Poem: House of Glass

It's okay to be my age
These days I don't tell myself
A lot of things about myself
Because I'm a bit afraid of the
Way I might react to the sound of my voice
The world makes a lot of noise
Sometimes I wish to be deaf
Sometimes I wish to be blind
I long not to feel
What it feels like to feel
Because I feel peculiar when I feel
The world traps me in sometimes
Hurls me toward the centre of my shadow
Face to face with my mind
Unsure what I will find
In my eyes
I don't know if I'd like the truth
I always hated being lied to
I don't know what I want from myself
I'm scared of my heart
That fragile thing that carries me
I'm scared of the thoughts
That consume the machines
By which I breathe and through
Which I think of you
My inner mirror
I don't want it to shatter
I dread the sound of glasses at war
Breaking like crystal raindrops slamming
Against each other in midair
I'm afraid of myself
Tamed by my shadow
Disciplined by my dreams
Like a wolf with an attitude


Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs Poetry.

Gaga Wisdom

"Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you're wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn't love you anymore." - Lady Gaga

Extract from short story: A Darker Shade of Grey

A Darker Shade of Grey

by

Raeez Jacobs

I feel like a packet full of smoke, choked on the top by chubby hands.

My mind is adrift so many thoughts, as if my head is a boardwalk for these soughts of things. Yet my mind is like the packet full of smoke; weightless and questionable. Scientifically. Philosophically. I never question it, because I hate getting things wrong, and my mind is the last thing I wan’t a fist fight with. This feeling has been scarce, and I can’t say I’ve missed it. Only I know it’s really familiar; I can be comfortable with it when I want to be, and I can be real uncomfortable with it too. I keep feeling as if my room is a platform, and a train would soon stop here, but all that materialises in the dimness, is a soccer-ball-sized puff of steam. The train is one of the things in my head, meant to represent something bigger than my inadequate imagination; something by which I become a quintessential dumbass. A piece of shit, son of a gun...call it whatever, the fact remains a fact.

The rain is just starting to fall, and I drown in every drop, like a meak speck of atmosphere. My eyes meet the wet road; the gravel from which steam rises, like a lane in a horror movie, and they stay there for hours. The clouds roll and the air darkens, as if more blackberry essence is being poured into the air by a servant of God. I think I can feel the wetness, yet I am indoors. I hear the rain make war on my zinc roof, and I know I’m not going to bother breaking my posture, to hell at deaf allies making so much noise above me.

 ©RaeezJacobs.2012.

[Poem] Toffee Skinned Goddess

Six-legged, nine arms

a goddess stuffed through

a dazzlig cincture

one-eyed in your shrine

choking on the brine

swirling like the twist

of a ballerina with sharp points

in the metro of your throat

jerking like a wind-smacked

postal pole with all your scarlet

letters turning upward like a UFO

and then raining down on you

like festive confetti

returned to sender

the repeat offender

calpable bender

with a little bit of she

in your masculinity

your skin is made of toffee

shining like vanilla floors when the

sun hits the windowpane

there ain’t no virgil going down

up your alley in your temple

but you feel the flame

feel the burn

as the torrent makes folds

and bangles of your loose

skin

you can’t grow accustomed

to the feeling

and your ears deafen

as you eavesdrop on the

screeching conversation between

your bone and your pulled muscle

that tear each other to shreds

while you try catch the drops of

confetti but they slip through

your fingers and disappear in the

palm of your hand

 ©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2012

[Poem] Of You- R. Jacobs

everything reminds me of you
when i think back
in the tape of my mind
i see you turning in my stereo

and i hear your lungs
pressing out the music
coming from your sweet mouth
with your hands changing
the way the wind felt on my cheeks

i see your eyes as i see
two headlights in the night
with the same anxious heart
of a lonely traveller

taking my jeans and smirk
down some pretty dangerous roads
getting into an old Chevy
with some sweet thing

