TAONeal

Sands of Time (Little Black Child sequel)

2009-08-10T00:59:35-04:00

my soul lay south, where
fragments of a young boy subsist
motionless, longing
to escape
life’s sad realities

mighty blows of thunder, furious
lightening bolts
strike down upon the south
piercing the north

shaken
is my spirit set adrift
through the gulf
where ferryboats float off
to Galveston—where
water meets land, and
secrets lay dormant
deep beneath the sand
amid the rich soil
influenced by our ancestors

a decade now past, yet
unbroken remains my affection
the memories
left unfinished escort me
over waterways, through bayous, and
lowlands—again
we meet face-to-face
an unlike place
no longer the “little black child” but
a young man—
passed through the sands
of time

News 10~ Sacramento and Company Speak with Terry a

2009-05-03T15:59:15-04:00

Sacramento and Company speaks with founder and president of The National Black History Bee, author, poet and youth activist Terry a O'Neal.

South Florida Today speaks to Terry a O'Neal

2009-05-03T15:56:05-04:00

South Florida Today speaks with author and poet Terry a O'Neal ~
April 2, 2009

a burning passion

2009-03-02T10:31:29-05:00

kings, queens, their royalty
and gold riches
[my hands can’t touch]
my eyes can only admire
from afar        (sitting on my sofa
watching television)
rubies adorned
movie stars, singers, the elite rich
and famous, while
they prance the red carpet
flawless attire
teeth straight an’ white
                         (they smile pretty)
75-carat diamond necklace
weighing down their neck
shoot rays of light
so bright
it penetrates my television set
hitting me in the face
leaving me no choice-but-to
turn the station to channel 3
something with a bit more reality
…shoot
                   “don’t folks know we’re in a depression?”
half of America and its children
sit homeless
resting in tents
in some / nowhere place, fantasizing
on their next meal, yet
we reside in the U S of A
nowhere near the outskirts of Africa
where innocent children die
of disease and hunger each day—
well I’ll say,
if I had [which I don’t but]
theoretically speaking, let us say
I do
possess a genuine 5 carat diamond anything
(not cubic zirconia or crystal)
the real thing—
would I be so bold to embellish myself with such treasures
and smile gracefully for the world to see?

hmm

I-think-I-just-might
be ashamed—I think
[I put in my time]
I’m deserving
to labor a passion, long and hard
pays in diamonds and gold, doesn’t it?

who was it that said
to pursuit [it] brings riches 2-fold?
hmm
all the passion that I hold
should make me the richest black woman on earth
beside oprah. my passion
overflows strong
as the wind blows, and
wild as rivers run rapid. my passion
is greater than the earth is round
and even hotter than the sun ablaze
yet, in still
no diamonds adorn my finger, nor
gold beautifies my wrists, nor pearls
dangle carelessly between my breasts.
(…)
I’m troubled ‘cause
I work triple time over, them
destined hollywood movie stars
where passion paid their way, but
here I stand today
with five bucks in my pocket
my best outfit, and my
trusty old boots
to get me by - (I sigh) standing
before you, showing you, telling you
this here
is my passion

polished
and
poised, I
ponder life—those that have and
those that have not

I give thanks, and
I smile
attaining
a mighty touch powerful enough
to stop time. my eyes
shimmer like silver ribbons
gleaming in a steady stream. my heart
burns a fire
that awaken fields of dreams
to pass from soul to soul
for eternity, gifted
by the Father. my voice
speaks of wisdom
happy, sad, and love—but real
no less
stirring imagery
artistic expressions, a tan
hand crafted mold—valuable and bold, a
burning passion embedded
in the richness of life
and love. in
good times and in bad
I smile (I sigh) a
slow burning flame
never to die, an ornament
that no money can buy, i
possess it

southern hospitality

2009-03-02T10:25:47-05:00

he said
he was a friend of mine, that
we were connected through a life line
tracing back to the south
a full decade in distance
separated him and I
though familiar memories
of childhood disturbances
and dark spaces
affixed an adored bond

most times
he was kind, but
when he got mad
cayenne pepper shot          care-less-ly
from his tongue, he’d
run off at the mouth, roaring
God awful things
outright mean
                     “I feel sorry for your husband
         who has to put up with your sh*t!”
among other sentiments
that I dare not repeat—
words my ears never heard
spoken
in regards to:
a kind-hearted person
like myself
           “You are one cold brotha,” I told him
“using my weakness against me.”

I didn’t know
that’s how they got down
deep in the heart of Texas, although
it was home
where my daddy was born
and at times he was known
to say
cruel things

POWER TO HEAL

2009-02-27T22:01:55-05:00

I will

search the world over

travel far an’ wide

to arrive. my

final destination

before you, I shall stand amidst

a circle of dazzling light, with

a soft smile

your great hand, I reach

my (i’s) close

slow ly

to my lips, your

broad palm, I kiss
down to

your finger tips

exerting electricity

compelling enough to heal

old battle wounds

[where heavy burdens gathered an’

settled there to stay] now

have melted away

caress my cheek

oh so

tender

for a moment…

your palm, where I

lay my cares to rest

so silent

so dreamy

so delicate ly, I

savor this moment

in time

how short

it is

lived...

02-27-09

...and so she writes

if...a crooked word

2008-12-15T13:32:26-05:00

if i
continue to write words
that warm hearts
enlighten souls
move spirits to dance
to my lyrical song
will he love me?

if i
give all that I have
to those in need
doing deed after deed
over a lifetime—expecting nothing
in return
without bitterness
will he honor me?

if i
dream of him everyday
and pray—
hanging onto the words
he might say
whispered in my ear
nestled beside a cozy fire
in winter
will he hear me?

if i
travel across the world
passing out my love
on ivory paper
to men, women, children
will he wait for me,
knowing that
tomorrow
may never come?

