You pushed me over the cliff’s edge,
eager to watch me fall.
Instead I flew
and you
were never filled
with such regret.
Memory of my grandson at 6 years old
July 4th 2016
cache extra cuteness
courting field of coneflowers
purple purity
cute as button upturned smile
stirs boy’s long hair and wild grass
Your country is hurting once more.
Blood is being spilled and
fires are burning in the name
of Nazi,
of white supremacy,
of fascism.
Where are your words of condemnation?
Where are your insightful tweets
of contempt?
One-hundred and forty characters
is enough for you to speak against
nuclear weapons and immigration.
One-hundred and forty characters
is all it takes for you to make
your hatred for Mexico known.
One-hundred and forty characters
is time enough for the words
of a leader
to speak his mind.
Your silence speaks volumes.
Your lack of action says it all.
Mister President,
can I still call you Mister President?
Is it very presidential of you
To ignore the cries for help
from your people?
Their pain is just background noise to you,
the swastika is so common to you,
the slurs are just so natural to you,
the suffering does not matter to you.
Mister President,
can I still call you Mister President?
The people chose you. Isn’t it
a great disservice to them
to ignore them when, after all,
it is you they choose to turn to?
National Poetry Day is over
Over two hours on the stage.
That's one hellova long time
For one of my advancing age.
This is the Poetry city.
The talent just abounds,
Mixing in the bars and pubs
With open mic music sounds.
They spruced up the Centre
Just for this event
(I sometimes worry at the wisdom
Of where the money went)
When they've replaced the paving
The barriers are all gone
When the renovation crews
Have finished and moved on
Bring in your Year of Culture,
Next year, 2017
Catering for the minority
Ignoring thriving local scene.
But when the Culture Vultures
Have departed as if they'd never been
In the pubs and clubs and bars
We'll still have our living culture scene.
With the streets are all repaired and
We're again northern backwater place
I'll be in the pub
A smile still on my face.
And I'll listen to the music,
Hear the spoken word,
Much of it as good or better
Than any City of Culture heard,
And I'll see the performance list
Every available spot full,
And think look what you've missed
In this Poetry City of Hull.
This is my city
Chugging quietly away:
A City of northern Culture
Every single vibrant day
The Cat in the Hat
Is not fat
The Cat in the Hat
Is awesome like that!
© From A Poet's Heart
there are no heroes anymore,
no one with that dream.
it has become a weapon
that kills when charisma ends.
there are no malcolm x's,
for we have found ourselves.
no johns or roberts to kill,
no kings to praise.
where are the people
in a world that sees no wrong,
in a candidate opening pandora's box,
to win his throne?
A Starry Night
15th January 2016
All is still as points of light descend
To show the way to all that never was,
The night becomes a confidante and friend
Re-living all your feelings. Why? Because?
A canvas stretched on limbs now worn and frail
Depicts a journey coming to and end,
Of stormy seas you never thought to sail,
No compass there on which you could depend.
That dream you followed, never far from sight,
Remained in place when storm clouds came unseen,
To guide you in an everlasting fight
And show the love of life for which you dream.
Yet deep inside you knew the time had come,
A final brushstroke laid for every one.
Palm Sunday 2016_ I AM SWAYED
Dressed in white and black with wide smiling beams;
Oh! how I miss 2015, its palm and serenity_
2016! you see four corners of the colourful room
Childrens' ward is where thou shall be
Frowning at the challenges coming my way
Acceptance of ones life_is easy to say_
then peace shall come your way_
One year is not enough for acceptance to come
Fallen trunks, brown branches of Winstons' wrath
School building standing tall_seems lost
Even though activities going on
Centrifugal wind force waking up the soul
Which junction have I been blown?
Trudging the muddy road with stones
Tripping and falling, standing up seems to be far away
Even though carrying my cross used to be my motto_I AM SWAYED.
