The Moment of Tears

Have you ever cried, really cried and after the last tear, you wondered why you were crying in the first place? Sadness or the realization of something lost as opposed to something gained. After all, we are MALES and stigma suggests there isn’t any room for weakness.

But I am – weak, recalling those times as a child when the switch tore into my backside, or the unexpected tingling sting on my face from the “almighty-get-it-right” palm or that time when I knew a beating was a coming and dressed in four to five pajamas to protect my molecules only for my angry father to beat me down buckle style for being rude to the teacher.

As a MAN signs of weaknesses linger still. Death of loved ones and friends unleashes the mysteries of the water in private moments as well as failed relationships where I loved hard. Tears seem to come from a poignant movie or sheer joy for an accomplishment, maybe also a churchgoer testimony.

Am I weak or human?


The Moment of Tears

My walls of Jericho,
came tumbling down.
It was over.
The glass was shattered discreetly,
yet so abruptly.

I felt no pain,
only loneliness.
The mind was disturbed.
Reflections reminiscent.

From this moment on,
there would be only memories.
This was no dream.
This was reality.
He would be no more.
I cried.

Copyright ©2009 Doug Anthony

As a Man do you show your weaknesses? How do you conceal your fear? Is it important to you how you’re perceived – faults and all?

atlbrwnskin

He touch me
Look at me-- actually stared
He attempted my recesses
With his intense casualness
But I cringed, really insulted
Offended even
For I was his lpartner and friend
Not his conquest

He took for granted
Something sacred and dear
Not commonplace
He lied and cried
False tears of pride
Yet still I prayed
For belief in deliverance
Ignorant in maturity

He valued his friends
The ones we all know
Outward smiling but inward beguiling
Hoping the worst
Waiting and watching the end
I knew he knew
The lies and misconceptions
For greed knows the young

He gave as much as received
But in his eyes the scales of justice
Was in his favor
But he forgot as always
His situation was his not his friends
I was there
Through all the sickness and health
Still leaving myself open

He calls and envisions himself his own man
Yet actions bespeak a child
A man acknowledges his faults
Learns life lessons
View honesty as a virtue
Not a character defect
He should give as much as he takes
But in the end
My love never fakes

I know he knows he cares
Over two years I feared
From the first infidelity
To others found out
I was still here
Call me whatever
The love is sacred
But his true intentions are ambiguous

Mental Metamorphosis

My lips and my loins
Unintentional conspiracy
Yet a direct hypocrisy
In deed and word
In a survival for coins

It’s sad my contributions
Still spitting freely in the wind
No precautions yet abortions
The predictable me -- Male

My mask suffocates me
Torturing the truth
In this adult life
Significantly compromised

Clarity seeks to unveil the mask
Purpose wants to shed the disguise
Honesty tries to prevail the past
And love,
Real true love evokes the remnants
Of the virtuous male

Copyright ©2009 Doug Anthony

Mortality and Me

It’s early; just after 6am slipping out of bed the visual from the second floor through the blinds was white, a far cry from my homeland. Ice covered the remains of what was once vivid green grass. After one Our Father and two Hail Mary’s I was ready for my daily dose of English tea, two sugars. Opting out of going to my morning office—Starbucks spoiling myself the American way with two mugs of hot chocolate whip cream and some sprinkles. Shit its 26 degrees, I’m wrapped up from head to toe like grandma still with the heater going not knowing what the hell to blog.

Then it hit me, “mama” my grandma, I’m smiling thinking what would she be doing right this moment. She had a full and exciting life, three score ten and eight years. She raised nine children and countless adopted ones with a host of grandchildren. I miss her dearly, the greatest influence par one in my life. So hence today’s blog the thought of my….MORTALITY.

The formative years were good to me; the teens were filled with discovery, change and dates with girls. The twenties witnessed a son, a financial career, my passion of event planning and Ron from California. My thirties were more exploration of identity than anything else of the man kind, a daughter and a near death experience. Now considered middle age and looming before me is my mortality, morbid as it may be its real and it has me wondering if today is my day and what would become of my young adult and little girl. With my mind on freeze I’m pondering life relishing the thought that life is an incurable disease.

"Oh Me, Oh My!'

Searching, wondering, trying

to find within as

whisperers of other souls

intoxicate my consciousness

with revelations of conformity

seemingly leaving me displace

Oh me, Oh why?

Race has its ramifications

as love has it preciousness

often times

stripping self-esteem

baring my vulnerability

at an age of expected maturity

Oh me...Oh my!

Copyright ©2009 Doug Anthony

Musings of the MALE kind...

Yesterday while browsing the ususal blogs I stumbled upon a new blog which encompasses me. It something we can idenitfy with at least me...lol, The name of the blog is "MALE"
http://www.masculinegender.blogspot.com/ Check it out, I'll be contributing from time to time.

My first entry is below:

I’ve acquired the “simple approach” in life as a stabilizing component to ease the troubles and stresses of today. Why? So many of my experiences occurred because “I” made it complicated. I’ve taken ownership even if the fault belonged elsewhere. Knowledge and the ability to decipher that which is ever present but elusive is key to understanding “me” as — MALE. Existing through time and memorial profound thoughts on the nature of the male centered on the ingredient of color. Maleness is relative but experiences and genetics have dictated our varied destinies to discovery.

The culture I was born and breed abhorred homosexuality but as maturity set in society informed otherwise. No family no matter how small was exempted. In the beginning being around other kids I was teased for being dark skinned-- forget this politically correct shit – BLACK. The “in color” wasn’t black but the complexion – Carmel. I’m not charcoal black but a smooth black and during my thirties a shift and/or new perception occurred and my color was and still is the “it” thing. This notion from my peers created a serious complex within riddled with name calling and self esteemed issues. I was young and precocious yet still blind. Back then, I possessed an outgoing personality which was a mask for insecurities and mental turmoil. I learnt from then that to be noticed I had to achieve and still yet I wasn’t comfortable with myself but I am still – MALE.

We played doctor, even cowboys and Indians and the feelings of flesh excited me then more so boys than girls. Discovery of self was hidden in my maleness. Imagine this:

Excerpt from memoir:

My eldest brother and me always had summer junkets at Cousin Mae on NW 70ST in Liberty City, Miami. Nine or ten years old or thereabout in the late seventies, still very much a thumb sucking grandma’s boy sleeping in a bunk bed with two of my older cousins, who by the way were big high school football players at Northwestern Senior High. One flashback that clearly stuck with me through the years, is of the time late one night when everyone was sleeping, I realized that Michel, my seventeen year old cousin replace my thumb sucking finger with his penis and told me to suck on this. I heard these small moans being elicited but did not know where they came from. Something came spilling out in my mouth and soon afterwards he removed his penis and put my thumb back in my mouth as if it was perfectly normal. It was a shared secret, a bad shameful secret but being naïve and scared led to confusion and misplaced memory for years until my energies was put into writing. Did I know I was physically abused – No but I am still MALE.

As I explore the word “MALE” there are many experiences I identify within this proclivity that arouses hatred. The proclivity does not define me – it’s my MALE genes – clearly evident and alive as I relieve myself the way MALES do when we are aroused.

I too have many stories to tell but I leave you with these words that sum up my inherent need for that which compliments our being – love.

“Sweet Expressions"

How can I write...
about my forlorn, my longing, and my hurt.
How can I write...
your lips, your beauty, your presence.
How can I write...
about our mutual desires only satiated by time, by need, by existence.
How can I write...
about my sweet expressions.

Copyright ©2009 Doug Anthony