People wonder where her secret lies.
It's not cuz she's cute or dresses real flyy.
She is a woman virtuously.
A virtuous woman is what I aspire to be.
Men themselves wonder what they see in her.
They try so much but they still can't touch
He who makes her free.
She is a woman virtuously.
A virtuous woman is what I aspire to be.
I say,
It's the way that she prays.
To Him her hands are raised.
She falls down on bended knees
And the enemy has to flee.
She is a woman virtuously.
A virtuous woman is what I aspire to be.
I say,
It's the wisdom on her lips
And not the sway of her hips.
She walks into a room just
As cool as she please.
She doesn't have to shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
She is a woman virtuously.
A virtuous woman is what I aspire to be.
I say,
It's the determination in her strut
And the way that she cares so much.
She is a woman virtuously.
And like her a virtuous woman is what I aspire to be.
Kendy Ward
Copyright 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Basketball Jones
The NBA playoffs are in full swing. I understand the Cavs swept whoever they were playing in the 1st round. Back in the day I would have known who the Cavs played in the first round. I would have had the whole season and post season schedules memorized. I haven't been motivated to watch a basketball game in years. Those of you who've known me for a while know that I had a major basektball jones. You also know who I commonly refered to as my "babies' daddy". Yeah, Mr. Anfernee "Penny" Hardaway. Well, I walked into him (literally) here in Miami when he did his little 8 game run with the Heat. Seeing him reminded me of my jones, and inspired this. Enjoy.
I know you can remember that first time. That first time when the hair at the back of your neck stood up and your heart skipped a beat. Then another beat and your breath caught in your throat. You knew, you knew this had to be love.
I remember. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him. I was like eight years old. He was rocking that classic gold and purple. He was like mad tall with Hershey, caramel, porcelain shaded skin.
In the beginning I didn’t understand him well. There was a lot to learn about him because he could be complicated, yet it was the simple things about him that attracted me to him. There was a childlike quality to him. Something innocent and pure. Very pure and honest. Honest and free.
I think maybe that is what I liked about him the most. That he was born into a world with dishonesty, prejudice, racism and hate, but even though he lived amidst it he was able to free himself of those constraints. With him there were no color barriers, no social barriers, no gender barriers. With him everyone had equal right to the freedom he offered.
Through the years I kept my eyes on him and what had started off as puppy love grew up. I remember his rhythm. He was strong and agile, yet graceful, even beautiful in the way that he moved. The way that he carried himself. The way that he took possession of the space that he was in. He owned it. Electrified it. Brought it to life. And when he moved everyone moved right with him. Jumped with him. Soared with him. Flew with him.
He was exciting. His passion is what generated this excitement that emanated from him, and infected everyone that came into his immediate presence. He made my heart beat faster and set butterflies dancing in my stomach. He caused smiles to cross my face.
I remember holding him in my hands. Cradling him. Creating our own rhythm. When I was with him it was like I could do anything. I could be anyone. I could go anywhere. When I was with him I felt confident. I felt invincible. I felt powerful beyond measure. I felt beautiful.
I remember I used to have this fear of being ushered out of the back ground and into the fore ground. He never had any problem being in the foreground, and he pushed me out of my shell. He held my hand and let me have some of his shine. And I basked in it. I reveled in it. I loved it and I loved him.
He challenged me to break out of the stereotypes. Step outside of the confining box that society had sentenced me to. He taught me to never give up. Even when it seemed like the clock had stopped and time had run out he never gave up. He would always pull some trick out of his hat that really made me believe that he was super human. He taught me that anything that I wanted I was gonna have to fight, and if I made up my mind to fight I better bring it cuz he always brought it.
He was all I thought about. All I talked about. All I dreamed about. He consumed me. Burned in me. I watched him and I became captivated by him. When he moved, he spoke and when he spoke he spoke volumes. Loud. His voice shook me. Encouraged me. Scolded me. Complimented me. Loved me unconditionally faults and all.
