She Gave Me Life

(A Mother’s Day Tribute)

Her smile shared laughter when pain and poverty

challenged her soul.  Her eyes sparkled joy

when sadness weakened her courage

…but she stayed strong

because through her journey on this earth

the gifts she birthed

were the reasons she knew she belonged

she was just sixteen years when she labored

me into this world, instantly transforming

into a woman as she held me in her arms

and from that moment she gave

me vision, as through her eyes

I found my path towards success.  There were sticks

and stones on those long, winding roads, but she showed

me how to keep going and never like fear

blind my ability

she gave me talent, as through her artistry I learned

the skills of written language.  There were times doubt threatened

to challenge penmanship, but she taught me

how to find the poetic language of my heart

she gave me strength, as through her struggle

I learned to never give up.  There were times when the skies

darkened and drenched me with internal pain, but she guided

towards the sunshine, brightening the confidence

of my definition

and she gave me hope, as through her being

I learned how to love.  There were times I felt

locked in a closet, afraid to be me and afraid to feel, but

she accepted everything I am, giving my individuality

the freedom to heal

though I miss her presence still,

I celebrate her memory,

I celebrate her continued nurture

as I will always be thankful

She gave me life.

© 2020

Tarringo T. Basile-Vaughan

A Four family house, all white with a trim of red;

stain glassed windows and steps of concrete stone.

A house no longer a home is now a picture frame

where memories still live

and now it stands there alone.

The scent of nana’s cooking still lingers/an aroma

I can smell from all those Sunday’s past where we

use to all gather just to inhale the natural perfume of her soul.

I still see her in that kitchen feeding our appetites

and nourishing our hearts with love.

Now I smile as I hear that childhood laughter/the way

we played on the open streets of innocence

with no fear threatening the air we breathed.

I remember before times got wild how fulfilling it was

just being a child and growing with so much strength

surrounding me; a strength that still holds the foundation

to a home that will always house

the values of family and support.

Decades have now passed as growth has brought change

And loss but pieces of our hearts forever beat

in empty hallways with long lasting echoes of warmth

comfort and care.

A four family house, old, abandoned and condemned

now stands there alone. I still see pieces of my youth

sliding down the banister; pieces of family survival

still bonding in strength and rising with love.  It is empty now

and no longer maintained but there will always

remnants of what time left behind.

©2011 Tarringo T Vaughan

A man does not become a man
until he unlocks himself
from the grasps of fear
and rise above the barb wired barricades
of challenge.

A man does not hold his tears
as prisoners of captivity,
for it is his tears
that becomes the fuel
to nurture his growth and healing.

A man does not use life
as an escape
from his own failures
but conquers his fate
as a weapon towards success.

And when blood has been shed
from his epidemic layer of confidence,
a man does not wilt down
upon bended knee and fade.

It is he who triumphs
against the army of ridicule
for in his beckoning he rises
from the dusts of defeat
and becomes a king amongst men.

© 2012

Tarringo T. Basile-Vaughan

Somethin’  was a knockin’ at the door this morn’

I said somethin’ sad was a knockin’ at the door this morn’

and I didn’t want to get up to see what was a knockin’ at that door

because I was feelin’ kinda down you see; yes I was feelin’

down and dreary and I was even too lazy to pick my mind

up off this dusty floor.

Mama always said there would be days like these; she said

there would be days where the sun wasn’t gonna shine.

She said “Hell, the sun don’t owe us a damn thing”

but we still will have to pick up our hearts and sing.

She said we were born to have the blues and I had them

this mornin’ because the knockin’ at my door wasn’t gonna stop

til I answered the door to my internal pain.

My heart felt like shit and my feelings were arguing

with my morals; my common sense was even growlin’

when my conscious decided to start a howlin’

I had the blues and I had them bad.  I felt the fingertips

of my anger snappin and the energy from the shoe bottoms

of my sadness tappin

because I was brokin’ with my tears steamin’ and smokin’

from a different kind of love walkin’ out that door

and mama said there would be days like these

but she didn’t tell me it would hurt this bad.

© 2010

Tarringo T. Vaughan

Sometimes, often…as I look off into the sunset,

I find myself asleep with open eyes
standing off to the side of a dusty road
in the middle of somewhere.
I can feel the appreciation of the sky
as it melts into a soft ambition
of radiance…and I hear the sounds of joy

whistling the soft song of familiar voices.
They echo, vibrate and are heard
as I listen to silent winds tiptoe
around the egos of thirsty trees and through the thoughts
of abandoned sidewalks. Through this vision of promise

life, itself, is a journalist
watching, waiting and writing the verse of a new day
where poetry’s eye ascends
into the horizon of tomorrow’s sunrise.
© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

I once stood unknowing, unaffected, untouched

and uninspired

by their brilliance:  words sprinkled

on a canvas

abstract

in their meaning and obsolete in their influence.

I had no connection to their worth

as they were strangers to my intelligence.

To be honest, I found them quiet boring

and to me they were just whoring

for interpretation.
They, the words, were dressed up in tight similes

with high heeled diction

cruising around the boulevard of my mind

telling me that they had what I needed

but it would cost me inspiration

for a good time and my complete heart

for a really good time
The poets were their pimps

and these hustlers, the words, worked hard

to get my attention but I avoided

their temptation

as I refused to be just another john

desperate enough for quickie thought

from a meaningless stanza

until one day I saw those words

and their pimps
cry.
One day I begin to see them

dance the language of love,

orchestrate the sound of death

and sing the blues of injustice
yes,
I saw deeper and behind the overdone

make-up of meter and begin to understand

their demand.

