conflicting

Poem name : Conflicting
Written by: Luchetta (COOKEE) Manus
©2016

I am a sun baby 
and a moon lady
The two mix together
it gets kinda crazy
But it is me

I'm fun
Adventurous
With a child like innocence
Free thinking in my mind
Free falling
Flying like butterflies
inhailing
Every scent
Reaping discovey's benefits
No limits to heights reached
Uknown
As the sun is shown
Relflecting from my breasts
Nothing holds me back

I am a sun baby
And a moon Lady
The two mixed together
It gets kinda crazy
But it is me

Im the moon lady
With shadows
Secrets
A kinda of mystic
With me
Full figured physique
So much depth to who I am
Just when you thought
you knew me
I changed the program
Its just how I am

Never the same
The cosmos is to blame
A restless spirit
Mysterious
Sensuoud
And serious
Not trapped but free
My radiant light
Has a dark side to me
If I allow it
Can get the best of me
Right when the dark wins
The sun rolls back in

I am a sun baby
And a moon lady
The two mix together
It gets kinda crazy
But its me

She was the angel on my shoulder, while the devil was surrounding me, persuading me to engage in everything she asked me, “Not” to do.

Her life experience and seasoned maturity spoke through her voice of care and concern for me, but usually the devil in  me won.

She stayed on her knees praying her pleas to the all mighty, that I wouldn’t turn up missing, or dead. She prayed f…or stability so I would keep a healthy mind and not flirt with insanity.
She also prayed I would be in good bodily health, and for some reason her prays NEVER fell on deaf ears. The Lord willingly agreed to her terms because I am still alive.

Love was the language often spoke from her lips, along with a couple curse words from time to time ,when a situation presented itself.
Phrases like, “Lawd, have mercy!” or “God don’t like ugly!” Followed by maybe a lil of “ Baby you gotta get tougher skin!” Rang in my ears. Melodies of correction to get myself together.

It must have been difficult to carry the weight of others, especially when she had more compassion for others than they did for themselves.

She was a living book who’s title was,“Virtue."The pages of her life was knowledge and applied knowledge, wisdom. Each line on her face was written with praise. The sun sparkled in her eyes.

She owned the hard substance of, "I don’t give a damn,” she wore on the outside, with the soft substance of faith in the interior. This I bet, made it easier for her to maneuver through life’s ups and downs.

She always seemed to know what to do, when I didn’t know what to do. Sometimes when she didn’t really know what to do, was when she went to God and she knew he knew what to do. That’s what she did.

She held an awesome position in the family and in my heart.

I hope where she is, she is radiant with pride ,knowing I am not the finished product and also knowing
One day I will be joining her in glory.

arrested development part 2 no way out

 Grown Woman or trapped 
Adult girl in times past, unfair was her world
Death is inside 
masked behind a smile where she hides…
Run Run little girl!  
To what end? 
The peace in your head was lost
Found insecurities within
Who robbed you? 
Who were the thieves ? 
The pressure around you heart no one sees, 
but you see 
You can feel the squeeze
You are observant and you learned 
you gained what you never deserved 
Come out from your hiding
find happiness
Allow peace to flood in
Open the blinds
 allow the sun rays in

daddy issues

Poem title: Daddy Issues
Written by: Luchetta (Cookee) Manus ©2015

Broken bottle glass once filled with valuable purpose, now sparingly cover the side walk surfaces, along with shatter dreams and lost identity.

No reconciliation for what was lost and never found. No recollection of what love and living life really means.

Its like a beautiful garment torn at the seams . What's torn can be stitched back together perfectly.

A small part of me left empty. Void of fond memories everyone can recall but me.

One moment at a time until they become hours, and days praying for the Phase for complete healing to take place.

The Father filling the void of a father

wannabes

Title: wannabes

Written by: Luchetta Cookee Manus 2015

everybody wanna be kings

I don't think they know what that means

heavy is the head that wears the crown

man up or be another man down

Ever woman wants to be a queen

yet demining herself herself

placing her value on on a shelf

everybody wanna be God

but nobody wanna see God

scared to look Him in his eyes

we all want truth

but everybody tellin' lies

keep your eyes on the prize

wanna go to heaven but nobody wanna die

we on the road to heaven but nobody wanna ride

we got the that livin water but nobody wanna dive

we wanna drinking from the well that never dries

wolves in sheep's clothing

the devil in disguise

we 'bout to take to another level in the skies

God is alive

the devil is lie

debra

Title: Debra Debbie Manus-Allen

written by: Luchetta Manus 2015

She was my mother

But everyone called her Debbie

Debbie’s name was

Debbie got angry when people called her Deborah

She would say” That’s not my name!”

It wasn’t even spelled the same

She was my mother

But everyone called her Debbie

Debbie’s name was Debra

She rocked bright colored hair and stilettos

Little did people know?

She was a great grandmother

She didn’t look her age though

She was my mother

But everyone called her Debbie

Debbie’s name was Debra

“Debbie!”

I yelled through the phone

Frustrated at my mom

As she was saying “Yes, ok uh huh”

When I didn’t say anything

That’s what she did

When by her standards

the conversation got boring

oh that was annoying

She was my mother

But everyone called her Debbie

Called her lil’ Deb

I guess to distinguish her from a big Deb

Called her nana

Called her The grandmother

Aunt Debbie

As my mother died

I called her

mom

Best of Friends

A poem from my chapbook Snakes and lamp posts
©2016
 Picture below is my son and his bear at age 4
 TITLE: BEST OF FRIENDS WRITTEN BY: LUCHETTA (COOKEE) MANUS

 I WROTE THIS POEM ABOUT MY SON'S STUFFED TEDDY BEAR HE HAS HAD SINCE BIRTH REPLACED ONE THIS IS BEAR BEAR #2 

My son's bear Named
bear bear
Worn by years
Of wear
Tear
Rough play
And a child's conversation
His bear
That had many surgeries
 Often died
Sparse stuffing
His eyes
Replaced with buttons
He has only one button left
Bear bear
Flat lines
But is resurrected daily
His best friend
The only one who understands
His way of thinking
The bear was a gift
When he was a baby
His father had given it to him
When he was born
Like peanut butter and jelly
Regis and kelly
That bear adorns him
Bear's personality
Was my son's creation
Invented by his colorful imagination T
To cope with not being ready for school
Bear bear was Low key and cool 
When Tru was away
From me, his mom
Bear bear kept Him calm
The bear stays
By his side
Bear bear wiped a lot of tears from his eyes
At age 8 the bear Still remains here
Rips and several tears
I don't imagine
The bear is going anywhere
The black version of TED
"Ma, can you fix my bear?"
"Sighs" "Sure son, bring him here."

The Diversion

Lights in the center
In the crevices of the soul
Illuminating bodies and households
Lights firmly attached their poles
planted firmly with the snakes below
lights are at their mercy
They wind around tightly
trying to squeeze out the light and life
outta those who are on their journey
Can't see where they are going 
Snakes on lamp posts
Snakes all around slithering on their grounds
Snakes hindering a soul from their destiny
One bite can detour a traveler to the infirmary

Two Types

Snakes and lamp posts
As my story goes
There are people of two types
One illuminates the world
with their inner light
Others deliver venomous bites
While one points to you the way
The other deceives and kills with all of their might
One limited to the ground
A journey and brilliant plight 
SNAKES ARE INTIMIDATED BY THE LAMP POST'S LIGHT
 Poem Title: Two Types Written by: Luchetta (Cookee) Manus ©201