Then I grew up. He grew up. We grew up. His shorts got longer and his kicks got flyer. He shaved off his Afro, and sported the bald look. His favorite number switched form 32 to 23. He didn’t sport that classic purple and gold any more. Instead he wore that red and white. He moved from La La land to Chi-town. And I fell even more in love with him.
Then I don’t know what happened. Things just started to change. He started to change. I started to change. We started to change. There wasn’t no more sitting in front TV for hours on end. No more weekends, weekdays, weeknights spent together.
I was angry at him at first for changing. I felt like he had sold out. He sold out so more people would stand his corner and hoop and holla. He forgot about those days we spent on the hot asphalt when the folks around him were there because they loved him, and didn’t give a damn about how much money he could make them. After the anger subsided I knew that things between us would never and probably could never be the same.
Then you know what happened. The other day I literally ran into him. My eyes traveled up his six foot seven inch frame and I remembered. I remembered when I was fifteen years old I used to watch him push that rock and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I wondered if he could still make me fly. If he could still inspire the best in me.
Even, though, we went our separate ways, I now realize that he was still a part of me because the lessons he taught me transcended our estrangement. It transcended the years because love transcends everything.
I remember the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds we spent together. I remember his rhythm. I remember the smell of his sweat, the feel of him, how his muscles flexed. I remember when I fell in love with basketball.
Basketball Jones
I know you can remember that first time. That first time when the hair at the back of your neck stood up and your heart skipped a beat. Then another beat and your breath caught in your throat. You knew, you knew this had to be love.
I remember. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him. I was like eight years old. He was rocking that classic gold and purple. He was like mad tall with Hershey, caramel, porcelain shaded skin.
In the beginning I didn’t understand him well. There was a lot to learn about him because he could be complicated, yet it was the simple things about him that attracted me to him. There was a childlike quality to him. Something innocent and pure. Very pure and honest. Honest and free.
I think maybe that is what I liked about him the most. That he was born into a world with dishonesty, prejudice, racism and hate, but even though he lived amidst it he was able to free himself of those constraints. With him there were no color barriers, no social barriers, no gender barriers. With him everyone had equal right to the freedom he offered.
Through the years I kept my eyes on him and what had started off as puppy love grew up. I remember his rhythm. He was strong and agile, yet graceful, even beautiful in the way that he moved. The way that he carried himself. The way that he took possession of the space that he was in. He owned it. Electrified it. Brought it to life. And when he moved everyone moved right with him. Jumped with him. Soared with him. Flew with him.
He was exciting. His passion is what generated this excitement that emanated from him, and infected everyone that came into his immediate presence. He made my heart beat faster and set butterflies dancing in my stomach. He caused smiles to cross my face.
I remember holding him in my hands. Cradling him. Creating our own rhythm. When I was with him it was like I could do anything. I could be anyone. I could go anywhere. When I was with him I felt confident. I felt invincible. I felt powerful beyond measure. I felt beautiful.
I remember I used to have this fear of being ushered out of the back ground and into the fore ground. He never had any problem being in the foreground, and he pushed me out of my shell. He held my hand and let me have some of his shine. And I basked in it. I reveled in it. I loved it and I loved him.
He challenged me to break out of the stereotypes. Step outside of the confining box that society had sentenced me to. He taught me to never give up. Even when it seemed like the clock had stopped and time had run out he never gave up. He would always pull some trick out of his hat that really made me believe that he was super human. He taught me that anything that I wanted I was gonna have to fight, and if I made up my mind to fight I better bring it cuz he always brought it.
He was all I thought about. All I talked about. All I dreamed about. He consumed me. Burned in me. I watched him and I became captivated by him. When he moved, he spoke and when he spoke he spoke volumes. Loud. His voice shook me. Encouraged me. Scolded me. Complimented me. Loved me unconditionally faults and all.
Then I grew up. He grew up. We grew up. His shorts got longer and his kicks got flyer. He shaved off his Afro, and sported the bald look. His favorite number switched form 32 to 23. He didn’t sport that classic purple and gold any more. Instead he wore that red and white. He moved from La La land to Chi-town. And I fell even more in love with him.
