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Urban fiction/ Street fiction / Short stories and Poetry

This is a place for authors to share their thoughts and ideas on this particular genere as well as poetry and short stories.

Members: 178
Latest Activity: Oct 5

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Authors and readers wanted 2 Replies

Started by melissa love. Last reply by David Moore Oct 5.

Promoting 2015

Started by Gansta Marcus Jul 17, 2015.

He Held Her Once in Summer

Started by Savaslas Lofton Feb 10, 2011.

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Comment by Kim Wilson on August 27, 2012 at 11:59am

The Spices In Life by Kimberly Wilson

We add flavor our foods, our homes, our wardrobes and most of us add a little flavor to our lives. Meet Christine Veronica Webbster whose life is flavored with emotional, financial and social spices that fires flavor into her every waking moment.

From the day of her platinum-spoon birth into the household of the super-wealthy Webbsters, her emotional stability went on a downward spiral in to never, never land. Along the way she knowingly makes a life-long nemesis of Angelia McCarthy, acquires two Master Degrees and two multimillion dollar businesses, all the way to giving away her fortune and meeting the Grim Reaper face to face; delicious.

The Spices In Life has all the flavors in the mix.

My first novel can be ordered: http://www.amazon.com/dp/ B007F22K6I and it’s .99.

Thank you for your literary support. Please Facebook this to your family friends and every social circle you have; again, I’d greatly appreciate it.

 

BOLD STATEMENTS

Why are so many people needing to be un-acceptable. Why do they reach out to me in such a forceful manner. Do I appear to relinquish my RIGHTS as an achiever in any given effort. Read me my MEMORIES and the answer will reach out and touch someone; any one. The remedies that reside within my mind are consequences that may render one USELESS in their efforts. Recycle mandatory affections and reside amongst the COMPETITION that may master anger’s rejects. What we fail to sometimes realize is that we make MISTAKES but we are not to be held accountable for the such. RECAPTURE every demeanor that may fight to survive and within that circle, may become beknownst to you. When a TIGER cries and that they do, we can’t hear it as well as when a TREE falls and yes, it does make a SOUND. Feel me when you can’t and even when you won’t because everything I ATTEMPT to become only remembers that which may bring about my DEEPEST fear. ROARING is a call of the wild. Screaming comes from inside the closet and the mercy never rest. FAILURE can never be accounted for if the attempts are MEASURED. Record the evidence and scream it from within. Never allow FORCES to be with you; there is a heaven and the only way to know that, is to FORGIVE. Forgive when you can’t or simply when you don’t want to. Escape and FREE your…..

Knowing their mind allows the PLEASURE to revolve around what I resolute; and the REWARD will be all mine, no yours too.

Support that which is MANDATORY. I don’t think so far that which we accept is only as far as the eye can see and to only see can bring about UNBELIEF. Boldness is a fortified ELEMENT that will extinguish an enormous, burning DESIRE; there is another understanding which must be LEANED on.

Kim Wilson

OOWEE

onmyownkikl@yahoo.com

http://www.kimkologne@synthasite.com

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Comment by Joan L Sample on January 12, 2012 at 4:28pm

Hello all, I have a new blog called Joan's Artist Corner; every two weeks I spotlight a new artist. If you would like to be spotlighted please contact me. The link to the blog below, check it out.

http://wwwjoansartistscorner.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-new-artist-spo...

 

 

 

Comment by Joan L Sample on January 12, 2012 at 4:19pm

I hear ya Kim

Comment by Kim Wilson on January 12, 2012 at 3:59pm

There are literally billions of men on this beautiful planet; so in essence about 60 million of them are gorgeous black men, and in essence about 40 million of them are sincerely decent, and in essence about 25 million of them are awesomely compatible, and in essence about 5 million of them are cell phone reachable. Well why the hell do we, women, act like there is only one man on God’s green earth exactly right for me; I mean her.

 

My car sputters then runs completely out of the watered-down ass Unleaded, $18 worth mind you and during these critical gas-hike prices, a quarter mile from the only gas station in sight, boasting $2.97 a gallon. Mess like this is why I’d left Genison and his stupid ass ego so fast, for the umpteenth time, and in the first place. The reason for this chaotic episode is that I’m fed up to here with his inconsiderate ass bringing my car back on empty; on top of all the other mess he’s great at doing. I try to reason the significance of him trading in his 1995 gas-guzzling, rigged-up, ran-down, smoke-choking’, multi-colored ‘burban and get something newer and more economical; something handsome to look at at least, but to no avail; to no freakin’ avail. When I got with him 3 years ago our first issue was his selfishness towards everybody. He didn’t even exclude me. Every other freakin’ morning I would have to stop and fill up; hammering rain, sticking sleet, blinding snow or blazin’ sun when my gas, on the norm, would last almost a week because I use it wisely, to include ridin’-out twice a week. He doesn’t care as long as he makes it in from whatever he was doing last night.

