sweetness of nectar.”

His ability to see straight even through the hard times, was a quality that always seemed to impress her

“Wait, before you leave, I wish to give you something that will make easier your trip.”

It was then she brought out the teal sail, its presence causing the young fisherman on his tears to humbly sip

As he pulled it closer to his face, in order to inhale every inch of scent

Left behind on the cloth from the touch of his lover’s hands; no picture could capture the level of gratitude his show of expression meant

“The winds are brisk today, so the ocean should carry me along. I’ll use the sail to blanket any chill.

“Enough warmth should be generated when combined with the hot snapper and rice and peas grandmother has prepared for my journey’s meal.”

As they walked through the flap that opened to the beach, a sudden blast of wind caught them by surprise

Lightning now sliced through the broken gray, making more terrifying the vastness of the skies

“Do you have to go?” begged the young woman, her nails digging into the gristle of his knuckles

Her strength not creating the subsequent effect, but the desperation in her voice causing his knees to buckle

Until he pulled them both down to the ground; only gravity holding them in place

As they searched the pupils of each other’s eyes, hoping not to find fear in the slightest trace

But it was there, as obvious as the poison of the ackee when consumed before maturity

Hard evidence engraved in the molecules of their tears; blinding proof that could not be masked by even a concrete form of obscurity

Hugging for a final time, the young fisherman ran to his boat, praying it would balance well on each snowcap

His heartbeat, at first a steady pulse, now knocked boldly; a panic-filled rap

But he had to feed his family or die from the hold of hunger; the sea the poor people’s main food source

If a fisherman refused to travail its sometimes moody waters, it was akin to descending death’s staircase in a spiraling course

Waving, their distance growing greater, his body against the natural canvas seemed to reflect surreal

A permanent part of this open painting he would eventually become; no cries of mercy to ever break the seal

On the envelope that contained the letter fate had written, in a sloppy yet sensitive hand

His mercy would be found in a different form, to wash ashore on a different type of sand

Pulling the boat, it felt small and shown splintered on the edges; the winds growing frisky, as a kitten’s paws

The stillness in the air seemingly taunting him, and deceptive, as the laughter that bubbles forth from a hyena’s jaws

Yet he pushed out and on, the music playing, prideful flags waving, and steel drums twinkling in calypso rhythms against the pounding backdrop of boisterous thunder

For a fiery prophecy manufactured from the materials of the fantastic was about to manifest and tear his world asunder

Burlap shorts and a rigid straw hat, his feet wrapped in sandals fashioned out of ox hide

Would provide the only protection during his voyage; raw evidence that the young fisherman had truly been tied

To the roots his mother and father had planted only eighteen years ago on a dirt road in balmy Negril

Sweat from his brow during his young days of frolicking, coating stray stones with a salty spill

Within minutes, the boat was tossing and turning over the swells of the ocean’s breasts; milk from nursing mammals wetting his lips

With grunts and groans, the young fisherman grew desperate as he struggled to find a steady grip

Razor teeth dripping with barracuda toxins ached to engage his blood, as they competed feverishly with the dorsal fins of the stingray in their wish to reach him first

The speed at which the schools swam, akin to the kind found in the destruction a rage-filled tornado does typically exert

Parrot fish in all of their brightness, could not drown out the presence of the dancing eels

As they, too, swam the distance of the journey; electrifying in their striped tuxedo black and white, reflecting in ghastly appeal

As fairy basslets looked magical wearing blue eyeliner and black dots on the surface of their dorsal fins

With a mask of purple pink on the front and bright yellow on the back, shyly into the background they positioned themselves to blend

While lightning bolts pierced the water in a blinding flash; mighty firecrackers, then sprung back up into the air as two serpents, encasing him in a double helix-coil

Contorting in pain, unbeknownst to him, the molecular basis of his DNA was suddenly mutating, causing his skin with sores, to boil

Snapper argued over what they were seeing, as nurse sharks roamed around, their intentions not to drink his blood

While a more peaceful fish swam eagerly, in anticipation of eating out of his hand, the gentle Bermuda Chubb

Despite the commotion, across the ocean’s snowcaps the small boat did manage to continue to awkwardly ski

As it lifted and bounced in agonizing creaks, annoyed jellyfish gathered about the portion of the sea

That rode the perimeter of the boat; water thrusting into each crack, until the planks began to buckle and bend

A death the fisherman knew would surely come in the bowels of a needy whirlpool, or from suffocation at the fingertips of an angry wind

To offset the wind’s rush, he held up the sail; futile his attempts to deflect its power

His punishment: a hailstorm of hardy icicles, which rendered a most painful type of shower

As they ripped and tore at any exposed flesh; their force as a bat hitting a ball

Just before he closed his eyes in what would be a deep sleep, he felt as though his chest had been slammed into a wall

The last image he saw–the reflection of his young lover’s countenance on the surface of the face of the moon

For years he would always tell her that her beauty was born of it; where all goddesses lay entombed

And now her eyes shown upon him with a sparkle, only captured in a camera’s flash

He pictured himself climbing the slope of her cheeks, then scaling the length of each eyelash

To plead that she save him from this terrible fate; for her mercy came as easy as a baby’s whisper

And how he wanted to stroke her chin, and his lips to tenderly kiss her

Unfortunately, what seemed real, was really an illusion; the face, its eyes quietly shut

As quickly as his lover had come to him via the surface of the moon, her image was gone in a puff

Of smoke

The space surrounding him as dark as any of which many a poet wrote

Awakening, he noticed that the island was surrounded by a night that possessed a wandering theme of blue

As seagulls, possessed in their expressions, across the expanse of the island hauntingly flew

Only their torturous songs and the wailing of the dolphins could give voice to the soul-boggling depths of his plight

Tossing and turning as the mood of restless tides, only the moon of silver breast and stardust crests would now accentuate his lonely nights

But every night, the seashore would be washed anew with seashells containing the voices of his beloved family praying and desperately pleading

With God to return their loved one home; the shells the sight of a graveyard breeding

A watery abyss, no signs of life to be spotted for days; human mirages fanning in the transparent flames of the searing heat

Which tonight were deep into a good, sweet slumber, replaced by a chill freshly awakened in search of an unsuspecting bone to greet

Set inside a tapestry of blue shades, seashells speckled the openness of the beach, grateful to fate for their first human listening audience

Still exasperated silly by the antics of the local clown fish, that were actually beautiful in their gaudiness

Deceiving were the moans and purrs put forth by a giant whale; a blue veil concealing its hairless flesh

The melodies of its voice akin to his lover’s laughter; purity and openness, in a divinely exquisite feminine mesh

Of high cheekbones, fingers as long as rivers, and hair wound as the fruit of a black grape bunch

Baby turtles finding their way to the sea, and across his feet, operating solely on a natural hunch

He found himself alone on the island, except for an arena’s worth of tall trees standing magnificent in magnified poses

As curious sharks began to patrol the beach’s border; their instinct for finding vulnerable prey guided by their noses

A vanilla sheath, warmed and extracted from the pores of a nearby wooden barrel

Welcomed his quivering shoulders, which had sat too long exposed to the elements; no news of a rescue the seagulls would soon come to herald

Come morning, he made a silent promise to his lover to attempt an escape from the island by salvaging what was left of his boat

Until then, a terrible hunger consumed his belly, so he reached inside of his bag to retrieve a small portion of goat

That had been left over from a previous trip; the ocean grown full from a generous doling of his tasty morsels

Its gift, in return for his very kind deed, it delivered in the form of an edible parcel

Of two crabs

Soon, he would come to learn that the only food he needed for his nourishment would no longer be found in a bag