Then I don’t know what happened. Things just started to change. He started to change. I started to change. We started to change. There wasn’t no more sitting in front TV for hours on end. No more weekends, weekdays, weeknights spent together.
I was angry at him at first for changing. I felt like he had sold out. He sold out so more people would stand his corner and hoop and holla. He forgot about those days we spent on the hot asphalt when the folks around him were there because they loved him, and didn’t give a damn about how much money he could make them. After the anger subsided I knew that things between us would never and probably could never be the same.
Then you know what happened. The other day I literally ran into him. My eyes traveled up his six foot seven inch frame and I remembered. I remembered when I was fifteen years old I used to watch him push that rock and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I wondered if he could still make me fly. If he could still inspire the best in me.
Even, though, we went our separate ways, I now realize that he was still a part of me because the lessons he taught me transcended our estrangement. It transcended the years because love transcends everything.
I remember the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds we spent together. I remember his rhythm. I remember the smell of his sweat, the feel of him, how his muscles flexed. I remember when I fell in love with basketball.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The Woman I Am
I was an only child until I was four years old, and for those four years I was ridicu
lously spoiled. I think the correct term is spoiled rotten. Pre-school was a rude awakening for me as I was not accustomed to being around other children and the concept of sharing was foreign to me.
I was in K-4 when my mother got a telephone call from my teacher. The subject of their discussion was my selfishness. Her complaint was that I didn't share. Of course, my mother was upset because "selfish" is not a word you want a teacher using to describe your child.
My mother took me home. She sat me down and read a story to me about a little girl who didn't share and she didn't have any friends because of this. My mother asked me if I liked the little girl in the story. I told her no. She asked me why. I told that I didn't like her because she was mean. She then told me that I was acting the same as that little girl and nobody liked me either because I was being mean. Well, I just started to cry because of the thought of nobody liking me was just too much for me. I was cured of my selfishness.
From that day until I graduated from high school no teacher ever had to call my parents for any reason. I was consistently on the honor roll through out elementary school, junior high school and senior high school. I was junior and senior class president. I was co-captain of the basketball team my junior year in high school. I started speaking publicly at 15 and my first speech topic was abstinence. It took a lot of courage, a lot of boldness and a lot of God to get up in front of a group of 200 of my peers and give a message they weren't trying to hear. I had to, though, because my mother taught me to always tell the truth even if it's a truth that doesn't want to be heard.
I have always been a leader. Never a follower. When I make up my mind about something heaven and earth can pass away but I shall not be moved. I am unreasonably stubborn when it comes to God. There is nothing and no one in this world that can separate me from Him. I met Him when I was eight years old, and despite everything I have put Him through He has never left me. I love Him without reason, without limits and without conditions. He is my absolute all in all. I am persistent, hardworking, intelligent and elegantly classy.
I am the woman I am because of the woman my mother is. She has prayed for me every single day of my life. She encourages me. She challenges me. She believes in me when I don't believe in me. She is the most powerful woman of God that I know. I have seen her pray and watched God answer. I remember one time this guy was "stalking" me. I told my mother that I was becoming quite disturbed by this man's behavior. He was scaring me. My mother prayed an unusual prayer. I had never heard anyone pray like this before. She said, "Now you see him. Now you don't. I release him to God in Jesus' name". He lived about three houses down from me so I would see him every day. After my mother prayed I never saw the man again. I don't know if he moved. I don't know what happened to him. All I know is that my mummy prayed for me and God answered.
When I was a teenager I thought she was too hard on me, and we never saw eye to eye. Now that I am older I am so grateful for the fact that she was hard me. Her strictness forced me to have standards. It forced me to never settle for anything or anyone beneath those standards. She has taught me how to pray, how to have faith, how to trust God, how to love a man and how to be a good mother. I love her so much. There are no words that can express what she means to me. I thank God that she is the woman she is because if she wasn't, I wouldn't be the woman I am. I love you Mummy!
lously spoiled. I think the correct term is spoiled rotten. Pre-school was a rude awakening for me as I was not accustomed to being around other children and the concept of sharing was foreign to me.I was in K-4 when my mother got a telephone call from my teacher. The subject of their discussion was my selfishness. Her complaint was that I didn't share. Of course, my mother was upset because "selfish" is not a word you want a teacher using to describe your child.