Monologue ~ Part One

2008-12-01T20:13:41-05:00

awaiting
falling action
to begin—I
hear the vibration of your voice
break through firewalls
and pad locked doors
to rescue my soul
from the confinement
of my world

“…you can’t always get
what you want…”
so the saying goes

for what is forbidden
the urge grows stronger
for what is beloved
the days seem to grow longer—I
practice strategies
to erase you from the forefront
of my mind
engaged from act one
I become
captivated by illusions of you—a
Thomas Kinkade canvas setting—a
unappointed place in time
plays out passionate scenes
a treasure chest of blueprint dreams
scattered across heaven and earth
and hidden crevices
in-between

Make a Wish Cottage

Dreaming of You, I

2008-11-09T14:12:53-05:00

can write a love song
to last all eternity
that will make a vast field of black-eyed Susan
bloom in Spring
that make Nyasa birds forever sing
that reunite long-lost loves
beneath the wing of a maple tree
at first light

somewhere waitin'

2008-10-29T02:38:05-04:00

hand an’ glove—we fit
long -a-
vowel sounds and word play
wrong time
right place
a ribbon beneath the sun
before the Spring season of love begun
there was We
there was she
there was peace
unity—
a love, somewhere lost
yet destined to be

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

to pick up shattered pieces of me

2008-10-29T02:35:09-04:00

an indian summer
deep in the heart of texas,
tyler—
home where my daddy was born
sitting on some old woman’s porch
I remember yesteryears
and sad realities
that dropped by unannounced
and departed on a whim
without warning

they ask,
“what’s wrong?”
but if I told the truth
no one would understand
so instead we sit
chop it up
to meaningless conversation
over a warm plate of cornbread, black eye peas
and greens

I stand steady
watching through the back door
scared that
the rain might pour
atop my head and melt me away
“you’re still here?”
they ask.
I nod. I shrug.

too broken to fly
too fed up
to be sad
too let down
to be mad

I nod. I shrug.
I am still here, I
hurry up and wait
for tomorrow may never
reveal my fate

a safe haven
I long for
out there
somewhere hidden
in the neck of the brisk woods
with tall, thin trees
debris
and my reflection
in broken glass
spread along an endless country road

folks in my town
point and giggle
when I pass
‘cause livin’ has taken my voice
locked it up in a case
buried it deep in a place
where no living creature can reach
not even me—
“will you ever come back?”
they ask.
I nod. I shrug.
they laugh

The Plight of Africaâ��s Child

2008-10-29T02:32:39-04:00

families scattered and separated
a long way gone
children set adrift
some place
on the outskirts of Luanda
sit abandoned tanks
where small children play
clueless to if
they’ll see another day
come child, lay your head
upon my chest and weep
your soul into a deep, deep sleep

bottomless echo’s
trapped in a downward spiral
war-torn, street children scream
far-off over the distant hills
and down a mighty stream
young lives
homelessness and destitution
diseased and deepening poverty
murdered and enslaved
digging their own shallow grave

fearless fighter
young soldier at the age of seven
trails of smoke
be their stairway to heaven

the fight and plight of war
now a child’s game
displaced
with no-name
in the Great Lakes region of Africa
where war-weary children sit crying
dark people lay dying
Africa’s child soldier
Freetown
Sierra Leone
damaged and dreary
places unknown

from the mines of Africa
rubies that glisten
the symbol
promise of love
Yet, who’s going to save the children?

Dog-Gone, No-Good Blues

2008-10-29T02:30:31-04:00

My eyes are tired of cryin’
To this lowly, sad song
So tired of cryin’ in my pillow
All night long

No cigarette to puff
No tobacco to snuff
No booze to carry me away
Those dog-gone, no-good blues
Bes’ not be here to stay

You might as well
put me in a boat
and float me out to sea

It will take more than a rescue crew
to come an’ save me.

Mama never warned
there’d be days like this

For if she had
just maybe for me
it wouldn’t of been
so dog-gone bad

Says a Fatherless Child to Her Father

2008-10-29T02:24:10-04:00

plummeted
into this place
without choice—
a muted voice
with eyes just like
my father

my little love
was just not enough
for you to fight
every other battle was
the most important one

dangled between x lovers
if’s and y’s
color lines—
a shade
unlike mine

set on a dusty shelf
erased from your memory
where I no longer exist
dismissed—
like the many women
you laid up with
back when 8 track tapes
jammed “…neither one of us
wants to be the first to say
goodbye”

not a whisper in my ear—
no voice
telling me, I have a choice
not to settle
for a no-good, dead-beat cheat
too lazy to lift his feet
get a job—be a man
not raise his hand
to a woman

i traveled through life
alongside hallow trees
and shallow graves
searching to find my way
lugging a case
of inherited traits
stubbornness and pride
waiting to see
who will set aside one
for the greater good of two
waiting for the day
to finally hear you say
my daughter, i
love you

Ceremony for the Dreamer

2008-10-29T02:18:17-04:00

deep-seated dreams float
through the breeze with the dust
and leaves of the trees
Waiting for an old wise man to have and grab hold
from this day forward
till death do them
part

i dream my dreams

2008-10-29T02:15:31-04:00

I dream my dreams upon the seasons of the earth
that they will bring shocking beauty and admiration to souls far and near
I dream my dreams upon the self-seekers of the world today
that they will bear the duties that are bestowed upon him by his Father
I dream my dreams upon green pastures
where the calf comes home to graze beneath the baby blue sky
I dream my dreams upon the heaven’s from which the rain shall pour beyond measure
to wash the tear from every eye