until my friend Stephanie
joined me today, Sunday
for some time together
on the porch in my backyard
where the cardinals
were having a veritable
field day by the feeders
and the pileated woodpeckers
are no longer shy
My porch needs repainting,
sweeping, flowers,
and some serious work
It's the color of brick,
red jasper, and strong held
memories
Stephanie, you bring out
the bird in me
(if that makes sense)
Stephanie, you are
my Eastern Towhee
more vibrant than the one
I painted in every shade
of blue, and orange
and sharpie
Once sat friend's home who took a vacation
from repainting ~ rooms messy with white tint
tins, paintbrushes, canvas, half painted walls ~
spent week embroidering at garden pool…
On eighth morning awoke to enigma______
house repainted, rearranged, SOUNDLESSLY!
strange blue footprints on porch, on street pavement
weird phantom painting night, friend spieled sea STUNNED !
_________________________
I spent October inside, until fall had fled
Stresses proliferated, and a hospital bed
I missed the foliage on the Adirondacks high
Yellow, orange and red against the blue sky
I remembered where I had seen colors before
Just 40 miles from my cottage door.
An old Dutch Church, built in 1697
And the graveyard behind, a waystation to heaven.
I made my way south and walked up the hill
Between mausoleums were trees and the color would spill
copper and red and orange and gold.
I let it sink in, and peace took hold.
A stone path opened up a Hudson River scene
I was the only one there, it felt so serene
Then a cloud drifted west, colors lost hue
Like a muted repainting of that grave-framed view.
I've seen death before, and one thing I knew
The saddest words in life were "nothing more we can do"
I wondered if those words were sometimes incorrect
and I thought just coming for colors might show disrespect.
But many come to see the place, most for history
to see the resting place of Irving, Celtic cross of Carnegie.
And we all join the ranks; we all pay life's cost.
There's no going back, once the river is crossed.
The moon meanders,
consuming the seconds,
minutes, hours
until it fades in the dawn.
Still, I wait.
The clouds dance their misty
ballet in the sky playing
hide and seek with the stars.
Still, I wait
The morning mist dances
on a stage of pastel hues,
swirling and repainting a landscape
that passes before my unseeing eyes.
Still, I wait
I wait for my heart to fill
with the winds of passion
and take me to undiscovered
places…
I wait for the forgiveness
found in love.
I wait
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Painting and repainting the future of our land with crooked hands
Laughing at things as the world pass us by.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Writing us messages that have no bloodline.
Although black oil runs in our veins like water of vegetation
There is a sunstroke in our land.
We dream of cassava songs in the market
We dream of an open vehicle that could bear the tiredness of our souls but we are at the verge of things.
Our chairmen our flag bearers of fences
Translators of black dreams with European mirror.
The white house is open for destitutes, kindred of destitutes that are china in African sun.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again and there is a sunstroke in our land
The scorching heat is against banana groves.
Look and see children on a hungry march in the metallic road.
These words, here before me,
Carry meanings, so free.
That phrase, over there,
Evokes images, so rare.
This sentence, so precise,
Paints a picture, concisely.
Those expressions, beyond,
Stir emotions, so fond.
I ponder these terms,
Their elegance, it yearns.
You hear them, so clearly,
Their impact is so near.
The rhythm of speech,
These words, they implore.
Flowing, ebbing, with grace,
Captivating this space.
In the dance of langue,
Beauty's song is sung.
Words that enchant, enrapture,
Their power, they capture.
These symbols are so bold,
Truths they unfold.
Repainting the world,
With hues, ever true.
Oh, the beauty of words,
Their splendour, is stirred.
In this language, so grand,
I find joy, close at hand.
If you're good or you’re bad
If you’re happy or sad
If you’re angry or glad
You are human
If you're bald or you're hairy
Or fearful or scary
If you’re brave or wary
You’re human
If you hate scrubbing floors
Or repainting your doors
Then you are indisputably…
Human
If you sing like a lark
Or your voice is a bark
Or you howl in the dark
You are human
If you’re normally nice
But you’ve made a device
To put rats on ice
You’re still human
If you order your cat
To go catch that rat
Then you’re daft as a bat
But you’re human
If you locked all your doors
Due to Texas Chainsaws
Shunned the sea after ‘Jaws’
That’s just human
But if you, unlike me
Didn’t cry in E.T.
Then I hereby decree
You ain't human
“Satisfied and alone … Serene and reflective”
I, satisfied and alone, proceed
to walk this trail- as I do each new Fall;
not sought by many, but for me, indeed
a spot, well hidden and loved best of all.
Serene and reflective, near the trees,
a brook glides over random, weathered stones.
With soothing murmurs, it flows on with ease
while nearby birds sing out in mellow tones.