My mother took me home. She sat me down and read a story to me about a little girl who didn't share and she didn't have any friends because of this. My mother asked me if I liked the little girl in the story. I told her no. She asked me why. I told that I didn't like her because she was mean. She then told me that I was acting the same as that little girl and nobody liked me either because I was being mean. Well, I just started to cry because of the thought of nobody liking me was just too much for me. I was cured of my selfishness.
From that day until I graduated from high school no teacher ever had to call my parents for any reason. I was consistently on the honor roll through out elementary school, junior high school and senior high school. I was junior and senior class president. I was co-captain of the basketball team my junior year in high school. I started speaking publicly at 15 and my first speech topic was abstinence. It took a lot of courage, a lot of boldness and a lot of God to get up in front of a group of 200 of my peers and give a message they weren't trying to hear. I had to, though, because my mother taught me to always tell the truth even if it's a truth that doesn't want to be heard.
I have always been a leader. Never a follower. When I make up my mind about something heaven and earth can pass away but I shall not be moved. I am unreasonably stubborn when it comes to God. There is nothing and no one in this world that can separate me from Him. I met Him when I was eight years old, and despite everything I have put Him through He has never left me. I love Him without reason, without limits and without conditions. He is my absolute all in all. I am persistent, hardworking, intelligent and elegantly classy.
I am the woman I am because of the woman my mother is. She has prayed for me every single day of my life. She encourages me. She challenges me. She believes in me when I don't believe in me. She is the most powerful woman of God that I know. I have seen her pray and watched God answer. I remember one time this guy was "stalking" me. I told my mother that I was becoming quite disturbed by this man's behavior. He was scaring me. My mother prayed an unusual prayer. I had never heard anyone pray like this before. She said, "Now you see him. Now you don't. I release him to God in Jesus' name". He lived about three houses down from me so I would see him every day. After my mother prayed I never saw the man again. I don't know if he moved. I don't know what happened to him. All I know is that my mummy prayed for me and God answered.
When I was a teenager I thought she was too hard on me, and we never saw eye to eye. Now that I am older I am so grateful for the fact that she was hard me. Her strictness forced me to have standards. It forced me to never settle for anything or anyone beneath those standards. She has taught me how to pray, how to have faith, how to trust God, how to love a man and how to be a good mother. I love her so much. There are no words that can express what she means to me. I thank God that she is the woman she is because if she wasn't, I wouldn't be the woman I am. I love you Mummy!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Every Day Ordinary
I wrote this poem nine years ago after I had the "epiphany" I spoke about in my last post. It's about that ordinary guy that gave me an extraordinary revelation. This is dedicated to him and all the regular guys like him.
kw
Every Day Ordinary
Soft like cotton or maybe silk.
It’s comparable to fluffy white clouds.
It’s that kind of soft.
You know the kind you want to bathe yourself in
Or maybe wrap yourself in.
The kind of soft you wanna use sparsely.
You wanna luxuriate in when you want to feel needed, wanted
That softness can do that for you.
It’s a priceless commodity.
I’m talking about his voice.
Mellow like some Coltrane during the rain,
Chasing away fears and apprehension, regrets and tears.
It washes over you like a cool shower on a hot summer’s day.
Refreshing.
A change from the basing baritones and booming tenors.
No, this is absent of the hardness, the roughness.
This is soft like a feather grazing your skin.
So the voice forces you to watch the lips, wondering about its origin.
Wondering about how it would sound in a different place, uttering different words.
Words that illicit reaction.
That voice that caresses and demands.
Disobeying, not yielding is not an option.
Why would I want to anyway?
I want to spend forever with that voice.
With that man.
His smile is slow in coming
But worth the wait.
Soft just like that voice,
Lighting up his whole face.
A smile that makes me smile even when I don’t feel like smiling.
It’s crooked and not what you may call perfect,
But it’s perfect on him.
Just like the way that slight limp isn’t out of place at all,
But fits perfectly.
