Tyronn Rahda Monroe
Bio
poet, violinist, musician, short story writer, furniture builder, artist, photographer.....etc....and recently trying to write screenplays. Covid has dictated that I must travel down exciting, new roads of prosperity to survive financially.
Stories (15/0)
7 Sisters
Being born in 1971 in the south side of the Bronx, in an ‘Apocalyptic atmosphere’ and landscape , I realized early on, that hell is literally ‘always around the corner’! The ‘vultures’ of my environment did not posses malevolent monikers whatsoever? They were branded fiendishl, kool names like, ‘Two Ton Leroy’, ‘T-Bone’ and ‘Slick B’ at a tender, young age. And at a juvenile age, they very much so carried around the same pain and tribulations of a much older ‘Mad Max’ of the movies, without being able to afford the freakin apocalyptic car. Most of the time, as a strangely different child, I would sit on the stairs of our meager dwelling, having in-depth conversations with those that seemingly did not exist. I would conversate for an hour or more with mother-like females, that would guide me to the stairs for private discussions. To other family members, I must have seemed ‘dumb- witted’ or insane, but not to my mother. She would encourage my ‘playtime’ with my newly found ‘invisible’ friends. She spoke not unlike an African mother, of a war-torn village, granting encouragement to a seven year old son to speak to the village elders that held a keen interest in him. But, why would a mother encourage this in the south Bronx, you ask? Why would she encourage such seemingly madness? Well, ladies and gentlemen, it began with a silver, ‘heart- shaped’ locket giving to me at birth. Now, to this day, I could not tell you for certain of whom which female elder placed this locket around my neck, but this ancestoral being most have been my mother’s grandmother? My mother held extremely high regards for this jewelry, and much more than just for it’s monetary value. She would whisper to me when we were alone that this possessed ‘the spirit of our true haven….this is our way home’. Even weirder was that I was told never to open it and read the inscription inside until my thirteenth birthday. But, just when my mother hurriedly guided me to those same stairs, after I blew out the candles of the cake and made my wish, I knew it was time for this 13 year old to read the inscription inside. I wonder if she was excited for me gaining the knowledge of the contents of the locket, or just as curious to know of the words written inside also? As I opened the sizable piece carefully, it had just a few words….’The 7 Sisters hold the key to home, 2012 marks the journey’. These words carried more weight than ‘Two Ton Tony’, for certain! Being the first generation of my family to be born in America, I typically know of my Congolese heritage and was proud of such. My grandmother was the matriarch of the family and as my father would say from time to time, “Women hold the key to the ‘tree of life’….and Africa is the root of said tree”. But, what did that mean exactly? After, much examining of my ancient culture, I found out that not long ago, the women of my heritage binded the skulls of their children. This practice predated the birth of Christ by 400 years. My grandmother was the first generation to forego the practice, yet, spoke of an intellectually, ancient African race of beings that possessed the same features at birth and the practice of binding the cranium at birth, was giving homage to the ‘creatures of life’ and that African women, the ‘cultivators of civilization’, should never forget such. We should never forget that the stars are from which they came, and the heavens are always watching! Now, that I am considered a man at 13 years of age, I must continue do more research, to know of the 7 Sisters before 2012…..wish me luck……
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe2 years ago in Families
Urban Hearthstone
Home consist of 8.8 million entities encased in urban anima- Enigmatically, 16.16 million eyes don’t see me, 16.16 million feet walk past without sincere acknowledgement- judgmental stares reside in the eyes that blind, nothing has the chance to become righteous, maybe nothing every could in such an dismal environment? courageously, I fought for this nation, ‘home of the brave’ has cavernous elucidation at these moments, could this keen knowledge be the ‘song of perpetuity’, what does it mean, not to be seen by many, when such an abundance of apertures are stuck in a fastened position of ‘apathetic abyss’, ‘home is where the heart is’, but how does that heart beat continuously without earthen compassion for those of us whom call these cold streets ‘HOME’?
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
Malodorously 2012
(Two men stand side by side as only one speaks. Horrid sounds and noises of people screaming and the chaos that ensues down the valley, only miles from them, creep up to the mountain top like ‘devil dogs’ announcing their near presence. The elder speaks to his much younger disciple. The younger of the men, just eagerly and intensively listens as the elder speaks…...)
