Long Delinquency Poems
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When I was young what child is this
My memory of my childhood, I can go back to when I was four
Mostly walking but yet crawling on the floor, I was mostly good
When I was young I had fun, Sitting on the kitchen floor
Me and my brother beating pots and pans, as my father comes in the door
Believe it or not he could have been another Stevie Wonder
When I was young what child is this
When I was young I would watch my brother
Even though I was the youngest, we had no other
Person to watch him see, he had a condition he didn't deserve it
When I was young there was a lot of cartoons
Cowboys and westerns weekends and afterschool
We had a small house with plenty of room, three bedroom house one bathroom
When I was young my parents worked daily
I went to school some in the early years, in fear
I mainly stayed and watched my brother
For you see we had a slight problem
He was birth blind and retarded
This is how my delinquency started
When I was young what child is this
10/14/2017
"Time is the thief you cannot banish."
Phyllis Mc Ginley, Writer, 1905 - 1978
if you cannot beat them join the crowd of armed unkind robbers
otherwise you end up with identity fraud at the hands of the thugs
instead rule and divide the hourglass one step at every moment
synchronize what must be said and done and count the rewards
an imposed time machine is a wicked illusion and criminal offence
pick your own pockets calm rapid paces and speed up your apathy
turning tides do not steal pebbles from beaches
the sun never asks where her rays have gone to
moons follow their path without wondering when
a waterfall keeps its composure even when falling
cancel direct debit to people who don’t care for you
standing orders are not written in hard grafted stone
debts can be cleared and overdrafts countervailed
the only mortgage you have is to live to your tempo
a bit of rhythm helps when the pendulum swings backwards and forth
rhymes a chime for when the final bell takes its toll as the coffin lies vacant
if you have not filled it with meaning before permanence rests in the grave
a time sheet spread out over nothingness infringes upon the tick tock of joy
imposters can try as hard as they want to steel your dial
will try to bend all the hands of fortune magic and fate but
destiny comes from the springs rewound at every dawn
vacant echoes will be enriched with challenging meter
when the ultimate curtain unveils to your own applause
as the poachers admit defeat and fall on swift swords
feel free to mock burglars and mischievous muggers
a dead man’s pockets are full of victory’s memories
10th November 2020
An interesting question has arisen
About our desire to end the fire of desire
Signalling a doer needing to do as bidden
Attempting to extinguish flames ego does sire
We may see clearly that this is not the way
For as long as a separate identity is manifest
Our consciousness will continue to sway
In a web of illusion ego continues to resurrect
The trick then is to simply switch frequency
Choosing to be ever present at the Love vibration
Exiting stagnation rooted in patterns of delinquency
Celebrating all unfoldings here & now in elation
What has happened thus is this: we vaporise
Relegating role of mind body to an interface
There then being no one left to judge or size
We be to become bliss itself by divine grace
Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, three precious ideals, blinded by the darkness of xenophobia.
The Republic, democracy and human rights are the pillars of a just society, but in the depths of Marianne, their fragility reminds us that nothing can be taken for granted.
Perhaps it will be necessary to decapitate a few heads again on the Place de la Concorde, so that the age-old splendor of revolutionary France can be reborn from its ashes.
Foreigners are constantly discriminated against and treated like cattle, their dignity trampled underfoot.
Illegal immigrants, without a residence permit, live in promiscuity, seeking refuge in a nation that rejects them.
The homeless proletarians, scattered in the streets of the homeland of human rights, are proof that equality is slow to become a reality for all.
Stigmatize Africans by systematically associating them with delinquency and drug trafficking,
It is to ignore the segregationist policies, applied in disadvantaged suburbs,
It is choosing to look elsewhere, faced with the cruelty of France's criminal shenanigans in Africa.
Racists, racialists and nationalist supremacists propagate toxic ideologies that divide rather than unite, creating deep fissures in a France with a legacy of slavery and colonialism.
Negrophobic xenophobes are chained to hatred and intolerance, they despise the salutary values ??of inclusion and the riches of diversity.
Enlightened pan-Africanist sub-Saharan Africans carry a vision of solidarity and continental unity, which advocates the search for the realization of Africa's potential.
Terrorism, capitalism and globalism form an explosive cocktail that disrupts the balance of the contemporary world.
Patriotic fascists, racialist stereotypes and colonial reflexes are infringements which hinder the evolution towards a community attached to egalitarian principles.
Under the lights of the slave trade, amnesia is a medicine for all those who want to forget the past and the horrors of the dark pages of the lugubrious history of sweet France.
The Code Noir gave rise to the transatlantic slave trade, and the Code of the Indigenous was the foundation on which colonization rested.
