BRENDA

BRENDA


This story is old. It’s been read before, told before, lived before. There is really no beginning to the aches of a man’s heart after a woman. Besides, gangsters live and true love never dies. I’ll begin with her name.


Brenda came to me this one night it was particularly dark. It had been raining and thundering hard all day. I wasn’t surprised to find some of the street lights out when I opened the door. By now the rain had settled to a steady drizzle. Brenda was dry. somehow unaffected by the weather. She had on all black. An old gangster trait she picked up from my younger hungrier days. She wore black suede high heel boots, tight black jeans, and a diamond cut mink jacket over an all black hooded sweater. I’d never seen her wear the hood up over her head so tight before. But I attributed it to the cold and rain. Yet, she still was dry?


I’ve stopped asking Brenda the usual questions when she drops in over the years. It just doesn’t matter much anymore. Where she’s been? Who she was with? How’d she get here? It doesn’t matter so much as just having her here, Even if only for a few days to a month. I usually now just grab some old chicken or pizza for her hunger. Turn the heat up, and roll a blunt so she can relax. I’m even careful to pretend not to see the pistol she hides under the couch.


In the beginning when I came home from prison we tried to make our lives as one. I loved her. I guess I still do. I just thought we could settle down and make some money together. We did alright before and I wanted to pick up from there. But as time would have it she wanted her freedom and I’d gotten old and too accustomed to being confined. So one day she up and left. She stayed gone for three months. Three months, with no calls, messages, letters or sh*t. I’d make my money. I did a little hustling, a little working, a little of “this” and a lot more of “that”, anything to stay busy. If I’m busy enough I can keep myself from thinking about her to much or for to long.


I was out cutting the grass one day and here she came walking up the street. Out the clear blue sky my Baby came home. I almost felt ashamed at how relieved I was to see her. So she’d stay for a while and one day she’d be gone again. This has been our life together for the past five years. I would hear stories from this person or that about her doing “this” or “that”. She always had good news for me when she did finally come “home.” Some dream accomplished. Always still some bigger dream to scheme.


I’d bought a few houses on the other side of town and I’d thought about moving on several occasions. But, just as if she knew my intentions she’d show up in some new car with a brand new scheme. Brenda was never broke, just hungry. I really don’t know what she was hungry for and I doubt if she knew, but when the feeling hit her hard enough she’d have to go. Mama said some spirits were never meant to be tamed. Some spirits got to be free.


Its been over a year now since the last time she left. I had heard from some of her girlfriends that she moved to Atlanta and come up on some money somehow. I always feel a little pride when I hear stories like that. I can only imagine how Brenda got the money. So here she is a year later without so much as a phone call to my company voicemail, a rainy night in dry clothes and no ride.


After she ate and drank a little Remy we smoked some weed. She began to tell me how she met some guys in Atlanta who made the fatal mistake of showing her their stash of about four kilos of heroin and ninety thousand in cash. She said after that she went to Florida to blow some money. Rumors started to spread about the guy’s brothers looking for her. So from there she went to Texas. I asked her why Texas and she just hunched her shoulders. I doubt if she even knew anybody there. As she told her story I began to see the familiar look of sleep in her eyes. I often wondered how she slept when she was “out there”. She’d always just roll her eyes as if to say, “…stop worrying so much.” I was getting tired too.


We eventually talked our way up to the bedroom. I sat in an easy chair in the corner finishing off the last of the weed. Brenda lay across the bed playing with the stereo remote. She finally settled on an old Tuac c.d. I had in the changer. She told me a story how she bet some girl in Jersey at a party that her new 500SL was faster than the girls Mustang. Then she told me about meeting some singing stars in Minnesota. I said, “Minnesota?” and she just went on with her stories until she fell asleep.


I don’t know what I felt sitting there watching her. I knew I was angry she wouldn’t call, wouldn’t let me keep her, or just know where she was, or who, or even why. I felt hurt for all the same reasons. And stranger still, I loved her for all the same. I did feel some relief that she trusted me as her sanctuary, as “home”, safe, especially on a dark night like this. I could never let someone else in here like this. I could never stop loving her this way. I sat and thought and stared for a half hour more. Finally I shut the stereo off and sat down beside her. I tried to remove her boots, but she mumbled something and rolled her feet away from me. I allowed my form to settle close enough to hers as not to wake her. I needed to touch Brenda, feel her close to me. I lay my arm across her in a half embrace. She seemed to settle into me. I could barely smell her hair through her hood as she started to snore. I’m still not sure when she started snoring so loud like that. She was snoring bad, like maybe she was sick or something. I’m sure you could have heard her outside. I tried to wake her but she wouldn’t budge. I had never heard anybody snore like that. Eventually I fell asleep.

