"Momma's Worry" by TS Hawkins

Translate TSPoetics

Thanks for Visiting!


Class Assignment: Field Site

there is something poetic about a droplet
hurling its spirit through the stratus to get your attention
poltroon to liquid honesty
grimacefully caper flesh to the yellow bellied underside of an umbrella-ed nature
scapegoated excuses lined in pin-stripped laced fronts and leatherette hand-me-downs
mitigating moist impact
causing it to ricochet
misfire to the cloak of another
whoso brazenly accepted that precipitation as their own
however never custom to donning the falsely accused
now parka sheaved 
missed my calling in haste to flee yours
needing for moments no longer kef to your uncertainty
wishing to be saturated in divinity
decisions made
naked, walked down desolate street
absorbed in the should be's
...found peace today...


Class Assignment: The Alphabet Poem

zen-less because
you never allowed us to acme.
xenophobic pish-posh thoughts
woolgathering positivity
vertiginous vesuvian  pleas
under saturnine skies
time insipid towards festering emotions.
since when did
question the
possibility of a possible future?
negotiating moments of "could-be's" within your
milquetoast embrace
left postprandial mints; pillowed punishment
kindly masquerading as love's moral code.
"just give it to me straight...
"I can take it!"
how dare your audacity pontificate to be votary
given this juncture, you're mere bandersnatch
fey drenched in
everything we claimed not to have stood for
druthering fortitude
can finally catch glimpse of the
benefit in personal


Holiday BoxSet Discount [offer ends Nov. 25]

Get your hands on the ULTIMATE saccharine collection
by TS Hawkins just in time for the holidays!

This BOXSET includes:
1 copy of Sugar Lumps and Black Eye Blues
1 copy of Confectionately Yours
1 copy of Mahogany Nectar
1 copy of Lil Blӕk Book

FOR ONLY $50.00 + $2 shipping
**usually retailed $90 [including shipping]**

Gift wrapped in a very sweet book box and individually AUTOGRAPHED by the author with a personal message of your choosing this literary package couldn’t be much more of a sapid deal!

Click the BUY NOW holiday button in the right column to place your SECURED order!
**all book orders will be shipped after Thanksgiving 2011**

Book Synopsis:
*Sugar Lumps and Black Eye Blues is a smorgasbord of emotions that are sautéed in wordplay. The course begins with cocktails of exploration leading to desserts of revelations, revealing many journeys in womanhood. When stepping inside these pages, select from a menu of moments to entice the mental palette. You won’t be satisfied unless every moment is sopped up like gravy to a biscuit. Make time to savor in memories of relationship while cultivating a better outlook on new ones.

*Confectionately Yours falls in step with debut work Sugar Lumps and Black Eye Blues by highlighting the author’s spirited phrase “even sugar can be raw”. Personal, political and passionate this journal of moments examines the triumphs, pitfalls and chaos of daily living with a pen and a notebook for social change. Documenting birthdays, holidays, campaign trails, Auld Lang Syne, Valentine, social causes to Santa Claus, May flowers and Spring showers with anticipation to find the natural saccharine of humanity.

*Highlighting the good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarity of twenty some years Mahogany Nectar is a poetic memoir that takes you to the initial stages that forged a bond between the author, the pen and the written word. She speaks about a broken home, a loving mother, a puzzle-piece lineage, woes of the collegiate life, proms and promenades, death, rebirths, sexuality lessons at the neighborhood park and community pool. Although the bookend to the saccharine glazed trilogy, sharing these experiences is only the beginning!

*Where night table meets coffee table, Lil Blæk Book: All the Long Stories Short delights in bringing evening to daytime, sparking tête-à-têtes that would blush the rays off the sun. This tell-all book delivers new meaning to the phrase “the long and short of it” with sass, vulnerability and poetic flare!


Lil Blaek Book: All the Long Stories Short [Trailer]


Class Assignment: The First Time

I'm used to 'I Love You's" draped in "its better this way" goodbyes and shell shock flashmob kisses
So when you leered longingly through my spirit to utter this cliche
Paid you no nevermind
But with batted eye whisper grabbed my attention and pronounced it again
I had to ask myself
How many more times would I actually hear such sincere urgency repeat
I shut my mind
Regaled in the artistry of sound
Finally honing what it feels like in other people's fairytales
I get the chance to smell what happily-ever-after taste like on my heart
Begin to sing unwritten lullabies by unborn artists
This four lettered noun never rubbed me right before
Rock bellowed the soul wide open
I shut my mind
Allowed doubt to die in this new-found promise
Because I'm used to "I Love You's" draped in "its better this way" goodbyes and shell shock flashmob kisses
So when you leered longingly through my spirit to utter that cliche
Paid you no nevermind
But with batted eye whisper grabbed my attention and pronounced it again
It was then
I became a virgin
...no longer chagrined...


Class Assignment: Suicide Poem

to die in your arms
is something already accomplished
not bound to repeats
found cliffs edge comforting
slice vertical I Love You’s
wanting the pin-drop remains to sound like the sweet nothings
never breathed during a pillowed evening
bathed in electric embrace
drank pilled forget-me-nots
hoping you’d find me slain by your neglect
but the movie disregarded to show the part
where you never showed
to die in your arms
is something already accomplished
not bound to repeats
now can’t
the movie failed to show the part
where you never showed


Untitled for Yesterday

hate the smell of wet perm
odoriferous alarm clock
wakening the walk of shame reigned down pour
never umbrella owned
went natural to placate the obvious lesson unlearned


Written Word

Catharsis wrapped in self-reliance
Adjuvant in the development of personhood
Without the written word
Body lies on a bed of discontentment
Rigored thoughts
Blood siphoned
Without the lingual quill
Nothing moves forward
When you give a girl a pen
You make an honest woman out of her
Breathing honesty in every page
Creating the mogul-the maverick-the majestic
Many solutions
Many powers
Many achievements
Pulse for the heartbeat
Throbbing with creativity

Birthing essences from scratch
Without it

Nothing moves f o r w a r d


The Color of Sex

Burnt finger-tipped trail
Mapped traveled euphoria
Sangria scarlet satin sheets
Leak tales where walls remain abundantly jealous
No longer aplomb to future gossip
Voyeur only to the satisfactory yowl
Flesh flame a gammon folly
After moments harlequin estrus sets in
Hoping for repetition
Midnight blues flax when goodbyes render no point of return
Charcoal chagrin replay if messages where mixed
If ecstasy and enstasy beige through fuscous
Runic rustic grey lines
Sketch old adages un-bandaged


Pre-Sale Discount: MAHOGANY NECTAR

MAHOGANY NECTAR will be available to virtual bookshelves very soon but thanks to your amazing support and gratitude, I am offering you a PRESALE DISCOUNT!
That means before the official Publisher Release you can purchase a copy of Mahogany Nectar at a DISCOUNTED PRICE of only $20.00 INCL. SHIPPING.
This discount is only available until September 15, 2011 so claim your space in line.

After September 15, 2011, the book will only be available through the Publisher at $22.50+s/h in which your total price could be about $30+

GO TO the PayPal link listed on the right hand side of this website
SELECT the Quantity
CLICK on the BUY NOW to make your purchase!

**all payments are secured through PayPal**
Please allow up 7-10 business days for shipping.
All orders will be shipped out after September 15, 2011


Highlighting the good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarity of twenty some years Mahogany Nectar is a poetic memoir that takes you to the initial stages that forged a bond between the author, the pen and the written word. She speaks about a broken home, a loving mother, a puzzle-piece lineage, woes of the collegiate life, proms and promenades, death, rebirths, sexuality lessons at the neighborhood park and community pool. Although the bookend to the saccharine glazed trilogy, sharing these experiences is only the beginning!

“Even when her poetry reflects difficult choices, humiliation or exploitation, she faces them full-on. Where some writers might couch their language in cagey metaphor, Hawkins is direct, her narrative clear. If she were standing in front of you, she would look you right in the eye” –Wendy Rosenfield, Philadelphia Inquirer


HIStory: Texas Chapter

we were raped
pussies eaten
then hung like slaughter
fearing freedom

may one day never cum

we waited
and still

you wish to Whitewash wrong doings
re-scribble history
creating inaccuracies
pretending equality always existed

we were stolen
chewed by scientific experiments
due to the 3/5th human lie
or the one drop rule diatribe
won't let you stand by and promote

that we journeyed voluntarily
fuck your Atlantic Exchange
we're shackled
still shackled
handcuffed in your White American Dream
with highlighted mulatto President

that "pulled his own bootstraps"
the truth
you helped him through
to pacify brownstones to shut the fuck up
but guess the fuck what
your plans are mute
my children will not grow up

in the parachute of your deceit

we were lynched
and Lord only knows what else
of we continue to let you pelt our humanity
explain, Texas BOE
why the need to spread hypocrisy
drizzle past fallacies in mouths of our youth
serving hate on a silver plate
will never forgive you
if you publish those lies as fate
the only thing insane about Barack Hussein
is thinking you bigots were ever going to change
and if folks sit back allowing the Slave Trade to be called an "Exchange"
as if the Talented Ten and Mr. Washington

sat over tea
explaining in detail that being slaves is what we wanted to be
a true capitalist need
"a win-win"
a straight up back deal with a side of moon-shined gin
...a sin...

we were maimed
but three words of advice
educated Kings and Queens
will stand against the obscene
and wipe the floor clean with the blood of your misdeeds
No PTA meeting will ever be safe
because hell will be made
day after day after day
until truth has the final say...


Crowning Glory

the Statue of Liberty
never thought that she would stand
for Statutes of Limitations
bowed heads
not due to reverence
but shame
for justice unkept


Formations [To Leslie]

inside spiraled
the most honest words
i've ever


Unfinished Elements

lick embers off your hearthed heart
chamber pulsed remains
remain unspoken love notes
embroidered in ::IHateYou's::
and tattered ::ILustYou's::
staying the phoenix of your ambsace mind
give me time to love you to life...

wind chime's
miming ::INeedYou's::
through silent gestures
vibrating louder than mute ::ILoveYou's:: from partners past
despite the here and now
present in this unconditional foreshadowing
I'm willing to love you to life...

smell rain on your voice
moments before a gulp umbrelled the truth
of a soon uttered lie
the ::It'sNotYouIt'sMe::
pre-poncho-ed out your box
imploring you to stop,
shout I
let me love you to life....


I don't sleep
on your side
of my bed
for fear
that when
you do come back,
you think that I've replaced you


Tu Corazon


4 Page Letter [part 3]

face of malaise
plasters facades
in veneered dimples
and robotic placated
pleasantries. clef-hearted
transient pleading.
for change; cup-less
with all the beating
around the bush,
tumbling down
never seemed
palatable. down,
already was I...


4 Page Letter [part 2]

gin soaked tears
never dry on their own
they cascade down London fog
a salty mist mistaken for wayward condensation
"hold me until denial stops flowing through my spirit"


One Liner

...suffering in silence is the loudest I've ever smelled a soul singed raw...


4 Page Letter [part 1]

depression smells like
the skipped heartbeat that murmurs
to the pulse of absence

depression smells like
the pregnant pauses of past moments uncaptured
time's unscheduled lunch break
creating the phrase "be back in ten"
became the accepted lie of choice

depression smells like
the angst white women scratch down in bass tones and guitar riffs
because they never understood that a woman scorned
is a woman blessed

depression smells like
over-eating syntax with bulimic conjecture
pretending to believe the ideologies of anorexic candor
fully knowledgeable of silence's obesity

depression smells like
a summer cold with an allergic migraine
prancing victoriously in the haberdashery of one mental state

depression smells like
the lone ice cube in the tray missing its brethren
at the neglectful hands attached to the inconsiderate

depression smells like
the dance of the forbidden
where Eve helped Adam cum to the conclusion
that he wanted to be ignorant by choice

‎depression smells like
bad news a la carte
where the solutions of others are an expensive hindsight
the ecomonic down turn of your nickels and dimes
scream, soothing the nausea of a hungered belly

depression smells like
the tales of a 4th grade nothing
hanging themselves by the forgotten promises
bedsheet necklaces
lancet bracelets
because the reflective mirrored image never mouthed
I LOVE you in return


depression smells like
the smell
no longer
want to
smell like


Rest Peacefully [For Daddie]

but the words couldn't flow
     [watery orbs]
painted stalemates on cerebral canvassing
     [furled brow]
when the words wouldn't flow
     [saline release]
with you gone
     [satellite embrace]
     [roulette sobs]
     [divine silence]


Midnight Memories

met my plunderer at the corner of
"we did this once before" and "you've never left"
raped foresight of hindsight's luxury of heed
the past moonlights as daybreak's present
gift-wrapped in taciturn tears
morose-d in sequins 
delight me in something different...



I saw lightening up-close
the sky never looked more beautiful begging for release
I heard thunder lucubrate sonnets through the clouds
though no one could bear to listen because they were running from the truth
umbrella-ed fears, not wanting honesty to drip drop down their flesh
naked though I was
felt peace today


Dear Love

Dear Love,

Only see your name in my footprints...

Thank you for keeping me moving forward


Untitled #2

dodge-ball heartbeats
ricocheted against caged ribs
catching every sound
all the time


Dear Hindsight,

you are just that, behind.
when I tried to introduce you to foresight
the silence was deafening
and now you cast judgement
as if you have your finger on how I pulse...


Mahogany Nectar Book/Performance Trailer


Thanks for the love and support :)

CLICK HERE: Mahogany Nectar Book Trailer


Pulled Bootstraps

[a poem]

I pledge alliance to my doubts
and the united fronts that I put forward
to the autonomy I can't afford
one spirit; under siege
with no justice after all


Arts 4 The Cause: Compilation CD ft. TS Hawkins [AVAILABLE NOW]

Hello Fans!!!

I am featured on Lady M Productions compilation CD "Arts 4 The Cause". This CD is a live recording of the benefit concert thrown to support the families that suffered a huge fire in West Philly that destroyed 90 apartments. Please continue to support those families and Lady M Productions by downloading the digital CD! I am honored to be track number #2 on this amazing night of artistry!!!!

Click Here:
Lady M Productions: Arts 4 The Cause [CD download]



[an "on the mind" poem]

didn't fall into my lap
weren't a flagrant happenstance
were never in the wrong place at the right time
as omnipresent as the trinity's spirit
have always been there
because of that...
i loved
on purpose
so please
don't perish by accident


Senior Year: Fractured Atlas

[a "memory lane" poem]

knew we were going places
and not the proverbial
I mean physicial documentation
that we were journeying through this trial & error together
Denice Frohman suggested that you should
"kiss me so"
not knowing you were forehead stamping
"see you laters"
across my passbook
hand holds of reassurance
were packed bags of
"this was the last time this embrace meant something special"
hugs of miscommunicated farewells
"I love yous"
were really
"bye bye beau's"
because you only stayed grounded enough to let me deplane
every midnight snuggle lead me to believe we were taking off
a round-trip deal
reaffirming that our itinerary was identical
despite opportunites to alert me otherwise
you gather both bags
wave adieu in airbourne smooches
where I break out in outbreak heartache
relying on standby
to take pity on me


In Jesus Name?

[a "for when religious figure heads over step their boundaries" poem. The line "somewhere in the Vatican alter boys are still being counted" comes couresty of L. ScottLorde]

"in the name of the Father...Son...Hold my butt cheeks..."
pray to the deities that the bible shall never meet my rectory
hymns null vibrations of Psalms
Lorde's prayer humming Revelations
that make Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
bareback mountaintop sermons
all the while knowing that somewhere in the Vatican alter boys are still being counted
tripped out congregation
believing that the spirit needs to cum inside them
deliver ill-legitimate line reads of
"our Father that has me bed-ridden,
hollowed be thy faith..."
flatbacked prayers having Jesus' name coursing through veins
taking the shaft
face first
a spined scripture
was once the only leg to stand on
with each religious lie
lie nightly spiraled
semen plastered
no foreplay
Genesis forehead kissed drenched
content with knowing I'll never tell
faith baited mustard seed breath
reeking the truth that somewhere in the Vatican alter boys are still being counted
muted secret love affair of church and state
allowing Holy Ghost to poke, prod and suture
what's left of my eyes watching God
not the bluest I've seen
but pale enough to dismiss my pleas
told this majesty would'nt give me more than I could bare
yet, indoctrinated with barefoot and pregnant prophecies
multiplying in my tepid womb
exit this...
abort these fallacies
if you're truly in the saving business
unsplinter crowned thorns around the dick of my uterus
set free this loomed ideology that has only stroked the ego of your phallic nature
knowing full well
somewhere in the Vatican alter boys are still being counted

Click Here: IN JESUS NAME (live)

Dear Chance

Dear Chance:

Its not roulette when your demise is fully loaded...

For 2005: Which End Is Up?

[a chest poem]

expire with the passing time
shoved back into the lining
in pockets of hooded petty coats
turncoat of emotional release
where mint juleps sprinkle forget-me-nots
silent fables grass grown
but referred to
for secrets
yet to be harshly disrobed
a begged plea
reeking with regret
but harbored
for once was thought of
as safe keeping
for once thought of
as safe keeping
but harbored
reeking with regret
a begged plea
yet to be harshly disrobed
for secrets
referred to
silent fables grass grown
where mint juleps sprinkle forget-me-nots
turncoat of emotional release
in pockets of hooded petty coats
shoved back into the lining
to fray
expire with the passing time

Prelude to 09: 2008

[a "poem for a poem" poem]

from the bowls of your misdeeds|still
uttered those words that I promised to gate keep in my spirit
despite piety and rectitude
where rectum and jurisdiction created un-lubbed compromises
the grandeur|tipping cup runneth over
essence barricaded in aqueous qua-linear scaffolding
plummeting to the abyss of your omission-ed never-minds|I
still uttering those words
I promised to gate keep in my spirit
reminding me that the birth of this relationship was its death
giving no choice but to live in damnation
fighting for an ascribed hell to claim ownership to|I
loved you even when it burned
foiled over consciousness
baked raw in open flames
engulfing new aromas
nothingness of morning
dawned nothing but mourning
where teardrops and gunshots
alarm clock reality
when did I|
stop loving me for you


Smooth Groove

[a "midnight thought" poem]

I want to slow dance
toe wrap in beat snaps
that cadence down my spine
dipping me until I can no longer keep time
where tango and meringue salsa
samba the ballroom
foxtrot atop backbone beats
grooving delicately to arm freestyle
I need to slow dance
point and flex where I've never bent before
waltz swooning to rhythms unprecedented
I crave to slow dance
ballet balance to the cleft lullaby in my heart
each half note tatted with your name
veins pulse for only you
the promenade I always yearned for



[a writing prompt assignment for the phrase "Soon As I Get Home"]

soon as I get home
once a nameless space
shall now have purpose
four walls, carpet lining insecurities
never had a place in my heart
the closest thing to home I ever knew
rests in the luxuries of others metaphors...



[an honesty poem]

I don't write erotic poetry...
where pussies resemble Georgia O'Keefe
over acrylic-ed via open mic nights
and ugly lesbian wet dreams
attempting to sound deep on similes they could never spell
where penises become poles more scaled than strippers
and Santa's elves

I don't write erotic poetry...
where chandeliers are on their last nerve
dry dangled tricks to compensate for an underrated dick switch
where neighbors know my name and not my humanity
Tom, Dick and Harry become my offspring's surname
failing to keep the fuck tally in order

I don't write erotic poetry...
so the woman, 5th seat from the back
gains the courage to ask me out
because my words are better than my looks
I'm not a lingual crook
using synonyms for the antonyms of reality

I don't write erotic poetry...
doing time for rhythm and rhyme
when it could stand still in an embrace
infinity loop around the synapses that make parchment
pen memories it regales alone
because some things aren't meant to be shared
prophylactic-less microphone exchanging spit that no one has gotten tested
will not highlight an evening of my musing

I don't write erotic poetry...

...and neither should you...


Watering Our Roots

[a "the radio did me wrong" poem]

life without music
is like a heart that stutters to the tone of silence
deaf to rhythmic pleasures
nothing to yin yang the balance
treble to notes yet unfounded
product of auto-tune
we dance to the splintered mundane
toast to the ill-advised
coon for watermelon rines of treasures labeled epic pastimes
remixed the wade in the water
to shallow hums of a spat on future
tepid saliva
turning culture to a hip-hopped whitewashed drum cadence
whipping hair back and forth
at the expense of Kunta's spine
blood drops compose the song of failure
where all of our children's children will know the lyrics and never the meaning
because we stopped watering our roots
tar baby molasses
the image glued to our retinas as ramification
for the three count
shucked jive used to survive
thanks to a forgotten 40-acre and a mule compromise
naming offspring synonyms of reparations unseen
"Lexus Freedom Jackson"
shall continue to be a dream deferred
because we have stopped watering our roots
wombs looming lies
bench warrant pride
maelstrom cacophony
conducted by our hands
blaming a master plan for the outcome of settled mediocrity
as new age entrepreneurs
we've taken to lynching ourselves
goals dangle on looped dry branches
once they've snapped
fall short
back to the block where it all began
auctioneer to oral tradition
no longer resembles the white stranger
that pan-handled our sanctity between great grands legs
why would she always cum?
secretions of her golden valor atop his dick
now adorned in rappers delight
the residue worn around one's neck
locked gold
attained via the bend and fold of greenbacks
flatbacked for less than we're worth
all because we stopped watering our roots
where the ting-ting of cash registers
ring-ring our compasses to the bling-bling
equated with success at the expense of the soul
there's no check large enough to clear on its behalf
but with bass beats and syncopated quarter notes
history is buried
without proper funeral
procession music decrescendos
its true voice
now a half composition-ed overture
pauper graved
could have been avoided
if we hadn't stopped watering our roots


For The Present

[a "I think I wrote a love poem" poem]

want to make love to your spirit
a holy trinity; a menage of riches
astrology can't afford to miss out on
conjure spells that have Ecstasy plea bargain with V
in hopes to get higher than orgasm
toe scrape cumulus clouds
having the sun bow to our silent picture
where sex becomes a two lettered word
containing only U & I
open vowel sounds exploring orifices
blushing the cheeks of Karma Sutra
the oral tradition setting marks on dynasties yet to cum
you were always the story I needed on my palatte
racing to the rhythms
stuttering never tasted so succulent

...[to be continued]...

For 2010

[a poem for the sycophant no longer in my life]

suddenly|opened eyes never heard clearer words|damning the feet for not fleeing sooner|a death rattle would hum more sweetly


a BLACK journey...

[my portion of a collaboration poem with Angela Cole regarding black hair! UPDATED 1.26.11]

...new growth...
beginning to overstand that the slave trade traded more than our spirits
spreading lyes
the KY laying hands on rooted epic memories
a cotton pickin' remembrance ironed flat
lining plantation death strokes
combing ancestry between gritted teeth of no return
how quickly we sell out to the dreams of westernized forefathers
wishing our mammies flatbacked closer together
creating a lineage for the greater good...hair
mane hiding the main attributes that make being of color a delicacy
so we settle
settle for the taste of American badlands that highlight streaks of Indian wet nurses
just to say "their in my family"
cover Cecily plats with lace-front lies
because Chi irons were afraid to cross the Mason Dixon
of your natural segregation
bucked wheat never felt more freeing standing beside ebony striations
pretending to hold glory and honor
but since I was never taught that my locs were royal
I jester my soul to the commonplace
salon my heritage in open ended press n curls
looking for change in purse string bottoms
tipping the stylist to uproot my name
the moment I believed
straight was pretty


The Aftermath of Freedom

[ a "what did it all really mean" poem]

of events
where perseverance and small bouts of mediocrity are accepted
most times deferred via procrastination
and manipulation
is this what King envisioned at the mountain top?

For 2009

[a "I'm not an experiment" poem]

catastrophe leaking regrets between index and middle
concluding you reek of rancid trial and error foreplay ideologies
spewing sweet grandeur  glazed in halogen halitosis
generating nightmares when liqoured brimmed mouth flaps
masquerading as courage
open to ingrain
embed romantic fabrications
divoting fallacies
so when chest clutches for serenitized seconds
brailed fragments regale tales that wish to be forgotten
societal whipping boy
emotional sodomized toy
a wonder fucked game piece
unaware it was a pawn

Copyright Notice

Copyright ©2019-20 TS Hawkins. All rights reserved. This includes but not limited to, adaptions, samples or other derivatives emanating from the poems or any other original material on this website, whether in print, film, music or any other media. No part of of this website may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission of TS Hawkins and/or HawkEye Entertainment, page2stage LLC, which may be rescinded at any time. Short quotations from poems are permitted as long as there is a link back to this site [www.TSPoetics.com] provided and boldly visible with reference evidently made to this site, the author and original source.