Long Enunciated Poems
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Memorial service ~10:00 A.M. October 21st, 2020...
at Cherry Hill, New Jersey Unitarian Fellowship
Boyce Brandon Harris cremains
(approximately one fourth entire contents)
offered, interred, and eulogized
within ‘Tristan’s Pollinator Garden,'
which constitutes minute arboretum
bore witness to immediate family of said deceased
yours truly plus eldest and youngest sister
each of us communicated solemn words
to recall admirable, inimitable,
and unfathomable father,
whose passing (evident previous six months,
whereby his declining physical health)
unfettered, presaged, and indicated imminent death
now his invisible spirit
dwells amidst the spiritual abodes
encompassing three offspring,
he and the late Harriet Harris begat,
whose lives analogous
to quasi orphaned grown children
all adults with independent lives of their own.
We (progeny of our father and mother,
the latter deceased
approximately fifteen and a half years)
convened at above mentioned site
see fourth line of poem
to consecrate, designate, and generate
extemporaneous heartfelt sentiments
honoring his wishes,
mixing joys and sorrows,
regaling poignant occasions
before shoveling soil
punctuated silent benediction
courtesy Reverend Margret A. O'Neall,
Developmental Minister eloquently enunciated
reassuring, healing, and comforting words
to small congregating crowd
comprising half dozen plus people.
Come spring two thousand twenty one
a hearty shrub or tree,
(yet to be decided upon)
will be planted within sanctioned
space, whereby Mother Earth
will allow, enable, and provide
nondescript ashes to mingle
subterranean flora and fauna,
whence roots of former will help filtrate
cremated body once housing
Boyce Brandon Harris.
He who helped bring us
(meaning Amélie, Matthew and Shari)
into existence forever spirited into the future
linkedin by actions
genetically, indirectly and knowingly
hashtagged, kickstarted and tweeted
said son and daughters
who possess his corporeal heritage.
He proclaimed an unprecedented love
which is offered to those who
hate us.
He moralized the true and unique
path to the eternity.
He declared the death is an alternative
fulfilling life.
His life was full of blood and tears,
even though he did not commit
any crime.
He professed his admiration for
their eagerness to do his will.
He promulgated the meekness
as divine bliss.
The few said that his light is ablaze
to enlighten them.
The most people prosecueted him
because he was like them
who enunciated the light as a
source of a wonderful life.
He heraled the meaning of truth
which is synonymous with
perfect,real life.
He declared the war against
the hatred and hypocrisy.
His positive,forgivable stance
on sins was unrelenting
His widespread,unwavering
condemnation of hypocrisy
was unremitting.
He was betrayed by those who
once said that they loved
him unflaggingly.
Nonpareil les belles-lettres spellbinds
Adherence regarding credo
to finish reading arbitrarily
self selected book beginning
to end silent promise made
otherwise, I experience guilt
analogous violating unwritten
law, said private oath binds me
against challenging non binding
unspoken promise additionally
never flipping thru pages reading
conclusion, viz aforementioned
unspoken vow never abrogated,
no contest when authored material
finds yours truly engrossed cover
to cover avast joyous kickstarted
linkedin magical nameless eye
opening imaginative adventure
and/or literature deemed among
timeless (cult) classics cherished,
marveled, treasured... analogous,
where taste buds appeased brimming
culinary decadence edifying gourmet
savory sweet treat (ideally NON GMO
gluten and MSG free) targeting aching
unclutched memory savoring verboten
childhood candied just desserts goodies
triggered courtesy painstakingly crafted
words acquiring unabashed kudos pièce
de résistance worth their literary weight
adrip with chewy, gooey, sugary, syrupy,
tasty... je nais se quoi orgasmic merciless
kneading indescribable gourmand eats
generating atavistic base primal grunts
and groans signal untethered animalistic
joie de vivre, how intoxicating to quaff
metaphorically brilliantly crafted lettered
epistles despite genre ordinarily ranking
less than favorite, but some fluke wormed
itself to choose bon appétit infusing aural
(if enunciated aloud as doth yours truly),
mental, spiritual, visual... delectation oft
times exultation unmatched if material
read more than one time synonymous to
to overindulge exceeding pleasure re:
body, mind, spirit triage with gluttony.
