Sunday, September 20, 2009

You never know when you need that tuxedo in the closet...

It's been a lovely weekend first with the birth of my newest nephew Jaiden (insert three more middle names I cannot spell at the moment) and participating in Banke & Hasani's wedding.



Jaiden, son of my sister Melody and her husband Joseph, I look forward to seeing you soon. Eight pounds, geeez you're a little linebacker! I will learn to spell all your names, little man... but you can expect to get a special nickname from me just like your big brothers, Joshua (Round Brown) and Justin (Cujo).

And the weddings! Both the Friday and Saturday ceremonies were beautiful and grand, filled with song and jubilation.
videoOn Friday, I do not jest or make light when I say it was an honor to lay down on the floor and support my friend Hasani as he asked his bride's family for her hand to the resounding music of talking drums.

video
Those of you who have friended me on Facebook can see all the video and photos there. (It's kinda hard to tell but this is Hasani on the floor begging for the hand of his bride).
video
The richness of the love filling the hall was incredible. I admit to being caught in awe. And again in the Saturday wedding, I felt proud to have the chance to do one of the readings and to later offer a toast to the happy couple.

So I was very glad I had my tuxedo on hand and ready. It's not everyday it gets put to such worthy, memorable use!

Many blessings to my sister Melody, Joseph and their boys and to Hasani and Banke, you have arrived together at your garden of joy.

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Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away