And neither the sea; the young fisherman was about to become a man

However, he was aware of none of this, all he knew was that he was shipwrecked, and now sitting on shifting sand

He was also not aware of the history that surrounded the island, for as with previously shipwrecked fishermen, their destinies it did mate

Thunder as drums, lightning as strobe lights, fast winds, and dancing trees in praise, lauding the island’s captures in a frightening festival; a surreal fete

When the castaways attempted their daring escapes, the ocean flexed its muscle of fatal might

Drowning all who attempted the frantic swim to the lighthouse mirage; assigning desperation and hunger as their guiding lights

The image of the lighthouse slowly fading from their minds, as they gulped their last breaths of fresh air

Forever to drink of the ocean’s salt tides, surely regretting that fate they had attempted to dare

His hopes reaching for an anchor of possibility, the island would soon force him to reckon

With the reality that he was eternally stranded, as far reaching as possible as forever can be beckoned

While the blues traveled the nighttime shores, the mornings were cast as a painting flickering with straw

Brilliant, the canvas of citrus yellow and gold leaf; enchanted portraits of yellow shade, the leaves of the trees did draw

After having surrendered to the anvil of a deep sleep, the sun pushed forward, drying his lips to cracking

Nightmares making for a restless slumber, even the peace about him was becoming nerve-wracking

Above, the sun reflected as a halved lemon; the rays bitter in the touch of their taste

But when they refracted off the beach, the aroma he inhaled was sweet, as a mango and butter paste

For the beach was now made entirely of white sugar, and the snowcaps tipping the waves, of sour cream

Baking soda and flour sifted by in dusty shifts, while the jellyfish were egg whites; the island a baker’s dream

Butter patches lay scattered about the island; protective sun lotion against the lemon rays’ harm

As honeybees hovered for their daily dose of gossip; the ability to find stinging dirt, a natural part of their charm

Walking to the edge of the water, he noticed that it was brown and aromatic with the scent that flavored his island’s parties

Touching his finger to the vast sea of moistness, the taste came back bold, rich, and hearty

The ocean was now made of rum!

His stomach curled into a knot of satisfaction, such as the consistency of chewed up gum

Gulping the waters thirstily, its essence held a special appeal

Diving in would enable him to become drunk with the memories he would need to survive this eternal ordeal

And the spirits flowed freely inside each tiny bubble; when swallowed, they burst, producing giggling sounds in his throat

Somehow he knew from the pressure of each sensation, whenever it was his lover, mother, father, or grandmother who produced the note

With each passing morning and night, he felt himself spiritually fortifying and growing physically stronger

Until one morning he awoke with a most vicious bout of hunger

For a taste of solid food

Just when he was about to become a bit anxious, the wind nestled his neck in a playful mood

And explained that the beach held his complete sustenance in the form of an edible gem

A Buttered Rum Pound Cake, as the elements did have his best interest in mind, he need only believe in them

After gathering the ingredients which consisted thereof, he fashioned a makeshift bowl

Out of a stray stone that had long sat untouched, but eager to fulfill its role

The butter, sugar, eggs, flour, and sour cream were mixed under the kneading of his palm

While the rum and vanilla extract provided a soothing touch; their scents acting to his memories, as a flavorful balm

A dolphin as yellow as a popcorn husk, then rose from the ocean with a whistle

To direct him to the drum that would serve as an oven; the source of fire, an electric eel touching a thistle

So the young fisherman did as he was told, and prepared the mixture to bake

Soon to learn that a special blessing was about to unfold in the process of making the cake

Placing the mixture under the drum, the young fisherman positioned his legs and feet then closed his eyes

Into a spiritual world his soul began to gradually retreat; in the opposite direction of a rainbow’s descent from fields of peaceful sky

Positioning the drum, he released a little hum, in an attempt to set the beat

In a flurry of pounding motions, he beat the drum, which generated a source of heat

That flowed from every muscle of his body to the point of each finger, until steam was quite visible in its rising

Rolling his head in a trancelike hypnosis; for a human observer, the scene would come as quite surprising

At this, the beats gathered about the surface of the drum, then lifted off as a volley of butterflies

Some red, others blue, peach, and yellow, each reflecting the colorful contents of his grandmother’s fruit and meat pies

Riding the back of each butterfly charge was a language spelled out in smoke

That simply read how he missed his people and his land; tears causing his breath to choke

Bristling, his hair stood at attention, the veins in his neck throbbing to pop

The ritual had transmuted his mind into a state of transcendental consciousness and therefore, he simply could not stop

He played on until the drum’s skin wore thin as parchment paper; now near nightfall, his body fell limp

The beach showing covered in a harem of mermaid apparitions and gardens of enticing pink, briny shrimp

Stretching his arms, they moved as elastic; muscles flexing along their length

His legs, now as sturdy as those found on the statue of David; a surging vigor providing their strength

Looking up, with closed eyes, he swallowed the glare of the sun; as feathers across his eyelids, its rays did stroke

Although the ocean had neither teeth nor tongue, to his spirit it loudly and clearly spoke

And the batter cooked until nicely crusted over by the hot edges of the stone

As curious blowfish of sunflower and marigold color, sat as round as glass globe vases are blown

Shaking, the young fisherman found a rock onto which he settled his concentration

Taking care not to be absorbed in the monumental breadth of the moment or the raw energy of his mind’s elation

That lanced each nerve, for the reality was clear:

He would never again see the family and friends and the roads traveled that he cherished so dear

Then a frenzy set in with the speed of a stampede; even his toes grew jerky in motion

As the breasts of the ocean began to swell, making easy its surface for the butterflies to travel, as the purpose behind a good lotion

For at least it felt enough mercy to allow the beats to safely travel

Across a smooth surface and not one akin to a graveyard of jagged gravel

And every ocean creature sat still, so as not to stir up the slightest disruption

During the trip of the precious messages, lest they risk incurring a retaliatory eruption

In their homes

So all remained quiet, leaving the beats to journey safely alone

Playing on, the young fisherman continued to shake like a shaman discovering

That the spirit that had long eluded his grasp, was suddenly about his skin, hovering

It was then that he learned he should never exercise the temptation to consume

Any other food source, for a swift death in their veins did surely loom

So upon the rising of nightfall every day, when his body felt zapped

He removed the drum case, then retrieved the buttered rum pound cake on which to hungrily snack

Among the seashells’ weeping and the gasping of air familiar to a sobbing nose

Lay a man strengthened by his memories; an element of internal power he now possessed, as a live power line, he sat fully exposed

And all of the food he would ever need to sustain nourishment was birthed in the belly of a drum

To the tune of the steel band and laughter of family and friends, his lips daily, and appreciatively, setting the beat with a hum.

Gwendolen McCloud

Copyright 2005

 

Fruit Cake: Life is a Crazy World!