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Fiction
Summer Storm
A piquancy of estival solstice epoch, Central to the realms of a four quire, The taste of sodium in the air heightens the flowery knowledge of summer’s educ, Love is riding the tropical waves of nudiustertain whispers of a ulotrichous navire, A gobbledygook of heat and colors combine with an acute sweaty passionate taste of agastopia, Sandy saunters serendipitously awaken beached islands of lonely, The holding of hands encourage Ethiopian utopia, Will this be the genial catalysts of integrate abalone, A pool of beachballs bounce jubilee internally, Change is anticipatedly arriving like summer vacation, Bring in this wave close to your blossom maternally, Watch closely from the lifeguard station, Love can be chaotically warm, Like a summer storm....
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
Chasm of Relativity
What is black, is it the absence of or the overwhelming inclusion of totality? Does black absorb the ‘Silhouettes of life’, or does black choke the fibers that created such an abyss? Does black signal the beginnings of all existence from an effulgent so distant, that it’s perception is unfathomable? Or does black pirouette on the sheer filament of time and matter? Is black the hero or the villain of the ‘saga of understanding’? Does black confiscate more than it’s worth, or grant more than it should? Does black frighten by it’s presence, or radiant with it’s inhabitance? What is black to you? How is your interaction with the idea of black? Is black too black or not black enough? Can black just be black? Can black survive it’s rich history? I believe that the color would say..... “just absorb it all and hold it close to your heart”....... “Fore, this is black and always will be”
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
Bereft Joy
As I wait for inspiration on the ‘Throne of Comprehesion’, I truly desire the ‘taxonomic reason’ for inhaling life to it’s fullest. With the age of 50 literally two weeks away, a mundane existence is starting to and appears to be cultivating in the horizon. Mind you, some may espouse that this is a manifestation of the aftermaths of Covid-19....but is it though? I ponder, could this pandemic very well be the culprit, or just an accelerent of the asinine existence currently and/or ahead of me? As an avid reader, and a ‘wanna be’, professional writer, I long for a life of those that I have read about in the abutting past. Wealthy individuals who have left a profession, in which that they have known all of their lives, only to pursue an ‘unknown’ experience greater than themselves and whom have tightly grasped ‘lighting in a bottle’! These turn of events and interest could have been completely ripe for failure, but still drove them to the desire to find their ‘Cliff of Exploration’. This was an interlining task only for them to accurately jump blindly into, it was the ‘inner success’ that was there inside themselves all along! Names of inspiration, that clearly make this old man dream of distant, unfounded success and desires that I long for deep inside of me are well known individuals. Names like Duncan Hines, whom found change in a career after the ripe old age of 55, only to become a ‘household name’, in America, in his 70’s. Or females like Vera Wang or Martha Stewart, whom had accomplished great success in an arena that was comfortable to them, only to take a leap of faith in a realm that was somewhat unknown. Could an ‘unknown ascendency’ lie within me? Could I change my mundane existence and truly find happiness in my feverish dreams....perhaps? Or maybe my path may follow the guidelines of someone like Joy Behar? A woman whom enjoyed a life of teaching students in high school, but in her mid-forties, decided to take up her real passion of stand-up comedy and found considerable success in teaching others to laugh at life when times were trifling or syndical. Man, I ponder.....I wonder if this is achievable in my life, could it be possible, again I ask? In light of Covid-19 amongst us, I must wipe my slate clear of this, ‘pandemic of fear’ and create the person that I feel exist just beneath the surface. I must pursue a path, my path, that I believe that God has intended for me. In my heart and soul, it is a somewhat clear destiny that has always been planned for me to walk along since the beginnings of manhood, only to be greatly desired and appreciated right now in my ‘seasoned existence’. I pray that the timing and execution is completely accurate for producing success and happiness. Well, with each word that I write, I find comfort in knowing wholeheartedly that even if I come within 1/100th of a Joy Behar, I will somehow posses 1/2 of her namesake. I will and must posses, ’Joy’! ‘Joy’, in an old man experiencing a new journey in life. ‘Joy’, in trying something difficult in a difficult time for myself and a difficult time in humanity’s history amongst a pandemic. ‘Joy’, in not truly knowing what lies around the corner, but running towards it anyways. ‘Joy’, in this ‘humdrum knowledge of 50’ and not giving a damn anymore about the aftermaths. ‘Joy’, just for the sake of such, man because I deserve such! In these trying times of a pandemic and old age, it is all that I have left.....and I cannot and will not fail........’Bereft Joy’ in the ‘rear view’ awaits me and I wish the same for any aged individual feeling the exact same as I do......we deserve such.....we are worthy of such! ❤️