who listened to Pour Some Sugar on Me
at the loudest volume
and made me sweat like
a slave in hell

with shackles at my shaking knees
rattling like possessed sea shells

hot and bothered
directly exposed to the heat

that all reminds me of you

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2012

A piece of

-lambency jumps from the verses

your description glistens

you are the torch of my poetry

when the mist takes me hostage

you beautify my sordid miasma

Awkward Turtles and Romps

I’ve been contemplating getting a tattoo, for a long time now. I should

have been inked, around the time of my birthday (May 3, to be precise)

but somehow, it just never materialized as slated. Okay, I didn’t end up

getting it, because I was with a group of friends, gallivanting the streets

of Johannesburg, like tipsy-still-thirty gypsies. Literally, we were nomads.

but i won’t elaborate on that too much, since this piece is about ‘my tattoo’,

not about the alibis and setbacks. I remember the reaction I received, when

i reminded everyone that one of the stops (of the many) needed to be made

that day, should have been at the parlour; i could sense the disgruntlement,

although I do also understand that we were under immense pressure, to

find accommodation and settle in, having been on the road, literally, since

the night before.

I relented on the immediate need, and decided (promised myself)  that I could

just get it another time, and that it really wasn’t such a huge kettle of fish.

But albeit giving up, I remained aware of the rather irking fact that, I was not

always apt to save money, and that I would most likely be able to do my tattoo

six times over, with all the money I received, sporadically during the year, but

still wouldn’t end up inked, because of the former fact, of my disposition to

spend, foolhardily.

The 2012 year is about to end, and something I’ve wanted since the fall of the

previous year, might just remain a want until the break of the new year.

I don’t want that to happen. I am going to try with every corpuscle of

my being, to make this little dream become a reality before i carry, what should

be considered: ‘an expired dream’, into a year I’ve set aside for the

creation, development and emergence, of so many other ambitions, goals, etc.

For those who don’t know, the tattoo that I’ve been yearning to get on

my skin is; the outline (in bold and black, not beautiful lines) of a tattoo,

with it’s stout legs pushed out at its sides. The lack of detail has everything to

do with my simplicity, and also the symbolism of it;

the outer lines depict the shadow of the turtle

the boldness of the lines symbolise the texture (in a sense), lending

to the idea of strength (in relation to the turtle’s shell)-à the hard shell,

signifies the face of exterior strength, and also the length and breath of

the protection we assimilate, as defenses and to keep out what we

don’t welcome in. The line is like a wall, in other words, except that

we don’t live within the construct, we are it, and the walls are

bold and thick, emphasising that we have strong bodies and spirits, but

mostly that we are unimpressionable and our mental state is able

to perservere influence.

The turlte became sort of an influential ‘figure of fauna’ to me, around the

time i started enjoying my trips down marijuana avenue, with my crazy antics,

illusions and artistic paraphernalia like, viz. my poetry pads, pens, notebooks, and

imagined realities.  

The turtle was then used, to let one another know, if the other was already high. In that way,

we would all be cognisant of the state we were in. That was it, really. However, turtles had

long since stood out for me, because of how dissimilar they are to other animals, and how

their speed is criticised. I believe that, it was this criticism which somehow made me privy, of the

entitlement assumed, destructive criticism given, and the judgements handed out by humans, extending the criticism, control over, and judgement of other human beings to animals, in a global and evolving world. The turtle is almost like me, though I am anything but slow; I tend to slow down, casually, to peruse what’s happening around me, and I might even take a while to get going again. I’m comfortable in my shell- my outer experience, and it’s of great importance to me, because not only does it encase my organs, but it’s a point by which I am perceived, socially. Irrespective of whether such a perception affects me or not, my physical appearance matters to me, not only for partial veneration and admiration from others, but it’s also something I can contain and construct my qualia (innate reality); my mental world is concealed, and kept private through my outer frame. Exactly, the way turtles are concealed within their shells.

