Barefoot On Wooden Floors

We walk barefoot on wooden floors
Adoring each other's company.

The benevolence of our comfortable
and cozy moments send me to mesmerizing
trances. Your glances from across the room
consume my entire being.

I begin dreaming of your body adorned
in cinnamon-colored clothing appropriate
only in closed quarters.

You walk by me barefoot
in your holistic beauty.

Beautifully decorating our space
as we embracethe calm of a quiet nite.

Barefoot on wooden floors
We slow dance deliciously, rhythmically.

The fire within me tenderly
warms the smile upon your face.
Suddenly, we realize jazz has a taste.

With my hands on your waste,
we dance the Spanish salsa.

The gyration of your hypnotic thighs
inspire me to move freely, loosely.

I love that we can just be.
Nothing less. Nothing more.
Barefoot on wooden floors.

(c) Christopher Donshale Sims 2005

She Is My Religion

She is my religion,
Her soul is my sanctuary.
I find solace in her happiness.

There is a realm inside
The crevices of her being
Where I can obtain peace at any time.

Whether at the heightof day
Or the deepest of purple nights,
my sacredness is her solitude.

She is my religion.

It is her I believe in.

Her system’s make-up
mirrors the Ancient Moons
Of Ancestors who own the rights
to our so-called "modern" civilization.

We should be praying
To the Mothers who gave birth
To the wisdom she whispers in my ears.

It is the echoes of the night
that encourage me to pray to her.
To share my deepest thoughts and secrets
in the company of her calm.

She is my religion.

My baptism occurred
One morning as she sang a song
To me in my early years of
understanding music, song.

At that very moment,
I belonged in between
Each and every syllable.

In between the rhythmical,
The painted pictures.

Each word was holy water
upon my fore head, and tip of my tongue.

My religion became stories passed on
Through her vessel. My beliefs, the color
Of English’s tasteful vowel sounds.

She is my religion:
The naked moon seeming to travel
With me hand in hand as we revolve around
One another for the sake of balance, life.

I pray to thee:

May I continue to breathe
As Sacred sands cover the lands
Of this holy Earth.

May women continue to give birth.

May men continue to search for knowledge.

May children continue to have the freedom
needed to nurture them before life teaches them.

May bees continue to sip nectar from flowers.

May trees continue to bud during Spring.

May every animal protect their young
and be a part of this thing we call life.

I hope rainbows decorate our skies after rainfall
And we continue to love as human beings.

She is my religion.
She is a solar system
Of waves and regions
Of laughter and light.

She is woman, wisdom, the moon, the night.

(c) Christopher Donshale Sims 2007

Black Women Cry Purple Tears

Black women cry purple tears
After years, and years of loneliness,
abandonment, and betrayal.

They croon blues songs in tune
with false promises
Of lost lovers who watched them
cry themselves into lakes.

Purple tears. Deep violet tears they cry.

Tears that clog city drains
With desperate calls for freedom
From rotten children whose father-less lives
corrupted them before they could count to ten.

I see the blues on black women’s faces
under the foundation of their eyelids.

I can sense the pain, the frustration, the failures.

I can hear the moans, the growls, the screams.

I don’t have enough tissue for these tears.
I don’t know if one box is enough.
Or, if I should even bother.

Because, I have learned that crying
Is a form of release. That crying helps to heal.

But, what a bout those tears
That don’t seem to stop?

The tears that speak out loud?

Tears that ask for help?

Black women cry purple tears
in a non-peaceful world
Where people make nasty comments
about her upbringing, her hair, her body,
her children, her house.

I have only two shoulders,
two ears,
And not a lot of time to listen.

Those tears burn. They burn. Burn. Burn.

(c) Christopher Donshale Sims 2007

She Doesn't Understand

She doesn’t understand
How a man, could love her naturally.
How a man
Could look her square in the eyes
And realize her true potential.

She doesn’t understand
That a man like myself
Does not want her for her body,
her booty, her boldness, her brown skin.

She doesn’t understand
that I like her for her.

Her human-self, her laughter,
her ladylike lavender.
Her mind, her mysticism,
her melody, her inner-music.

She doesn’t understand

That her rhythm is regal,
That her radiance is a ritual.

And, I don’t know why…
Maybe she’s used to the
same ole’ guys who lie
without reasonable alibies

The kind who plays games
And drivers her mentally
and spiritually insane.

She doesn’t understand
That a man could actually
love her for her.

It’s a tragedy that she
sits at the bar
Looking afar, beyond
the man on the mike
Who knows what she needs,
her every likes.

