Friday, October 14, 2011

A LOVE SUPREME (Song )

She's not that pretty
She's far from being ugly.
She's kinda in between,
She's not that chubby,
She's far from being skinny,
She's kinda in between,
She's not that smart
She's far from being dumb
She's kinda in between.
O, how I love her,
Can't do without her,
She's my love supreme.

She's not that rich,
She's far from being poor,
She's kinda in between,
She's not that bossy,
She's not passive,
She's kinda in between
Oh, how I love her,
truly adore her
She's my peaches and cream,
She's my love supreme.


She's my angel
She's my heaven
She's my earthly queen
She's so insightful,
She's delightful
She's my love supreme,
She's my love supreme

Saturday, September 10, 2011

The Rape (Poem )



The night was drenched in blackness,
only fireflies and cat eyes witnessed
the life and death struggle taking place
in a garbage littered alley. A purse emptied
of contents: lipstick, mascara and money
evidenced splattered blood. High-heeled shoes,
seemingly, toed each other. A scuffle accompanied
by pants and moans, punctuated
a deafening silence.

The woman's eyes, bruised and blank,
lips smeared with the corpuscle of victory
tasted bits of flesh along ridges of her gums.
and between her biting teeth.
The stickiness of blood stained her palm and fingers
She dared not engage the dead man's face

who had tried to rape her
as she pulled the knife from his chest.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Iconic Images bl (Poem )








A has been -
no longer what he was,
once, tried and tested
with blazing AK 47's,
rockets launchers
on battlefields,
against Mongols and Tartars.
taking comfort in the cavernous
bowels of Afghanistan
and mighty forces spitting the
tongue of death from superior artillery,
supplied by a future enemy.
A has been -
once a symbol of revolutionary bravado,
an egomaniac steeped in delusions of grandeur,
who breached the homeland of
the Green Lady.
A has been except for
posters: bounty on his head
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE ...



The search, unbeknowest as he was sequestered
in a fortified military complex,
in Pakistan,
armed with a remote control,
looking at an
bygone age of perpetuation,


news updates and pornographic sites
on Al Jazeera,
masturbating and lusting at pictures
of dead bodies sacrificed in the name of martyrdom,



a has been, caught with pants below the knees

































Saturday, May 7, 2011

Iconic Image 1 (Poem )



Through swollen and blurred vision, I glared at her voluptuous body -
a tempting contour of flesh,
as she swayed back and forth,

arrayed in purple and scarlet;
adorned with gold and precious stones
and pearls to eso-erotic music.
She peeled off garments after garments
meant to entice the lust of an idolatrous king,
webbed in an adulterous commitment;
a promise to deliver the desired wish
of a mother's spite.
She swirled amidst incestuous passion,
kissed my uninvited lips,
once the vehicle of rebuke:
"Adultery is sinful in the eyes of God."

I was targeted - cast dungeon-wise
in dark squalor and bleeding walls
splashed with blood-curdling torture.
droplets of my blood spilled from
the silver platter onto the marbled floor
to the delight of the King's lords

and high Captains.
And, before my eyes expired, puffed and swollen,
the seventh veil revealed her wanton nakedness;

etched on her forehead, the prophetic words:
THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND OF THE
ABOMINATION OF THE EARTH.



























To Helen (Poem )






The heavens opened to welcome her,
as she lay reposed on her final earthly bed -
a destined sleep, deserved.
Surrounded by bouquets of love and memories,
rains ceased to pepper the chapel's rooftop,
clouds dispersed to allow a ray of sunshine
to filter through stained glass windows
touching her journeyed face.

Ave Maria! Maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden's prayer!
Thou canst hear though from the wild
Thou canst save amid despair
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,
though banished, outcast and reviled -
Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;
Mother, hear a suppliant child!
Ave Maria!

The heavens opened and welcomed her.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Iconic Image 3 (Poem )




I was one of twelve
sitting in the upper room,
secretly seething because I was not the chosen.
Jealousy prepped my narcissistic ego,
bombarded my consciousness and reason
unaware that the penalty of betrayal is death.

We drank and supped
of His body and blood,
A sacrament of high holiness.
As He focused on the depth
of my treachery.