Palm Sundsay 2016
Date: Sat, Jan 9 2016 at 5:56 PM
So sick of these Lames
Im major Payne with the purple heart in Flames
To the cradle to the Grave
This rap game my parade my arcade
Stop throwing shade
You know the sun still in his Rays
Time to Glo like I'm in Glo Gang
I'm in my Glo in my Soul Plane
This the New Soul Train
I'm like D Wade Shooting the Tre
But I won't see haters Fade away
Got these Ace of spades
These Trumps to Play
Cause you Jokers made Bane
Go insane
I'm batman who went through his phase
Now I'm on the Stage
With ginsu blades
In my Jutsu Sage
Ninetails on a Rage
Naruto with the Seal broken
Now the Seal open
I'm spitting Egypt's Ten Plague's
Yeah ima live life for Christ
Until the afterlife
So Yall goin be my sacrifice
Tupac passed me the Mic
Got the gloves from Mike
Jacket with the Spikes
Moonwalking on Ice
I see the flashing lights
The men are not made by war,
But our Kingdom is always tore.
Why must we always hate?
Can we not have a different fate?
Revolution of the young,
Will bring about change - sure to come.
O where is the next silver tongue?
When they be found beat the drum-
Philip Sembert II
2016 began on 8.13 and ended on 9.30 2017.
Betrayed and inhaling for the last 9 minutes,
My mother shooed with imaginary broom,
The puny demon trying in final futility
To misdirect her soul.
She breathed her last at 1800 or so.
Hail Marys pumping faster with each step toward God's Love.
One thoughtful phone call no later than 1830, the residents carefully chosen informed regrets followed through the speaker of his celluar phone, triangulated to the landline not 6 miles away.
The complications of a complicated brain experiment failed,
Took my mommy from me.
52 weeks, unveiled the woman and her cancer stage 4,
Who expelled her virgin mistake.
One month later, exit the biological lady, whom everyone loved, and I had just met.
Mommy meet mom.
Together they light a candle that smells of a Thanksgiving dinner, like safe and warm, and feed the banquet guests both too busy to sit.
"The darkness within"
ain't a thing.
At least, when I let my
heart ring out
my song sing out.
"The darkness within"
is a seeming of
non-gleaming.
The Light is within.
The Dark is without.
and neither is scary
but either can seem to be
so let out the genie, the faerie-
if it comes from within
it's a Loving start to begin
to see anew this world
to re-renew this world
The Dark is not hopeless
or evil, or wrong
It is but dark, so give it your
best curious and save your
worst furious for
something less
injurious than
seeing the Dark in the dark
The Dark isn't frightening
It, like the Light, is
enlightening.
So, let's all be lightening our
load. Bearing our burdens,
baring our chests.
Let out our genie
our heart and our
best.
-ShhDragon
(for Arnaldo Ty Núñez.)
"I wanna sit down," he said
"have good cry," he continued
"and hug the world" he whispered.
Or, he pled. Or, he wishpered.
" . . . and be hugged back." he finished.
Well, some math for your wrath.
The only thing I know that doesn't
fit the paradigm of yin and yang
that give and take that we take or
leave. That know-it-all bit of simple
simplicity. Is in a hug. There, in the
hug, there is no receiver, no giver.
There is no one who is the yang one,
the yin. For each gives as each
receives. Not first this, then that.
but each with each at once.
Two at once. Twice, as nice.
So, I say.
Don't wait.
Don't pine.
Don't ache.
Don't fret.
hug the world.
in those ways that
you've for so long
rehearsed.
hug the world
plant a seed
feed one in need
hug the world
sing a song
right a wrong
hug the world
don't seethe, grieve
then dance
hug the world
share your sunlight
hug the world
bare your heartlight
hug the world
for, if you do
it must, it simply must
I mean...it's math
it must hug you back.
-ShhDragon
(for Nick D'Antoni.)
She woke
this morn
to find her world had
(seemingly) changed.
and yet,
her child was the same
but for a day of age more;
her toes still
added to ten.
her window looked out
on the same scene;
a day's less leaves on
November's chilly trees.
her morning cuppa
still warm in her palm;
refreshing on tongue
and awakening in bones.
She woke
this morn
to find her "heart in her throat"
and seemed sincerely
anxious and worried.
but I say:
"a heart in her throat"?
Oh, good!
Your voice will give voice
to the Loving Choice-
the spaketh times are nigh
and a heartsong may sing;
fluttering out in place
of ire, of condemnation.
A wisp of a warm whisper,
her heart has found voice.
Let's listen.
She speaks.
now
soon
again
to us all...
from her moving heart.
-ShhDragon
(for Michelle Lo.)
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