Country turkeys and supermarket hens brushed golden with melted butter; strings securing their legs for good luck

In the hopes that they would remain as succulent as freshly picked papaya, or at least as the first day their feathers were plucked

Iced gingersnap cookies, sweet tea, lemon-wedge pound cake, and a mango gelatin mold spiked with Jamaican rum

Wrought-iron skillet cornbread dressing with sage, wild rice casserole, corn pudding, and plum popsicles for the babies to gum

Macaroni-n-cheese, collard greens, mashed potatoes with garlic and parsley, and roasted green apples topped with walnuts and honey

Grandmother’s cooking was enough to make any professionally trained chef wish they had utilized better fiscal sense and saved their hard-earned money

And learned under the starched fingers of her apron strings, for she could make a blueberry cheesecake as creamy smooth as a good cocoa butter grease or lotion

That could make a palate drunk with love; such power threaded throughout the aroma that emanated from her famous pina colada and gin potion

A pan of simmering giblet gravy with two bay leaves, presented warm in twin gravy boats

Situated between the dinner table’s centerpieces, which were arranged similar to the town’s Thanksgiving Day Parade holiday turkey float

Banana nut bread with plain sour cream, raisin-swirl sauce with strong nutmeg, and peanut butter brittle by the pound

Combined with a rousing afternoon of football and card games, cigars and potato chips, would leave the party guests’ spirits contentedly sound

Grandmother with her silver-tinted hair, tortoise shell glasses, and white apron with cherry-colored bows

Loved to reap her loved ones’ “yums” and “aahs” in appreciation for the annual Thanksgiving feast she lived to sow

But there were problems brewing in the home, precisely about the dessert table, where the coffee pot proudly stood full and center

Although it was fall, a chill circulated within the table’s maple wood circumference reminiscent more of the flavor of winter

In particular, it was the strawberry delight with its whipped cream center and pecan-embedded crust that served as the lead instigator

Phony was its image of sweetness and sugar; as imitation as the dish of crab cakes, the dinner’s biggest set of perpetrators

Yes, even the sweet potato cheesecakes, pumpkin molds, and chocolate fudge cookies, the usual apples of the guests’ eyes

Had come to loathe my very existence, why, even by the eggnog I had grown to be hated, albeit in disguise

And let’s not forget the red velvet cake, with its secret chocolate ingredient and cream cheese icing that upon the lips, melted like butter

Even it could be heard saying unflattering words about me; out of its pores disgruntled expressions it did mutter

Words that crackled in deep contrast to the beauty in the room-decorations of faux gold-rimmed drinking glasses and a freshly pressed lace tablecloth

With matching napkins that had been soaked in enough fabric softener until they were rendered not only satiny to the touch, but visibly soft

Silver utensil settings and tradition old porcelain plates sat highlighted by white carnation bouquets seasoned lightly with golden mums

Beauty dimmed by the fact that, believe it or not, I was even hated by the cinnamon buns

No orange marmalade leaves and brown sugar-spiced trees austere in their amount of shade could provide

A distraction from the truth, that I the Fruit Cake, had by the other desserts, grown to be truly despised

Had it not been for a long history of being disgusted by diners far and wide, my emotions would have been extremely fragile

But adversity builds a backbone of steel and teaches one’s mind to flex exceedingly agile

My journey begins while chilling on Grandmother’s windowsill; my rising steam serving as a sort of parachute

Which beckoned this one particular blackbird until she came squawking like an arena full of squeaking flutes

Lifting me into the air, she carried me across many cities and legions of manholes until we landed in my most favorite place

New York, New York, a bastion of fashion and intrigue as succulent as nipping on a strawberry’s blossom, where the curious could roam and engage in both international and peculiar tastes

Not necessarily such as those found in the basement of the famed Studio 54, where once the infamous “in crowd” their clout and wit could flex

Drugs by the kilo, disco balls in spring garden shades, and soulful voices put to music that carried one to nirvana’s sensual apex

But the attitudes the people displayed, which manifested in dandelions proudly sprouting on apartment balconies as though they were tulips flown in from Holland

Or a woman who traded in the usual blue or pink eye shadow for the wonderful summer feel and color of bee pollen

Smells of edible fare, cuisine from many nations, mingling in tandem as tongues from varied shores spread in a verbal electric bloom

Spices aromatic and pungent as the musk of scented oils; one’s nostrils and senses caressingly consumed

Where outsiders might have heard a racket, inviting were the many conversing tongues of the multi-lingual car horns as they sped by as intense as the spice used to fuel and flavor a superstar’s publicity flurry

There was something special about the atmosphere created by New Yorkers, who innately understood how life can pass one by in a hurry

Thus the reason why they moved so fast; especially through the decade of escape, the 1970’s, when many a lady’s hip was loved by sequined pants

Passing the day on a busy sidewalk, causing men’s necks to weave and wobble, as a cobra by a flute danced entranced

Settling on the rooftop of an abandoned apartment building, the blackbird consumed me morsel by morsel until not a crumb was allowed to waste in the wind

Then preening her feathers, she tidied herself until neat, in preparation for the second round of the flight that would take us both on a whirlwind spin

About the city

The gravel on the rooftop, while eating, she inadvertently swallowed, making my personality a tad bit gritty

But no less sexy or feminine I would like to mention; there was a process to this journey and thus a purpose for her making the trip

So that I might know the true pulse of the city; gathering information on sights and sounds, the sensation that is New York, for on its intoxicating vapors I dreamed to regally sip

When I hatched, I would be ripened just right; reflecting as colorfully brilliant as the stories found planted in Caribbean soils

Worldliness would drape me from my shoulders to my toes, as a Roman goddess in a tunic, if New York were an engine, then I would be the oil

Once the trip was done, the blackbird knew precisely where to hatch me, in a garbage heap, so that when I arose I would not feel too threatened

A nightmare it would be to hatch at the fashionably conscious feet of a Coco Chanel attired Tibetan

Model, wearing black and white shades, a black head scarf, silver-tipped suede pants, and enough makeup to touch up the Sistine

I wanted to rise from my shell appropriately – New York my throne and I as its Queen

So, among carburetor parts and grease-donned metals she hatched me; four caterpillars assigned by fate to facilitate the beginning of my metamorphosis

Generous with their lives, by wrapping me tightly in their slivery juices which formed a web akin to the ocean water found in a mother’s womb; soon would lay four tiny white insects cloaked in

angel corpses

It would take only a matter of seconds, a heartbeat followed by a pulse, and I would be ready to be about my fabulous journey

Preparing to cover all previous bad memories under a symbolic white sheet, to send away on surrealism’s merciful gurney

After precisely ten minutes, I flashed the broadest grin shining more of relief than reflective of joy

As a kitten grown frisky from the introduction to a ball of yarn, I, the kitten, and New York, the yarn, a most submitting and eager toy

And how I arose, more beautiful than the rapture a cool waterfall can claim, and more enchanting than a river of hazelnut mud

Using a nearby thorn, I pricked the tip of my index finger to ensure that flowing through my veins was indeed human blood

Because I wanted to feel all of the warmth and welcome the city exuded; my soul not wanting to miss out on a precious drop

For now it was time to proceed boldly into the world with much vigor; anxiety and apprehension across my new arm hairs I could not allow to crop

Up, went my level of self-confidence, as I perused the contours of my brand-new form and found that all signs of my old fruitcake body were now gone, when suddenly, I noticed something big and floppy sitting atop my head

An amazing pink hat with a white dahlia flower; all of my cake traits had now, indeed, been shed

Wearing a black and beige wrap dress with hints of pastel pink, my feet fashionably donned gold platforms to match

After approving the ensemble, I proceeded with my stroll down the sidewalk, the coolest thing in summer; sweltering were the other ladies’ outfits of hot sauce-colored back-outs, and several pairs of jeans covering bottoms that grinned with a smiley patch

Long knit skirts appeared to be the other favored apparel, topped by swimsuit bras secured with copper hooks

I kept up appearances quite well; enchanting were the sights of my new New York world, for our connection was the essence of a searing love affair or a good romance book

I was in love! While lost in my emotions, a tiny stray dog took a fondness to me and followed my footsteps for approximately half a block

Stopping, of course, to occasionally sniff a fire hydrant, as I waved to several owners of prideful pet rocks

Out for a casual stroll; one owner wearing a navy blue derby that collided horribly with his green earth shoes

As a sidewalk musician made me desire a handkerchief and a red candy apple, so crunchy came the sweet textures of his amorous summer afternoon blues

Yes, textures that one could sink their teeth into, I could just taste the southern grit