The chief priests and scribes
placed a bounty on His head,
declaring Him PUBLIC ENEMY NUMBER ONE -
Wanted dead or alive for crimes: false claims,
corrupting scripture, proclaiming Godhead
and violating the demeanor of the synagogue
and established dogma.
The lure of silver salavied my senses;
and I snitched Him out with a kiss,
to high authority with infallible mien,
who washed their hands of Him.
And my ill-found wealth became my curse.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

21st Century Poets






FIRST CALL:


Calling all 21st century poets,
hardcore, vitriolic, underground poets,
outspoken, word-guerrilla poets
to change the system,
declare war on class and privilege,
homelessness, poverty, hunger and ignorance;
hoist the flag, carry the torch
of love, peace and equality;
build pyramid pyres, set the world ablaze
with scorching (truth) is power-knowledge.

Calling all 21st century poets,
to condemn, tear down, pulverize
stone-age myth, lore, superstition,
recycled refrigerated hypocrisy, falsehood
and questionable paradigms.

Calling, calling, calling 21st century poets,
underground, guerrilla, outspoken,
spoken-word poets,
to deliver scathing words, harsh verbal assaults,
tauting tirades, oratorical deathblows,
against tyranny, intimidation, torture,
executions, blanket assassinations,
and forced suicides;
against racism, sexism, bigotry
and ethnic cleansing;
against border vigilantism fisted in
discriminatory nationalism;
against executive, legislative, judicial exclusion,
slavery, genocide and extinction;
against pseudo-historians and philosophers,
teachers and preachers personifying hatred,
positing race theory, supremacy -
vocalizing incendiary phrases, sentences,
igniting fiery fanaticism
coded in the written and the spoken word.
Calling to arms all 21st century poets,
dissident, revolutionary lip-masters
to hurl explosive word bombs
at corrupt, self-serving institutions
dumbing down a populace to grovel at the feet
of power-driven, theo-philosophical gurus
and eccentric social planners.

Calling all 21st century poets
to stand and step up, revive
the admonishing, denounciatory exhortations
of Jeremiah and like voices.












































Monday, January 24, 2011

In Memory of Rosa Parks



Rosa, you have passed beyond
this abusive realm
of petty trails and tribulation
of manufactured anger
and victimization.
You, too, will occupy the mountaintop,
display your angelic splendor.

It was your energetic demeanor
and majestic dignity - a healing balm,
that fueled the flames of hope,
and stoked embers of pride
in a sorely oppressed people.

Rosa, you will be held sacred
to those of us whose struggle
for justice and equality -
once thought insurmountable,
tested the width and breadth
of your indomitable spirit.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

In Memory Of Derrick "Chan" Burrough 10-02-60 -01-21-06

Once upon a time
before I knew him,
his health stood as a mighty tree,
he was an unswerving wave
on life's tumultuous sea.
The trails and tribulations
are no longer at his door,
the gnawing pain and suffering
will badger him no more.

Once upon a time is all
it took for me to know him,
the love and warmth he freely gave
will never cease or dim.
He left me with fond memories;
they will live forevermore,
God bless and may he rest in peace,
beyond this finite shore.

Hale-Bopp








Rotating like a spinning top
turning like the hands
on a non-digital clock,
streaked across the sky
the comet Hale-Bopp.

Ice, gas, dust hurled from afar,
appeared at times
to be a shooting star.
As approaching the sun
its luminous glow
had an aura-like haze
of a rainbow.

Thirty-nine hailed it
a prophetic sign,
declared it a marker
to leave  earth behind;
meet with the higher maker
known to be a canister taker.

Did not Christ give up his body
on the cross,
when He said, "thy will be done"
to His heavenly boss.
Yet in three days
Christ defeated death -
according to scripture
He regained life's breath.

Did Doe and his crew
expect the same-
man a spaceship
without a given name,
will it be said that they died in vain.

Needless to say
they were fanatically eccentric,
yet, pulled off a stunt
fatalistically horrific.
They had neither spiked hair,
nor pierced earlobes,
they wore Nike shoes
and purple robes;
ate applesauce, dropped phenobarbital
each died on a bunk
behind silent mansion walls.

Supposedly, they were
the cream of the crop,
placed their faith
in galactic slop,
found in the likes
of the comet Hell-bopp.

Fifteen Minutes



It's become a deadly game,
Mayhem and Murder is the name,
go berserk and terrorize
for fifteen minutes of fame.
It doesn't matter, time or place,
one picks to occupy that space,
gender, age's not a question,
neither is one's race.
A shopping mall or school classroom
can instantly come the site of doom,
when commandeered by a cowardly thug,
whom should have died in the womb.
Psychopathic addicts going wild,
killing woman, man, child;
then escape from facing the music,
ending one's life without a smile,
to terminate the deadly game
of fifteen minutes of fame.

