Holding on to ‘Something’


I am holding on to “something,” what that something maybe I do not know.

However, I feel its tension in my daily affairs and my frustration

It grows with the mental constipation

My transformation may not begin until I discover

why and what “something” does to my mind

I hunger for a change from my old life


Am I afraid of “something”?  How do you discover fear hidden deep inside?

Well, at least I noticed my dilemma, unlike my previous life of denial

I faced nothing truthfully; however, this “something” is real

Something may be “expectations” Yes! Expectations

The dreaded process of what may happen scares me

Expectations from family, friends, and life

Conversely, I feel frustrated, it drains my spirit

And circumvents my growth, I hate to be honest


Are we ever in the “moment”?  When we have expectations?

How does one accept the moment with expectations flooding the soul?

Do we not anticipate life?  Set goals? I feel lost without expectations

and stuck with them.  Expectations frustrate my psyche and I expect

one day they will not. (You see, there I go again)

Hopefully, I rid myself of my dreaded expectations,

So, I live in the moment.

Consequently, able to accept whatever happens will feel great,

Until then; I “expect” nothing, however “something” is out there.

The Invisible Dragon

The Devil and The First Lady


Her shoes soaking wet…hair ruffles with each step.  The doors swing open hands gripped to punch.  You bastard! Obscenities fueled disrupt public setting, what did you do?  I hate you!…church members visibly puzzled.  Her curvy body swallowed by both genders. The pastor eases toward his self-made distraction.  Silent and stern …she pushes forward.  Her face stiff with unforgiveness…She blurts out, “I’m pregnant”.  The church’s grip on stern piousness challenged….a night woman threatens good faith people.  More so a christian-faith marriage.  The first lady stares on….

The first lady’s stare burns the pastor’s eyes as distant past infidelity fights awaken.  But the mystery woman’s public noise present revelations. Her thickened hipped shifting as she exposes dirty dealings.  These secrets of ‘pay for play’ forced churchgoers to squirm on theirs benches. The body parts to detailed to memorable for dismiss for the first lady…it was true.  Yet, hard believers forced a shoving match verbally and physically onto the harlot truth-teller.  Exhausted, yet unmoved, the unchurched woman made her peace.  The secret unraveled in view for all to hear.  But the first lady remained stoic and unmoved….eerily stable.

The pastor’s dirty used condoms exposed to his flock.  However their loyalty to the faith and man immovable. This dirty Jezebel out the door within seconds…deacons and disciples forcing religious order.  As Satan received the blame, tongue utterances frightened children and visitors alike.  Yet, the first lady flashed little concern…she’s being aware of this woman and others.  Angry fight stares not revisited….surprisingly to the pastor.  Things went back to order quickly in private and public quarters.  The pastor welcomed the disbelief of a nonsensical evil-filled woman.  The first lady understood completely, she’s come across quite a few evil-driven men lately and often.

Easy to betray when betrayed.  Easy to lie when deceived routinely.  The first-lady’s lover understands the rules…not quick or rushed, but strong and consistent.  Her shapely figure required  patients…care. The young 30’s something male invited months ago to rid boredom.  The convenience relationship inside hotel bedroom created a silent pact.  Untraceable by the non attentive pastor who chases loose women of night.  The young male heard her concerns, sympathize with them and received unbelievable pleasures.  She did not see youth but mental strength…subtle mannerism, courage.  The relationship strengthen by her being cared for…the her silence at the church understandable.  The first lady understood how the pastor treats women.

She wonders while her stream moves outside how she got here.  The young male moves gently atop her posture..careful not to disrupt flow. This is not evil she suspect but something from a higher being…she wants it.  She misses it at home…and thus seeks her God given gift to engage in this pleasure many times.


Story by Robert Williams


A Stranger Walking

Stranger in the night

Am I Back?

Yes I am but I was never gone.  you see I can never leave…I must finish what has begun.  What is that you say?  I’m not sure but I believe it has a hold on me…I believe my writing has become better beyond my imagination.   Although my words are simple from  a simple man…I write with some sort of flair….I would say.

Each day I stare beyond the clouds for hope.  What do you say?  Yes Hope, I’m not sure if its needed…but I look for it.  Sometimes its dark and menacing…but I’m not afraid.  I live in my reality and that can’t be that scary.  Or maybe it is…just suppose you find yourself along, waiting for the bus…but it never comes.  What is there left to do…?

Never mind the babble, I have a quest today.  What is it you say?  I think I’ll walk among the universe.  What shoes will I wear, I’m not sure.  But I think my blue or pink will be fine…my eyes will not leave the ground I walk upon….my head heavy with worry.  But this walk is my stroll crafted by my realities and dreams.

