musing kennbivins

I rarely frequent Starbucks but I stopped by for a soy latte this past week on the way to witness my son’s final orchestra performance for the school year. As I awaited the templated artistry of the drink maid, I was browsing the clearance shelf of baristas, coffees, and overpriced ceramic cups.

But, “Hark! What is this?” A little simple cup with a the instruction, “grow” written across and the icon of a plant in it’s infancy. This is cool and I do like green but this is Starbucks. This cup must be about seven… what the? Three dollars?!! Sold! I love my cup. Don’t you?

(Nadine is the personification of hope)

This is not some love poem or a soliloquy of a dream
This is not a confession of an angry black man or how its difficult to be a human being
This is not a suicide note left with hesitant intentions of being seen
And this is not an adolescent cry with regret that I have been weaned

What this is is inspiration from a flesh and walking dream
What this is is articulation to the canopy above the seas
What this is is experimental though obsession it may seem
What this is is a gift kind of like money green or chocolate cream

This is exotic feathers seconds after the beak has preened
This is a one-apple fixation more from healthy trees
This is an arduous extensive reach to tell her what I really mean
This is one mans venture into what rhymes with Nadine.

Now upon meeting Nadine I felt chills up my spleen
Or down my spleen, you see direction wasn’t my focus while my focus was this dream
Yes, this dream I rename Nadine, to protect the innocent amidst a crowded scene
And her smile was like some glow or gleam or shine or sheen just rendering me

Riddling me, butterflies inside flittering deep, betrayed by a mouth that wouldn’t speak
This was not a commonplace meeting or a random dating thing
This was not some fortuitous glint or something karma has deemed
This was not boy meets girl simply for girl and boy to thump like peens

This was not boy selecting candidates to consummate his black book team
What it was makes me sing and what it is is like Plasticine
Molded mass around structured glass, who knows what it will be
Yet with 206 bones from about 300 that convened

And gray matter that is more complex than the most intricate machine
There is hope to which I careen as directional as a stream or gravity’s lean
I know not what I saying but I am saying what I mean.
People may look at her and see someone refined and pristine

A warming smile encased in glass, steady, safe, unwavering
I am inclined to behold much more, her depth like gasoline
Explosive is what emanates, her heat burns pure and clean
Natural, nice, quite phenomenal, networking is where she beams

Amazing, analytical, animated, adept amongst many other things
Detonating, drop-dead gorgeous, I dig her diction, shes my dream
Imagination, intelligent face and introspective she might be
Nothing precedes her nor depletes her, neo, novel, my intervene

Excited, enlightened, energetic, endowed with grace of 40 queens
40 things and 30 scenes and 20 props made of polystyrene
Is that so keen? Not clear but keen. No wait I’m keen. Well, I once was Keen.
I once was Keen before Nadine. But in her honor I eschewed an E

In exchange for that E and to her esteem, N took its place, N for Nadine
Conclusively or decidedly or perhaps more appropriately unconditionally
Homage and admiration and permeation beyond the seams
France is where it originated from and hope is what it means

Starts in the N and ends as in E yet her monikers no big thing
Her dermis and curves and motives and verbs is where I would place the reams
Of stash and cash and interest and gladly exalting this Nadine
This exaltation is long so pardon my lingering scene

This is not some love poem or a soliloquy of a dream
This is not a confession of an angry black man or how its difficult to be a human being
This is not a suicide note left with hesitant intentions of being seen
And this is not an adolescent cry with regret that I have been weaned

What I hope is that her heart and nerves and ears hereafter see
What I hope is that my Love prevails condemning crooks and fiends
What I hope is that a remnant sows and nurtures kinetic seed
And the seed shall be though we can’t see and one day it will burst forth from the ground and it will be.

No thing, no fling, no temporary scene, no nicotine
Well quaff and feast and dream and clean
Reconvene forever between God’s grace and
Well reconvene and reconvene and reconvene forever, Nadine.

Love Kenn, your Keen. End scene.

not sure why the baby is upside down or why I’m doodling babies but…

I was reading an interview on the early years of Jack Kirby, the artist and co-creator of Spider-Man, Hulk, Fantastic Four, Captain America, and a host of other comic book legends. Since I have a tendency to doodle as I read, talk, or work, I figured I would start sharing those distractions with you here. These are by no means complete works of art. They are instead line ramblings and doodles. Enjoy the deviation.