Example of Turtle Outline for tattoo

Picture from my birthday weekend, with Azizza and Chanelle

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Through the wall

Last night in the room together
and suddenly we start to feel
the weight of the word, forever
press down on our minds,
thoughts, assumptions, and
crippling existences

the very last hour
like this- arm in arm,
or whatever you would like to
call it
the final moments
of our union;
the split occurs here
suddenly, we know fear

and realise that, we had
never really been scared
before our amalgamated clocks
began to tick away
edging toward the end

it was meaningless and empty
back then
it was just about screaming
and exuding steam
like Victorian trains
stuck within concrete tubes
on the most tired day lived

no we know
both of us, twine as
moon and night
sun and day

what the world feels like
soon as emptiness begins to form
in the shape of each other's aura

so we hold each other so close
as if infinity would somehow
begin to move through
our joined arms
as if we could imprison each other
in the thing we were trying
to build

they won't understand
what happened to me
that night
the poet's fail at it
and so do the wise
but I can tell you do
by the way you bat your eyes


                                 -Raeez Jacobs

©RaeezJacobs.2012.Poetry

Poem: Between Hearts

Your heart and Mine

between your heart and mine,

there is a space of,

bewilderment and wonder

there are questions,

becoming edgy,

between your heart and mine

there is no other disagreement,

but our own fear, brewing

between, your heart and mine

time flows, as it should flow,

and feelings go,

where feelings usually go,

between your heart and mine

now-

the stars don’t shine, the torches never glow,

yet, there was once a spark

between your heart and mine

lit up, like an amusement park

an arm away

from an embrace,

an hour away

from your gate,

your world is an open

book,

my world, is

your story

and there, are no errors,

between your heart and mine

tensions are nascent,

between your heart and mine,

and neandethal feelings

are discarded,

but beautiful things remain,

while compliments fill

the balloons floating,

from your heart, to mine,

so they burst from airs and graces

there is a

silenced secret,

and suppressed

emotion, twirling

in the space, between your heart and mine

there are words, questions,

curiosities, lights waiting to glow,

answers, desires,

and events, between your heart and mine

there are things to

anticipate, dream-of,

and decipher, between our hearts;

there are unspoken languages,

contrived laws, and a collision,

of red hot feelings- crashing into each other,

like two planets merging-

worlds diverging, between

our aching hearts,

and

gravity flows, eternally

through the vents

of my heart,

into yours,

so both our hearts,

are calmed, void o’ fury,

and unintimidated by

the love jury,

and both our hearts,

are carried by,

the force of nature

we never show it,

though it is live;

there are performances,

on the stages, in the

spotlight,

between your heart and mine,

hence, we become so broadway that,

no thick line

can cross out, the way we feel;

turning through the Hollywood wheel,

we’ve got fame out our feet,

and take to the arts, for theraphy;

beneath a creavity canopy

there is a silenced,

longstanding, robust,

and an unblemished aura

circling and flappin’

through the rings and clouds,

in the ambience

between your heart and mine

there is a whole

other world, no man alive

could build, with his

bare hands or heavy tools;

constructed in, the urban setting,

between your heart and mine

I know I’ll be fine,

and you will be too

because each and every one,

of your heartbeats,

reassure and console me;

every second of your life, adds

another mintute to mine...