He ain't no Denzel or even a Will Smith.
It doesn’t matter, though, cause the package is complete.
You know what I’m saying?
Do you understand me?
You feel me right?
No, he’s not Vin Diesel with bulging biceps or striking looks.
His beauty is more tamed.
That’s cause it comes from some place else.
Some place inside.
His kindness, his caring, his sacrifice, his commitment,
His devotion, his respect, his passion, his morals.
Those things don’t come because of nice legs and tight abs.
They come from knowing and being comfortable with who you
Are even if being you ain't popular.
And because of those things mahogany skin seems a little bit smoother
And you can’t resist touching it.
Ebony eyes seem a little bit more mysterious, giving a little more sex appeal.
Five feet ten inches seems the exact height.
And 170 pounds seems the perfect weight.
Scrawny legs don’t look so odd.
And a bird chest is what you’ve always wanted.
Now isn’t that funny?
Funny that behind a desk beneath
All the clutter, the paper, the folders
There sat Prince Charming.
There was no evidence of his knight hood,
But there was evidence of the honor and the courage.
An ordinary man that does ordinary things,
But that’s the best thing about him.
Makes me feel like home.
Like sitting on Mama’s step, sucking on a baggy.
Like Junkanoo on Boxing Day.
Like conch fritters from the Fry.
Like well mudda sick.
Like home.
Like I could fall in love with that voice
That’s soft like a baby’s skin.
With that smile that’s as slow as molasses and just as sweet.
With the man and not a myth, not a fairy tale.
Just real, everyday, ordinary.
Kendy Ward
Copyright 2000
kw
Every Day Ordinary
Soft like cotton or maybe silk.
It’s comparable to fluffy white clouds.
It’s that kind of soft.
You know the kind you want to bathe yourself in
Or maybe wrap yourself in.
The kind of soft you wanna use sparsely.
You wanna luxuriate in when you want to feel needed, wanted
That softness can do that for you.
It’s a priceless commodity.
I’m talking about his voice.
Mellow like some Coltrane during the rain,
Chasing away fears and apprehension, regrets and tears.
It washes over you like a cool shower on a hot summer’s day.
Refreshing.
A change from the basing baritones and booming tenors.
No, this is absent of the hardness, the roughness.
This is soft like a feather grazing your skin.
So the voice forces you to watch the lips, wondering about its origin.
Wondering about how it would sound in a different place, uttering different words.
Words that illicit reaction.
That voice that caresses and demands.
Disobeying, not yielding is not an option.
Why would I want to anyway?
I want to spend forever with that voice.
With that man.
His smile is slow in coming
But worth the wait.
Soft just like that voice,
Lighting up his whole face.
A smile that makes me smile even when I don’t feel like smiling.
It’s crooked and not what you may call perfect,
But it’s perfect on him.
Just like the way that slight limp isn’t out of place at all,
But fits perfectly.
He ain't no Denzel or even a Will Smith.
It doesn’t matter, though, cause the package is complete.
You know what I’m saying?
Do you understand me?
You feel me right?
No, he’s not Vin Diesel with bulging biceps or striking looks.
His beauty is more tamed.
That’s cause it comes from some place else.
Some place inside.
His kindness, his caring, his sacrifice, his commitment,
His devotion, his respect, his passion, his morals.
Those things don’t come because of nice legs and tight abs.
They come from knowing and being comfortable with who you
Are even if being you ain't popular.
And because of those things mahogany skin seems a little bit smoother
And you can’t resist touching it.
Ebony eyes seem a little bit more mysterious, giving a little more sex appeal.
Five feet ten inches seems the exact height.
And 170 pounds seems the perfect weight.
Scrawny legs don’t look so odd.
And a bird chest is what you’ve always wanted.
Now isn’t that funny?
Funny that behind a desk beneath
All the clutter, the paper, the folders
There sat Prince Charming.
There was no evidence of his knight hood,
But there was evidence of the honor and the courage.
An ordinary man that does ordinary things,
But that’s the best thing about him.
Makes me feel like home.
Like sitting on Mama’s step, sucking on a baggy.
