When short and running a cross country race
The short guys know when to pick up the pace
Just as we start up the hills
For we know they’ll be some spills
Odds say the tall men may fall on their face
I am the matriarch
a mother elephant
chosen leader of my herd
I guide them day and night
for food, drink, and safety
keeping peaceful harmony.
All that and no cattle
Mi cattle against the
Fence
Big Bear snaring and drizzling
Mounting a cowboys defense
Tame the ego's get
Ya'll selves in line
2 marries the morning
Baby just take your time
We in zone
From the middle
You can toss to the end
They ain't looking
They ain't tryna be your friend
There's someone in charge of
Those things we can't understand
Put the pepper on it
Target out your man
Let the air do most of the talking,
we're not immune to its influence,
solemn hints that motivate within,
one trace after another, suspense,
breathing carries all of the action,
savory challenges, faces grants,
singles all tranquil, partners taken,
levels intact and relics semblance,
chamber's not free of aspiration,
drastic fronts to fables' existence,
dancing heads up participating,
last call stirring a floor, final dance,
no breathing room, slow exhibition,
lights and no glitter, retired pants,
"You ladies all smell like my girlfriend."
"Oh, that's that lingering redolence.
"The bottle's in the girls' room, sitting."
"I work here, it can't be, that's nonsense."
"It's mines, felt it's at home, forgotten."
"Seems I'm everywhere, robust presence."
We dream we can share our darkest secrets without judgement or retribution but realize we can only share them safely with others through our poetry.
Tonight, I will dream of you.
I dream we share our secrets
Indiscretions and hurtful pasts,
Told as gilded sagas
By immoral sociopaths.
I share to you with confidence
One of my poignant dreams.
A tale of stirring fantasy,
Images not as they seem.
Cold snakes coiled on soiled paths
They spring in naked truth
Biting hard at every turn
Retelling their violent youth.
Poised to prove their stranglehold
On phantom victims’ crimes.
It’s here we hide the willing sin
We’ve accepted many times.
As dreams become reality
Our thoughts embrace their role.
We resist the curse of others
Playing mind games in our soul.
Here I hunt for solitude,
And here I find my soul.
I search my heart within myself
To learn what I have always known.
Life is a series of tests
armies of unwelcome guests
wave after wave of insect pests ~
From them a crown you must wrest
show me the sand-bags
of altruist craziness
that you pretend
and lets not intellectually
shift through
grains of the sands.
I was the one
who convinced
you
and yet I'm the delinquency
of a friend knows so safety
of the pins within the blades
I can't pull your strings estranged....
a master of this so very strange...
I won't be on the train tracks
your boyfriend has no hacks
A boy imagined a world
of wrapped strawberries
without conflict
to the puppet on a string
And you released him here......
and no further harm
to his well-being...
He was always dead
to any and no well-being
He just doesn't know it..
The cities will be dead
as we are sitting
on our so called blames
and memories of shame
Are we to blame for
any of it
as children?
an idealization
Radicalization
Vigilantism
and for here?
I will be buried
but on my own terms.
I don't comply
to a so called
America of here
A president
who we all know
a demon resides there...
I don't know you
personally,
and I never will.,
hot flushes and chills,
are less of
a voice of mediation.
You never tried with a beat
just the cliche of a country's
of lonesome and the wheat....
Seclusion
Off the grid in one's time and space,
One's preference of seclusion.
One's freedom for breathing space, living
In a world of fierce personal experiences
amongst other things.
Seclusion made friends with me personally
Each and everyone I cherished, I loved
wasn't equivalently consistent.
Most of the time being misunderstood nearby
By the young and old.
Eyes are now open wide.
Peculiar? Attempting to mute ones light.
Seclusion preserved essence of one's core of
Anima.
Pomegranate
Careful, tentative and delicate tips shiver over the forgiving skin
Shell barring the bloody body of the fruit
Only condemned to,
consumption
Bruising without protest
Its sweetness not asked for - only expected
Though some things are more beautiful broken
Death approaches
We have no regrets
Dreaming improbable dreams.
Reality betwixt the unfeeling
Monuments souring unhindered.
