THE GOD MAN
What lone heart beats with cunning skill,
stokes other men of hope.
Contentious now to seize with ease
From god, to cliche trope.
A man of men conquest again,
and noted through that door.
As if the others ever could,
they would forever more.
Tis the oppositions drum beat
to set the god man's pike.
As though the others might abide,
a trite preemptive strike.
Yet on the other side of coins
resistance pale and weak.
Envious lace bereft of grace
to turn the softer cheek.
Narry a tempt to wrong the right.
Embraced hypocricy
Selfish nature takes without
accountability.
Never B Flat
Sometimes B Sharp
Always B Natural
Orpheus and
Apollo and
The guided Muses
Octoecho
Dorian mode
Uneven float note
Thoth inventor
Ihy child
Lord of vibrations
True rhythm is
Jehovah’s biz
Created for us
Led by music
Offbeat, weak beat
Syncopated trope
Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
The less you know, the easier you live
This little trope was never truly helpful
But on a second thought you may conceive
Your ignorance was rather uneventful
The blessing means the more you know, the less
You’re happy with the content, more inclined
To simple life with pleasures to possess
Most beautiful can ease your troubled mind..
life on Planet Earth
constant change to death from birth
defining the worth
a one time event
an existence much like rent
was such time well spent?
who and what are we
no trivial pursuit be
despite pedigrees
following all rules
of cultures, creeds, states and schools
leaves us useful tools
decrees which confound
class contradictions abound
vague questions resound
deftly inserting
words bent upon subverting
soon turn diverting
safety long has been
in knowing what lies within
defining of sin
anger can erupt
when greed fuels the corrupt
regret won't disrupt
while shrinking life’s scope
truth soon became power’s trope
belief defeats hope
change has run its course
when disconnected from source
of life giving force
existence is free
lies within state of what be
forms reality
Now you might think?
The titles a joke...
Yet if you deal in
Marijuhana
I hear there; is truth
In that old trope.'
Only the very young & very beautiful can be so aloof
Hanging out with the boys all swagger & poise
Our new dashing wannabe tyro is ample proof
(coined by Tom with aplomb.. purloined by me)
Mused Caribbean calypso cool fused with well private school
Cherished plush rhapsodies segue with relished lush melodies
Lips licks fancy flicks & tricks picnics phoenix from the Ashes
Remedies for believers lulled by lullabies from lyrical levers
Poetic shapes lacy lines never frenetic balletic aesthetic
The boundary rope dope trope Jacob is our new hope
The computer says “YES” suitor for the future prophetic
Or down with the kids well Bethell’s the real deal rookie
Badgers hearts swell feels like proper Test cricket nookie
Tell his chilled southpaw drawer got more than Cookie
While other than Joe everyone else was playing hooky
Golden curls & olden twirls.. BET HELL for the bookie
Boundary rope trope it's the hope that kills
Fatality of the banality of all Bazball’s frills
Hilarity of baggie greens nationwide thrills
Beer swills spills hosts dreams full to the gills
Totality of the brutality still gives me the chills
Stokes not chipper has to swallow a bitter pill
Can't fallow our ripper skipper’s skill & iron will
Our leader will wallow in the shrill media mill
His men shi*ter…hollow can't follow Ben's drill
Callow not brill..of shallow Bazball had our fill
Hallow the Wizards of Oz are still top of the bill
The country alive cheering let's go in for the kill
Begin fearing the din of sneering & jeering 5 nil
Violet grape purple envelope
Beholder of your wildest dreams
Holding all the things you long for
Bursting joyful at the seams
Held in gentle mystic splendour
Locked, entombed, a treasured case
Sacred thoughts possessed so tightly
Coccooned within this hidden place
Wrapped in warming rays of sunlight
Imaginary classic trope
Bestower of the dreams envisaged
Violet grape purple envelope
Still hope we can cope
With the nope
Don’t give a damn plan
From that Tandoori tan
Obscene Tangerine dope
Jackanory Mandarin Man
That trope..like to be Pope
Go out on a limb..got the vim..scope
To make him of the grim...dim..whim..mope
Just give Mr Grope enough Rope
Opined women..a frump
If they mind.. some bump & grind
Half inching while pinching their rump
The darkness descends
Besotted with anything cosseted
Rotted or garrotted by design
But sign on the dotted line
Raise a 'Stein" of wine
Knaves..slaves.. saved
From the craze & blaze
Of this moral maze & haze
Extinguished by depraved waves
From distinguished graves
Denies his demise is nigh
Popularity sky high he lies
Bliss as the remiss abyss
Of hiss and diss ends
Thanks to a sly bit of
Wry Fab Four rapport
No not you say hello...but yes I say goodbye
Off with his head the French might have said
Cos we've read we'll get by instead
With a little help from his (dead) friends
.
her tongue
gently protruding
past her lips
whilst i waltz (in mine think)
by hern
her tongue and her think
in deep thought
it's curled pink
i hear'd it's rub 'gainst
it's thick lip's want
her tongue
az if'n had eyne
i felt it's
roam
There’s a song without music I hum
While I wait for your call every night
And the lyrics that usually come
“You’re my everything, you’re the light”
But the rest I’ve forgotten, exept
That together-forever trope
And of course there were tears I wept
And most likely, the blessings of hope
Though it all may not matter this time
But it does, even more so at night
It’s the reason that keeps me in rhyme
“You’re my everything, you’re the light".
Our life a horror movie they played to us in real life
In horror films black people die first
We always make smart decisions
And yet they still manage to find a way to erase us even in film
They don't leave us alone
Not in life
Not in death
Not even in fiction
They do this to show that no matter what we will always be trapped
That even if we follow the rules
We still die
We are still erased
That we still have no control
Over our own fate
We will always be puppets
To a system
That doesn't control by using string
But by barbed wire
Making sure every movement is painful
Making sure we have a slow and violent death
That with every breath
The barbed wire strips another piece of our flesh
Slowly peeling away our blackness
We are seen as the disposable one
In life
In movies
And shows
To be the one who helps
The one who saves
And the one who sacrifices
Their life
For their white counterpart
To make sure they get to the end
Where's our happily ever after
We always get the struggle trope
And when we ask to change the ending
They just say nope
A woman splayed upon a lofty beach—
the drunkard’s stumble-street-strut-jumble-key—
BUY NOW, AND GET THE SECOND [this/that] FREE!
—and what’s this cracked out weirdo got to preach?
…”about the senate’s 3rd bid to impeach…”—
.(Get lost.-)—.IF YOU THINK YOU’LL NEVER BELIE—
look,look!a man crushed by a falling tree!—
—(“oh!—my God!”)—nvm—it’s…freedom…of speech?
Get real! Wake up! Which trope must I invoke?—
(Uh?)—GET REAL RELIEF FROM [this.that]for cheap…—
(Am I getting déja vu?)—(Wait a minute…
)—"everyone’s already way deep in it!"*—
(Who’s telling me that?)—it crawls like a creep:
*Deconformity,(am I just a joke?).
Yes! day and night, inside my roaring shop,
pounding my heavy hammer ceaselessly
against the hardened anvil Poetry,
I ply tough steel into a pleasant shape.
Working words cleansed of cheap and easy trope
which would debase my art’s due quality,
I craft a blade, or else a spade, to be
the prying prod of clever penmanship.
But sometimes, in the silence of sorrow,
my forge sits still, uncluttered and unmanned.
My arduous tasks exhaust me, and I say
“Let what labour’s left be done tomorrow!”—
For when my mind and vision wallow bland,
It’s best to rest and recover for a day.
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