When I awoke the clock said 8 a.m. Brenda had stopped snoring sometime through the night. I called her name but she still slept. She probably hadn’t slept all year. I went into the kitchen to make some calls and fix something to eat. I put some biscuits in the oven and fried some eggs and sausage in a pan. When I went in to check on Brenda she was still laid out on her back sleeping. I let her rest and put her food in the oven. I washed the dishes, did some cleaning and made more calls. Finally I went in to check on her around 10:30. She still lay in the same position on her back. Fear rushed me to her side looking for a pulse. Frantically I dialed 911.


Several police and an ambulance crew filled the room. Worried as hell I paced the hall. Not really thinking, just worried and hoping she’s okay. More police showed up with plainclothes detectives. They were whispering in a spare room with the first cops that came and I had the sinking feeling that this was something way bigger. The two detectives came out and walked me to the bedroom where my Baby lay on her back. They kept asking me all these questions;

“How’d she get here?”

“Who brought her?”

“What time?”

All these questions and answers I didn’t know. I never asked. I tried to tell them that I never ask anymore. The tall detective walked to her sleeping body and said,

“This woman was killed in Oklahoma last week in a shootout.”

With this he pulled her sweater up to expose three dried, bloody holes across her chest and one on the right side of her stomach. I had no answers for them or even myself. I still don’t know how or what to feel. All I have left is a vain hope that no matter what she saved her last breath for me.

COPYRIGHT Larry C Allen 2008

WARRIOR KINGS AND QUEENS

WARRIOR KING

I STUMBLED AND FELL TO MY KNEES
AT THE FEET OF A WOMAN AMONGST SOME WEEDS
IN TATTERED CLOTHES SHE LAY IN A BOX
WITH LACELESS SHOES AND NO SOCKS

TEARS ROLLED TRACKS FROM HER EYES
AS IN FEAR OF HER DEMISE
IT WAS OBVIOUS TO ME
SOME POOR TRIBE HAD LOST THEIR QUEEN

I STRETCHED FORTH AND GATHERED HER BULK
AND SLOWLY AND GENTLY PICKED HER UP
SHE CRIED AS A CHILD IN MY ARMS
THIRTEEN MILES TO AN ABANDONED FARM

I FOUND HAY TO LET HER LAY
WHILE I FETCHED WATER IN A PALE
THE SUN SHINED BRIGHT AS SHE ATE
AND I STEADIED HER HAND WHILE SHE DRANK

I WASHED AND HUNG HER CLOTHES
EVEN FOUND THREAD TO STITCH THE HOLES
I CARVED WOOD TO COMB HER HAIR
AND PICKED WITH SLOW AND LOVING CARE

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT ALL WAS FINE
SHE LOOKED AT ME AND CONTINUED CRYING
I STILL DON’T KNOW FROM WHAT SHE HURT
I JUST HELD HER CRYING IN MY SHIRT

LATER, IN A NEARBY STREAM
I SAW THE DARKEST SKIN I‘D EVER SEEN
AND WHEN SHE SMILED THE SUN REFLECTED
A FERTILE SOUL THAT HAD BEEN NEGLECTED

AS THE DIRT AND GRIME HAD GONE
I BEHELD A BEAUTY I’D NEVER KNOWN
AND FOR THAT DEFEATED LOOK IN HER EYES
I SAID “I LOVE YOU” ONE THOUSAND TIMES

I STILL DON’T KNOW
FROM WHAT SHE HURT
BUT NO NORE CRYING
AND NO MORE DIRT.
COPYRIGHTLARRY2002006

WARRIOR QUEEN

IN MY MIND I OFTEN SCREAM
AWAKE, IN A HORRIFIC DREAM
THE EARTH SHOOK AND MOUNTAINS CRUMBLED
AND THERE LAY MY THRONE AMIDST THE RUBBLE

I ONCE WAS AS RICH AS THE RICHEST MAN
MY GRACE AS GRAND AS THE GRANDEST LAND
I HAD CASTLES AND SHRINES IN MY NAME
OH YES I KNEW THE GREATEST FAME

YET NOW LIFE’S A CARDBOARD BOX
BEATEN AND BRUISED AMONGST THESE ROCKS
DAMN RIGHT IT’S HURTING ME
THAT I CAN’T AWAKE FROM THIS DREAM