Like Junkanoo on Boxing Day.
Like conch fritters from the Fry.
Like well mudda sick.
Like home.
Like I could fall in love with that voice
That’s soft like a baby’s skin.
With that smile that’s as slow as molasses and just as sweet.
With the man and not a myth, not a fairy tale.
Just real, everyday, ordinary.
Kendy Ward
Copyright 2000
Prince Charming
Once upon a time I didn't believe in happily ever after. I thought such things only existed in a writer's imagination, and even then you didn't always end up with a happy ending. Just look at Romeo and Juliet.
My apprehensions about the romanticism of relationships was born out of the fact that I thought I didn't know Prince Charming. I didn't see any men riding in on big, white mares clothed in shining armor to save the damsel in distress. The men I knew didn't ride horses. Their titles were not prince anything. They didn't live in castles and they didn't wield swords.
Then I had an epiphany, an awakening, a rebirth of the truth as I had known it. I was twenty-one and had just wrapped up my junior year at college. I was at home for the summer, working at an insurance company as a receptionist/file clerk/whatever you need me to be. I had also decided at the time that I was going to be an author. I was working on my first published work, and of all things it was a romance.
I had a lot of difficulty trying to create the story's hero because I was trying to fashion him after Cinderella's Prince Charming. His white mare was an expensive car and even though his title wasn't as lofty as prince, his job made him a lot of bank. He was going to ride in and save the day. Isn't that what romance is?
One day I was at the receptionist's desk working on my story when a woman walked in. There was nothing extraordinary about her. In fact I can't even remember what she looks like. She was just regular, every day ordinary. She had a two year old on her hip. I automatically made the assumption - single mother. Then she asked for Gordon. I didn't know exactly what Gordon did as I hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to him in the past. He walked with a limp and was not what I would have considered handsome. He, too, was just regular, every day ordinary.
I called Gordon and within a few minutes he made his way to the front. I looked up and the expression on his face made me pause. I followed his line of vision and it ended at the woman standing in front of me. I had never seen it before (or so I thought) but I recognized it right away - love.
I started to watch this man. I mean almost stalk him. He got into the office on time. He did his work with pride. He was a hard worker. He was kind, courteous, and respectful. He loved his wife and daughter with everything he had to love them with. Then it hit me. He was Prince Charming! And over the years I had met more Prince Charmings than I first thought.
My father is my Prince Charming. When I was a little girl I was 
afraid to walk over those grates on the sidewalks, which was silly,
but he never said so. He would just pick me up and lift me over it. Every morning, and I mean every morning, my father would fix me, my sister and brother breakfast. He worked ridiculous hours so he could put us through private school and pay for our college tuition. We went on summer vacations every year. There has never been a time when I have asked my father for something and he has not given it to me. When I feel insecure his "you look nice"
makes me comfortable 
being who I am. Even as I type now
being who I am. Even as I type nowthere are tears in my eyes because I was looking so hard for something false that I didn't realize that I was living with the truth.
It took me a long time to realize that my father was raised in poverty. He often tells a story about stepping on a nail while walking home from school. After hearing the story for maybe the hundredth time I asked him the all important question. "Why weren't you wearing any shoes?" His exasperated response was, "because we couldn't afford shoes". I say that to say that everything that my father has given us was because he worked his butt off for it. It's the equivalent of the prince slaying a dragon, and a poverty is a big dragon to slay.
I know a whole lot more Prince Charmings. I just didn't realize that their names weren't going to be Prince Charming. Instead I call them Daddy, Bishop, Uncle Mungy, Mr. Cameron, Pastor Ellis, Alkin, Mr. Staley, Uncle Oswald. These are men who have character, honor, and standards. Men who know how to love and how to sacrifice. Men who are not afraid to be scared or know that God is bigger than them. Men who don't have to cry in the dark because they cry in the Light. Men who would literally die for their families. Men who have created for me the definition of what manhood is, and who force me to keep my standards high.
The truth is that I now believe in once upon time and happily ever after because I know the hero in the story. I know Prince Charming and maybe you do too.
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