Am I back?  I never left.

The Invisible Dragon

What’s on my Consciousness’ Bookshelf?




One should not force their heroes upon others

Beside my deceased father four men immeasurable influences continue to shape my life. A hero is a strong word treading ever so close to mythical character worshipping. Real are my heroes.  The four individuals below were simple humans who possessed incredible talents. They lacked flawlessness we suspect but however their personal lives aside, the tremendous contributions to society were enormous. Nevertheless, the present written remembrance view their impact on the author’s life.


“In life there are ways of getting almost anywhere

you want to go, if you really want to go.”

Langston Hughes
6a00e55127ad3588330115709da29f970b-320wiJames Mercer Langston Hughes (February 1, 1902 – May 22, 1967) novelist, playwright, short story writer, and columnist. Reading his material opened my mental sinus to the written word. Hughes’ writings became relevant later in life; his book “The Ways of Whites Folks” is marvelous.

There are many accomplished writers but I am careful not to select baseless rhetoric to form opinions. Thus selecting black authors to learn about the past remain strictly guarded. Langston is one of the few on my bookshelf. He stated in a untangle rhythm great fiction and opinions about the negro life in the 20th century. His writing continues to position itself as the vital foundation to storytelling by this author.  He compositions appear effortless, smooth, and simple.  His writing style was magnificence.


“And now, I feel at 85, I really feel that I’m just ready to start.”

Gordon Parks

Gordon Roger Alexander Buchanan Parks (November 30, 1912 – March 7, 2006) photographer, musician, poet, novelist, journalist, activist and film director. Gordon Parks created two movies, “The Learning Tree” and “Shaft” that exploded race relations on an innocent boy. “The Learning Tree” introduced racism in an unforgiving manner.

Discovering my skin color as a negative through the character “Newt” sucked the air out of me.

People infamously remember where they were when tragic events occurred (e.g., JFK, MLK, Malcolm X, 9-11). I will never forget discovering being perceived as less than human and called a ‘nigger’ for clarity through the Learning Tree.

“Shaft” was the first movie of its kind, a powerful black man in the lead. A first time in America movie history. Gordon Parks wrote and directed the highly successful neophyte movie.  My dad and mom took me to see it.

Not to overlook, Gordon Parks was a highly awarded photographer for Time Magazine for years. An artistic genius his black and whites shots influence my present photography.  His cultural footprints creates envy.



“No society can smash the social contract and be exempt from the consequences,

and the consequences are chaos for everybody in the society.”

James Baldwin

young_james_baldwin_1James Arthur Baldwin (August 2, 1924 – December 1, 1987) novelist, writer, playwright, poet, essayist and civil rights activist. James Baldwin like Langston Hughes developed later in my life. A small man in stature Mr. Baldwin’s large love of black folks and Americans seethes through his writings and speeches.

In addition, like Langston, a valued referenced person to provide insight on race and America history in the 20th century. He chronicled the precise steps of blacks and a nation at odds.  No other author influence my microscope on race more than James Baldwin.

His homosexuality I applaud, his fierceness for inequity I applaud, his strength to write and speak of a nation in pain, I dully applaud. Mr. Baldwin is possibly the greatest writer of his time, surly he is in my opinion.


“Hating people because of their color is wrong.

And it doesn’t matter which color does the hating. It’s just plain wrong.”

Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali (born Cassius Marcellus Clay, Jr.; January 17, 1942) is a former three-muhammed-ali-john-currintime World Heavyweight Champion. Quite frankly, “The greatest heavyweight championship boxers of all time.” No man outside my father influenced my personal life more than “Ali”. His boxing career set aside, it was his brashness to be black that stroked blacks’ collective self-love aspirations. Growing up in America in the 60’-70s racism suppressed numerous positive variables associated with black people.  We needed people like Ali telling us we were people of status.

Our skin color through all forms of media indicated evil, lazy, shiftless, ugly, and untrustworthy. Although I never prescribed to this nonsense, Muhammad Ali announced those similar anti-sentiments to the world. As the most famous face on earth at the time, he pushed blackness like dope in Harlem, unapologetic.

To be clear, no black athletic or celebrity before or since measured the magnitude of Ali’s global social influence. Even more important, I needed Ali after losing my father at age 15. He was a surrogate regardless of distance and personal unfamiliarity. I learned how to play football from him, how to stand up for people, and how to be a leader. He is the most influential person to my sport and personal life outside my parents.


Robert A. Williams