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Motivation
Silent But Deadlier
Let’s begin by explaining that this is definitely not a fable in any sort of way. This is a story that I hold close to my chest and only a minute amount of close friends, that I consider family, know of said story.The only reason is because they were there on that dreadful, Saturday night. I have changed the name of my closest friend in this story, which to this day, I call, ‘my brother from another mother’. Let’s call him, ‘Curly’, for legal and social purposes, shall we? I must also mention that after growing up with the Three Stooges, I had always wished that my mother had named me, ‘Curly’, legally. This was well until I was deep into my twenties. Call me ‘crazy’, but this too is 100% true and ‘screw you’, if you think any of this to be a lie, LOL ! Ok, here is how the freakin’ story goes....... ‘Curly’ owned a small percentage of a huge bar and restaurant, that I frequently patronized. Suitably, let’s call it, ‘Moe’s Place’ for all of the other ‘die-hard’ fans of the lovable Stooges like myself. This place was a bar that on certain Saturday nights, I would actually ride my motorcycle directly into, revving my engine. Now, this was a rare spectacle only utilized when extremely large amounts of tequila and beer were consumed before arrival? But, gosh damn, did I love it and the ‘newbies’ to the establishment had a kool story to tell about their night at ‘Moe’s Place’! Another known and much pleasurable fact was that this bar possessed a ‘topless’ only strip-club. It was separately attached to the back end of ‘Moe’s Place’, as well as above the bar, with a completely separate entrance. Now, Curly and I were known by every patron as, ‘The life of the party’, and as drinking goes, by all and every means, we absolutely were. I must also indulged that we were not young men in our early ‘twenties’, but childish fellows in our early ‘forties’. (I was a ‘late bloomer’, so freakin’ sue me if you can’t relate to trying to play a little ‘catch up’ in life?) When it comes to enjoying what life we have here on earth, I feel deeply that age should not matter, but only the good times with friends and family should. Trying to out drink younger guys and making people laugh was Curly’s and my passion. We lived by an ‘unwritten’ Marine Corps motto that ‘tomorrow is never promised, so drink up every ounce of goodness of life, today’! (Our wives at the time would sometimes argue that our motto should not be taken ‘literally’, but knew that we were ‘ happy drunks’, not ‘cheaters’ and would allow us blow off some steam from time to time.) This night of the story was birthday night for Curly and I promised him and others, that I would be the funniest and most fun guy at this birthday party. We were known for trying to out do one another to make people laugh and forget their ‘woes in life’. Tonight had to be ‘epic’ in every sense of the word! The only thing was that, I had the reminance of a slight ‘stomach virus’ brewing, but I would not let the advice of my caring wife and ill stomach stop my attempts of greatness this night. As the night flowed of tequila, whiskey and beer, my stomach ‘brewed of deceit’. But, how can I, in good conscious, listen to it’s lies..... I could not, I wouldn’t! I would still try to achieve the title of, ‘King of the funny men’, and nothing must stand in my way, even as a bubbling was a brewing. Later, after three hours of drinking, Curly suggested a couple of drinking hours in the VIP section of the strip club, just before everyone took cabs to their homes and wives. ‘Excellent idea’, I thought to myself...’Most excellent idea, sir. Lead the way and I shall follow’! I had two hundred more dollars just screaming to exit my pockets! Arriving at the entrance of the club, with a loving entourage of Marines ready to have fun, we were greeted like kings. “Right this way fellas”, “good to see you again tonight” and “your usual table in VIP is free tonight for Curly’s birthday”. These words rang out from the every member of the caring staff. “If there is anything you guys need, do not hesitate to ask”. We all nodded politely and were ushered in. Here, the antics began to appear as funny man after funny man did something to make the staff and other Marines laugh. Not one man was being rude to staff or ackward in any way. We were all like family in this establishment, even including the staff. Every one knew each other by first name and everyone knew each other for years. Curly even asked some dancers politely to handsomely pay them for allowing him to dance for them as they sat down and drank. The ladies laughed and enjoyed ever moment of getting paid to drink champagne and receive a lap dance or two from an slightly overweight, old Marine . “Well played, Curly”, I thought to myself. “You may very well win, ‘Funny man of the night’, tonight”? How can I top this antic? Is there any way possible? Then, the tequila said to me, “You can do this, you can top him, Marine”!!!! Just then, not thinking clearly, I said to myself..... ‘a silent, but deadly’ fart would do the trick. It had worked before and it would be a ‘show stopper’. Oh.....but, I was sooooooo wrong! As I let one go, my inebriated self forgot about my wife’s sound advice. I forgot that she was a highly educated