Forget about MYTHS of our own blood
Thousands are now in despised LEAFS of handheld malls
Celebrated by well-known bureaucratic weapon SAYING it has more pleasure
In this dilemma of ACCEPTING unconscious behaviors
Even floods condemn this abomination era
Whitewash black history with DEMEANING theatre
Swimming in this landscape of JUSTIFYING lust
SMILING with no cultural ease
It is already here. Dark times SINGING
Like a hypocrite PREPARED to die for his illusion beliefs
This is unpassionate WORLD
CRISS-CROSS PIVOT -GRAND SLAM
. First Set
. love all
. first serve
. clean ace
. first game
. to love
. I’m inspired
. shot selection
. spot on
. hit line
. each time
WHITEWASH
. second set
. first serve
. double fault
. opponent rallies
. fights back
. tie break
. five seven
. third set
. take tumble
. call physio
. Retire Hurt
shadows burn
through the bulb;
they whitewash the
darkness on my skin;
body shapes the fire
within, without. under
the glasslight blinks,
once, twice; brief, alive; in
the longest rain
passing on all her shadows;
heavy and wet, this streetlight's
~cast something~ flickers out —
broken is seemingly not the
same thing as dead.
A return to Normalcy
As night comes, all are at ease
We return to slumber
In the electric comfort
Of artificiality that is our lives
We revel in the false sense of our own
Modern conveniences
We forget the thin veil between
Our electric life, truth of nature’s brutality
Of our existence, we believe we are
Immune to the real world, harsher realities
Till only a loss of electric life or death, finite
Our comfort zone is rot, lost, and won
Something jars us back to reality
Of the world so frail
So it goes for everything n anyone
We are wrapped in ourselves
We are ignorant of the truth, in flesh
We hid in the comfort of our arrogance
We whitewash our history
We tell ourselves one thing
We miss direct our attention
With glamour, illusions, n media broadcasts
Peel back the thin layer of civility
See the bones of mortality
The flesh of humanity
The blood of our souls, vanity
We are primal and dangerous
Everything foretold, lost
We are comforted by our excesses
We fear what we cannot hold
And believe all we are sold
As we turn in for a much-needed reprieve
A needed night's rest, we are in our woolen
Wilds and slumber in our hypocrisy.
Deck the halls with gold
and whitewash society
erase the bonds of culture
and that unfitting history
focus on how pretty
your teenage bride will be.
***
STAY DOWN BLACK BOY STAY DOWN!
Ain’t no kings allowed.
I wake up every day grateful that I get to whitewash yo world down.
You answer to US(Aye).
Proud to carry mah privilege.
Bliss in mah spirit knowing that the greater man is envious…
STAY DOWN BLACK BOY STAY DOWN!
If you can’t rap or catch a ball you’ll nevuhh make yo mama proud.
We gave you religion.. keep on praising that white man in the clouds.
Keep on killing each othuh, that’s what yo life is all about…
STAY DOWN BLACK BOY STAY DOWN!
Black Lives Matter, huh? I’ll wait for you to tell me how..
Not even your parades and cascades can bring us down.
AIN'T NO WAY AROUND.
I see it in yo eyes.. you don’t want to make it out.
I’ll nevuh be on yo side, yet I’m marching with yo crowds.
To make sure, black boy… to make sure you STAY DOWN!
If you mix an Elephant and a Donkey
you will come up with a barrel full of Monkeys
holding guns and bibles
chanting the Zionists songs
***
It's almost one o'clock
In the morning.
Summer is in full swing.
The full moon has stopped being red,
And it launches the light with thin plates ,
through the not fully drawn curtains.
Someone is sonorously stirring the drink in the cup with a spoon.
The darkness, diluted with whitewash,
Presses its cheek to the gentle sound.
Mark Twain wrote how Tom had Huck paint his fence
using reverse psychology on him.
Tom bamboozled Huck, yet in his defense,
Huckleberry Finn was known to be dim.
Tom baited Huck by acting possessive,
taking great pains to express his delight.
He made painting the fence seem impressive,
taunting that Huck could never get it right.
At first, Huck laughed; then, he begged for a chance
to whitewash the whole fence and prove Tom wrong.
Tom planned on tricking Huck well in advance:
bruising his pride, until Huck went along.
Such reverse psychology demonstrates
how the subconscious mind manipulates.