implying that, there is one ending

between your heart and mine,

therefore, we will perish, identically,

then together in the underworld, we will

continue to be

as only you could

see, what everyone

else was blind to;

my breaking points-

moral hypotheses; experiments,

to see what would happen,

should i witness you fade,

becoming so paranoid

that,

for days,i swam through my horoscope,

as if there were chemicals,

on the page,

that could cease, whatever

the stars perceived as trauma,

or as if i could dive, straight into hope,

desperately trying to make time

become less fractious, and

praying, for emotional traffic, to flow

freely in the passages between

your heart and mine

as if the soul of the sign,

and the astrologer’s orotund prediction,

would make it less malice,

and more milignant

operative upon

our own train ride,

with nothing to hide,

in our hearts; goin’ round the track,

‘til we came back, with our

Heads, pregnant, heavily, with

ideas, and things to say

and it was then, the tunnel

was formed,

between your heart and mine

so that you could, walk-in

on my lies, and see them, before

they were even formed,

so that i could sleep, in the hazel

duvet ,of your eyes, covered by

your lashes, soft as feather

you knew how i ascended, and

descended, like

interrupted surprises or ecstasy,

when you were too scarce

for me, to dial your number,

and sit still, with your voice

caressing the inside of my ear-

you altered by the seams,

and we graduated from an era;

an age of unseen,

enchanting, and different

ways, or diverse shades,

of the same day,

making all the difference;

testing me, and tempting me,

to submit my body, and soul-

clinging to a celestial pole

but,

strength differed now;

the cavity in which it bred,

had it purling- stirring,

all the miseries, under the bed,

power wanted to

mimic the head,

and slice through, what should

not have been said, while all the heart did,

was try, not to make, the eyes see-

that it was sadly,

bucking away, against a

few dislocated ribs,

in the lampshade

shaped chamber

because, it was too

afraid of the conscious,

bereft-of-thorough-thought, kind of mental state,

we adopted, when we were suffocated by fate;

casting out meaningless anger, and hate,

while meandering, shyly,

between your heart and mine

we depended upon,

abusing each other,

and once, i was still holding on,

and trapped

in your shadow, when you

turned to go;

abandoning me- leavin’ me

to hang there, raped by

rough, autumn air,

in the orgy of wind, smaking

me, from side to side,

‘til i erased that

thick line, separating,

your heart from mine

and decreased

the distance,

between your our hearts,

because there could be no

gaps or cracks,

between your heart and mine

                                                                   -Raeez Jacobs

©RaeezJacobs.2012.Poetry 

Gorgeous Award

In retrosepct, Britney Spears has never surfaced as the kind of celebrity who filled the 'best-dressed' or 'most fashionable' sections of our many fashion mags and ezines out there. She has always been plonked into the opposite section; 'worst-dressed' and 'what were you thinking', since her inception in the late 90s. Over the years, Britney has had a selection of outfits that have been glamorous and fabulous, like the skin tight and revealing little number she wore to the NRJ award in 2002 or that lace mini dress, she dorned to the VMAs a year earlier. There have been some questionable outfits, like the orange and purple mess for the billboard awards in 2000.

Britney Spears in see-through, mini dress at 2001 MTV Video Music Awards

at the 2000 Billboard Music Award in this very eyebrow raising outfit 

Ever since becoming a judge on X factor and her illustrious shoot with ELLE in Septermber, Britney has been looking good, and fashion honcho's have been marvelling at her panache selection of dresses, and other outfits recently. Britney has matured, in more ways than one and more than just her sexual appeal is highlighted when thinking of her. This Britney is classic, yet laid back. This Britney is empowering; a Femme Fatale whose role is neither in the fashion world, nor in the twisted world of sexual attraction, but inside a world, where control comes having experience, and where looking good doesn't need to be emphasized, for the attraction of followers, looking good is just about looking and feeling good. Essentially.

Rocking the Cover of Elle's September 2012 issue.

FAVOURITE: Britney at City of Hope Gala 2012, October 20 in Los Angeles in this chic Halston  dress and Alexis Bittar Jewelery.

Various looks for the X Factor 2012.

At the Grammy's tribute to Whitney Houston, 2 nights ago in this Gray Level Courture dress

As a fan, I am extremely proud to see Britney in such a positive place, and around so many good people, who aren't there to exploit or take advantage of her. Her life has been ameliorated, and she has returned to grabbing all the right headlines. Keep it warm, light, and positive Ms. Spears