They weren’t just splattered any longer–

they were arts of genius who finally lured

me into a mind seduction that stroked

my thoughts and inspired my emotions.
I asked how I too could be a pimp

But I already had become one because they, the words,

started belonging to me.

I became them and they became me

framed together in illustrations of relevance.
Now I am a portrait of a poet

So hang me up and enjoy me,

marvel at the texture of my lyrical voice,

capture the brightness of my sentence structure

and admire the fortitude of my emotion
because my own words have painted me

and now I art-iculate this poetic romance

for the world to see.

© 2015 Revised

Tarringo T. Vaughan

The Thirty-Ninth Song

            Written April 27, 2015

Time only pauses but for one day

and it is during this stillness of life that I take

the time to find my own reflection  through

the shadows of yesterday,  It is during this hesitance

that I log my thoughts into the journals

of tomorrow.

Years ago when I was the mirror of innocence,

I used to celebrate this day as if

the tomorrow I stand within today was miles away.

My mind would always sway

in a way that made me temporarily

rest the stranglehold poverty had over me.

I would always play to the many amusements of the world

Just long enough to drown out the loud

cries of shattered dreams around me.

I saw the tears, but pretended to be blind

to the fears within me, but that didn’t mean

they weren’t there.

I was just a child back then, but time

still only paused  but for one day.  It was always a moment

that allowed me to smile and roam through

the streets of life freely without sacrifice,

but that didn’t mean the sacrifice wasn’t needed.

Today, as I celebrate the brink of a new decade

in my life, I applaud my own growth as a child

who found away to smile through the challenges

that faced me.  I highlight all the times

my adolescence was bullied by prejudice.

Still somehow, I was able to rise above

the difference of my skin and prosper.   I recognize

my young adulthood when homophobia

threatened paralyze my mind

into a self-hatred .

Still somehow, I was able to become

a complete man accomplished; a married man

defined and a poetic man inspired.  Time only pauses but for one day,

and on this day, my day of birth, I salute

the next chapter as my time on this earth

moves forth.

© 2015

Tarringo T. Vaughan

I listened to the clutch of her heart
whisper an apology asking for the forgiveness/of my hunger.

I wasn’t mad at mama,
she was younger;

younger than most mother’s.

Twenty-one years of age
standing in welfare lines
reaching
for free cheese and powdered milk
to go with the half empty jar of mayonnaise
and three slices of bread
sealed with a rubber band
to protect
from the rats and roaches.

I didn’t like when mama cried

because I knew how hard she tried

to hide the desperation that strangled her;
to fight back against the deep kicks of poverty
that was like a bully on a playground
laughing and tripping
until she was just tired of falling –

but she kept strong for me,

because a five year old didn’t know
the strange man at the door
was there to shut off the gas

and a five year old didn’t know
the rent was two months late
because the fifty seven dollars

worth

of food stamps just weren’t enough
to keep food on my plate

and a five year old didn’t know
his daddy was just a sperm donor,
more like a dead beat cloner.

I didn’t like when mama cried

but She did

and didn’t hide her tears
to well…because her eyes
always would sing to me

the blues

andt they told me, with a soft voice,

that things would be alright
and they eventually were

because my eyes were enough

to give her the lyrics of strength; lyrics
which created a song still echoing

and spinning on the turntable of life

I’ll always remember mama’s tears.
They flowed to give me a future;
a future built off struggle and commitment
and those tears were the fuel
that energized our survival
but still,

I didn’t like when mama cried

because even within the silence of her smile,
I heard the blues in her eyes.

© 2009
Tarringo T Vaughan
“Tears Of A Poet”

It is when I open my mind that I – not only see – but recognize
that I am just one of many questions
who camouflage as the answer trying to find a way out
of the curiosities and possibilities locked and chained
inside the cages of isolated thought
with mental freedom being held hostage by the knowledge

that I am just one of many poets
trying to stand strong against the inertia of time
held back only by fear and the protection
of my own escape – desperate to rise
but sinking in my own environment of unreached
dreams that dangle out of reach but right there
for the taking,

but until I realize
that I am just one of many aspects
in an abstract world, I can only be recognized by literary progression
and the ability to aspirate through the suffocation
of a crowded maze of imitation as one of many
trying to find the correct path towards translation
of the mind and find the focus

to stand tall upon the concrete stairs
of creativity,
because without creative innovation,
a destination to stand apart only justifies
the paths leading to dead ends where possible dreams
remain uninspired.

And without distinction I am one of many poets
translating words into nothing
but just words
sculptured from meaningless expression;
an expression that can only be defined
when I find that way towards transcendence
and step away from being one of many
into the spotlight where I am one in many
unlocking the chains of my voice
to become one me

© 2009
Rewritten 2011
Tarringo T Vaughan

They were reminders of who I used to be,
just a child exploring the playground of life, unafraid;
filled with laughter, much to be taught
and together we all learned
how to grow and how to fear, how to fail
and how to care
on the street’s of yesterday’s past.

Together, we were the reunion of innocence
as I looked into each eye. I was reminded
of how we each wanted to reach the sky,
some of us never left the ground,
while others fly high.
But we will always be connected,
each of us a product of a place that will
never forget our name, a place where each of us
is a vision of yesterday’s past.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan