"Momma's Worry" by TS Hawkins

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Cartons of Ultrasounds NYC performance (excerpt)

Silent No More Tour 2012
ft. Cartons of Ultrasounds
Written & Performed by TS Hawkins
Direction & Masks by Kyla Ferris McHale
@The Bushwick Starr


Cartons of Ultrasounds: Philly & NYC performances

"Cartons of Ultrasounds"
written by TS Hawkins 
directed by Christina May and Andre G Brown (Philadelphia performance)
directed by Kyla Kollmer McHale (NY performance)

We picket for the unborn; we carton the missing, shush the battered and molest rape victims into believing it’s their fault. In an attempt to generate peace, we've become pieces of the machine that churn our embryos, our girls, our women, our females into seclusion; water-boarding their freedom and manufacturing their wombs with assembly-line legislature. Prisoners to their gender, we, society, have become the parasitic conjoined twin of the dogmatic cycle extending life sentences of invalidation. With scantily clad images, pejorative song lyrics, and abusive homes, we teach them to be the missing, the raped, and the forgotten.

The Trestle Inn, 339 N. 11th Street 19107
November 29, 7-9pm

New York:
The Bushwick Starr
207 Starr Street, Brooklyn NY 11237
December 6-9

**check out the "Seeking Silence" crew on the main page of the Bushwick Starr: http://thebushwickstarr.org/ **


Cartons of Ultrasounds

No need to ponder how little girls get raped into woman woes
...she was only 11…
With tramp stamped breast plate reading “wanna lick?”
No mother with gripped ‘no’s protecting her innocence
Wayward traveling clutched to hunger games fed by attention meat mongers
No need to ponder how little girls get raped into woman woes
Where hands dance across the face like memories
Bruise penned in the one-time promise
Never kept
Paint-by-number in mascara
Cover-up mistakes made
Connecting the dots with blush strokes that can’t add up to the number of lies preceding them
No need to ponder how little girls get raped into woman woes
As whispers of glitter quiet loved ones from worry
Wishing there was a different story to tell
But it’s cheaper to stay battered and beaten
Pinch pennies to window shop
Browsing glass bottoms for the one day
to read something new
No need to ponder how little girls get raped into woman woes
Training them to bare burdens
Bare chested under the weight of patricide
Or dick swabbed by faceless fathers
Where pleas for “daddy” go unheard
Head stroking for salvation
Only she can hear her heart beat breaking while it snaps under the pressure
…she was only 11…
No need to ponder how little girls get raped into woman woes
We teach them…
We team them by reminding them that their money-maker isn’t their minds
Pussy-powered in Hello Kitty
Strung up poles
Hung to dry on coke line residue
Dollars making the only sense
Since we teach them that Victoria’s Secret isn’t beyond the bed and bath
But into the arms of a wanton stranger
Plastering the tapestry of their worth as milk carton portrayals of what they could have been
...she was only 11…
And she could have been more
For now, all we do is replay each paragraph
re-pigment each newsprint page;
plug the space between with unknowns
unfound, unwanted by limited statutes
trudge forward as if they never bore the brunt
No need to ponder how little girls get raped into woman woes
We teach them…

"The Pulse Is Mourning" on WRTI 90.1 FM

"The Pulse Is Mourning" from Mahogany Nectar
(c) 2010 TS Hawkins
Performed on WRTI 90.1 FM 2012


Sneak Peek of album #3: Becoming Saturn [track: Midnight Memories]

Album: Becoming Saturn
Track: Midnight Memories by TS Hawkins
Song: Melancholy Melodies by Esthero

INDUSTRY DISCOUNT: "Minnie Mae's Going Home Party"

Hello Theater Supporters!

Expressions Performing Arts Company is premiering "Miss Minnie Mae's Going Home Party"
and offering you an
Regular price $20 | Industry price $10

Once you purchase your ticket here, you will be invoiced with a physical ticket number that you MUST bring to the Box Office along with a PROOF of industry!
(valid proof of industry: Business card, Headshot, resume, Equity card,
Playbill, Flyer w/name, or Live Arts/Fringe badges)

Looking forward to seeing you!


1/2 Price Merchandise: Birthday Discount

Who would have thought that my birthday
meant GIFTS for you!