 

In this peculiar season between fall and spring, storms are very unpredictable. On this already chaotic day, the clouds are darkening by the hour. Thunder booms overhead. Crackling lightning fast approaching. I don’t give a damn; Genison is not going to have the pleasure of partying this weekend in my 2007 Silver Altima, with custom rims and window-shattering system; no way and hell no! After a quick fill-up I’d drive to Phoenix, get a fabulous hotel for two glorious days and nights, and me, a 12-pack of Icehouse bottles and unlimited free MOD will be MIA until 5am Monday morning when I’d return to Reno, well relaxed, to watch his onion head rush out the door without so much as a kiss, straightening his too-much tie, late as usual and there’d be but one drop in the tank, “Ha!”

 

I stuff cash, my Visa; never leave home without it, MasterCard and Arizona Drivers License in my inside pocket and zip up my brand new purple & gray eagle-feather stuffed Parka. I load my small brown leather Knoxx Londonberry overnight suitcase with two pieces of lingerie, one silk the other satin. I include toothbrush, lipstick, perfume and comb; anything else I’d need I’d buy. I have no plans on leaving that suite unless I was going to look for some cheating; locking my sadness behind the door with his sad ass.

 

The gas can, I know I keep in my well-organized trunk, is not in my well-organized trunk; I almost lose it. After several quiet curses I slam the trunk shut and immediately apologize; it isn’t her fault that I can’t pick a decent, considerate, even caring man. I get to walking. One car zooms by; then another. Then a semi honks and almost scares me into some un-manicured bushes. I can see him wave his hand out the window to apologize. A quarter mile hike and everything would be alright; so I thought. 15 minutes later I pause to catch me breath; lungs can only suck up so much dirty air, leaning against a dirty phone booth. I swear that Genison just passed and blew his horn at me. Ain’t but one ugly ass ‘burban like that. I should bury him in the backyard and be done with it. The nerve of him; punk. If it wasn’t so in his character to be an ass wipe, I’d get mad but what’s the use; I’m getting everything I lead myself to believe I deserve.

 

“Over there” the eleven to seven clerk points, smiling like she really likes being at work or maybe she has a busta’ for a man too. I pick out another five-gallon red plastic gas can and a single Icehouse bottle for my frazzled nerves and head to the counter. “$18.77” placing her half-smoked Newport on the clean ashtray, reaching for my twenty dollar bill. We exchange thank-yous and I head for the pumps. By now the deep-gray sky is black, thick with full clouds. I know I have to hurry; the chaos is increasing in frequency. I pump my $7 worth of Unleaded, twist off my beer’s top and set out for my waiting vehicle. As I reach her there’s a note under the windshield wiper. Maybe the truck driver turned around.

 

 “Don’t forget that I have a late meeting tonight. It’s very important. Be back around 9:30 so I won’t be late. G.” If my weekend wasn’t about to be on, I would have walked to find this inconsiderate ass of a man and… I knew that was his ass pass me and didn’t even stop to give his girl a ride. “Boy I tell you.”

I ignore it because I know that in a couple of hours the next two days will be incredible. All by myself and whosoever I may choose and no wipe like Genison to disturb my groove; “Yeah!”

 

I collect my wits as I nourish her with Unleaded. I sit back in my polished leather seat which relaxes me because it vibrates something fierce, and heats. With the radio tuned to the weather station so I’ll know exactly when to hit the road, and the cold beer to my lips, I close my eyes to relax and BOOM! The God-sent thunderbolt startles my eyes open just in time to see the brilliant bright, searing flash of lightning burn a hole straight through my retractable sunroof. For a moment I’m in pitch blackness. Time is void. My body is empty. My soul is separating. Have I died and it is just now registering. I’m swimming into a beautiful but unfamiliar heavy fog of peace-filled light. The white light that’s invading my space is swallowing me up and I’m soaring up alongside a lightning rod like it is a familiar trail. What is left of my being begins to ponder on the life I live and all the forgotten and on-purpose mistakes I’ve made; all the stuff I’ve seen and been involved in people. Then everything goes black as black can get.

 

Genison is now saving my life; the same life he’s ruining. I manage to hit the green button and his sharp rudeness comes over my cell just when I need him most. “I’m here; what is left of me mumbles. I’m here.” “Where the hell are you it’s after midnight and I have an early breakfast meeting I need…” “I’m here…” “What! Did you hear what I said…?” “I’m here, wrestling my life from death’s grip. I’m here.” “Where are you!?” “I’m here” is all I can whimper. “If you don’t…” and our connection goes dead. The ambulance technicians work feverishly in the admonishing rain whipping them unmercifully, to free me from my tomb. My thin fingers are cemented to the steering wheel; my Icehouse boiled in my lap.

 

“Can you get a pulse” the male tech begs. “No. I can’t get anything with all this lightning” the female tech alarms. “We’re going to have to move her. Call the house” Regina orders Travis, accessing a hopeless situation. 4 minutes later Travis slides the MedEVac van into the emergency parking slot as Regina connects and directs. Three registered nurses rush out and rush me inside, shouting orders, barking commands.