Faces of death stare against my raptured skin.
Silently, they watch me in frigid judgment.
I used to run from them in unholy matrimony,
Peeling the sins from my teardrops
Wishing they would
Just go away.
The brown-skinned disease normalized her penetrating,
Gaslit disgust against the smiles,
Against the faith
“YOU HAD IT COMING!”, she resounded in front of my Son…rise.
“All your fault”, the faces of death impolitely declared.
I begged for her abuse to end.
I pleaded for those faces to cease their stares against my coalescing wounds.
I prayed that the stars would let our friendship count to infinity.
But the brown-skinned disease could only count to 5150.
Terms & conditions no longer applied.
How would I ever escape?
How would I ever taste tears of joy again?
How would I supplant the bruises now invested in each heartbeat?
When would I stop apologizing for the harm she caused...?
I stared back at the faces of death.
“Not today!” “Not tomorrow!”
In this decrepit whirlwind of deceit
They smiled back at me, turning the other cheek.
“Stronger than yesterday”, they whispered.
I awoke from my descent into paralysis,
Listening to the gentle clacking of laptops,
The wistful choruses enunciated from the turntable…
…”No easy way out. I won’t back down. I’ll stand my ground.”
For my walls built
By the faces of death
Are meant to climb,
Not to confine
©Tacito
{"We sat in the veneer of our chimney that wasn’t infinite.
Eyes sealed, inhaling and exhaling the smoke.
It was alluring to witness, to sense the crackling of melancholy of the conflagration. The smoke conveyed peace, it was indefinitely familiar, so familiar that I went back to my childhood.
We would be in the seasonal merit where the snow would partially lay dead on the concrete floor.
Where everything I enunciated was heard, understood, and relatively clear. Now, there are too many voices waiting for my demise, they are granted access when I vacate into my head.
avoid it,
ignore it,
don’t take them seriously. I ponder and try to focus on inhaling the smoke up my nostrils. They get louder, they won’t pipe it down.
I wondered if this is what transpired with society. They ridicule, and when you avoid them, they increase their rigor. Sticks and stones may break bones, but words.
they punch you in the gut; and they ink into your flesh like the pigmentation of tattoos, they can’t be washed away.
and no matter how much you try,
you can’t escape them; you think your worth is defied by their words, but it isn't. And in the end; when love comes skyrocketing towards you,
All you can do is produce a vacant stare, dead in the eye. The atrocity was for love, oh the horrors.
And they can never come to accept it. Their whole world came crashing down with their downfall.
What a…
Catastrophe.
I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,
at least not all of it,
but the emotion pouring past her lips,
the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists
enunciated more clearly,
than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,
and grabbed me, held me still.
…In that moment, her soul was in my arms.
In that finite, tender breath of our lives,
she was my mother, my best friend…
but I could not console her.
I didn’t have the words;
and my heart sank into the
concrete between us,
wet with the pain of God’s rain
and her tears.
…Were my tears
So, I simply opened my palms
toward her crouched form and
spoke the only words I could
fathom, that would be accepted
by a stranger on a dangerous street.
"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."
I knew she did not understand…
"Lo siento"
“que va a estar bien”
“Dios te bendecira’ “
the words were as messy as the overturned
duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly
from my lips, as my knees hit the street.
Two strangers, cried in the rain,
knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,
and yet we shared the weight,
together, for those few moments;
the barrier of language was broken.
Love spoke for us.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
…Love transcends any language
Even with your electric guitar and your drums,
It cannot be compared to our skin made drums.
You still cherish the sound of our music and it value
Despite how hard you tried to make we live life as designed by you.
We are Africans and our history is not all about slavery,
Yeah! It a dark side that when enunciated of will always bring misery,
As we spend centuries building your world in the absolute absence of choice,
Breaking our self-esteem, humiliating our ego, all to silence our voice.