I HAD SO MANY CHILDREN YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE
AND THEY DID FOR ME THE SWEETEST THINGS
WE KNEW NOTHING OF “LIES” OR “RAPE”
NOW FROM THIS “LIE” I CAN’T ESCAPE

THE MIGHTEST WARRIORS OF THE WORLD
THEY‘D HUNT LIONS FOR THEIR FURS
I GAVE THEM DIAMONDS, SILVER AND GOLD
RUBIES, SAPPHIRES AND EMERALDS

THEN CAME SHIPS AT OUR SHORES
AND BEGAN THE BITTEREST OF WARS
EVIL SHIPS ON AN EVIL WAVE
THAT TOOK MY CHILDREN AWAY AS SLAVES

BROKE MY HEART, BROKE MY LOVE, BROKE MY SPIRIT
BROKE MY VOICE, CAN’T YOU HEAR IT?
SO HERE I LAY, BROKEN, IN A STRANGERS LAND
UNTIL CAME ALONG THIS BEAUTIFUL MAN

HE HELD ME CLOSE IN HIS STRONG ARMS
AND CARRIED ME TO SOME FORGOTTEN FARM
HE TOLD ME STORIES TO MAKE ME LAUGH
AND THE REST OF HIS LIFE HE PROMISED HALF

HE EXALTED ME AS QUEEN
AS WE MADE LOVE IN THAT STREAM
AND WHEN WE KISSED THE SUN REFLECTED
TWO WARRIOR’S SOULS THAT HAD BEEN NEGLECTED

WHEN HE’S NOT LOOKING
I DO STILL CRY
YET TOO HORRID THE DREAM
TO EXPLAIN WHY
COPYRIGHTLARRY2002006

Black 2 White

BLACK TO WHITE
SWEET TEARS OF PAIN
MIXED WITH THE RAIN
I CHERISH GLOOM MOMENTS LIKE THIS
IN SEARCH OF TRUTH HIDDEN IN BLISS
BLACK! IN A LIFE LONG GROOVE
TO KNOW. MY PEOPLE THE TRUTH

A LOSS OF SANITY, BUT WISE
FROM ALL THE BOOKS I SAID
YET, WITH ALL THIS SO CALLED TRUTH
I JUST CAN'T SEEM TO HATE YOU
HIST0RY WAS TOLD
HERS TOO
BUT I HAD TO BEG,
EVEN STEAL FOR THE REAL
TO FIND BLACK HIDDEN QUIETLY
IN YOU

A LITTLE ANNOYING I KNOW
TO MEET BLACK LIKE ME
TELLING THE WORLD YOUR HIDDEN SECRECY
DON'T WORRY TOO MUCH
MOST BLACK WON'T HEAR
YOU'VE TAUGHT THEM WELL
NOW THEMSELVES THEY FEAR
AND HATE

AS LOVE FOR BLACK
I CAN'T HATE YOU
AS BLACK,YOU TOO
IS TRUTH!!

P.S.
AS ABOVE
SO BELOW
YOU'VE SEEN THE MAPS
ME FROM YOU
AND YOU FROM BLACK
PEACE; IS LETTING THAT BE THAT!!!
COPYRIGHTLARRY2002006

Blacker Hues of Blue

BLACKER HUES OF BLUE

I dream of skin Blacker than blue
Sun dried hair, Endless rivers, Ripe fresh fruit
Wiser than Time. Who’ve seen horrors through
I dream of eyes Blacker than blue

I dream of hands
-clutched tight fists- in piles and piles
Chopped rough at the wrists
I dream of screams -- Dear God the noise- -
Millions of echoes from voice to voice

I dream Black Babies
Conceived by the Sun
Dead in forests By the Butt of the gun

I scream my scream
Afric’s orphaned child
A Blueblack scream with a jungle pitch
Bound for Atlantis On sinking ships

With piercing screams I fight awake
-DEAR GOD!! THE DREAM!!- -
In a quivered shake
Standing before Black youth
With “Glory” schemes of Red, White, and Blue
With died blond hair,
Blueblack eyes with empty stares
And right raised nubs held high in the air
And while we screamed Our “Civil” schemes
With Blueblack rags on sagging genes

Big Momma and Lil Sis collects and clings
-Held tight to their breast-
The Blueblack Brothers
That survives this mess
of having our Dreams Chopped rough at the wrists

COPYRIGHT Larry200

Becky Becky Becky

Becky


I had never dated a white girl before. Sure there were always a few white girls in the hood, but I had never asked any of them out. I’ve always been curious though. Since moving down here to Virginia that’s pretty much all I’ve seen. I had a friend back home who only dated white girls. He would come around with all these new clothes talking about how submissive white girls were. He said they’d buy you anything, and they were easier to deal with than black women. Shit, I ain’t never had no problem with black women, except Mama. She’d give me attitude, but that’s just her.