She just doesn’t understand…

© Christopher Donshale Sims 02/04/2008

I am A Poet

I am a poet

I turn words into Sun rays
I engrave page after page
with rhythmical rage

Once I engage, the page
becomes my stage to wage
peaceful wars with syllables,
consonants and vowels

I howl in the thick of the night
to conjure my poetical might
Each word written is
transformed into light

I am a poet

I dive deep into the infinite world
of diction to bring forth image and vision
I'm a scientist who's always in the lab
performing experiments with vocab

I am a poet

Prophet of verb
Creating logic with words
I must write and recite

I cannot resist the urge!

I am a poet

Christopher Donshale Sims (c) 2003
All rights reserved

I Just Want to be Beautiful

i want to be beautiful
i want to be beautiful
beautiful like morning dew
on the tips of green spring grass
with that special sparkle.

i want to be beautiful

as beautiful as a baby’s smile
when it is looking into it’s Mother’s eyes
beautifully beautiful in regards to the
regalityof a uniqueness rare

i want to be SO beautiful
beautiful to the point where
i am envied by the ocean’s calm,
brown mud, the howling of a wolf
deep in the thick of the night.

i want to be beautiful
like burgundy brandy
50 cent candy
grandma’s grin
Aunt Ella’s laughter
a chapter from a Toni Morrison novel
Michael Jordan’s Kiss the Rim slam dunk
Cameo’s old school funk

beautiful like John Coltrane’s
“In A Sentimental Mood”
beautiful like homeless people
being provided with shelter and food

i want to be as beautiful as Jill Scott’s voice

i just want to be beautiful!

i want to be beautiful

beautifully gorgeous

in touch with tears

in sync with solace

on point with passion

locked in with love

in understanding with nature

present with people

singing in the praises of life’s spirit

i just want to be beautiful.

Christopher Donshale Sims (c) 7/30/2005

Searching for the Wisdom in Wombmen

wombmen have this wisdom about them
this softness to which has no parallel -
an inner well of unlimited water.

no wonder they’re considered the Moon’s daughters.

in conversations, i find myself swimming through
the rivers of their regal souls, unable to let go
until my spirit is nourished, nurtured. i find ease
in communicating with wombmen

i discover as i dig and dig the wonders and beauty
i unearth is priceless, withoutworth. since my birth
i’ve been cared for by caring, creative, crafty wombmen
is this the reasoning behind my longing for their light??

in my searching, traveling of wombmen’s cosmic souls i grow,
gathering the elements of the universe that enters them first.

blame me not for preferring lengthy conversations
of dialog with wombmen than those i have with men.

you don’t understand the state of bliss i am in.

time transcends. i feel the softness of the wind
liquid becomes the thoughts that seep from my pen
i giggle and grin-some kind of world of pearls,
preciousness and blues & purples rotate
around me again and again.

solace, silence and vibrance: a wombman’s soul.

she feeds me i become needy i don’t mean to be greedy
as i nibble on her green leafy-ness
it’s just that a wombman’s wisdom is that of a gentle kiss.

i reach on, fortunate to have the opportunities,
the knowledge i receive, the balance i breathe
to feel the feminine in me as we embark
on jargon full journeys that seem to last foreternities.

© Christopher Donshale Sims
All rights reserved by author 2006

Slow Down Black Man - A Message

Slow down Black Man
Gather your thoughts first,
then attack with a Plan.

We’re steady talkin’ about “The Man.”
When it is our Plight, we must Understand.

Sayin’ “Goddamn!” in a world of Beauty
To be Wise, Guides and Open Eyesis our duty.

Truthfully, our women and children need us
We are the walking prophets, similar to Jesus.

Slow down Black Man

Let peace guide you
Let life remind you
Of Martin, Malcolm and Marcus
We are at our best, when we work hardest.

Take a deep breath, chill, be
Do not yourself become your own enemy

Do not what is trendy
Do what you know is best
With a strong woman, you will be blessed.

Slow down Black Man

Remember who you are
Remember to Freedom, we followed the North Star
Remember that you built pyramids
Slow down Black Man, provide all you can give.

Walk strong!
Talk like you belong!
Open your mouths, sing your Triumph Song!

Be your best, even when you look
in the mirror to get dressed
Hug your children, tell ‘em that you love ‘em
Before you tuck them in, hold ‘em, hug ‘em.

Pick flowers for your woman
Send them to her workplace
Smile as you envision the look on her face.