I love writing. It’s therapy for me though it hasn’t always been so. When I was urged to journal my thoughts several years ago, I found solace in layering my feelings with parallels and imagery. Since then I have found more peace and healing in sharing those writings.

I am once again called upon to share more of myself as I grow and reinvent. A week ago, I embarked on a 37-week program to challenge my habit of prayer and my personal relationship with God. The purpose is to develop an ability to communicate more specifically in prayer and find God in all things. Though these daily orisons are personal, I’m encouraged at the lives that I may impact in my own humanity and so I will share.

If you’re interested in following along, check it out.

Thinking of you sleeping right before you wake up
Has me so warm to steeping that I’m about to break up
The visual of you wrapped in sheets not wearing any makeup
Has me so terse that if I burst then I could fill a lake up

There must be some hobby or craft I can maybe take up
In the event that you awaken and decide to pull your stakes up
Or in honor of you and this view I could build a cake up
That says “You’re on my mind and all for just the sake of”

Thinking of you stirring right before you wake up
There I go again thinking of something we could make up
Like leave the sheets in disarray or toss the pillows as some quake up
But then maybe this is a just a dream. Don’t ever want to wake up.

.kenn

This passenger-side driving
Alludes that I’m not so in control
The floorboards won’t slow my descent
And the dashboard won’t steer my fold

While my sanity is bleeding
And injustice is on the walk
I try hard not to feel
I try hard not to talk

This passenger-side driving
Has me impatient to make my mark
But it’s all about the journey I hear
Not where you stop or start

So stops and yields and showoff peels
And drive thru meals and an influx of steel
To the tune of white noise and legislative frills
Remind me to be still. Just be still. Be still. Still.

I wanna hold your hand
I wanna be your man
I wanna be the sand that runs through your toes
Ending up in unsuspecting places of the crannies and folds of your clothes.

A chair is not a chair
A weave is not her hair
A burning house is not a flare when there’s no one standing close
To witness who was so lonely for attention that he’d torch his own abode.

I wanna kiss your face
I wanna run your race
I wanna occupy your space like some random thought
That public education, good nutrition and moderate exercise just bought.

The Wire ended it’s 5-season run last night and I am sad to see it end. No more Omar. No more Bunk. No more McNulty. No more Bubbs. No more Simon genius.

This was an excellent show and if you’ve never seen it, invest in the dvd’s.
Good writing. Good social commentary. Good characters. Good laughs.
Good cries. Good watching.

To all who worked on the show, “Job well done!”

Your insincere sincerities
Are so much akin to cake
Whereas the eating of and having it
Conveys your deeds as fake

Your insincere sincerities
Are as a window cooling pie
While an ugly truth is better
Than the most beautiful of lies

Your insincere sincerities
Bring sincerities to shame
Cut and paste some random sentiment
And fill in the blank some random interest’s name.

————————————-

She do not like green eggs and ham
She do like granola and vegetarian spam
Great talent in 3D God attributed to her
A mature immaturity and a dog named Gir
Hailing for Detroit but it’s not all her fault
Happy Birthday, Samara. Tip you glass of gluten-free, flax seed, soy-laden malt.

Check out Samara’s skills at her website and wish her happy 30. Welcome to MY decade, young’un. Now life REALLY starts.

My flag is at half mast
I ripped my garment for thee
My ashen face is downcast
And several doves have been released

Sixty seconds to respect
Much less seconds to be born
And a lifetime to reflect
On life for which to mourn

The bells, they toll for thee
And the rain allays the ground
The earth invites you back
From whence you first were found

My flag is still at half mast
It’s due my time to grieve
While not preventing living.
A moment of silence for thee.

And when you meet me, my bretheren, you will greet me in this way.

Know that I loved you yesterday though there is no aftertaste of chocolate or dullness of a hangover. Know that I don’t conform to empty traditions and postures and thank you for accepting me in this. Know that I don’t need a day or excuse or floating filament to attest to my sentiment.

Above all, know that I loved you yesterday. I love you today. And I’ll love you tomorrow, my Friends. Have a bright one.

“I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.”