 

Nurse Dora re-checks my fluttering vitals. I’m able to hear and is aware of everything happening around me but am unable to communicate or react as the sterile white room buzzes and beeps and chirps.

Dr. Hughes studies my condition on the clipboard with a critical look on his handsome face. “Beep Dr. Young 911 STAT” he calls out urgently, yet calmly.

 

Dr. Sheila Young is a leading specialist on victims of shock/electrocution. Ninety-three hours pass. I seem to emerge from death’s grip on me. “Hello Klaudia. What can you tell me about your ordeal” Dr. Young questions me, stroking my shoulder, as Dr. Nathan Hughes, RN Rebecca Richards and, nothing-ass Genison look on. He’d actually thought about me instead of himself or more likely wanted me to leave my earthly possessions to him, in front of witnesses. I just know that he has already counted me dead. What the hell had I ever done to him that causes him to treat me in the fashion. Was it him or me. How can I be so good to him knowing I’m getting nothing in return but half– ass sex and heartache. Is it him or me. Why do I think I can fix him, change him, re-raise him. Maybe it’s just the way he is. Really, is it him or me? A full understanding is about to be brought to my attention.

The reason for such a heavenly ass-whipping’ is because I’d sat around on earth doing little that spiritually pleased God and everything that physically pleased Genison; giving my all where it pertained to him. I used my whole life to please sorry ass men and cut-throat home girls. I barely used the gift God gave me and lived thinking that if I was a good person, that if I attempted to make the necessary changes and growths, that that would be enough.

I gained all kinds of knowledge and used it being emotionally stupid. I moisten my cotton mouth with a sip of room-tempered water Nurse Richards holds to my lips. “Sitting in my car, ran out of gas, or, Icehouse. I squint my eyes trying to focus on the journey of meeting the gate-keepers of my Maker. Genison screaming. You.” “We think it’s time you get some rest” my doctors and a specialist agree. “Was it painful” Genison questions, fakin’ concern, squeezing my freezing cold and sweaty hand, as they attempt to usher him from my ’resting’ space. “No.” I wish I could roll my eyes at him, I sure would. “I’ll be around every 15 minutes to check on you” Dr. Young assures. I attempt to swallow the cotton balls in my throat, praying to be here when they return; I have stuff to do people. I still have to see the look on Genison’s ashy face when he tries to make  a whole block on E. I pull the fresh crisp white sheet up to my neck, willing myself to fall into a serene sleep that’ll make sense of this horrible but pleasant experience. I send out my thanksgivings in prayer. I tell God how grateful I am that He is my God, the one true God who breathed life onto existence. I rehash in prayer all the blessings that are bestowed upon me and how I am able to muster up the strength and attitude to get through some of my crazy circumstances and serious situations; praying that I was okay with having no kids, not being married, especially to Genison. I’m glad God knows him just as well as I do and never gave him the nuts to ask. I begin thanking and worshipping God as all the delights of my heart are re-revealed. It led me into praising his Holy name all by Himself and up on high and not needing my input, as I ran out the spiritual gas He’d filled my life up with. “Thank you that I’ve graduate college and is able to work my way from junior partner to senior partner status. Thank you that you’ve kept my family well and meaningful and that they all serve and praise your Holy name. Thank you God that through all my emotional storms you’ve been spiritually available via your angelic beings. I’m more grateful to you that when I was bumping, rather banging, my head, insulting well-meaning folks, spewing bad advice and refusing to be compassionate in others’ time of need; I thank you for your forgiveness. I thank you God that I’m able to be a young black home-owner with good credit, I smile. I thank you Father God that Jesus raised from the dead on the third day that I will be forgiven for my sins when I believe in my heart and confirm with my mouth THAT JESUS IS LORD, for a time such as this. I PLEAD THE BLOOD OF JESUS to save my soul.”

I finally, slowly begin to doze off as a heavenly peace engulfs and calms my once ragging soul: and I never wake up again.

A ghost’s story

The End

 

Comment by Kim Wilson on January 12, 2012 at 3:52pm

WHAT MAKES A GROWN MAN CRY

Women and men whom are accomplished, as you weather the storm trying to build a nest, but being mediocre and plain, to explore your creative ideas would be insane. A role model is a strong black achiever, but in you your family is not a believer, so the act is to disappear, and instill in them a real fear. Martin Luther King spoke, “I have a dream” out loud, a dream that drew an enormous crowd, that day still rest in my mind, though the facts are sometimes hard to find. All Afro-Americans are great and notable, a grown man cries when his life is unsuitable, caught in a world not innocent, sometimes omitting what’s flagrant. Aiding in providing for the essential cause of the family, you think the world owes you something, you’re taking a gamble see; for what once stood for respect of the next man, now stands for less for the blessed at hand.

What makes a grown man cry,

is what makes a grown man lie,

soon makes a grown man die,

some resort to getting high,

on whom can they rely.

kw

 

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