While trying to go forward,
I backed up, reassessed,
and
stepped
to
the
side,
nearly...
missing...
the...
BUS!!!
His mind was an abyss
Of emotions
And endless questions
Of the world around him
He wasn't much of a speaker
But he was definitely a thinker
His mind was a safe place
Where he could speak freely
Without being harmed
He hated the outside world
He was scared if he stepped outside
He was afraid the racists might strike
So instead he would hide
In the comfort of the inside
He focused on his survival
And to him that meant control
Even if his mental health took a toll
This fear for a black person was normal
Living life shouldn't be a struggle
But he wasn't even safe in his home
In his dreams his fears wouldn't leave him alone
And when he woke up he was haunted by the nightmares he had come to known
He was also scared to leave his family alone
He was extremely afraid of the unknown
Which led to his need for control
This is what the system does
It instills fear in us
Until our minds have turned to the darkness
And their hatred consumes us
Until we are a shell of what was
And that is one of the ways they kill us
chattering chirpers
rambunctiously racing
fireflies like little lanterns
wee wind and raindrops
luscious leafy lovelies
nine p.m. and uproarious
all this called to me, as
I was doing nothing at all
On the way back from the Spar
A familiar ring I’ve heard
But you must be very far
So it could have been a thought
Just a casual thought that came
Like a butterfly that flies
Out of chrysalis to gain
Freedom of the open skies
It wasn’t real like it seemed
What that was, I can’t define
There’s no moral in the dreams
And illusions never lie
They just put you in the world
Of the very special kind
Where your calls now can be heard
Those I’ve missed, they ring through time..
The red earth remembers my name,
whispers it in the dust that rises,
welcoming me home, not as I was,
but as I have become.
The streets hum, alive with rhythm,
voices colliding like rivers meeting,
the scent of Indian chai thick in the air,
folding memory into the morning breeze.
I return to a place both known and strange,
where past and present press against each other,
a city growing taller, reaching forward,
yet haunted by the echoes of what once stood.
Footsteps trace the roads of my childhood,
but the shade is gone,
trees felled, laughter softened,
the land shifting beneath me.
Still, I belong to this soil,
this pulse of Kampala,
where change marches onward,
but home still calls me by name.
“Bang, Bang”,
It may Feel
Sometimes, when You’re getting
Them.
A giant list,
Requests, And All,
Complaints!
Concerns!
And worst Of all Tall,
Excessive Pleas,
to be Incomprehensible.
Preposterously Useless
to the Naked eye.
Providing No
Interesting Information
as Claymation,
Is to One,
While
animation is an Art to some,
It Depends all upon,
The Jolly sum --
Of Many feeling a,
Beautiful bird
Soar,
With Painted Wings,
Fly,
Differently than,
Claymationists.
RoBo Calls
Miracle Man
4/25/2025
I’ve a strong dislike that now borders on hate,
toward those unwanted calls that won’t abate.
I get perhaps ten or so of these calls every day,
thinking I’m an “Old Codger” they can sway.
Its often about Medicare and always a scam,
her sweet voice has for me some new program.
I appreciate her having my interest at heart,
but I’m not a sucker that she can outsmart.
Calls interrupt my meals and also slumber,
once or twice they’ve came from my number.
These I always answer without undue delay,
for I’m always curious as to what I might say.
“There’s a sucker born every minute” Barnum said,
and many minds have chosen his quote to embed.
Darkness fades and morning falls
Wipe the past and tame the sorrow;
New dawn breaks and sunshine calls
For a light of new tomorrow.
The earth requires it there.
The poets do not like the lyrics.
As the tsunami approaches the lands
The poem integrates without a solution.
As the summit talks upheld information
Global warming, tariff continues debating:
China not backing down, and we, the poets
Surprisingly asking what’s next?
A poem like this doesn’t comprehend
That earth requires it there,
Make it make sense, this Tariff war
About percentages, or principles of humanity
Make it make sense, make it a kind world
Make it turn water into red wine,
Make them say, “We are for the small people,
And not the profit holder’s fat wallets,
Make the world spin like a Bitcoin machine:
The more money there goes a burden of responsibilities there:
He who pay the Pied piper call the tunes:
,
Move in the Dark with animal Stamina
Annuals Be Jamming Ya,
More on the most HIgh
More Diatribe about the mote
In the minds eye
Far as my eye can see
So far they spying me
So Far the ing commotion
Bust the cone enough
Frequently adjusted
You needed me
And we needed Us
For the treatment of our animal Lust
Maybe we can still hide in silence
Maybe beside the Violins
Right beside the violins
Right beside Mariachi
Right inside where you taught me
She a ing meastra
Im a ing maestro
I'm continuous Hoe
Because she said so she into us
Because she said she let go
With a Baby she said so lately
At the BBQ they dont hate cheese
At the table the pass the gravy
On the go I got 666 calls
About how yall wanna talk about it
I took 666 msgs from yall about how
Yall wanna walk around with it
Its not a lie it the bizzness
We hit the ground with it
You know what
Your getting into with it
Were get in right here where
Your ears can listen
It couldn't last forever
But tell that to my heart
I can't my love just sever
It's become of me a part
Although I knew I couldn't
Regardless though, I did
Now moving on I shouldn't
But who am I trying to kid?
They'll always be desire
My love was more than feel
I played inside a fire
And now the burns are real
The salve? The hope of someday
That dream once shared by us
When together would be easy
True love without the fuss
The open depths of the ocean call
Like the sky above rising to fall
Pulling in an ominous mystery of need
A story to tell a vast intrigue
Each moment constant a yearning intice
A painting forged without price
Drifting deeper a subtle love calls
Drowning my worry in the rising squall
A doorway appears but, if to find the key
If to confess I shall enter my plea
Twisting and turning a doorway concede
Leading me on fulfilling a need
To drown in an utter ocean of belief
To escape the jagged looming coral reef
She is a perfectibilan Paula said
I laughed so hard, I hurt my head
No one is more of a perfectionist than she
Probably why she can never find an appropriate he
I am not kidding, everything in her world is precise
Her kitchen and bathroom are immaculate, which is nice
But she’s as much a perfectibilan as anyone
A stickler for exactness from sundown to sun
The coxswain calls the cadence
…I don’t like his tone
But I am forced to listen
Cuz he’s got the megaphone
I think my oar is twisted
As it defies my wishes
It hits the water making
Loud splashes and not swishes
The other oarsmen wonder
Why can’t he get in sync
They blame it on the fact that
My oar is painted pink
I close my eyes and memorize
The taste of burgers, hot, with fries
Ease my stroke into a rhythm
Knowing a distant tide abides
The Society Calls Me Black!
I looked into the mirror, but all that was painted was black,
"Blackey," they call me, but my brain isn't dark.
These potentials led to pits in the dark,
Welcome, the society calls me black!
I could have danced to the rhythm of their appraisals,
But my "Kolomentalism" left me in columns.
Like Matrix, I left my rows to get my arch,
The society calls me black!
My color made me the "?rú" in my territory.
With my possessions, I'm called an ape with so much savor.
Why must I obey?
The society calls me black!
With my sound base in the pharynx, why do I remain voiceless?
My talks went blank, so I was soundless.
Yet my intuitions are invaluable, but the locks that seized my voice are mysteries.
The society calls me black!
My uniqueness is now barbaric,
Living in a life that snares.
My "ila," the beauty, is now a mockery.
Because society still calls me black.
©Butterfly
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