nurse that was trained to understand the beginnings and ends of a stomach virus. But, in that precise moment of farting, I surprisingly realized that I had a terrible stomach virus and I just made a dreadful mistake! I had just pooped myself and did not know what to do and where to turn next? As I sat hopelessly in the corner of the booth, and Marine after Marine and dancer after dancer faces begin to grasp the ‘Stench of death’ in the air, everyone laughed and said, ‘O.....k....who in the hell let one rip’??? Dancer after dancer began to leave disgusted as nauseousness ran rampant. The frolicking atmosphere of jubilee abruptly stopped. My ‘plans of greatness’ have indeed gone awry. Curly stood up, grabbed a bottle of champagne and said that he had an admission that he wanted to relay. The toast went like this...” I just want to tell you fellas that you have made this night one of the greatest of my life!” I could only nervously giggle and order a last round of drinks before I could plan my sh#tty escape. Curly, continued with his toast.... “I also wanna say that the ‘sh#t has literally hit the fan, fellas. I had been feeling sick today, but had to celebrate with my closest pals. Can someone just close the tab for me so we can head home, please?” As everyone left, Curly could see in my eyes how embarrassed I was and handed me a extra shirt to tie around my waste. Curly said to me smiling, “The stomach virus that you have now, I had last week. I tried to do the exact thing you did Monday at the bar. One of the waiters saved my ass literally LOL. So, know I am saving yours, brother.” I thanked him as he said to me, as we exited the club hurriedly, “Hopefully, bro, you don’t have to ‘play it forward’ next week?”😂
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Confessions
‘Merlot’ From NC
As a simple and uncomplicated black man from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, my unexpected career opportunity in London, England was frightening. Yet, that being said, still a beautifully explorational process to explore. See, ever since I was a child, ‘knee-high’ to a grasshopper, I fixated with the idea of once in my lifetime visiting, ‘The Big Smoke’. I longed to hear ‘proper’ English spoken the way it was designed to be approached into the ear cavity. I dreamt of devouring ‘fish and chips’, in a newspaper, by the River Thames. Now, as a fairly young man, not only am I getting that chance to visit this ‘gem of a city’, I have also acquired the opportunity to work and reside here as well. And now that I am a little older than that ‘dreaming kid’, I may even partake in a hefty pint of beer, to accompany my ‘street food’ by the river? My arrival at Heathrow airport was hectic to say the least. Never in my life have I ever been to a city so grand and I must also be completely frank with you; never in my life have I even witnessed a subway system, and now I find myself hopelessly and clumsily trying to navigate this elaborate system alone, with a plethora of Samsonite bags. (Later, I would find out from someone that arriving at Heathrow airport was much less of a hectic struggle than the further away, Gatwick airport.) Nevertheless, I found my way to my small, yet, stylish ‘flat’ near Trafalgar Square, in central London. I was greeted by a ‘smartly’ dressed doorman. (And yes, as luck would have it, I lived but only a minute walk from my apartment to my beloved river below!). Greeted by the doorman, he says, “ It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Frankfort. Here are your keys to your new ‘flat’. Would you care for any help with your bags, sir ”? I answered him puzzled.... “ How did you know my name and who I was? “ He answered back in a deep British accent, “ Sir, this building is own by your company and 100% of the tenants in this building are occupied by your corporation’s counterparts. It is my job to know every face and name of each individual residing here and to make sure that each person is provided for adequately. And if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.” I replied gratefully, “ Ok, I appreciate that, but I am just going to go upstairs and rest a bit....but, thank you.” As I was tirelessly inching toward the elevator, the doorman briskly walks up to me from behind and utters, “ By the way, sir, forgive me, but I forgot to give you this letter and a bottle of perfectly-aged merlot left for you. I replied, “ Kool, probably just a ‘welcome gift’ from the corporation or something, thanks? ” As I made my way into my apartment, I gazed out of my window at the perfect view of the River Thames. As I sat down and placed the bottle of wine on the counter, I glanced at the letter. It read, ‘ Welcome to London, ‘Merlot’. You not only have you followed your dream and claimed it, you have surpassed ever aspect of this said dream. This was a dream that most could not even fanthom coming from a tiny city on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Someone as beautifully, ‘dark and smooth’ as a merlot, should only sip on the best of such. After you freshen up, meet me downstairs at the bar with the bottle of wine, I will posses the wine glasses for us to drink and ‘catch up’. I will be anticipatingly waiting on your presence, ‘Merlot’❤️ ‘. Now, two things that you may not know about me, is that I don’t know a soul in this city and most importantly, the nickname given to me by my much older