Yet we grew up stronger than you think,
Providing for your factories with just a eye blink,
Despite with all the division you preach,
We chose to play by... as we stretch our hands friendly for you to reach.
Yet you think you are shrewder than us,
And you try to corrupt our leaders whom we trust.
Then paint them black by your media
Those who at the start realize that you are not our friend nonetheless the healer.
You take our rich heritage to beautify you museums,
You still, loot and scattered or kingdoms
Over four centuries you milk our Caws, and harvest our ivory,
You take our diamonds, steal our golds, and all the things you envy.
We are Africans, one made of many,
Rich in diversity, and a culture that you envy,
Skin color that shine, glitter and glow
Even with suppression, oppression yet slowly we grow.
Enshrined on tapestry crimson, ruby
Purple love scintillates orchid dreams
Flaunting sensuality of magical appeal
Waltzing sweet melodies of romance;
Oh, fondly I recall our first kiss now--
It was the promise of amethyst dawn!
Swaying in colors of pink, red tulips
Love in the prairies of yellow daffodils
Setting its sights upon indigo iris
Dazzles verdant fields on butterfly wings;
Oh, playfully I recall the allure of tease--
It was the promise of vibrant spring!
Embrace of love on the opulent horizon
Watching orange glow dip in the ocean
Glittering emotions as gilded waves beckon
Spurs in twilight arousal of passions;
Oh, gaily I recall the crush of nightfall--
It was the promise of quixotic sundown!
Love yearning for blazing red meadows
Whirling desires fiery amber, brown
Gazing at fervor of mulberry evening
Seduces your aura, caressing feelings;
Oh, happily I recall the dalliance of fall--
It was the promise of autumnal awe!
But the promise I treasure adoringly now
Was enunciated in the epigram of stars
By the prophecy of moon scripted above;
Oh, intimately I recall bliss of Shangri-la--
It was the promise of two loving hearts!
June 2, 2020
Placed 1st: The promise poetry contest by Silent One
Placed 3rd: Brian's Select 9 Contest
The Lord spoke to me in dominion.
As a protectorate, he gave vision.
He said through intoned power that the renunciation of a religious faith
must be enunciated.
As a woman of God, I pledge allegiance to his way.
I am monotheistic in faithfulness.
My covenant will subsist and endure via solidarity.
Social Theology is a New School of Thought.
It’s a socio-political and socio-religious walk.
No faith is disallowed.
Just bring yourself and your Bible.
Prayer and worship is done philosophically.
Canons are passing through divinity.
Apostasy is a commitment to a higher order
one that the Lord has defined for theological refinement.
No writhed is involve if you are a person of rightful mindedness and
you saunter with the omnipotent.
Let us amble forth.
A stroll with the omnipotent is not to be mooched.
We are blatant in seeking the truth.
Benevolence to those in their faith, we are searching
for a greater determination.
Through supplication and reverence, we see eternity.
Apostasy is communicative skills of high literacy for a higher order of articulation
via invocation and veneration.
Will the Church say Amen!?!
__________________________________|
Penned on June 03, 2014!
Tommorrow's Brighter Day
is what we wish for, isn't it?
It always offers just a bit more time
to set the scene before the curtain rises,
before the houselights dim,
the orchestra to take a break,
before some truth is caught in frolic,
covers its face, and vanishes in shame.
That legendary day, alas, does not draw closer.
There it is, cemented in nostalgia,
reachable by sacrifice, and distant
by the falsity of pride
that always thunders at us
with deceptive voices, carefully enunciated
to an educated ear.
Only freeloaders must beware.
Only truth which must endure
will manage to survive,
and even that must struggle mightily
against the vanity that festers
in our coveted wounds.
Yes, my love, tomorrow!
Sign the cross. Ressurect the rosary.
All creatures of our God and King
will bow once more to every majesty
we have created--every tale
that draws the heartstrings tighter.
Or simply let it be.
Everyone can play; no act of modesty negates.
Reach. My own is with me still,
though I flash back six decades--
it was time to say goodbye,
that which remained, unverbalized.
His gaze and mine, an intercept
that would never be resolved.
~