Vexation seeps through sighs
As the pen finds comfort
Sharing the same story
Nonsensical pretty boys
With smoke cloud habits
And bloodshot ponderings
Vaunting on their
Newsworthy delinquency
With incessant metal bar consequences
Promulgating in the same breath
they’re gaining
New ground
Breaking the cleanse
Of poisoning
Their liver
And feeling the linear
Coldness of a countertop
On their nose
With a half glass of water
In a ring of loneliness
On their nightstand
The gulp of insomnia
Rudely digs its hook of candidness
In your empathic being
Melodramatic memories
Of empty dinner table
Upbringings
Spending school nights
Placing cigarettes
In plastic bottles
With front porch
Heart to hearts
With their second self
Pulling the sleeves
Of sweatshirts once borrowed
Over tattooed knuckles
Shivering against the disbelief
That loyalty in this town
Is only face to face
Rehashing
first heartbreaks
With the outlook
That mistrust follows
Demons
That look just like you
The way you
Introduce yourself
With skintight beliefs
Low cut distractions
Met with
Amorous disposition
Abrade their thoughts
Of you from tantalizing
To discomfiture
And their ears
Can’t handle
Opprobrium especially from their friends
When you would
Put fingers
In yours like an obstinate child
Just to keep
Looking at them
With oblivious blissful daydreams
Even if you were
Stumbling drunk
Out of their broken front door the night before
After learning
They sent flowers to someone else
Like a man with his paramour
Leaving your existence
In a blighted state
Surrounded by empty walls
For
They
Took it all
But don’t worry
The guilt of breaking your heart
Is easier for them to swallow
Than the nausea
Traveling up their throat
With the spew of your adoration
So…here we are at the apex of emotions
Back to the phase of contemplation
Let the blame game begin
Play the echoes of words faded
Rekindle the fire of the conscious ignored
Refresh the pain of the scars laid bare
Let's hold the conversation for a thousand time
With the same hope of the turning the ship around
Run the race forward with the mind left at bay
Three steps forward then back to Square Zero
It feels like Deja vu? .....well, Its a habitual occurrence
Don't play the amnesia victim
Take notice of the surrounding
It's the rendezvous that is haven to what we have
become
The Golgotha of virtue crucifixion
Let the Ceremony begin
Unravel that which it holds
Let's rerun the race and draw the 360 curve
pathway to yet another conception of delinquency
Dowry, drug addiction, and domestic violence rule
Female foeticide and female infanticide go cool.
Abortions, corruption, and gender inequality
Racism, human trafficking, casteism, and poverty
Food adulteration, wealth hoarding, consumerism, and greed
With many such evils, we, as a society, bleed.
Where are our good-bad consciences and consciousnesses?
Where are our ethically fit philanthropic choices?
Like a crack in the rail track, there's moral delinquency.
There's a slip of synchrony in the social symphony.
Virtues, like iron in saline waters, are eroded.
Human regulations seem to be, from somewhere, goaded.
Are our weak feet slipping from the edge of a worn-out cliff?
Do we, in our sailing, seek for each leg a single skiff?
Our link to each other, to shun anomie, should unite.
Though small, for the good of all, shouldn’t we bestow our mite?
Ritualism, retreatism, and rebellion should end.
Our knees, to compassion, temperance, and justice, should bend
He was still breathing,
but they did not hear his sighs.
His heart was shivering,
but they did not see it trembling.
His body was on fire,
but they did not feel the heat.
His tongue spoke,
but they did not know his words.
Her perfume still lingered,
but her image was now a distant silhouette -
a figment of dark pigment, haunting his mind.
Maybe infertile seeds,
were the reason for her vulnerability.
Maybe his adolescence,
struggled to understand her delinquency.
There was no explanation for the voices,
as demons had disturbed her existence.
Nobody understood.. Not even he.
Who was confused to why she let them in.
He always remembered vividly,
he could not stop her blood from flowing,
nor did his kiss of life save the day.
Songs from that era,
haunted him for decades.
Too bitter to shed public tears,
he constantly cried in his sleep.
Till the day he forgot to cry,
motionless, he felt nothing.
If only he had listened to his conscience:
Because right from the start,
she was born to break his heart.
Simple musing
Silent One
5 March 2018
Barge Reef
Barge Reef lies isolated at worlds end by chance
Wedges of sharp rocks fill in what ocean can’t
Eighty foot waters roll at a distance out
Waves say hello on cresting white
Coral formed and bleached silent
Created from living life forms
On the wrong side of the island according to the charts
West of Barge is open seas
Liquid wonders that follow the world around
A tumbled dance
Storms pound constantly there creating havoc
Waves take naps much later beneath the deep
Descending back around
Rolling into a slumber as cool brushings over surface
Calm winds take a breath
Ships find their corner of the world in blue
Slip Into delinquency, there, slow to rise
Sun finds the horizon hot
Jellying through mist
Mystification sets in, as it morphs through morn
There, so easy to find a new day in abundance solar bound
Creaking ships never land but crash on Barge with jagged reefs
Sharp coral stand pure white on the vestibule of shards
Sojourning innocently forward
Ambling along with wood debris
To that end, begins in splinters sober float
And with it, seas fold over on the likes of Barge
I wonder if my eyes have the strength to carry the dusk of my dearth.
They say eyes are the window to your soul.
But could the silhouette amplify the accosts of my void you claim with tangibility?
Could you name the poverty of my shadow within the dilation of my pupils, as they expand with a willingness unseen beneath anything but the weaves of your labyrinth?
Could you caress the convolutions of my heart, so twisted by the absent twinkle that determines the lifespan of my irises?
They speak a language so extraneous to the snarl of desperation; a hope clinging onto a surfeiting glut of insomnia.
They speak in syllables of a pitiful, pathetic articulation; a fleet of a cascading deluge.
They speak in a dialect so degrading to the ponder of my wondrous conclusions.
Not the ones you see in classrooms.
Not the ones you see in lectures.
But the ones you wish to lapse into; something as condescending as the melancholy of my amber.
And something as demoralising as the delinquency of my destiny;
The windows to my soul.