Slow down Black Man

The world needs you so much
In your heart, make sure there’s love, trust

Speak to the Youth fighting on the corner
This world is cold, with your help it’ll get warmer
Be a performer at work and at home
Show the world over what exists in your dome.

Slow down Black Man

The world needs your strength
Show them why you are
The seeds of the Talented Tenth.

Slow down Black Man.

Slow down Black Man.

Slow down Black Man.

© Christopher Donshale Sims 11/27/2008

She Got Left at the Train Station

She was on her way
to the bathroom,
When consumed by
loud noises and laughter.

The moment read like a chapter
in a fictional novel, a love letter even.

She pranced, almost danced
To the rhythms guiding her to
quickly relieve herself of the
thick Black coffee she had drank.

Unaware, that she would be
left by an uncaring lover.
He was the brother of a girlfriend
who pretended to love her.

He was the creep kind.

“I am going to leave at this moment.”
wandered through his head
As she got closer and closer
to the restroom.

It was Penn Station, Manhattan, New York.

They had wined and dined
a few hours before.

She smiled and giggled.

He fake-laughed and frowned.

He did not even pull her chair out,
as they both sat down.

“Women” the sign read.

He fled before she could get
both feet in.
No wonder some magazines
address the selfishness of men.

She walked out, hair and dress
intact. He was not found.
She let her head droop down.

He shook his head in disgust.

She thought, “No more men
I will trust.”

She got left at the train station
with feelings of sadness, no glory.
What a way to treat someone
is the moral of this story.

© Christopher Donshale Sims 11/24/2008

She Has Breast Cancer

She has breast cancer.
She folds up and cries
until swollen eyes decorate
her delicate face.

Embraced, is darkness,
hopelessness, and sadness.

She wont accept any affection,
not even a hug or a kiss.
She has breast cancer
is what the doctor told her
on a cold, gray day in February.

She dropped suddenly to her knees,
saying, “Please, God please!!”

“Spare my life!”

“Let me live on!”

It takes a woman
Who is more than strong
To have the kind of faith
needed to keep on living.

The day she placed her hand
on her right breast and found a lump,
the planet stopped rotating,
it snowed in Florida,
it rained in the Sudan,
it became cold and unbearable
in that bathroom as she discovered
bad, bad, bad news.

Confused, she ran
to her husbands loving arms.

He became alarmed.
They talked about what to do.
Friends and family gathered.
Help for her was all that mattered.

Could modern or alternative medicine
find or provide an answer?? they wondered

As she broke the news...I have breast cancer.”

© Christopher Donshale Sims 11/22/2008

Working For Obama: A Rockfordian's Journey

I was trained in Manhattan, NY as a Deputy Field Organizer for the Obama for America campaign. The experience, which has its roots here in Rockford, IL where I met Obama at a small gathering of local activists and Democrats, is quite the journey.

The training in New York was thorough, educational and an eye-opener for this laid back, intelligent intellectual. Coming from Wilmington DE - Joe Biden country - was ironic. Add the Illinois connection and you get the making of a magical involvement on my part.

When I met Obama back in 2004 (Stanley Campbell - Rockford Urban Ministries) took a picture of us standing side by side smiling. We look like old friends or distant cousins. Obama walked in the room calm, casual and eager to meet all fifteen of us. I got a good feeling from him then after I talked one-one-one with him. I knew he was someone special. Would he run for president of the United States, I had no idea!

I started ground work in Wilmington, DE - a less than mid-sized town that is a fifteen minute drive south of Philadelphia, PA. I learned of the local Obama/Biden office opening up down on the waterfront. Not long after, I made my way there to get involved and see the location. I worked tirelessly, sometimes walking twenty minutes, at the office. I met a lot of high energy and dedicated people there.

While taking a break from work and needing a vacation, I learned of a training for Deputy Field Organizer through MoveOn.org. It instantly caught my eye. I read it and replied right then and there. The next evening, I received a phone call from the Obama organizers for this training and as asked a few questions. I was told I was at the top of the list. I agreed to a  training in New York that would take place the next weekend.

I arrived at the training ready to roll. My college buddy Kwame' took me. I had stayed the night with him to get there and be ready. The room was filled with mostly New Yorkers. There were a few people from Pennsylvania and New Jersey. I was the only person born and raised in the state Obama represented.

I heard a lot of amazing and touching stories about people's involvement and dedication to the campaign. Most everyone spoke passionately about why they were Obama supporters. I listened intensely and took in touching testimonies - yes, it felt like church in the training during the story sharing.