Born out of hardships, struggles, and bad relationships, which periodically prompted him to spit

After a day of taking in the scenery above ground, I decided to venture where the cave dwellers were truly the smoothest type of groovy

To sip, in the dark, on a mixture of milk, bananas, and pecans, some called a sunshine smoothie

To a club in the basement of an abandoned building, except the portion where the beats did occupy

Fattened ripe with instrumentals and backup by The Family Stone; lead vocals bodaciously slick and provided by Sly

Choosing to view my temporary world with complete optimism, I decided to don my rose-colored shades

Forcing the other revelers to pull out their black ones; so intense the light of my newfound freedom parade

With my dress rotating its colors and hat flopping, keeping in time with my fingers’ snaps and splits

My shoulders began to jerk and shimmy, and my head, sway and bob, as my platform-clad feet showed to be adequately rhythm-equipped

For a long night of disco dancing, where the floor melted like butter under my heels

As a brother dressed in a snazzy lime green leisure suit, with pinto bean brown skin, began to slip and slide like the effect of a banana peel

On the soles of the less graceful, as though they were made clumsy with ghee

As the men sniffed behind temptation’s ear, licked their lips and grinned as though they were insatiably hungry

For a piece of my chocolate love, but I deftly ignored them, immediately taking my place between the mirrors of illusions

That made it appear to be more than one of me; heightening the ecstasy swimming through their nose-twitching confusion

That would pickle their dreams, like vinegar a jar of cucumbers, to last for many years

While the women stared on in jealousy; their stares entangling the men’s mounting cheers

As I danced on and on, as though a fever had caught hold of my joints and spears formed a presence against my nerves

Nothing in this world of strange people and sounds could frighten me, wild with fun, like lightning, I sped around that blindman’s curve

And then it happened…

His presence caused us to catch our breath, or was it he who caught ours when he inhaled, the beautiful statuesque creature in the polyester suit of avocado

Who entered bearing forth a charisma becoming of kings and righteous leaders; his tongue of fiery rhetoric making enchanting the breadth of his bravado

No one could see his face at first, only an interesting halo that rode heavenly the full periphery of his head, stopping to define the point of a hairline

The lights causing everyone’s eyes to capture the picture of a man sporting a gray afro; the level of its effervescence as that of a dulled sunshine

Yet he carried no pick in it, which was customary of the period; each strand sprouting from an invisible source

If white lightning through the wires of the club first flowed, now, with the addition of his presence, lava through their copper veins did course

Penetrating every inch of the club’s mechanical nervous system of manmade circuitry; the wires now began to sizzle behind their veil of plaster

As they prepared to perform their assigned duty whenever the mysterious guest arrived; having done so several times, the task each wire had come to master

Suddenly, before everyone’s very eyes, the walls began to take on the red and white pattern of peppermint candy stretched straight; vertical were the lines of red

They then began to pulsate with the rhythm of the music as though on the beats, their souls hungrily and greedily fed

Without announcement, the wires began to break free of their walls and whip and flex as though caught up in a mighty wind

Adding more chaos to the exquisite confusion by strategically touching each visitor to the club, specifically the wallflowers; their bodies into a frenzy the lines did send

Prompting the club’s roller-skating dancers to force all of the wallflowers to give up their positions

Encouragement to live up to the true reason for their visit – fulfilling their disco-dancing soul mission

In other words, to have an absolute ball and let down their hair, though not so far as to necessarily peel off all of their clothes as dry roots can sometimes peel off the petals of roses

So as to not be too overwhelming, this stunt was performed periodically by the roller-skating daredevils; forcing said individuals to relinquish all airs and to lower the tips of their noses

But the scene was to grow better and more interesting; as dinner does set the mood of any romantic evening and a nightcap thickens the plot

The stress and strain that had rooted themselves in the spines of the spectators brought on by a week’s worth of rising early and dealing with the madness, was about to experience root rot

As the patrons’ arms branched out with their fingers touching one another’s shoulders, the music crept along the surface of their skin, wrapping each tightly, as knuckles and palms encased in gloves of shrinking leather

The notes tickling the surface of each eardrum and writing another chapter of fun, as the purpose of ink at the tip of a humorist’s feather

Outside, the night was as clear as a brisk wind on a fall stroll or the face of the moon when it reflects the full spectrum of its luminosity

Where once the Afros in the house flopped and shook with mere enthusiasm, they now shimmied with a re-energized velocity

Some actually bouncing wildly enough to touch the ceiling, while others combed the floor in a motion that followed the course of a sweeping broom’s neck movement

Indeed, the Afros were something to behold; prideful their statuesque nature, them “getting down” was indeed a definite ambiance improvement

Papaya Fire, they loved to call this one frequent patron, who wore a crown as bright as the coiffure that cradled the head of Malcolm X

Tropical was the flavor of the accent he brought; habinero peppery the singe from his moves, one of the groovy disco displays the patrons had come to expect

Tossing three lollipops to the floor, the haloed one snapped his fingers and gave a brief baritone chuckle, causing the candies to spin, glow, and shimmy

With the power of a rainstorm of firecrackers colliding with winds of agitated flint, the spectacle drew a mesmerized crowd of spectators; the pull of this man named Jimmy

The lights started to blink in sync as a slowed heartbeat; the swirls in the lollipops extending as the basement began to fill with a glittering rain that matched the brilliance of the haloed one’s thick gold chain

Little did anyone know that he had catapulted a funk off the tips of his fingers that no one would soon dare come to explain

The sticks of lollipops, swirling with pineapple, orange, lime, and cherry set against a backdrop of pure coconut, began to shake and jive as though each were a musically-influenced butt

After several minutes of energized jerks, three ladies sprouted up from the lollipops wearing halter tops and plastic platform shoes, and sporting neatly coifed Afro puffs

With one wearing the largest gold hoop earrings to ever be seen; her legs moving as though snatched from a contortionist’s act

For as suddenly as she had sprouted free of her lollipop world, the dancer limbered her spine, and kissed the floor with her back

Taking both legs, she bent them as such, like a spider’s, until her feet poked through the golden rings; an action that heightened the funk in the room in one fell swoop

As two men from the crowd, who appeared as security guards, tossed the other two women orange hula hoops

And they twirled; the movement of their hips as mesmerizing as a zebra that, at a whim, could suddenly bathe free of its stripes

The mood of the club was now as electrifying as live wires; explosive the addition of the ladies who pierced the scene, the body scents floating in the club pungently and poetically ripe

While her dance partners bounced and shook, the other slick contortionist one was about to take everyone’s energy to an hallucinating level captured only in Picasso’s painting dimensions

As she brought her right foot up and stuck it through a gold hoop until it cradled the center of her thigh; standing poised and without pain, as though her joints felt no tension

A marvel of flexibility; with her back arched and her arms extended and her elbows bent precisely, her feet and legs coordinated their efforts and sent her body into the Robot scrub

Igniting every vocal chord to release a wild, abandoned awe, as the patrons almost screamed the roof off the club

Their hands applauding with equal vigor, until most of the palms present had grown blue or eggplant bruised

As the creator of this funk phantasm quietly observed practically without expression, only the folds of his wallet churned more enthused

For he was the owner, and the wilder the time, the more glorious the gain, translated: the more the patrons would spring for drinks

His teeth into a vital part of their very existence, as a vampire an unsuspecting vein, every Saturday night he did happily sink

But back to the parade, a tapestry of disco flash and fashion, as the backup dancers’ Afro puffs did inspire and amuse

So bright the immediate area of their space, it made the neon lights holding tough in the corner, appear to have blown a fuse

