|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
I call this topic wow!
Wow how stupid it is to go abroad and adopt a kid, when our own kids remain in the foster care system? Wow how crazy it is that every single descendant of slavery has to pay for a college education in the same country that enslaved our ancestors and got free labor out of them and the many who were killed for being different...from those we made? Wow crazy isn't it?
Wow...it's it crazy that many Americans believe that people who have a country to live in, really need to be here in order to be whole again? Wow...like those people who live in other countries don't have hands to fight for what they want or a mind to think or take back their own rights or change their own destiny...oh, but we did and others did? Wow strange isn't it? So nobody but Americans have brains or courage? Wow odd isn't it?
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
Simple promises that I have made...I really did mean it, yet they were never sustained.
Never think more of myself than I am, somehow my unconscious vanity has betrayed me once again?
Never put someone down unless it serves some greater good, somehow my mouth never got the memo?
Never take more out of this life than you need to sustain you in your daily life, somehow my greed has over taking my virtue and I find myself buying stuff I don't really need?
Never miss a day to thank God for all that he has given me...yet I sometimes put food in my mouth and never give it God's blessings.
Never mind...my good intentions or my moral convictions, damn my heart means well but somehow I lack in my commitment. I thought a desire to do what you say was all I would need to have...but the truth be told, everything you want in this life requires much time and dedication.
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
I honor those who died that i might enjoy the liberties and freedoms that I have, this oath I live by and say daily to myself and God that I must forever keep.
My life is what I make it, my dreams can only be realized when I make them...I take full responsibility for anything I do or say. My brothers and sisters and their children are my responsibility.
I will not disgrace my wife and will keep my seed only in marriage. I will respect my community and honor my elders with respect and dignity. I shall not allow drugs in my life, nor will I ever sell them to anyone. This is the black man’s oath to his family, friends. Community and God that bonds me to these words that I speak, Amen!
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
Here I swing inside my dark cocoon afraid
to become all that I know I can be... A
Black Butterfly too scared to emerge into my
full potential and spread my beautiful black
wings. I'm so afraid to spread my wings, to worried,
about what this world may think of me? I'm a Black
Butterfly that can't seem to set myself free from this
cocoon that imprisons me.
I do know how the world will ever see my real beauty
that hides within me? The love I hide and the pain that
does consumes me.
I know this world can sometimes be cruel and rude place to be . . .
but if I don't break out of this cocoon and set
myself free? How will the world ever see me for me?
But I must first set myself free, so that the world
can see all my true beauty... and when I do emerge from
cocoon? A beautiful Black Butterfly is what I shall be.
As I spread my wings and fly into the sky… Fly away fly,
fly beautiful Black Butterfly.
Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor
Copyright ©2008 Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
Sitting here in this room, it seems as if it somehow shifts and moves? It makes me tremble
and shake…as I naw on what little nails I have left, in an errant attempt to calm down my
razor thin nerves. Reflecting back on my ride home on the bus, those other kids they never
seem to stop chattering and laughing at me…I know that their all talking about me. I press
my face so hard against that bus window, I know when I got off you could still see my face
print and could count each of those ugly pimples that cover my face. Mom say it’s just an
awkward stage in a preteens life and that it will pass…But Mom and Dad are not the ones
who are biting their nails, an shaking like leaf at the very thought of having to go back to
school the next day and there not the one’s with a face that look like it’s a part of a bumpy
old rollercoaster ride. I’m no different than those other kids, I just want to be like and be the
best me I can be in this life…instead , I sit around just like a fragile egg dangling on the edge
of the kitchen counter top, just waiting to fall and break. I should be out having fun but I
just sit here in my room on the edge of my bed crying on the verge of a nervous breakdown
with my dad’s old Saturday night special gun clenched tightly in my sweaty palm.
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
As I stared out my project window into the streets were the predators never
seemed to sleep and the dope heads that kept the neighbors in the private homes on
pins and needles as they prowled the street, looking for the next cash cow to supply their drug needs. In the alley where we would play baseball during the daytime against the old trash bin, at night it served as the hiding place for the drug boys dope and guns…It’s sometimes hardto believe that decent people do live here in this place where I live, but they do.
I don’t know how? But really they do, I swear. The alleyway was littered with so much broken glass on the ground, sometimes I would pretend that it was diamonds and would dream of running out one morning and picking it all up and then I would be rich like the people who lived in the private homes up on the hill. At night from my window in the summertime I could smell their grills cooking some expensive meat, that seem to overload my sense and make my belly growl in a hopeless thought that I might somehow get to taste it.
In the distance sirens blare in the middle of the night as the ambulances race to the causalities of the night life. I can still recall those house parties that never seem to end, that’s until the men in blue decided to finally answer the calls and put an end to their night fun, but by that time they were all drunk and doped out or found a mate for the night…as they all spread out onto the side streets like cockroaches when you turn on the light and then shots rang out in the calm distance of the night. People scatter into the night.