I met Becky at work. She was doing quality Control at a parts factory I worked at. I would notice that sly glance my way every now and then, but Becky flirted with everybody. I never really took her serious. All our conversations stayed basically about work. She was cute though.I really didn’t even know how to ask a white girl out. One day me and Becky were talking about clubs and parties. I had told her that since moving down here I hadn’t had a chance to go out. She offered to take me out sometime, so I gave her my number. I still didn’t take her serious. Becky flirts with everybody. I just thought she was trying to be nice.

Becky did call. She called that Friday night. We had a nice conversation, but I had to tell her that I didn’t feel much like ‘clubbing’. I had worked a double and I just wanted some R and R. I think the decision I made next is what got me in all this trouble. I told Becky that if she was going out she could stop by and let me see what she had on. Big mistake! I knew she ‘d come before I even finished the sentence. I tried to justify it with myself all night, “I’m just go screw this white girl and get rid of her”.

Well Becky did come over, and the minute I saw her walking across the apartment parking lot I knew she was going to be trouble. She came over in a micro mini holding two bottles of my favorite drink.”Since you don’t want to go to the party, I’ll bring the party to you”. Becky. She said this with the sluttiest grin she could make. All I could do is hold the door open for her.

I’m not going to tell no-one what happened that night. You’ll just have to use your imagination. Since then though, me and Becky have been, ‘Me and Becky’. At first we tried to keep things low-key. At least I did anyway. It was weird going places or being at work. I mean this was all new to me, dating a white girl and all. I kept telling myself to break it off with her. She made that hard by buying me all this stuff. No, she ain’t just come out on no shopping sprees. I would just drop little hints at her about my cell phone bill and she’d pay it, even bought me a better phone. Then she’d get things like groceries, and house supplies.

”Well your fridge was empty so I just bought a few things”.

’A few things’, would mean a packed freezer. But this is what really got me, “If you moved in with me you could just keep the money you spend on rent.” Now who don’t want extra money? Plus we were at each other’s house everyday anyway. So she moved me out to the ‘burbs’. Me and Becky. Yep, I had jungle fever. I thought life was too good. I didn’t have to pay no bills. She still would buy me clothes and stuff. She did all the cooking and cleaning. What could be better?

At least that’s how I felt until the arguments came. Becky would find any little thing to suspect me cheating on her. Sometimes she was right, but for the most part I knew I wasn‘t going nowhere anytime soon. I did make sure I had enough money saved in case she wanted to put me out. I would do that with any women. Yet anytime I came home an hour or two late from work she’d think I was out screwing around. She’d yell and scream. I’d yell back at her, we never hit each other, but it was horrible seeing her act like that.
Sometimes the neighbors would call the police. I guess they thought I was beating the little white girl next door or something. The police would come asking questions and Becky would always tell them it was her fault so they’d leave. At least she had that much sense. I still remember how the cops would look at me, like, “Go home nigger.” what a mess.

I’d met Cynthia at my brother’s house. It turns out she’s from my home town. She was stationed here in Virginia. By her being from home we hit it off swell, but we never had plans to be with each other sexual1y. At least I didn’t. It was just cool to talk to somebody from home who spoke my language.

Becky had a fit when she found Cynthia phone number in my phone. I tried to tell her that we were just friends, but she wasn’t having it. Now anything I did had to be cause of Cynthia. Things got especially bad when she found out that Cynthia was black. She just couldn’t understand how I needed to talk to somebody who talked like me. I guess that was her own culture shock. Anytime my phone would ring she would look at me funny. She didn’t even want me to visit the little family I had down here. I still would see and talk to Cynthia. I even told her about Becky and the problems I had dealing with her jealous rages. Cynthia suggested I move out and back on my own. I agreed with her, but in my heart I knew that I probably wouldn’t. Not until I got a raise anyway.

One particular night I had gotten off of work and went to the bar with Mike and another guy I worked with. They had been asking me to throw darts with them since we all met. I called Becky and told her that I wouldn’t be home till late. “You better not be with that bitch!” This from a white girl? So I went. We were playing for drinks and it was a lot of fun. By the end of the night I had a nice buzz and I felt good to have relieved some stress. As I pulled into the parking lot of the apartment I knew I would have yet another fight waiting for me. So I pulled back out. I just wasn’t ready to deal with Becky’s bullshit. So I rode around and did some thinking.