As the Afro puffs flounced and bounced in beat to their owners’ bodies, the dancers reflected analogous to writhing trees -the scalp braids from which the puffs extended, the branches; the owner’s body the trunk; and the puffs, as a tree’s crowning glory

Leaves, that were kept alive not with sunshine, but with hair grease; the walls now turning to reveal ceiling to floor mirrors that were about to add another chapter to this excitingly unscripted disco story

As one mirror captured the backup dancers’ images, it passed the images forward in a puff of metallic green steam

To the next mirror facing which received it in a flash, then on to the next and then the next, creating a man’s ultimate dream scene

For what started out as three now multiplied to 9, when suddenly the mirrors’ dimensions increased in depth

The images cast were so fantastic and overwhelming in their magnitude, that they could even take away the wind’s fleeting breath

And then the images inside the mirrors began to bump hips and what was once 9 had now sprung as high as 96

Each bump causing the dancers to multiply and the crowd to rub its eyes, for they now believed that their vision was playing tricks

On their minds, and the men, tricks on their libidos, which were now at a standstill, as though wired tightly around by the grip of a trance

But this temporary condition of shock and disbelief did not stop their bodies from continuing to dance

Within several minutes, there were at least 300 people in the club, all pop-locking, bumping, and doing the Hustle

As busy as the confines of a New York subway on a Monday morning, the floor began to thrive and bustle

And then entering the club was, in body and dress, the Caramel Lady; her skin switching with the hips of a bronze hue, in essence

Her partner in crime, the Silver Lady, her eyes a most deep and hypnotizing blue, their feet moving in elegant tandem; chilled, their social effervescence

Matching sprigs of twig which adorned their head ware, making their images appear otherworldly; two curvy and beautiful martian women of extraplanetary persuasion

Their appearance would have been considered out of this world if donned above on the streets, but tonight their ensembles fit perfectly, the occasion

And in each of their hands they carried a bottle, which they stroked fast then slowly unlocked, causing the contents to fizzle and foam

Bringing the rims of the bottles to the edges of their mouths, their lips soon began to savor and roam

Until with one quick gulp, they consumed the concoction contained within; their heads beginning to bobble and shake

Whatever was contained within the walls of the matching canisters, the power of its influence certainly could not be faked

After several minutes of being crouched on their knees, four wings began to sprout from their backs, which the spectators found the most interesting thing

To watch each set of four wings gel into two, until they reflected as those owned by the butterflies in spring

Standing up and heaving strongly, with two hard bounces they began to fly

And they were as beautiful as the journey of a boundless river; with each touch of their wings to the club’s ceiling, casting it as a perfectly blue morning sky

The atmosphere was indeed a concentrated bottle of endless entertainment with its host of characters, including the patron who had on guard in his pants, the proverbial male telescope

Who more out of fear of security cameras, than out of respect, on every feminine bottom he disappointedly resisted to grope

In plaid pants bearing both hook and zipper, he began his typical surveying of the crowd

True signs that he was a child of the period, he wore a polyester angel flight suit and a satin orange shirt loud and proud

With lollipop fever everywhere, a forest of Afro puffs and gold bracelets, and rings on pretty bright toes

If one were expected to let down one’s guard in the club, by now the very core of one’s soul was expected to be exposed

That is soul in the musical and dance senses, from the red partygoers to the yellow and white

As the role of lacquer on newly cut wood, all of the colors blended so perfectly together giving a splendid finish to a perfect Saturday night

And so, as the moment the clock struck twelve in the Cinderella story, the fairytale ride was over

The man of my dreams, the haloed one, presented me with the possibility of continuing to experience the luck beheld of a four-leaf clover

But even though time was up, I knew I would get to come back; it was of course a design in my destiny’s plan

However, for now, with the rising of the sun, I would have to go back to an existence most would consider by comparison, miserably bland

As peepings of daylight clutched the night in a stronghold, forcing me to let go

To return to a tamer world, absent of daring adventure, where the most fascinating and exciting thing was a fly that at night did glow

As though it had swallowed a light bulb, worse yet, with the attitudes of the other desserts, I would again have to contend

A world of edible perfection, where the likes of my kind were snobbishly dismissed; a world in which I would never be able to blend

But I found my waterfall anyway, under this cliff of exclusion, in a rapture that lived on the splintered surface of Grandma’s windowsill

Where every year at Thanksgiving, a blackbird enabled me to savor, once again, a New Yorker’s state-of-mind thrill.

Gwendolen McCloud

Copyright 2005

 

Marvelous Banana Cake: An Evening with the Redwoods

The house’s walls, smothered thick in the aroma of curried rack of lamb, roasted carrots, caramelized onions, and pieces of tomato bit

Warmed the cheeks of the young boy staring out of the window to a blushing hue, as though the wings of an unexpected kiss had suddenly, upon his lips, lit

A lone branch sifted by as he watched the sparks from a neighbor’s car fly; an antique jalopy with matching mechanical innards, both of the genuine kind

The blindingly inclement musical procession leaving the boy riveted, his eyes protected by the dust shade that had collected along the length of the kitchen’s blinds

Surrendering to a waterfall of frightening expression, the room lay black and dense with the smell of cloves and sage as a great thunderbolt wrote the ending to the night’s climax; the ink in a nearby streetlamp’s lighted pen

That rendered a moon halo jagged and striking against the wall as it traveled through a crack patch on the pane of glass, fortifying the haunted feeling that coursed within

The halo standing isolated inside a wreath of rosemary sprigs that, when the lightning pulsed, struck the tips of the wreath’s shadow like flint a match head; the image the lightning built Reflecting as a thousand tiny candle tips flickering, the storm had knitted a fire quilt

With the turn of a knob, a golden hot spring of peanut oil was eased significantly of its hurry next to a bowl of roasted tomatoes dressed in Portobello mushroom attire

Once a room sizzling with anticipation of tasting the cranberry and corn fritters with pecans, now calm, the mood in the room did sire

Standing silver and framed against a wall of black and white pictures, was a portrait of Sitting Bull, a great Native American chief

As blanched white rice peered from a maroon and aluminum pot; green peppers and scallions marinating and mingling in the company of freshly chipped beef

While raisin buns with butter tabs and maple biscuits on the rise in search of their peaks, baked in silence on a well-greased, brown sugar-dusted cookie sheet

Liver and fried onions, chopped turnip greens with pimento, and mashed green tomatoes in herbed breadcrumbs, making the meal complete

Aside from the gingersnap cookies with loads of lemon zest, apricot tarts topped by shaved cashews, and pound cakes with an almond and orange glaze

Teeming with smells and colors as bright as Easter egg shells, the kitchen reflected as an edible link in a food maze

With lime cream cheese refrigerator pies, marble pudding, and peaches enriched by a macadamia nut and vanilla toasted molasses

In fact, caramel fondue was the matron’s complexion; calligraphic black curls and teardrop pearls on her blouse, accentuating her brass-framed eyeglasses

To celebrate the birth of twin nieces, the purpose behind this well-planned and uniquely festive occasion

With the sofa plumped to plum perfection and the love seat dressed in scarlet, sent to all those dear friends and those of most immediate family relation

Were pink invitations bearing lavender crystal bits, pink cowrie shells, and silver bows that when opened, like a baby, cooed

Then announced the invitation of their presence at the party, to be highlighted by good drinks and a delicious, eclectic mix of food

To predictably end with an evening of chess and checker games, poker and raw jokes, and many of the guests’ egos on a platter

Courtesy of clean teasing, that was all done to ruffle a funny bone, for none of the guests would intentionally tender an insult worthy of comparable laughter

Their shenanigans, however, would have to be contained within the eight walls of the kitchen and living room spaces, for the temperamental weather now made known its presence