No longer enslaved slaves
Thinking the unthinkable
To be what we truly feel
Tears that can’t be cried
For pathways to the unknown
Soft velvet sparks so subtle
Teardrops fall in puddles,
Weary eyes forge forward
Forlorn ekphratic meandering
The pain as its vile pungency
Scorns the soul of the angelic
Drives goodness to the brink,
Mighty swords flow protests
To the unyielding winds of time
To defiantly stand up to demons
For a valid worthwhile cause
As the lyrics of memoirs spill
And gazes turn to wonder,
Amid lonely nights of fear
With only love unblemished
If not ourselves what can we be?
Untold ethics to be true.
To ease our savage thoughts
claiming not fame nor fortune
this be our claim to fame.
Doing it our way evermore,
The righted wrongs unsaid.
When God questions us,
We will stand erect.
The water is close
Yet we drown in sollace
The dissaray of despare piles like the water that piles and heaps behind the dams
Our bodies lie decrepid and dry
Yet we are close
The water drips
And
It dissapears
Into the body that now is just as it was before water
We can see this wealth
A body that would sustain ours
Synergetic and symbiotic
Yet, the water remains distant
Our eyes feast on the drip as it sprints and hides
We can crawl but we cannot really
We are all to weak to brave the journey of dust and dry despair
Drip
And those of us who do
Realize
The water is not real
And we all die
All mortal
All with our pains and greivences
The suffering and eternality
The water was a lie
Winds of honest scented
insistence glided my wings
through life’s many dramas.
Raw breezes fragrantly
touched my unsure skin
with soothing perfumes
promising my faith was
not errantly consumed.
I thought, go until I had it,
not go until the path quit
without signs I had tried.
I imagined a target future
sat for my eventual,
precisely aimed, bullseye.
That’s a notion I did covet,
even leaned it towards perfect.
If bottled, wind's cologne could
release sachets of peace to
waft serene blends upon and
through times of disquietude.
Filmed by strangers,
a story doomed not to last.
Beauteous verse
wrapped in barbed wire—
each sonnet
a blade to the vein.
Eyes like jade—
not diamond,
but cut rock.
A granite heart.
Tar recedes
into stone.
Still, the boy covets
with hunger.
And the girl—
she has appetites too.
First love:
a pigtail yanked,
a giggle echoing through time.
Innocence dissolved
with each year gained.
But the eyes—
they never changed.
Breathe life and fire into love’s nest—
reignite the spark of youth,
peeking through years like iron curtains,
framing the fugitive selves
we left decimated.
I still see her—
not in dreams,
but in the hush between songs,
in the way a door closes softly
when no one is there.
She has appetites still.
And I—
I feed them
from a distance.
Let her starve for once.
Pocket-Gazes
Night depressed—
black spirits, spiders,
demanding, retorting,
an empty vessel, titanic with trauma.
A downturned smile, flagellate,
disillusioned, demoted, disinterested—
dystopian dysmorphia.
Dolls.
Masks.
Spills.
Blood.
Oxygen.
Water.
Decaying. Degrading. Devolving.
Despair, disaster, disappointment—
disappear.
The lexicon collapses inward,
a ladder whose rungs only fall.
Sand sighs. Water shifts.
Hands disembodied.
Faces detached,
checked out.
I flail,
a swimmer drowning in a teaspoon.
Watermelon empathy—
bloated, barren.
A clock face melting, Dalí’s sky.
I am Picasso’s fractured mouth.
I am Van Gogh’s shell-ear,
smashed on the rocks.
Amy Winehouse cries, hollow,
vodka-veined, restrained
inside a music box.
Maya’s muteness.
Florence’s failure.
Mary Seacole’s poverty.
Nightingale’s lamp guttering.
Angelou’s song stilled.
Seacole’s hands trembling empty.
Yet outward—
instead of inward,
instead of into my pocket-gazes—
there might be,
just might be,
a shimmer of stardust,
a touch of moonlight.
Hope, a dot of light
in a cavern of dark.
And yet,
it illuminates the sky.
Equitable reward for time spent on earth.
Time on earth has expired.
Embrace for there’s no escape.
Recipe is found in the Ten Commandments.
No sin will enter Heaven.
Influence others with your testimony.
Treasures should be laid up in Heaven.
Your witness is either a Bridge or Barricade.
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