Sudan's Angels

Sudan's Angels

by Maria Chisolm

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Overview

Sudan's Angels by Maria Chisolm

Sudan's Angels ... is a compilation of many topics. It reflects how I see subjects and situations spiritually and organically. It is a book fiercely passionate about human beings, and our struggle as a people in this universe. I am a story-teller poet. So in this book you will read stories, monologues, poetry and essays. I enjoy the journey of writing poetry takes me on. I coddle it then give it its blessing for it to stand on its own. I have meticulously selected material that hopefully meets the Readers expectations.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781468574531
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 04/18/2012
Pages: 148
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.34(d)

Read an Excerpt

Sudan's Angels


By Maria Chisolm

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Maria Chisolm
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4685-7453-1


Chapter One

    Dancing With Daddy
    (for my father)



    I hear the sounds of the tap dancer,
    memories from my childhood.

    He wore a black suit and bowtie,
    a top hat and a twirling cane with
    white rubber tips and a smile,
    always a smile for the camera.

    He had jokes to tell and songs to sing and
    yes, there were showgirls with flashy headdresses,
    pantyhose legs with low-cut and high-cut skimpy wear.

    Joe Chisolm
    Peg Leg Bates
    Lon Chaney
    The Clark Brothers
    Sammy Davis Jr. and
    Gregory Hines


    I hear the sounds. Tah-Tap. Tah-Tah-Tah-Tap.

    Ya know when I was a little girl,
    I used to watch my father tap—so exciting!
    He had people to speak with, appointments to keep,
    busy, busy, busy in the limelight of show business
    around the world!

    One day he took my hand and we danced.
    He taught me how.
    I had black patent leather shoes, a mini skirt and
    a white blouse with my hair always pulled back.

    We had rehearsals
    over and over again.
    "Can you hear it?" He'd ask.
    "Can you feel it?" He'd ask.

    I would struggle, trip, and fall,
    lose count.
    I wanted to get it right—
    and I did.

    Tah-Tap. Tah-Tap. Tah-Tah-Tah-Tah-Tap!
    TeeTee-TeeTee-TeeTee-Dap!
    Tic-e-dee Tic-e-dee Tic-e-dee Tic-e-dee Bah!

    "And slide." Dah-Dah!
    "Bring it back."
    Click Click Bah!

    "Posture." He reminded me. "Focus and count.
    1 and 2 and 3 and
    1 and 2 and 3 and
    1 and 2 and 3.

    Loosen up. Relax.
    Move Move Move Dance!"

    Ticky Ticky Ticky Ticky Tah!
    Tah-Tah-Tah Ooow!
    Ticky Ticky Ooow!
    Bah Ooow. Bah Ooow!
    Ticky Ticky Bah!
    Tah-Tah!


    "Don't curve your shoulders.
    Where are your arms?
    Hips! Let's see those hips!
    I know you have blistered feet
    but keep smiling. Always smile
    for the camera because that's
    show business little girl!"

    Oh, what a life he had. Signing
    autographs. The write-ups and the photographs.
    It was the extravaganza of it all!

    Yet in time, people slow down. Ailments creep and set in.
    Being three thousand miles away from him and a call:
    "It's cancer.
    Please come."

    "Don't stop breathing." I said to myself on the plane.
    But he did. Just a few hours before we got there.
    In the chapel room at rest, he was a
    perfect picture of success.

    I saw in him, vulnerability, family and friends.
    I saw gentleness, freedom, and quiet.
    And I remembered how we danced years ago.
    We made it real back then.

    ticky ticky tah, tah tah tah
    ticky ticky tah tah tah tah
    ticky ticky tah tah tah tah

    Joe Chisolm
    Peg Leg Bates
    Lon Chaney
    The Clark Brothers
    Sammy Davis Jr. and
    Gregory Hines.
    Click Click Bah!


    Song-And-Dance Man
    (for my father)


    "We only go to see a show so we can watch a song-and-dance man!"
    Daddy sang those words for over forty years.
    A tap-dancing man on the stage, he tipped his hat and twirled his cane,
    told a few jokes and sang his refrain: the song-and-dance man.

    He loved his work. It was what he did best.
    Charmed every audience, which was never a test.
    A wink of his eye and the ladies did suggest-
    a song-and-dance man.