Its fierce storms forcing sweet calm to lie dormant, the kind that constitutes a good, warm summer night’s typical essence

Still, the night belonged to the Redwoods, fondly referred to as the “colorful giants” by their neighbors; the moniker bestowed, most appropo

For the height given to their legs and backs and the wonderful stories, seeded in fantasy, their tongues could so masterfully sow

At a quarter past eight, the doorbell began to ring, and inside marched breathing creations more lively in the accoutrements of their dress

Than costumed revelers at a masquerade party; nails sparkling, attitudes large, and collars and blouses freshly laundered, bleached, and pressed

Human timberland with knees, their attire inspired by the 1920’s flair, dressed in snazzy tweeds, subdued silks, platinum bracelets, rhinestone tiaras, and shoes made of faux oak

If the world of fashion were ever analogized as a wheel, then the Redwoods would have served as the spokes

However, if ever critiqued by one of the premier couture magazines, all would probably earn the moniker of fashion blot

But there is something to be said for the power of individual taste, men and women, who, their own style dared to plot

One favorite cousin wore his beloved two-toned white and tan leather shoes and a handlebar moustache combed fresh to perfection

His air and exchange was such that one would think he was a politician courting a political contingency, in his bid for political re-election

With a cigar and a brisk baritone laugh, his mantra was to always have a jolly good time

His mood lightened and his lofty perception of life crafted from the fact that he was always nursing a glass of white wine

Then entering in most exquisite fashion was his wife, wearing a gray silk blouse adorned with a complex pattern of platinum-colored pearls and a vest of Victorian brocade

Her skin, the fairest among the Redwoods, was as though she had lived her entire life in the shade

Cherry lips and red-dyed hair made her look like death’s matron attempting to claim some resemblance to the living

Together, they projected a picture perfect appearance, framed by a beauty that was strikingly appealing

As time rode on, the humidity grew feverishly hungry with thirst, thus causing many an unsuspecting neck to continually drip

The men having come prepared to handle this daunting foe, using handkerchiefs they wore neatly in a variety of flips

The warmed flesh attracting scavengers much more daring than the humidity; ones that favored the rich texture of blood

Mosquitoes that had earlier hounded the torn screen of a nearby window, their sometimes misguided wings chasing destiny in the form of several shallow thuds

Against the outside of the house, and thus the purpose of the many fly swatters that came in distinctive neon flavors of yellow, purple, and green

Interesting the picture would become when one of said mosquitoes entered the Redwoods’ lavish scene

That’s when at least one of the Redwoods would lose all dignity, and with swatter in hand, engage the machismo of a furious fight

How interesting to see that hero wearing an expensive top hat, or high-heeled shoes, appearing to engage in the fight of his or her life

Yes, the mosquitoes brought with them an ample amount of miserable moans and obvious sighs of disgust

But nothing could dampen the festive mood of the party, especially the lone cousin who arrived wearing a lavish outfit of rust

The one who loved to match the room in which she would be entertaining; indeed, she was a shameless slave to fashion

Pearls and soft swirls of vanilla ribbon complementing the accents in the room, and thus enlarging the height of her arrogant passion

She flowed smoothly, as the contents of a bottle of caramel milk down the trail of a badly parched throat

Her intelligence making it possible for her to traverse the terrain of the deepest conversations to the shallowest babbling, with the dexterity possessed by the hooves of the mountain goat

Ascending the jagged shores of a rocky structure, no wind or rain could make its footsteps slip

Watching her engage these diverse trains of thought as eventful as visiting different exotic ports, stops made by a cruise ship

The more difficult chanteuse of the group, her name was Monica, a bold flavor who exercised her every right to stylishly glide

Across the slabs of hardwood floor; her gait as steady as calm waters moving a sail across the ocean in a form of uptown pride

Although her cheekbones appeared as though carved out of the finest oak, her body still looked noticeably frail

Holding an apparatus lengthened five inches by smoke, fresh ginger, the scent her breath exhaled

The smell, as it wafted under the guests’ noses, prompted one cousin to guess that she was smoking ginger incense

Only Monica knew that it had been secretly soaked in a brisk vinegar hours before the occasion, and when prompted, the incense was to secrete a striking aroma, both harsh and intense

Rendering an old-fashioned olfactory paddling whenever an unwelcome guest got a little too close to its chosen host

With chips of fresh garlic strategically embedded in the incense and egging the vinegar on, one sip of its breath would cause a face to grow as pale as that of a ghost’s

But there was no alternative method of defense, for surely the ginger incense could not strike out with fists

Nonetheless, however difficult this cousin might have been, family loved to invite her to their parties because she gave the occasion an interesting twist

With a voice as pitchy as it was full of pretense, her eyes held a sultry glow

As she approached her seat, the circle of guests in radius, their mood did distantly grow

Then there was the family friend, whom one would have thought like a rooster for the feathers in his derby, but his gait was proud as if he were the offspring of a peacock’s stock

For his looks were far more superior and splendid than those possessed of your simple barnyard cock

With cheeks as plump as a good roasting hen’s bottom, dimples charmed his face with enough charisma to spare

A firm handshake and a ready smile; he evoked the image of a person who lived with little or without a heavy care

Except for the intermittent stroking of his derby hat’s feather with a pinch of mint dust he carried finely ground in a pewter tin

His words for the ladies carefully mixed concoctions of smooth and cool; the women ultimately determined to be the typical bachelor’s blend

His intentions to convey the image of a man in control, one as adept at sparking excitement as a match’s flame swaddling the head of a firecracker; his was a long-perfected state of illusion

However, the only ones he could successfully deceive were the men, the women being of wiser minds, knew with him to draw a different kind of conclusion

Still, there were those clusters of razzle-dazzle red lipsticks and high-heeled shoes whose owners found his magnetism contagious

Who believed real sincerity laced his loving words; those who fell for his alibis, even when they got to the point of being totally outrageous

Bulging pockets lined with copies of IOU’s made his poor wallet weary, for he loved to parade an affluence charade; an image of consummate luxury

Combined with his act of flipping his coattails and winking while he bragged of his beloved trust fund, most women recognized his antics as the purest form of puffery

But his natural magnetism could not be denied, for it was uncommon for a cheek not to blush or a heart not to flutter in his presence, for such was his effect on women

Prompting his mind to naturally wander closer to the probability that he was yet closer to the possibility of sinning

Of the deliciously special kind, in fact, the depth of the heat he emanated was comparable only to the humidity; prompting the ladies’ collars to fan

His hope of improving his winning odds by the end of the evening, in the form of the collection of lovely ladies he worked so tirelessly to expand

Yes, flavorful the parade, some of the other kin would acknowledge, as they sipped and grinned over the rims of rum and mango concoctions

That tangoed among their taste buds in a celebration burst that lightened the mood, even though the sky was behaving very rotten

And so, after all of the guests had finally arrived, following brief conversations, to the kitchen all twenty did forge

To partake of the lovely buffet brimming with fresh herbs and spices that would cause even a man with very particular manners, to hungrily gorge

Just when they had started their meal, their only source of light, a streetlamp at the driveway’s edge, took a plunge into immediate darkness

Leaving only the whites of their eyes and the brilliance of their teeth to illuminate; the color-play quite fascinating in its starkness

Captured by surprise, was the expression that reflected off their features, as they all made their way to a waiting living room

Everyone, despite their long limbs and the enveloping darkness, was quite graceful in their motions, as a master weaver operating a loom

With ease and grace, they all positioned themselves on either the sofas or love seat, and in strategically positioned chairs with arrow backs

Specifically designed to direct Grandpa Julius where to fall, left or right, in case he suffered a timber attack