I eventually went hone and she started in on me as soon as I got in the house. “Where you been? Who you was with? I called Mike, he say you should’ve been here!” Yap Yap Yap. I told her I didn‘t want to hear her mouth and that’s why I didn’t come strait in. That really set her off. Out of all the arguments we’ve had, I’ve never seen her this mad. She was yelling and cursing up a storm. When I tried to ignore her she’d get louder.

“ I know you was with that ugly black bitch!!!”

Now why she say that? It sounded like gun shots going off. “Ugly—bang. Black—bang. Bitch—bang. I grabbed her and pinned her to the wall. I then told her real slow to never say no shit like that again. It’s bad enough living with Becky. I’m definitely not go let no white girl talk about Cynthia like that. When I let her go she ran in the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. Little Becky? Becky tried to come at me with a knife? I grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. And as I pried the knife from her hand Becky said the worst thing that any white girl could say, “I hate you, you fucking nigger!!!”

I don’t remember stabbing Becky as many times as they say I did. After I stabbed her once, I must have blacked out or something. The prosecutor told the jury I stabbed this ‘frail young woman’ 27 times. I really didn’t know what I was doing. I just remember hearing somebody banging on the door really loud. I went to open it and that’s when I noticed all the blood. As I thought to get help I rushed to the front door and opened it to two cops. Apparently one of the neighbors had heard us arguing and called the police.
I tried to explain to the jury what Becky called me and what she said about Cynthia. I guess they didn’t understand. Even though my lawyer tried to tell them that I wasn’t a bad guy the judge still gave me Life without parole. Cynthia writes me from time to time. Even Mike came to see me once. I don’t know if I’ll ever get out. But one things for sure, I’ll never date a white girl again.

COPYRIGHT Larry Clifford Allen 2005

UNTITLED

As I kneeled and prayed I saw the bitterest of war

Good angels and bad dying on the floor

As I cried and screamed out in pain

I realized that they were fighting for me

Angels falling left and right

They fought all day and all of the night

Held tight to my chest were the poems I wrote

I wouldn't let go as they fought and fought

All I asked from whence the power???

How could something good come from something so sour???

And through it all on the other side of war

I saw a dear sweet friend kneel and weep

She sent out her love for me to keep

Then faded away as if in dream

And just when I thought the fight was over

God and Satan appeared, one to each shoulder

I begged of God- the Devil too

"From whence the power that I write this book???"

The Devil whispered so soft and sweet

"You silly man you belong to me. I made you black

And bid you sing. I took you from your mama's womb

And you'll be mine until the tomb

That pen you got- that paper too

Even that scarred hand I gave to you

Now write my praises, write my glory

Go on boy. Tell my story!!!"

Held tight to my chest I wouldn't go

The withered pages of poems I wrote

And as he spoke the battled waged on

I couldn't understand why so long

Just when I thought all was lost

God turned to me and held me close

He spoke to me loud and echoing

Over the noise of war I heard him saying

"That which he speak is oh so true

But I gave you more that will carry you through

He made you MAN- BLACK- and bid you sing

I gave you understanding of men and things

With understanding you'll see more than man

You'll see the hopes and dreams within

Held tight to your chest are poems you write

Never mind the paper, hand, or pen

Write from understanding and the gift of sight

The Devil is blind but he's no liar

He just can't see beyond his power

He needs senses- touch, taste, feel

You'll need more than that to live

Put your faith in more than man

Don't hold so tight your paper and pen

Write with understanding and the gift within!!!"

As he spoke the angels kept fighting

I asked God "why???" and without denying

He spoke to me through my crying

"This war is old and will carry on

Many more years until my son is home"

Just then alas Satan snatched me away

And carried me on a furious chase

And through my cries, kicks and screams

He locked me in this horrible place

On my knees held tight to my chest

My poems!- My poems!- clinched tight in my fists

I want to give in I want all to be lost

Seeking remembrance of what God taught

Locked in this hell all alone

I have nothing left- no friend or foe

Still held tight to my chest my weathered poems

...Through nightmares of war waging on...

Late at night when tired of crying

I do grab my pen and continue writing

Shaking in pain with my pen held tight

Searching in vain for the 'gift of sight'

COPYRIGHT Larry200 2006