With my special day on the horizon I will selling my publications 1/2 OFF from now until OCTOBER 9th, 2012!!

Sugar Lumps and Black Eye Blues $10 NOW $5
Confectionately Yours $20 NOW $10
Mahogany Nectar $22 NOW $11
Lil Blaek Book $9.50 NOW $4.75
Combo Pack [including 1 copy of each book listed above] $61.50 NOW $30

Click below to take advantage of this LIMITED TIME OFFER!
**please allow for 2 weeks for shipping. Prices do not include shipping. All payments are secured through PayPal**

September Discounts


For Chevonne & Zahree Thomas [Untitled 82612]

“I wanna know
Please show me
I wanna know
About the stranger like me”

There was a time when she could have
Adored the space between the
Mélange of mouth, eye and nose where
Ear regaled in the unabashed
Sincerity of self
Had she known
Age wouldn’t plague the wisdom she so sought
She could have thought twice when splicing
Her wrists to paint “I Love You’s in the ink of her
Acrimony of breath
No one told her she was kind, smart or important, so she
Affixed rope remnants ‘round her neck to adorn the never
Yielding fallacies she so scribed, scribbled, scratched
Heavy handedly through parchment chambers, pumping distilled
Agony to brain dead promises; vegetable to reality
Wishing supported life didn’t rest on the
Kindness of strangers; can
It be too late to whisper to the
Nape of her naivety “this too will
Soon pass?”

“I wanna know
Please show me
I wanna know
About the stranger like me”

Tell her…tell her
About the
Memories of moments
Etched in
Saccharine forget-me-nots; see
Happiness is a state of consciousness
Aplomb to the
Strength she keeps
Holding back
Abandon the 
Notion that
All is lost. Tell her...tell her that her
Year is on the 
Horizon. Fret no longer
At the thought of self-destruction
Weep in the collimation of
Knowing she will wedge through
Nothing can forge against the 
She, she was destined to be

“I wanna know
Please show me
I wanna know
About the stranger like me”


Repetitious Anarchy Slow Brews [Running Still Water vol I]

Track: Repetitious Anarchy Slow Brews 
Artist: TS Hawkins 
Album: Running Still Water vol. I

(c) 2012


Help Me Hear Mermaids Singing

Witches’ brew; frolic
Cackle and coo séanced tongue
At pagan pace, paw spirits through integument
Necromance me
Singed in salaciousness
Conjure dalliances befitting magnificent thirst
Entreat souls
Pray inside me
Enlace rosary and Hail Mary’s choked wisdom
Soil remains in scriptured repentance
Baptize ecstasy 
Secular secretions clear confusions
With scarlet affixed cross brows
Discover the lost art of veracity
Tell no one
Silence the wind
Yield from shattering bone
Fill fecund fissures in incantations 
Beckon in breathed novelty
Tomb tainted tomes 
Love noted in limited lettering
Spellbinding beginnings with back bending worship
Stimulate me anew


The You I Like In Secret

like you in the middle of the day
ripe for the risking
sipping each on each
nectar goggled
ogling foreshadow
post meridian pungent
stint well spent


Published in Third Sunday Blog Carnival!

Hey All!

My piece "The Color of Sex" has been published in the 7th volume of the Third Sunday Blog Carnival!

Check out my piece and other talented writers here: http://thirdsundaybc.com/2012/07/15/vol-1-no-7/

Thanks for the continued support!


Al Jebr [Anaphora for 2010]

She served me a love Afghanistan-ed and sauteed too long in melancholy melodies. Garnished with crisp calumniation,
She served me Rodger and Hammerstein dreams dipped in polite deception
She served me scores of hors d'oeuvres that filled main course desires temporarily
She served me cunctation cocktails; sweetly slipping sly soliloquies. Dining here frequently...
She served me thin veneers, sheer strips of coated facades
She served me eluded security
She served me broken maybes
She served me filet-ed and open faced, contaminated for future lovers

Authors Under 30: BOSTON performance w/TS Hawkins & George Woods

Boston, MA performance with George Woods at 6B Lounge!


