The stream (all workshops)
what a war we have...
had, truth is
we were opposed to white
preferred red and potent
nothing new there
our poetry was insignificant
i understood it
i tried to cope with you
you spoke my poetry
and now it doesn't sound decent
or understandable
i've watched us burn twice
most noticeable was
your reaction
nothing changed
nothing corrected
the poets in us still dreamed
the politicians lied and
the homeless remained
all alone
That fleeting moment
while Sun kisses the horizon
is like our parting
Shadows disappear
sooner than memories fade
into twilight
I gather the sand
of our footprints and castles
ingrained with our love
Before dusk settles
I sprinkle the sand
upon our rose beds
this log that laid upon the ground
was hewn by hand with gentle care
envisioned by the sculptor's eye
whose hands took time to stop and share
this canvas filled with brilliant hues
that thus depicts the artist's views
regardless if I understand
has shared the soul and art of man
a mother's eye rests on her child
despite the pain of birth, behold
of nature bad or good she smiled
her art worthy of more than gold
land awakens
berry blue sky
once the colour
of pellets or ore
on the warm
tracks
burgundy slag
and the oil of cresote
grasses hush dry
from winter
preserved from
another year
and season
I remember the sound
of rain arriving in
breezes and wind
hissing
whispering in its
spirit voices
cold on my forehead
collecting in my brows
and eyelashs
the dark growing darker
in the huddled tamarack
beneath the sculpted
pines
Stained filthy brick,
lining dark alleys,
little light penetrates,
inner recesses of these shadowed walls.
Slick rainbow shades of color,
sit atop puddled ground.
Tiny vials,
glass pipes,
baggies,
litter soiled earth.
Maggots,
human waste,
excrement,
foul each breath inhaled.
Back aches and heart break
from sleepless nights
in a Buick, life is a mess
Keeping my head high
telling myself
"I can get through this"
It is simply a test
What should have been
New York strip
and glasses of Champaign
is a bowl of top ramen
and a cup of kool-aid
My pride won’t let
me beg for change
or lean on a friend for a
place to stay
Two pair of eyes in the darkness
Four ears to hear the hurt
The beating, thuds and whimpers
From the muzzle in the dirt
A snarling maw, a shadowy form
Two fists of fury hot
Teeth that shred and tear your flesh
Mercy... there is not
Your dog was ever loyal
He don't need this kind of grief
Now we're gonna torture you
When you die, you'll get relief
Killer kicks some ribs and breaks them
The Black... he rends his hand
Oozing blood and gasping breath
Will not let him stand
There were times when I was growing up
and my worldly troubles were bothering me,
where I couldn't face things life put in my way
so, my intentions were to pack, and then flee.
I know now, that the answer
wasn't running away from home,
all the mishaps, and the misfortunes
will follow me wherever I roam.
So, that set my mind to thinking
it does that now, and again;
but, life's always going to hurl bad things
that you still have to deal with, in the end;
I am two halves of a common consequence
neither belittled or in awe,
life's work self portrait, half painted.
I am an echo in flesh
but something quite different in self appraisal.
Not better or worse
nothing here rehearsed.
Have skirted the perimeter of my elders eccentricity
before they have time to have forgotten me.
Drawn by those who have gone before
as to what lies ahead of me, inside of us
the departed trust, seeping lust
A legacy that must.
Childhood memories
drift by,
of what happened
as they dried.
I used to blow
white clouds
that danced across
the skies.
So close your
baby blues,
and make your
wishes come true.
I saved the
rest for you . . . .
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