    There were no drugs or booze or cigarettes.
    Very clean. So refined.
    Everything was groomed, polished, and shined.
    I was proud to know that he was mine.

    Oh, his extraordinary life:
    Meeting the queen. Singing in Japanese.
    Going to the Fiji Islands was Daddy's extreme.
    African Cuisine for the song-and-dance man.

    Mr. Entertainer and the Cabaret Shows!
    Feathered hats on doll faces made him all aglow.
    Pretty skirts and sassy smiles—how show business turned its dial,
    and their hearts were always to a song-and-dance man.

    Yet as the days and years went by, age crept in.
    He took one deep breath, holding the hand of the angel of death.
    There were no whispers. No shouts.
    Sometimes promises. Sometimes there were doubts.

    I saw him in my head; The charm he spread.
    And if you listen, you will hear,
    Tap-dancing feet in your ears.
    Tap-dancing feet.
    Tap-dancing feet.
    Tap Tap, the song and dance man.


    Always
    (for my father)


    He got dressed.
    Shoes shined.
    Hair trimmed.
    Cologne splashed here and there.
    Nails manicured, on his way to the highway,
    the wrong way,
    always.
    Yes, the casino.
    It was his home. His sanctuary.
    His pride and joy, and on bad days
    when he lost, it was his worst demon.
    Sure, he won, but the thousands he lost
    brought him fear and turmoil.
    Having to face his wife who asked
    over and over, "Please stop."
    Thousands were gone but he always went back.
    Daddy loved to gamble.
    The excitement and passion;
    The control and power.
    The feel of the dice in his hand—roll it, roll it, bam!
    For a gambler, tomorrow is always another day.
    Another chance to win.
    He didn't drink or curse, but he loved the women who passed,
    pussyfooted or shimmied by,
    who just went by,
    always.
    He wasn't a fine man, but neat he was.
    Tailored and tucked.
    He knew to do it right on the outside.
    He knew when to go and how to spread that Chisolm flair.
    The chips were stacked just right.
    Cards were shuffled under the beaming lights.
    That was the casino world and gambling was his disease.
    Ain't no joke, daddy died a poor man, but we loved him.
    We loved him
    Always.


    Caesar
    (for Adolph Caesar)


    The flowers,
    their colors,
    their sizes, their shapes
    arranged so beautifully
    for that man
    in his grave
    with grace.

    They walked,
    They walked,
    twelve men in black suits,
    carried a treasure, marched in their boots.

    An actor,
    a voice
    so distinguishable
    and renowned.
    Charming to the utmost,
    a captivating frown.

    They walked,
    They walked,
    and carried the silver case.
    People dressed in ties and lace.

    A strong
    and proud man,
    dedicated to the
    arts,
    his style and technique
    earned high ratings on the chart.

    Yes they walked.
    They walked.
    Twelve men in black suits,
    placed the case down, young man played the flute.

    He's gone now,
    where flesh went to ashes
    and ashes to dust;
    and I wondered
    why the special ones
    had to be rushed.

    They walked,
    They walked,
    Twelve men in black suits;
    They were all in time, adding one more soul to the grey line.

    They say it isn't how long
    one lives,
    but the quality of one's life;
    and now in his passing
    I know he will shine
    in the light.


    The Hours
    (for Lisa)


    And the pain wouldn't let me go;
    And the pain wouldn't let me go.

    I got married in a castle,
    What a glorious day that was;
    rose petals were scattered around,
    continental breakfast and coco in mugs.

    We honeymooned in the Virgin Islands,
    sandy beaches and champagne.
    Making love through the day;
    yes, all the sugar was in his cane

    We bought a house to live in—
    Our house was a home of peace.
    We worked hard and planned the future,
    winter nights cuddled with our fleece.

    We knew we wanted children.
    Starting a family was a plan.
    It was time to get started;
    practice was slow, listening to old jams.

    Found out I could not have children—
    The music played a different tune.
    Yet he and I, all we wanted
    was to wash baby spoons.

    Life will always be what it is.
    Fate is not always controlled;
    It is the hours that we go by—
    the future always unfolds.

    I tried the meds to help conceive,
    but we believe they made me ill.
    Not only did babies not come,
    but cancer instead—no thrill.