New Book Release: "The Hotel Haikus"

**Coming Soon** December 2012

Running Still Water vol I: AVAILABLE NOW!!!!

"Running Still Water vol 1" (c) 2012 is the sophomore poetry CD by TS Hawkins

Her first poetry CD "Sugar Lumps and Black Eye Blues" (c) 2006 is also available for purchase with a NEW BONUS TRACK!!!

#NowPlaying [track 2] "Iris In Wonderland" by TS Hawkins


"Seeking Silence" [excerpt] NYC performance

Excerpt of the final performance of "Seeking Silence" in NYC.
"Seeking Silence" was written by TS Hawkins. Puppets and Masks were created by Kyla McHale and Joesph Therrien. This piece was designed and performed by TS Hawkins, Kyla McHale, Joseph Therrien, Renee Dumouchel, Katie Issel Pitre and Kathryn Wilkening.


"Seeking Silence" raises thoughtful questions and respects its audience enough to not provide overly simplistic answers. As the masked performers join together at the piece’s conclusion to become a sort of communal body, collectively breathing life into a giant puppet who has been sleeping at the foot of the stage, there is a sense of hope and unity, but it is not naïve or easy. There is a “library of thought” and work to be done by all of us seeking to build a true democratic community.

Alphabet Arts created Puppets & Poets in part to test our theory that mixing seemingly-disparate art forms can create something new that is perhaps more expressive and more effective in communicating and connecting with audiences. "Seeking Silence" proves this theory correct. It is an impressive feat (and a rare treat) to see poetry, puppetry, mask, and dance/movement fused so beautifully on stage. ~Amber West, MFA, PhD Poet & Alphabet Arts co-founder


Untitled for K #1712

Sensation of verses pulsate unsolicited phalanges to scribble
Where parchment scratches passion inked out loud
Never quieting long strokes through sheets
Crinkle moans with ballpoint
Pen in between breaths
Spill inside
Doodle diagrams
Dipped noted nipples
Swirl cumshaws ‘round spine
Enlace erasure indentations
There’s no paraphrasing here
Graphing until thesis is leaking down thighs
Lick lexicon around diction’s nape
Delectation is spelled with tabbed back arches
Travailing POV’s created over coffee and tea
Enter control
Delete the assumptions of what this was
Draft me raw
Authenticity tastes better quilled on my skin


Repetitious Anarchy Slow Brews

If my son was Trayvon Martin...
He'd be the embryonic melee I crafted from neglecting my past
adorned in media backlash
hood donned in new ghettos
where neighbors watch neighbors gun down peace in candy coated innocence
complacent to the status quo
my arms the concrete streets you now lay your head
where strangers click "like" at your funeral;
re-tweeting eulogy as symbol of activism
If my son was Trayvon Martin...
The Scottsboro Boys and Emmett Till would have etched told-you-so's through my uterus
raping aborted hope from the lining of my womb
reminding me its not over until the white lady screams
If my son was Trayvon Martin...
X would mark the beginning
the never-ending cycle of debauchery where tranquility is found in bloodstain blueprints
HISTORY; the skipping American booze record drowning future in scapegoated fortune
masked in
white noise...
white noise...
white noise...
fades to black
where black fades to the inseam of the mainstream agenda
executing truth to the lies of judge and jury
as "I Am Troy Davis" t shirts become currency for Oscar Grant and the misfires of justice
tasing our faces with the same paint used to tell our legacy
lethargy; the paralyses we allow to tap shoe in tar covered pigmented yesteryear
If my son was Trayvon Martin...
It would be just another Thursday April 4th 1968
assassinated mountaintop hopes
too high for the consciousness of some
If my son was Trayvon Martin...
He'd be the fraternal twin of the Jena Six that swung like new news until the nation grew tired of hanging its dirty laundry
If my son was Trayvon Martin...
It means I still live in a world where I failed to do my part
Where Mother Land means mother wounded circumstances
attempt to balance inequities with club parties and commercial apologies
So until social constructs mean more than updating Facebook
to StumbleUpon a new call to action
I postpone his entry into society
But name him Aydin Euchynin; God's fiery gift
so you'd never call him HEADLINE
Let him know, that as his mother, its better I pull the trigger


Poetry4ACause: Donate $5 to the National MS Society & a get FREE poetry CD!