My eyelids are now so heavy I can barely hear my own thoughts inside my head. When all of sudden my door flings open, standing there in the doorway I can make out a shadow, I take a deep breath and continue to play like I’m asleep. Wow, it was only my mother, just checking in on her only investment for her future dream of a doctor or lawyer that would not have to deal with this mess, she shuts my door after seeing that I was okay…as she takes a deep sigh of relief, knowing she could take solace that her child was fast asleep.
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
Looking out onto to the glare off the streets, it almost appears as if the asphalt were a
sheet of glass, as the rain pours down on the street. I see them but they hardly even
notice me. Another cold winter has come and gone for me, life in this Big City ain’t for
the weak. They look at me as if I was some kind of freak, as I bundle trying to keep
warm inside my filth laden sheets…I sometimes can’t remember the last hot meal I did
happen to eat. As I dig through a dumpster in the alley behind some old fancy
restaurant whose name I can’t even pronounce. A fifth grade education, if even that…I
see them, but they rarely ever see me. Lost here in the Big City this ain’t no place for a
country born boy to be…yet I see them, but they rarely see me. My bones ache and
sometimes I can hardly see, no refuge from the hot summer’s day heat…Look at them
all riding around in their air conditions cars with the music blasted so loud, I see them
but they rarely see me. Don’t pay me any mind. I ain’t mad at this old world or even
God… just upset with myself because I let the Big City life capture me and still my
youth. Still do what you always do when it comes to someone like me? Stare off at
someone else and just pretend as though you don’t see me standing here, just asking
for some help. Yes, look away…because no matter what you do? I still see you.
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
A pride defind by a history edged in stone.
An honor that expounds and exudes ones on
selfish needs and sets a standard to be
followed by all. We have all been
given the blessing of our mothers and fathers to serve,
they have unselfishly surrendered their faith in our
mission and our superiors to lead us to victory.
We serve with a pride undefind and
yet true. We honor those who came before us,
by not allowing the needs of one to dominate
the needs of the common goal. We set that
goal as a cohesive unit bound by words that
many may never hear.
Together we have forged a path united as one.
We honor God and our country as we proudly serve
in the United States Marine Corps... Pride, honor and
respect until the day we die... Whoorah!
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
I can remember that day…like it was just yesterday. The pain inside, was too much to
bear. As they lowered you in the ground, my world came a crashing down. No more
would I ever see your radiant smile. That day is still a blur…as I drank the night away.
Hoping it was all just a dream? But, reality came around and my emotions broke me
down…and it all came a crashing down. It took me by surprise as those tears filled my
eyes. My drink became a salty river of tears…I can still hear the Reverends last words
as he commended your body to the earth. I was around town feeling sorry for myself,
my emotions were coming down…I could still he his words as he commended you to the
earth, but my heart couldn’t let you go. As they held me back from jumping in your
grave…the emotions started to fill my soul, I was around town feeling so sorry for
myself. Try to drown my pain with whiskey and beer…but those emotions came a
tumbling down. As my drink became a salty river of tears, no more…no more…would I
ever hear your laughter, that seemed as though it could fill the ever after. Later that
night as I lay down to sleep, I reached over to that empty spot where you use to be…I
swear I could almost hear you say, “ Dry your tears, someday we will be back together
as we laugh together in this life here after…so weep no more. I’ll see you on the other
side.” As I closed my eyes, the pain began to subside…I knew one day soon I’d get to
see your radiant smile and hear your laughter.
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Jay Anderson-Taylor Poem
We have each become Gods basket, no two baskets just alike…no not a one. For each one was woven not to be liken to another, but each charged with a calling to collect assorted pieces of fruit to bring unto him. No not even one liken to another…all capable of gathering Gods fruit and storing them up for the day that his written word comes to be.
Yet though no two basket be just alike…all serving the same the purpose of collecting his fruit. These baskets are used that each of them could or might be able to carry the souls of all the fruits that had fallen off he’s tree…in that his son Jesus whom died for on a tree in an attempt to save all his father’s fruit that had somehow fallen from God’s tree. If you God's chosen basket has become either withered, broken or full of holes? Take it back to the maker and he will make it whole again. Each of us though different are still charged with the tasking of collecting Gods fruit, be they infested with worms, partly rotten, broken or just fowl smelling, he commands you to just pick them up!
Surely how could they be gathered if your own basket had a hole in it nearly the size of a black hole? Surely each of piece fruits that has fallen from your basket will be add to your bill as you go before the Father to take account of what you have collected, who see that your that your basket is empty… standing before him with no fruits to give. Take heed empty baskets…who were some either broke, torn or somehow lacking in strength to hold onto what you have collected for God’s new Eden, go to the Father whom is the weaver of all things and let his infinite mercy fix it before he calls you up to present all that fruit which he entrusted unto you to gather up!
Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2012
|
|