Which was simply a joint giving way to collapse and the victim falling forward, but in this case, Grandpa Julius had to take care or collide with one of his relatives

Thus, the decision to be particular about where Grandpa Julius was seated, was absolutely imperative

After everyone found their place, the guests of honor, the twins, were situated, each measuring in length the height of a healthy kentia palm

One of the tallest house plants around; the thumbs they sucked their mama had earlier generously sugared with dabs of sweetened coconut balm

Sadly, none could observe their funny baby faces worthy of camera snaps and aunties’ kisses, for they too, were in the dark

That is until Grandpa Julius, wearing his cherry-colored ascot, brought forth a container from his briefcase that when opened, released a series of interesting sparks

Reaching his long fingers inside, he retrieved a small snow globe, the kinds of which held a miniature chocolate river and a yellow kite

Plus several tiny people engaged in tasks as random as doing laundry and swimming; the amount of light the globe released defying its height

There were also plants of a medley of species, birds perched in trees, and animals varying from rabbits to dogs, pictured in the town

Although it was a world of varying dimensions, the globe stood perfectly round

And then Grandpa Julius began, his breathing steady and deliberate, in a voice as rich in color as black molasses; deep and low the guttural tones

The inflection as punctuating as the moans found in a blues melody; both reminiscent of the voice made famous by the great James Earl Jones

If the Redwoods were famous in the neighborhood for their gift of weaving a tale, you are about to understand why

Even the moon assigned by God to fulfill its celestial duty of guarding the night heavens, had to lean in occasionally and listen from its pedestal in the java-colored sky

Grandpa Julius began, “It was an early morning in spring, and the earth began to rise and swell in a series of grassy bumps.”

Leaning forward, he exhaled a powerful breath and before everyone’s very eyes, the snow globe began to pump

With life, as the sound made by a heartbeat; the people in the village blinking their eyes, dusting their shoes, and stroking the strands of their hair

Turning around, they looked at the sun, tasted of the river, some even began to jump rope, but of the Redwoods they were apparently unaware

Cousin Tina sliced her index finger along the base of her chin; with that slight gesture, the suspense was drawn

As she leaned in closer for her mind to inhale every syllable of the story, her other set of fingers excitedly climbed among the steamed prawns

 And the story began…

In the areas where the grass did pump, the blades flashed in the brilliant colors of precious jewels–citrine, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds

While the ground blinked as a pinball machine, up and down at the rate of a human pulse, performing the ritual in complete silence; the image potent, but ephemeral

Lasting only seconds, this was an occurrence as daily as bathing off dust or drinking fresh water, happening as naturally as breathing in air

Or as the moon needing to enter a curtainless window, and upon a room’s occupants to openly stare

During such times, the people in the globe were careful about their frolicking and footsteps as they proceeded to conduct the day’s business

For instance, wives handling freshly laundered clothing, took care not to flap their arms too wildly with joy over their charges’ crispness

It took approximately an hour for the colorful heartbeats to burst open, and in their places to rise, millions of tiny seeds

Which the area goats and wandering flock had come to know very well, that hungry stomachs on these seeds were not to feed

And if they did, no one would take sympathy on the animals’ impending plight, for everyone knew the seeds were precious and must at all times be protected

So if a donkey or goat or an inconsiderate cow were to feast on the small bodies, the animals’ stomachs with something akin to a leper’s sores, would rot and become infected

But rare was such a case, for most treated the seeds as sacred as the Indian cow; the open spaces continuing to bubble with the tiny seeds

Until they all coagulated into separate bundles and quickly collapsed down into the earth; their assigned spaces starting to bleed

And everyone’s nose distinctly recognized it as fairy blood; their expressions curled from the stench, and as if by magic, a small pod in the shape of a pinto bean legume

Began to rise on the surface of each space, then out burst from each center, a very tiny, tiny mushroom

Giggling and covering their faces in the sweetest demonstration of coyness, they each, interestingly enough, all had human heads and features

With large eyes, pointed ears, and mouths shaped as prettily as cherries, their appearance made them some of nature’s most fascinating creatures

The mushroom portion acted as a gray dress; their faces the clearest silver and their eyes hazel-green yellow, each head having long flowing hair of angel hair pasta

Conditioned silky with a light touch of olive oil; their dresses colored by the basil herb and roasted tomatoes typically found in the bread foccacia

And then they began to spring like baby joeys on newly found legs, suddenly shifting into short sprints and then into a brisk run

Although they looked different, the fairies were very pretty, a web of curiosity about the town’s boys their presence quickly spun

Looking over their shoulders, the fairies increased their gait, as the boys gathered behind them and in their direction began to chase in eager

Hoping to sneak a kiss, as well as pluck strands of their hair for food, for the sustenance the river provided was sometimes quite meager

Just enough to satisfy a little; keeping the town’s villagers coming back for more, and in turn, attending to its, the river’s, needs

Leaving some to whisper that shadows of narcissism resided on the river’s surface; themselves the source of the river’s ego greed

But none of this occupied the boys’ heads, dizzy with joy, all they wanted was on the olive oil strands to hungrily suck as their needs were very base

When suddenly, they shook hands and nodded their heads, and in the opposite direction, surprisingly commenced their chase!

Straight home into their mothers and fathers’ scolding arms; their beating would come with the first stray branch that bothered to help

From that moment forward, the working atmosphere would be made as comical as a circus arena; the boys like clowns as they pleaded and begged through yelps

Arms outstretched to block anymore forthcoming lashes, their facial expressions were as frenzied as those of a spinster reaching for a tossed wedding bouquet

Even the most accomplished Irish River Dancers, would have been inspired by their complex footwork display

For no one was to touch the queen’s grounds without invitation, which was reserved specifically for the couples of the town

Who came to her seeking advice on how to salvage a worn relationship, or to simply, in her huge heart, their relationship sorrows to drown

Thus the purpose of the fairies, specifically grown and harvested at her command to bring each couple in need to her castle

For this was the only way by which even they could meet her face-to-face, or they too would be met with great hassle

Once a beautiful woman, the queen’s looks were slowly fading as a shadow at midnight formed of fleeting light; her eyes, once alive with personality, now stared sunken and hollow

Where once wherever she walked yellow orchids would sprout, strawberry calla lilies flock, birds of paradise rise into the air like kites, and many types of flowers, her heels, would follow

Now, she was greeted with death; the flowers crumbled and brown, as though their seeds had been dipped in poison

Their texture no longer comforting to the soles of her feet; their feel now rough and prickly, reminiscent of the berries boysen

No one knew that the queen had her own trials to bear, for alone as a single snowflake come upon spring, she was slowly beginning to wither

Never one to dampen others’ hopes and expectations, she kept her feelings swallowed, although the words they conjured were very coarse and bitter

Every night, sweet ravioli pillows cushioned a dulled brow, while freshly fried dough kneaded into sheets, provided cover for a very cold bed

While her hair, once the richest and thickest of fettuccine of a beautiful curry shade, now lay on the floor every night, pitifully shed

Happy it made the rats that would scramble to her bedside in greed and lust; their throats hungry in anticipation of the nightly feast

And there was nothing to keep them away with her defenses down, which gave rise in the nation to the plague of the four-footed beasts

But there would come a reprieve from her grief, for as Grandpa Julius drank his water, it began to rain

Not on the outside of the house, but in the snow globe directly above the queen’s head; the beginning of the ceasing of her pain

For everything she needed to ward off being alone lived within a pebble’s toss in distance; the queen’s soul fashioned out of a merciful fate

The cure would be found in something typically served at a wedding celebration, or seen on a birthday plate