Click on the photo of the Z-Maniacs to help Keisha Johnson raise funds in finding a cure for the National MS Society & receive a FREE demo copy of TS Hawkins new poetry cd "Running Still Water"!!!
[read more below]

My mentor Keisha Johnson is doing a very amazing thing...Zumba-ing for MS! Last year, her group the Z-Maniacs, raised $3000 and this year they have set their sights higher but they need your help!!!!

I, TS, have donated monetarily already but decided to take it a step farther thanks to the amazing inspiration she has given me...

With that said, I am putting my time and talents to work in homage to my mentor but most importantly finding a cure for MS! From now until April 1, 2012, ANYONE who donates $5 or more will receive a FREE demo copy of my NEW poetry cd "Running Still Water" :)

All proceeds go toward the National MS Society. You can donate and gather more information on what Keisha and her team are all about by clicking on the photo of the Z-Maniacs or click this special link

Once you donate, contact me TS Hawkins for further details on how to acquire your FREE cd!!!

Thanks in advance for all your support :-)


Sabbath...Say What?

...The audacity of church...
sinners convene
bedecked in saintly pasties
the just enough to render them better than the naked truth
Bibles high as church bells
congregants spiral down through off-pitched hymns
stripping "the word"
Lord only knows that the cover charge was too steep
not wanting to debate with Satan's bouncers
who usher in whomever they please
I remain home
the Devil dare not find me there today


Class Assignment: "The Tree Poem"

"Come bring me your softness
comfort me through all this madness
woman, don't you know, with you
I'm born again"*

Charismatically soft shoe stepped though past heartache
Heartbreak; to beat-bend spirit back to its original score
Rebirthed; tap stitched fresh interludes so
I'm now, my own foundation
Sing melodies dripped in encore, swaddled
Tightly in your crease, never have
I ever clutched affection so close
Napped in once was and soon will be, we dance in the splendor
Arms affixed as if fashioned for one another, rooted in cordated cacophony; bloom symphonies on natured sheets

"Woman, don't you know, with you
I'm born again" 

*Song lyrics by Billy Preston
~With You I'm Born Again


End of a Cycle [Free Download]

End of a Cycle written by TS Hawkins (c) 2012
theme: for the overworked
music by: Mr. Scuff


Ready4Me [Free Download]

Ready4Me written by: TS Hawkins (c)2010
theme: for star-crossed lovers


Running Still Water vol I "Momma's Worry"

Track: Momma's Worry
Artist: TS Hawkins
Album: Running Still Water vol I
(c) 2012


Certain Circuits Magazine

Check out my piece that was published in Certain Circuits Magazine 2.1!


"Seeking Silence" a Puppets&Poets preview

"Seeking Silence" [preview]

group members: Renee Dumouchel, TS Hawkins, Katie Issel, Kyla McHale Kollmer, Joe Therrien, Kathryn Wilkening
video/written by TS Hawkins


Class Prompt: "Everyday I Hear You Touch"

Everyday I hear you touch the space fears inhabit
unabashed, we cuddle, cradled in un-spaced parenthesis
adore how we whisper forevers in silent vows
love is written this way...


Class Prompt: "Sound Tastes Like"

sound tastes like absent memories
quoted when hard times have no reason
scapegoated fallacies dipped in bonny bombshell tryst
failing to digest truth
left sweetbreads unseasoned
silent fables bitter brimmed
sound tastes like unflaxed promises


Class Assignment: Anaphora #2

Last night, the sprat, for tomorrow has to be better
Last night, a fusty reminder that security isn’t secure
Last night taught me that preparation needs preparation
Last night, sooted wails coated the place once my adytum
Last night, it burned down


Class Assignment: Anaphora

She told me we would dance on moonlight and kiss while still water turned pale with jealousy
She told me that tomorrow was yesterday's dream to wake up alongside me; create the us un-inked by strangers
She told me we were each other's one, only, sole soul...mate; check...
She told me that the pawns of the past would never rook the present. So when she found her new queen
She told me it was over with the "its not you, its me". With all whatever left to muster on my chess
She told me to have faith in her. The problem was...I did...

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.