I got to know a few people, shared small parts of my life with them, and networked here and there.

The next day, a Sunday, was even more magical. The end of the training found us committing ourselves to the campaign any way we could. Some were able to work for a week, some like myself, committed to work up until election time. This would be four weeks. I wanted to get the full experience. I wanted to work the whole time.

I tried to get a storefront going in Harlem for a Youth Empowerment Obama campaign movement. That did not work with a lot of talking and walking through New York. So, I returned to Delaware and signed up for duty in Philadelphia.

I worked in Philadelphia for a month and a half. The whole experience was magical, moving and challenging. If you were not supporting Obama in Philadelphia, it was as if you were unpatriotic. Seriously! Buttons, t-shirts and hats were everywhere. They  were the coolest things to have. Buttons sold like Crispy Cream donuts. T-shirts flew off Obama/Biden tables like cheap lap tops during Christmas sales as department stores.

I was in the thick of it, taking it all in as I made time for myself to study the history of Philadelphia. Learning about its interesting history with Italians, Irish and African Americans. There has been a lot of racial unrest in Philadelphia. I visited a site where a riot had taken place in the late 1800s. The old buildings were still there with a marker to designate the spot. It took me to Obama and his speech on race and politics and this country's connection with various race-related events. I was walking the same streets where people of different races fought and killed one another to have their piece of America. It felt dreary and cold in those neighborhoods in South Philadelphia. I read, thought, then moved on with new knowledge and understanding.

Most of my times was spent in offices doing the work needed and walking the streets getting from one destination to the next. Each office was different - some filled with mostly young people, others with a mix of older and younger.

I ended my time there with a recording of a video called "I Am Barack Obama."  It can be seen at YouTube under the name Christopher Donshale Sims.  I returned home just in time to vote for Obama and Biden. I worked hard to make that happen. I didn't want to vote anywhere else. Rockford, IL is home! A faithful Rockfordian here, proud that Obama is now our president-elect.

Christopher Donshale Sims Obama for America universoulove@hotmail.com

She Is So Woman - A Poetical Epiphany

She's so woman, I swear

On the farthest star in our galaxy.
Imagine me walking through rooms

of red roses composing songs

Only meant for her meaningful beauty.

Truthfully, I dutifully dictatejargon to justify her wonder.
I am up under her heavenHoping to inhale more of her.

She is so woman,

that I study astrology

on Aquarius and Pisces

for principles proposed by prophets

Who know of the Science of womanly magnetism.

Because of her, I have become a studier

Of the regal nature of the nurturer we call woman.

My final dissertation will be called

“The Archeology of the Moon Mistress.”

She is so woman
That my heterosexual manly nature

Cannot find peace of mind

In any man attempting to reproduce

her innate nature as original possessor
of what it takes to birth mother milk.

Her silk is solid...
I wrap her spiritual scarf around me
to inhale the magic she brings.
At night, songs I write, then sing.

Singing about her woman-ness,
her weapons of wisdom, her wonder

with power and precision.

She is so woman...

© Christopher Donshale Sims 2008

Obama Phenomenon - We Are Obama

What a phenomenon, the Obama for America run for presidency!

As time transcends to the eventual takeover of the Obama administration.
we rejoice and indulge in excitment over what has been generated over the past
two years. Obama enters our hearts and minds at the Democratic Convention
where he floored everyone with his eloquent speach and fiery message. Here we are,
basking in his victory as concerned citizens and eager spirits ready for a real change.

We all feel like Obama in one way or another. We all believe in the true democracy
of America. We all have shared experiences that connect us with what some would
consider least likely comrades in this struggle for balance and peace. We all have
striven one way or another to get where we are in life. This is a movement that
has brought us together in this sense.

No longer do we feel miles and miles away from the next woman or man in our
American journeys in life. We all are Obamas of some sort - climbing hard and
fast through this interconnected web of reality, hope and reason.

This would be a common phenomenon. A common one that will help bring change,
and pay our debts to the people that fought and died to get us here. We know the names -
Sojourner Truth, Martin Luther King, John F. Kennedy, Theodore Roosevelt,
Abraham Lincoln, Harriet Tubman, etc.

We share the same dreams and hopes as Obama, and the rest of the warriors and
soldiers of the world and the universe. This is a phenomenon of us, of justice, of
peace, of hope, of journeying, of fighting the real fight to our natural freedoms.

We dream the dream of a balanced and equal society of a nature that will get us
to lands unseen, yet within our reach.

We rise to this phenomenon saying "I am Obama!"

"We are Obama!"