Maybe I seek meaning in the press of sympathetic eyes
Maybe within me resides a cancerous longing to shatter into a million tiny pieces
Maybe I will finally matter once tragedy razes the last vestiges of normalcy
Maybe I am a broken creature in a broken world, desperate to feel anything
I am an insomniac in the moonless night, plotting the end of my universe
I am a flightless bird careening from the top of a skyscraper
I am a suicidal survival guide to the purgatory of my own mind
I am what I've been made, a pale, pathetic being stillborn from the ashes of society
If I but had the courage to run eastward toward the dawn
If I could whitewash the blackened, soot-stained edges of my soul
If I had a blind man's courage, a dancer's grace, a mourner's strength
If sunrise brought resurrection from the death in darkness
So I wait, watching the wolves that prowl on the edges of my consciousness
So I dream, of flame and pain, of death and doom, of rain and sorrow
So I watch as life brushes past me, a stranger in the parkinglot
So I live, awaiting the devastation I know will befall me
| Oceans - Of Thought |
Harmonised hypothermia sets
through the darkened depth
of the chasm deep,
Like a heavy-weighted wreck
of my linguistic mind.
As blithe planulae float
amongst the turquoise torrents
of the surging tides.
Efflux my porous skin
that secretes the bitter brine,
Void of lust, my halitous breath.
When will I find the courage
that guillotine faith;
cut across these saline soothing shores
That reflects like crystalline glass,
that rips and takes.
But, incompetent to see more;
the calm of the sea.
But under tide
the waves topple above
like whitewash remembrances
Beckoning me to emerge and find,
Flavours of youth
in the lull of the sea
So I begin searching of forever freedoms
in the caress of the breeze.
I say my adieu to the abyss-abundant sea
My love for the ocean;
Is a coral of burnt sienna,
tipped with lanvanda,
and blushing pinks.
The azure's solvent divinity
has annihilated fear
Like an oakum of my sanity
My mind finally carefree.
My dog is giving the sky
a meticulous tongue lolling.
Half way through the walk he dips
his pink lapper into a muddy puddle
then continues to paint the sky
to his liking,
'his liking' being
those odiferous bits of tainted earth
he uncovers with his wet nose.
I can see his work is having effect.
Just above our heads
the air has thickened, yellowing clouds
gather in a mellifluous miasma.
The heavens are ready to piss.
Internally we are both sunny,
it's just that his sense of art,
and its expression
is different from mine.
Dogshat and daffodils
and the world
always adding suitable hues
to balance the two.
Nature, like a Michael Angelo
always face up
building a sky-bridge
between them both.
Nevertheless, later today
I'll come back here with a ladder
and a bucket of whitewash.
If (I / you) were to observe (myself / yourself),
Would (I / You) really know (myself / yourself)?
-----------------------------------------------
We prosper but we also strain -
This "Game of Life" is that refrain.
It carries on from day-to-day
And we stay steadfast in the fray
Playing our roles up to the hilt,
Life's psycho-social endless tilt -
Casting our lots on roulette's wheel,
Love's psycho-analytic deal.
Gazing into the mirror's face
It's who we are in that embrace.
It's what and why we can't explain -
Our Egos whitewash loss and gain.
We strive to find identity
And picture what we'd hope to be.
At times we feel it's all for naught
When falling short from what we've sought.
Stagnating in complacency
We hold on most tenaciously
To limits of expectancy
For what we'll suffer change to be.
Our portraits in the attic wait
To frame the essence of our fate.
The chronicle of life is great
And Truth, through time, applies the paint.
Most will be shown with minor flaws -
Some, as affronts to norms and laws
But all, one day, will be displayed;
How will your likeness be portrayed?
Whitewash is white
White race is not white
White gold is not white
White pepper is not white
Look before you leap
Think thrice before you act
Never jump to a conclusion
Without investigation
Sometimes quick and smart
Doesn't mean excellent and perfect
People used to say
Work smart but not work hard
But to survive an economical crisis
Many an average
Will surpass merely a few excellent
A lovely walk, a promenade leads the way
Burnt orange succulents stand like bushes serene
Crushed tepid deep, whitewash stirs up behind the scenes
Delightful blends of blue sky in-between
Entwined the seaweed branching out for a reach
Finely tuned trumpet sounds of swoosh on the beach
Glassy prisms beam through dark shades
Horizon blended ocean, sky, behind palisades
Intruders running 'round, sand in face
Jelly fish glow and charm with grace
Krutsinger Island, the sign reads
Lover’s bed and breakfast needs
Men and woman frolicking in the water
Naked babies cry out with laughter
Oceanic mammals creep by
Palm trees, flowing, occupy
Quietly recedes then tosses its sea
Rentals, beachcombers welcome
Surfers ride their boards for fun
Tingling with a cooling breeze
Umbrella of waves, high tides come and go
Verdant colors make for radiant seascape
Whales bellowing blow show
Xanadu paradise plan your escape
Yachting, sailing, tagging and more
Zanzibar coastal getaway tours
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