Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Who Really Lost Super Bowl 49

By Carly Pete

Super Bowl XLIX (49) Will Be Played In Arizona, And The Opening Favorites Are The Denver BroncosI had no distractions, no quantities of snacks to prepare, no college homework. For the first time ever, I watched the whole Super Bowl at home alone, without male commentary in the house, yet understanding the plays because of having raised sons whose lives for lengthy periods of time while growing up revolved around football, both playing and watching. Football in our testosterone filled home had always been an occasion for celebration. And, the Super Bowl? If another family member or friend wasn’t throwing a Super Bowl party, it was because our family was hosting one that year. Even those of us, mostly women and girls, who neglected to follow along religiously through the whole season became fully conscious by the Super Bowl and knew which teams were playing and who we wanted to win.

Personally, I liked the community the game built across teams, even nations, through a display of sportsmanship, fairness and reward – the one goal one bowl of it all. Over the years, I saw the Super Bowl as a worldwide event that millions of people, including couples, families and friends, watched together – the cooking equivalent of black-eyed peas and collard greens on New Year’s Day for a foodie like me.

By game time I was all set – with tuna salad, red-skinned potato kale cheese soup, and homemade buttermilk cornbread – leftovers from my grandchildren’s sleepover the night before. I watched Super Bowl 49, from start to finish, contentedly alone, for the very first time…yet knowing my people near and far would be watching, too.

The game was spectacular throughout, until the last minute.

The next day, my brother said the losing play call came from the owners’ box, not the Seahawks’ coach. One son said, “bleh,” he had been busy with his family and had only half-watched the game. One said the outcome was Russell’s fault! The third son and I didn’t get a chance to talk until Tuesday night (although I’d seen a Facebook post from him Sunday after the game referencing slantgate, haha). He elicited a different issue: Christopher informed me that Pete Carroll formerly coached the Patriots, previous to Belichick. Whaaaaaaat? I did not know that…

So, had only one owner won? Had everyone else lost, in addition to Pete, like the 2000 US Presidential Election, which, in my opinion, was ultimately decided by a single vote among the five/four majority on the Supreme Court, possibly Clarence Thomas’s decision? Or, had one of these coach frenemies simply lost a bet, like in the movie Trading Places? Did Pete Carroll lose a bet and have no choice but to call that slant play? Therefore, were we – fans, quarterbacks, teams, coaches – all of us, merely pawns in their high stakes power play?

Whoever was responsible for the bad call during Super Bowl 49, that person had no meaningful relationship with the Seahawks Team and is not a winner. That part is clear.

My son, Lawrence, a football enthusiast from way back, presented an even more complex scenario to me. He pondered what might have been had the quarterback defied the powers-that-be and run the ball that last yard himself. Whew! Now, that’s real leadership, the caliber of a man who knows under which circumstances – for the people he loves and when it’s the right thing to do – to break the rules.

I give my heartfelt congratulations to Richard Sherman, Marshawn Lynch, and Russell Wilson, in that order…also, Malcolm Butler.

Overall, it’s irrelevant that Pete Carroll and Bill Belichick coached the Patriots in consecutive years. But, for pete’s sake – Pete, your love/hate relationship with Bill was pathetically apparent by the play you called. And, if the owner of your team or another of your coaches is responsible for that play, neither of you has a substantive relationship, understanding, nor respect enough for the Seahawks.

Hell, I think I could have coached that last minute better than you, and I’m just a girl called Pete. That last minute, as Lawrence would say, “Was crucial.”

Thanks for listening.

Carly Pete

About Carly Pete: Carly, a 2013 graduate of Salem College, earned B.A. degrees in Communication and Creative Writing. She resides in Winston-Salem, where she works as a communication consultant, lyricist and writer.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

We Are They by Carly Pete

By Carly Pete


So he answered, "Do not fear, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them." 2Kings 6:16, New American Standard Bible.

The above scripture was the theme for the C.H.A.N.G.E. 
https://www.facebook.com/CHANGEIAF meeting I attended on January 20, 2015 at First Baptist Church on Highland Avenue. It is a much needed reminder as we continue to strive together to build
Dr. King’s Dream into the 21st Century.

A reckoning has come
A hurt to be undone
Tomorrow has begun
Who have we become?

A tender voice is heard
A legacy in words
Emboldened loud to speak
Until our hearts can reach in black and white and gray.

                                 Excerpt from Gray©2012, CBWilliams, all rights reserved.

We are the aftermath of Selma, a ragtag coalition of dreamers who are changing the world. This righteous struggle has always been about us – what we feel is most important, who we are becoming…day by day. We, who have been wounded by injustices from the past, especially those perpetrated on our watch – we, who have had the privilege of spending time together, intentionally, across isms.

We walk together, with dignity for all. We are they. Glory!


About Carly Pete: Carly, a 2013 graduate of Salem College, earned B.A. degrees in Communication and Creative Writing. She resides in Winston-Salem, where she works as a communication consultant, lyricist and writer.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

The Best Part, of Waking Up

By Michael

A Day, great& dreadful, created to be long-remembered... In lieu of gazing at the Moon, I was nourished by the Ionic Sun* that poured thru the plastic pane of the city bus window.


No matter that it was brisk outdoors, I was lamping in the mansion, right here on this plastic seat, stationed in the back of the city bus wit' my feet kicked up in the seat before me...


I had been studying Light* for many moons, my latest& greatest light being Shanee Karriem^^... We had been building, by power-he-one (phone), for a while, so after much-ado, We were to meet at the coffee shop, on Trade. . .


The Sun* was breaking into illustrious bands of light as it pass'd thru the window pane... In my heart, I experienced an acute camaraderie wit' the people, as We traveled downtown, on a soul plane.


Surely The People could sense the brilliance of the moment as We were all illumined, at the will of the ebb&flow of shadows that breathed on the walls of the bus, as We came thru East Winston.


"Shanee Karriem...", her name escaped my lips in a breath. . .


The bus pulled into the terminal, and the door jerked ajar, vomiting it's human contents back to the realm of the cold, the unforgiving streets. All is well in my soul as the promise of love add'd an ever-vigilant spring to my step as I got closer to my Ionic Sun*, while not a Sun* of the Heavens, One Who warm'd my heart, nonetheless...


Her brilliance stunned me upon my entrance, her golden hue especially familiar thru my study of Light*... I'll never forget, two bird lips blowing pucker'd bliss over a hot tea... Eyes, shining like emeralds, set in the purest of gold... Long brown locks that appeared to have been dipped in turmeric, her wisdom so seasoned... a petite toe ring on nibbly toes, that made my breath catch in my chest...


I ❤ Her^^


"I'd like the Dark Columbian roast" I ordered from the mean owner of the shop, Chelsea, whom I had just bombed on a few days prior because of her flagrantly rude behavior.


She fixed my order with a grunt, as I studied Shanee Karriem, from across the room.....


"Mmm, mmm.... " I am without words, born u truth, I better found some, like now!


"Thank you.." I gave Miss Chelsea a few bucks for the joe, then I enter'd Light*


I am eternally grateful, for Her ... Shanee Karriem


1/5/2008 - 1/5/2015

About Michael: Michael aspires to be an upwardly mobile natural scientist whose life imitates the art he manifests in time/space. In this fashion, history is written in advance, so be mindful of the falling away of the hard shell, the haunts of the past, as he articulates his own self-defined hereafter. When a seed is born, so is a Universe; thus expansion is to the infinite.

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