And on the trees, a brush drips liquid gold
repainting leaves of summer's placid green;
in brilliant hues, now more intense and bold,
they sport their shawls of red and tangerine.
Reflective, serene, alone and satisfied-
on this old trail- my joys are amplified.
Wind can be a bit pushy
at times
Though I would be first
to admit
of needing nudges in different
directions
inclined to linger too long
under shady canopy
or at the seashore
gazing off into dreamy
horizon
my mind inclined toward
repainting sunsets
rearranging stars into
unique constellations
or writing poetry
strictly for sojourners
each poem a gateway
to ports further unknown
At the crossroad
Where I cried and rise to stardom
Unchained from within
And sing a song of freedom
There my seed would be, shouting "Father well done" !
At the crossroad
Where the scriptures were misinterpreted
And puzzle rearranged
There my people would be, dancing on their veiny drips
At the crossroad
Where the throat of the pen would not be stuck
and chest not tight
It teeth will be given it greatest bite
At the cross road
Where the pen will drip venomous ink
and cast silence to it earliest dark
There we would be, celebrating success
like yesterday's event
At the crossroad
Where my demise will be displayed
And wounds scraped open,
Where the titles of my pieces will be swept under the mud
There I would be, with a soured heart
repainting my darker past
BLAQ POET
PAKAMARA
There should be an idle Olympics,
one where you don't cycle or run,
and instead of diving, there's synchronised skiving
where teams of four get nothing done.
A training camp for doing little
would certainly pick up my vote,
full of amateur loafers sprawled out on the sofas
not caring about where's the remote.
Gold medals for staring at ceilings
that have needed repainting for years,
a silver for shirking, a bronze for not working
with an audience too idle to cheer.
No sports fitness coaches to nag you,
or physios to massage your joints,
starting gun's in the drawer
should you need it- what for?
As we all shrug, and say 'what's the point?'
I'll put my name down for team GB,
her indoors says 'you've nothing to prove,
you're already a winner' as she makes my dinner
and I can't be bothered to move.
Scrolling, not listening ;
You think that’s supportive?!
You think you’re the bomb?
Weak ass detonation
Famous last words;
You call yourself an artist?!
Pretending to pay attention
coming with anything but original;
Maybe that’s why you aren’t interested;
Weak ass contribution
Famous last words;
You expect to get respect ?!
Criticizing someone’s work
when you’re as bland as vanilla
One trick pony, you’ll never change the game
with weak watered down flavor,
Famous last words;
You think that catches fire?!
Strolling down a cold trail
repainting the same lines,
Don’t be surprised if we dismiss your vibe ;
You get the energy you send;
Famous last words;
You should rethink calling yourself an artist.
I would ride a rhinoceros for you
ride it to Timbuctoo
and bring you back
all the golden sand of the desert in a bottle
I would overcome an octopus for you
dive it to deepest Atlantis
gathering up
pearls, sapphires, coral and rubies in a shell
I would bridle the biggest eagle for you
fly it to the cheese-green moon
collecting
shooting stars and sunbeams in a fine feather basket
I would sing a silly song for you, or
write a pretty poem, a nonsensical novel,
a dictionary
of brand new words to describe the lexicon of you
Moving faster than Wonder Woman, I
would go around the world in seventy-nine days
saving a day just for you
(bringing it home, wrapped in spices of the orient)
I would - if you asked me to -
stay up all night for a year, repainting the stars;
leaving them in your room to dry,
just to light up your dreams with silver.
Kim James
7-Feb-2000
Ambivalent pink heaven
merging softly into ethereal earth’s stratosphere
With a vibrancy and star plunk,
repainting the world with glittering hope.
Sprinkling it with love stars,
surrounding the dreamers with uplifting majesty.
God smiled benevolently as He watched His angels at work,
Revitalizing His young…
We are reclaiming them one soul at a time,
His positive cupids assured Him. He knew.
They were on a mission,
inspired by the despondency and greed
they had witnessed.
The souls began to arrive in glitches and gasps,
nurtured in the heart of heaven,
As their flesh bodies slept, not realizing their souls
were in full astral travel mode,
Being cosmically corrected….
Written 2-12-2019
Contest: Tell Me What Do You See Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr.
It really bugged him, that shadow lurking
in the depths of the corner just waiting.
He had tried moving everything around
to no avail, it hung there as if bound.
He felt as if it was watching him move
for what he was unsure maybe his love.
Yet he knew for sure one way or another
it had to go for it was a real bother.
He tried repainting, that was a flop
it was full of bubbles he had to pop.
It appeared his guest was here to stay
nothing he tried seemed to keep it at bay.
In the end he put a screen that blocked
to which he swore the shadow flocked.
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