    And the pain wouldn't let me go;
    And the pain wouldn't let me go.

    I looked at the locks of hair in my hand,
    so weary and fatigued;
    Weight had fallen off me.
    What other tragedy could succeed?

    Not much time did I have,
    we made the arrangements before I left:
    Darling, cremate me and
    let's meet on the sand in the next.

    Many friends came to see me;
    One sat down to rub my feet, and
    I asked her for a pedicure.
    So kind of her. So sweet.

    The day before my calling
    I moaned loud and long.
    Tossed and turned and irritated—
    I wanted to live and be strong.

    And then there was no sound.
    Quiet I finally was.
    The angels came and lifted me;
    I was flying with white doves.

    Because the pain had let me go;
    Because the pain had let me go.


    Deceived
    (for Cousin Loretta)


    She was a wife in Brooklyn.
    A mother of four,
    in her grandmother's brownstone, on the top floor.

    She was a young thirty-four,
    twenty-five years ago.
    A healthy, strong woman, always aglow.

    Her husband, good-looking,
    same age as his wife.
    Construction was just a part of his life.

    He always hung in the street.
    Drank with buddies on the block:
    He filled his days jiving with his flock.

    She planned family barbecues,
    block parties too;
    Coordinated neighborhood birthdays,
    cooked the winter stew.

    She was life on top of life.
    Steady in her game.
    People tried to be like her, wanted some of her fame.

    Separated from her husband.
    Tired of the shit that had gone down.
    He said, "Baby, please don't make our life a ghost town."

    She had given him many chances.
    She always took him back.
    She didn't see a reason that time, to bend or slack.

    We hoped she would keep her word,
    never let him back in.
    For that one night he asked, with that salacious grin.

    She loved her husband, true, and
    they shared many beautiful years.
    But things grew so ugly, with so many tears.

    They argued about little things.
    Compatible no more.
    Being with each other had become such a chore.

    But still the question arose:
    Would he charm himself back in?
    Would he flavor all those adjectives to continue his sin?

    Mr. Man was doing drugs.
    His wife sang the blues.
    She had hoped that he would stop. Didn't want that bad news.

    He no longer made her toes curl.
    No more taking care of the kids—
    Not the man who was so suave; his roll was on new bids.

    He knocked. She opened the door.
    And how they won't forget,
    the dinner table was so pretty, it was all set.

    A couple of weeks had passed.
    Not together with her man.
    Something with her wasn't right and that's never in a plan.

    Her balance wasn't steady.
    She had shortness of breath,
    ran a slight fever—just didn't feel at her best.

    Back and forth to the hospital.
    Doctors' couldn't guess.
    How she'd been full of life before this sudden distress.

    Sent home many times for weeks.
    Her strong body grew weak and frail;
    Her husband tried to pamper but to no lasting avail.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Sudan's Angels by Maria Chisolm Copyright © 2012 by Maria Chisolm. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Dancing With Daddy....................1
Song-And-Dance Man....................5
Always....................7
Caesar....................9
The Hours....................11
Deceived....................13
Remembering....................17
Sitting Under The Bonsai Tree....................19
Crossing Avenues Of Colors....................21
The Writer And The Snapshot Man....................25
Sunrise One....................29
Sunrise Two....................31
Sunrise Three....................33
Sunrise Four....................35
Sunrise Five....................37
Sunrise Six: Soul-Mate....................39
Rhythm And Blues....................43
Feel Good....................45
He Sang To Me....................47
The Waiter Man....................49
Cuban Love....................51
On Wednesday....................53
Valentine Eve 2007....................57
Valentine Eve 2009....................59
Black Shade Down....................61
Joey....................65
Footprints On 40th Street....................67
I Know What It Feels Like To Cry....................69
The Bar On Weber And Avenue H....................71
Hmmm....................75
When I Die....................77
Invisible....................79
A Thursday Visit....................81
... And So I Write....................85
I Have To Write....................89
... And That's Poetry....................93
Quiet Expression....................95
Bus Ride....................99
I Am....................103
Women Visit....................107
I Write Poetry....................109
I'm Going To The Barbecue....................111
I'm Taking The Long Way Home....................113
Women....................115
Tsunami....................119
Emmett Till....................121
Children Walk....................123
Heal....................127
Sudan's Angels....................129

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