It was cake, and in this case, Marvelous Banana Cake, with a batter as nourishing to the palate as a good round of Pavarotti’s vocals on the auditory sense

Made with honest ingredients that invoked the spirit of rapture between one’s cheeks when consumed; the spiritual sustenance it provided, unparalleled, and without the slightest pretense

Associated with such a moniker; one would assume its constitution was comprised of ingredients obtained from gourmet food boutiques

Nonetheless delicious, however, its texture promoted a feeling of thanksgiving among the taste buds lucky enough to engage its crumbs; humbling the sentences of the most discriminating food

writer’s critique

Then it began: weaving about her shoulders as an alabaster wave, moved a special shawl spun of diamond dust threaded together with the most delicate silk

Pulling it off and around her right arm, into the palms of her hands, poured exactly one cup of buttermilk

Placing the precious liquid into a cup hollowed out in the ground, she inhaled its essence deeply, and then her hair parted into two

Ponytails, a smile creeping into the corners of her lips as two mockingbirds latched onto the ends of her braided tresses and toward a watering hole gently flew

Upon arrival at the watering hole, the birds continued to fly well beyond the water’s edge

Her right foot entered the water’s blue sanctity and before she knew it, she had stepped off an imaginary ledge

Plunging her entire body into its rippling frame; her mood softening and her mind expelling itself of burdensome clutter

For as she rose to the surface of the watering hole, she noticed that it felt distinctly of butter

Swimming around, she immersed her total body and flowing hair of pasta into the butter whirlpool, now revealing nothing more than her face

Reflecting as a cherub’s countenance, brown eyes within a sea of round yellow; the sun grounded, malleable, and cool to the touch, its soft texture her image tranquilly embraced

And she swam around in this manner for several minutes; her nose inhaling its aromatic pleasures, her mouth exhaling the pain

When the situation couldn’t get more interesting and taste-filled, her face was lavished by a brown, intoxicating rain

Rising, she reflected as a golden goddess with a black face, as though she had been birthed from the belly of a woman bumblebee

Observing her surroundings, she quickly noticed something before unseen, white sand sifting through the branch limbs of a nearby sycamore tree

As she proceeded to walk over, with each footstep, the ground turned into yellow mush; its consistency similar to quicksand, but her weight she found it to sustain

Looking down, at first she mistook the yellow puddle for butter residue, but this was more porous, possibly wet cornmeal grain

But its perfume made the ambiance coating the air almost tropical in feel; the sensation stirred by the yellow mud

Dipping a curious finger, the mud was identified as mashed banana; the origin, an Asian bud

Noticing something even stranger, a thick white fog about her body began to descend, its molecular structure of such consistency that one could place it in a measuring cup

When she felt as if the thickness of the fog would smuggle her breath away, the lasso smothering her lungs was abruptly cut

But the white lasso, which was only flour, would not have brought death, just moments of coughing and wheezing; the thought of the thick blanket surrounding her body still leaving her a bit overwhelmed

When out of no where, landed two harmless white grenades, in their centers not explosives, but a familiar white phlegm

Sneaking a peek, she noticed they were a common ingredient used whenever the fairies baked her beloved raspberry pastries

Oval bodies, where the sun lay warmed inside, their contents reflecting as pliable yellow and white daisies

It was two eggs, propelled in her direction courtesy of one of her fairies, who tossed them about as common rocks

The fairies suddenly abandoning their escapades to pay full attention to the peculiar and edible white sand sifting across the leaves of a nearby tree; underneath its branches they did hungrily flock

And consume the white substance as a scorched throat lemonade on a hot day; instantly bursting into satisfied giggles

The queen inched forward so that she, too, could partake of the party; her toes, free of the white fog now mixed with mashed bananas, she began to slowly wiggle

Until she reached her desired destination; the taste brilliant in its rawness and as refreshing to her palate as to a weary brow, cool shade

A moving halo of butterflies formed about the crown of the tree; flies with fire in their bellies accentuating the winged brigade

They all began to dance at a frenzied speed around the tree’s trunk, soon all finding themselves in the banana puddles taking a dip

But what was one to expect after they had all inhaled a mouthful of sugar, sending them all on a most fantastic energy trip

Then came swarming about were the most oddly shaped honeybees with bodies as pecans; their presence a most delightful thing

When the queen and her fairies partook of the honey the bees had dribbled onto their arms, tasting it produced an unusual lightheadedness; ultimate joy the droplets did bring

As their brain cells discovered that the bees did not secrete honey, but dollops of bourbon pellets

If they could only manage to get their fingers around at least one of the bees, they would dare, its pecan body, to shell it

Risking a horrible sting, the bourbon making their minds as oblivious to reality as their speech

For the daring in their guts had elevated to the height of the stars; their common sense suddenly lounging on an absent-minded beach

Yes, in an open field of reckless abandon, their brains now merrily did roam

Their senses swimming uninhibited as their entire bodies, and sound reasoning, hung suspended in an alcohol dome

But their senses quickly regrouped after spotting four daisies leaning into a breezy shuffle; their nectar as the waters of a popular citrus fruit

Orange juice flowering from yellow faces situated atop dainty green dresses that complemented well the hairdo of a nearby spruce

“We must!” giggled the queen pointing, as the four fairies followed in tow; her hair of Rasta fettuccine pasta serving as their rope as the four fairies jumped and popped around as though their feet were made of springs

The closer they got to the delicate bunch wearing green dresses, the sooner they all noticed that two of the daisies’ faces were encircled by golden rings

Perplexed, the queen leaned in for a closer look and for a sniff of their orange-inspired fragrance, which was too tempting to resist

“Take care to follow your own recipe of love,” offered one of the flowers, “and take our rings of gold, for in so doing, you will surely find wedded bliss.”

It was then that the queen realized her greatest duty, to bake the cake she used to heal others’ marital woes

So with the help of the fairies in gathering all of the required ingredients, her chance at true happiness, by the minute, began to grow

Truly enchanting the scene, as ladybugs fashionable in bright red and black hats and winged gowns, turned with the dance of the merry go-round as they rode the windy slopes, while butterflies crowned random flowers with the promise of new life as they conducted their

afternoon ritual of colorful flying strolls

Meanwhile, mixing all of the ingredients in a copper-walled bowl, the queen took great care to pour all of the batter without a splatter into three sunflower molds

Upon which she beamed the brightest smile, her teeth as individual lanterns; her body’s heat, much more magnified

Causing the batter to grow solid in moistness, as the fairies over her shoulders curiously spied

Next, she mixed the frosting with the same ingredients and slathered it on after placing the cake circles in a stack

Then lit one candle symbolizing her first day of love after which, the earth slowly began to crack

Open, and tremble, as though it were about to birth a great and satisfying release

When a man’s head began to sprout from its center, the queen was so overwhelmed with great relief

That she crumbled to her knees to greet his lips; her welcome highlighted by the femininely lavender oil her pores secreted, which stirred his nose to curiously sniff

Prompting him to open his eyes and blood to flow through his limbs, that for so many years lay unmoved and stiff

Continuing to emerge from the earth, he turned and loosened his neck; his arms, once free, embracing her strong

He then tenderly whispered in her ear, “This moment to gently stroke your cheek, I have been waiting for, so long.”

So together they lifted the cake to crown their moment of glory, atop which a lone candle to its meaning stayed true

Grandpa Julius then inhaled a very deep breath and all of the villagers in the snow globe were stilled; the room was no longer black, but now a very pretty navy blue

Although life no longer lived within the tiny vessel, the candle, with emotion, continued to burn

Leaving the other Redwoods’ eyes flickering behind the light, as they fidgeted on the edges of their seats, anxiously awaiting their turn.

Gwendolen McCloud

Copyright 2005