cousins, as that kid dreaming of a life in London, was affectionately known as, ‘Merlot’. ( This was because of the dark rich complexion of my skin. Only someone from my neighborhood would know of this nickname? ) So, I hurriedly showered, dressed and gotten on an elevator to the bottom floor. At the entrance of the door of the bar downstairs, wearing my favorite black suit, I grasped this great bottle of wine and the notion of whom this could be? Then, right there, at the end of the bar with two wine glasses, sat ‘Monica’, my very first ‘crush’ in middle school. She looked beautiful as ever and smiled seductively as she said, “Good evening, ‘Merlot’. I guess that you are wondering what I may be doing here in London? I know that it has been a considerable amount of time, since we communicated with each other last. But, when I ran across your name and picture on your resumé, I had to have your talent and friendship on my team. I have lived here in London for quite some time and to have someone that I care for from home, here on my team, would be an absolute blessing.” Still confused, yet pleasantly surprised by this meeting, I asked, “ Monica, wow.... I really missed you and where have you been all of these years? Wait... and how did you come across my resumé ? ” She smiled even bigger as she answered, “ Well, I am not the CEO of the company, but I have a little pull here. Two things, that bottle of Merlot that you are holding in your hand, is not only made by the company that you work for, but it is partly owned by me. Strangely enough, I too had desired dreams of far away lands. I am the ‘majority’ stockholder of the company, ‘Merlot’.” Winking at me she says, “ So, why don’t you have a seat next to me, find us a corkscrew and let’s drink, catch up and celebrate? ” I asked her jokingly, “ Is this finally going to be considered our ‘first date’ or is ‘fraternizing’ not allowed in the company? ” She replied as she grab my hand, “ I own the company, ‘Merlot’, so, we can call this whatever we like and I would love the idea of this being considered our first date. I missed you deeply ”. I just shook my head, realizing that the world is much smaller than we know.....and unfathomable dreams can actually become reality.....if you just believe in the ‘dark richness’ of it all.
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Humans
I want to.....
I want to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time, I want to run nude in front of others without exposing myself, I want to make love to that woman without getting screwed, I want to live life to the fullest without killing myself, I want to get rid of my girlfriend’s cat without losing her pussy, I want to take a stab at life without missing the point, I want to write typos and type in short-hand left handed, I want to run in circles like a complete square, I want to shoot the sh#t without making myself the target and it blowing up in my face, I want.... I want to.... I want to....WANT
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
Lust is in the Air
The distinct internal writings of two jezebels, Caressed by the numerous, like toes in summer sands, Bringing us homeward bound, To the lecherous natures within, Sauve tongues lick the gospels of sin, Locutions cascading in the night’s aerate, Whispering naughty fashions against the lobes, Inflammational thoughts swell the ‘moist areas of tension’, Reasons of seduction, I deduced? This rationality appears, then dissipates rapidly, A strong wind of desire desperately shed light, Not unlike that of Florida’s perceperational attributes, Nature grasps it’s social butterfly in a ‘Cocoon of Dereliction’, The moth inside has died like puberty, The sexual avarice of a demigod is warranted, The ‘Pheromones of Lust’ cloud the mind, Lust is in the Air
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
Spray
Engage into intellect, tally reason, Genius is water, clear cavities of intellectual abyss, a doublet of momentous voluntary, clairvoyance of one’s atmosphere, a relic of genealogical splendor, retire any notion this tenet may possess, fore, this is a ceiling that holds no floor, or shall I report, a floor that paralleled only by that of open visuals, dance in your own invertible jubilee, soundly knowing, up can be down and visa-versa, in the realm of knowledge, nullity does not draw breath, in this race to save humanity, serendipitously accurate passages for mankind to pursue only exist, a relished ‘cinder of erudite’, congenitally grasped from genius to genius, spraying alphanumerical sentience to breath incessantly
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
30 Something
Parade through childhood, Jump from boyish fevers into man-sprung anguished, Billions of imperfections somatic in verse, Crops of fallibility prosper in the sand, A nightmare of wills emulate, A chapter of life, in the atmosphere of Judas, In the size of Neptune, salivate for the ‘Lost Age of Indiscretion’, Rightfully so, long for the absence of bills or the responsibilities that dictate the transition from childish freedoms to adult constraints, A bizarre zombie of accountability, A mute screaming panic, as the ‘submarine of cadence’, descends closer to the darkest of realms, Awake to the inboard sounds of argumentation, Awake, my friend, to the reverberation of 30-something
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe3 years ago in Poets