Life

I've heard it said more than once,
Perhaps a dozen times,
expressed in pale, prosaic prose,
and oxy-owlish rhymes,
by poet and philosopher,
optimist and skeptic,
kibitzer, biographer,
pessimist and cynic -
the wealthy-laden;
poverty-ridden,
social scientist and critic,
charlatans, profiteers -
the wise and not so wise,
hustlers, racketeers,
barren and circumcised -
that regardless of who you are ,
life isn't fair -never has been,
it's just the way things go,
sometimes yes, most often no,
you reap what you sow -
filthy rich, rolling in dough,
stone-broke, penniless, dirt poor,
is determined by the hand of fate
When she knocks on the door.

Life isn't fair - never will be
it's just the way things are,
born with the Midas touch, a silver spoon,
or wishing upon a star,
is like the unexpected hand
caught in the proverbial cookie jar.
Life's a split second in space and time,
a measurable pit, an finite climb,
albeit a doer of evil or righteous deeds,
the double-jointed hand of life
offers few guarantees.

Life isn't fair,
it's a two-edged sword,
a Janus-faced catch 22,
half of conjoined twins,
temporally loaned to you.
So live and be merry,
and, surely, if you must -
do what you doubt and trust,
bond with life's ups and downs,
for life's a series of leaps and bounds
Life isn't fair and at the end of it all
is ashes to ashes and dust to dust

Paper Horses

(Song inspired by Drew Lesso's music)


I see paper horses
on construction paper,
galloping, prances in paper corrals,
paper horses in paper stalls,
eating paper grass and hay -
women are made of glass,
men are made of clay.
I see paper horses
on merry-go rounds,
paper horses circling me,
paper horses on carbon paper,
matted paper, computer paper,
recycled paper, drafting paper,
I watch them eat paper grass,
I watch them as they play -
women are made of glass,
men are made of clay.

With paper scissors,
I cut out paper horses,
thorough breed and quarter horses,
Clydesdale and Arabian horses;
place the on paper party plates,
tack them on my paper walls;
pencil in flowers and grass,
watch them mate and play -
women are made of glass,
men are made of clay.

I see paper horses in my dreams,
in stockades and slaughter houses,
abused, neglected paper horses,
paper horses killed en masse
while circus horses feed on hay -
women are made of glass,
men are made of clay.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Militia Men



(1)


Her body, ravished and torn,
Repeatedly violated by militia men,
One after the other.
They thought not of their mother,
whom she could have been.
War can bring out the worst
in some men.
While some turn their heads,
ignore unwarranted atrocities
inflicted on families -
especially women and children.

(2)

Her body, bloated with child,
and without knowledge of the father,
she thought, why bother giving birth to it;
surely, other women felt the same,
though no fault of their own,
struggled with collective shame,
to accept or disown,
a child not of their choice,
no reason to rejoice.

The stigma the child would bare,
often crossed her mind.
would he know or care
that life has not been fair.

(3)

She cuddles her child in protective arms,
determined to keep him safe,
sacrificing her needs to ensure,
he won't become a waif.
She prays far into the night
that when her son becomes a men,
regardless of the wars he'll fight,
he'll respect the role of women.

Lights Out

The weak link
is the twisted bolt,
the stripped screw,
the bent nail,
the frayed rope -
used and spent
like Judas' take,
then asking Jesus,
"Is it I, Lord?"

Escalators to heaven
and Babel,
resurrected by Otis and Boeing -
mushrooms over Hiroshima,
ruptured in black holes.
Lights out on a swollen face,
two black eyes.

Friday, January 14, 2011

My First Poem



I do not care
should lilacs fade,
I'm more aware of dandelions,
and weeds that sprout
from ghetto curbs
instead of sprawling oaks
and pines...

Albeit, I can relate
to Roman Hills and Grecian Shores,
though dirt and grease of ghetto streets
are closer to my breathing pores.

Before the Cock Crew





I denied Him,
Not once, nay twice, but thrice.
Swords saluted that preordained night ,
Clamorous voices muted quietude,
fleet-footed fright stunted my fortitude.

I denied Him long before the morn
from night was shone,
shielded my cowardly face against accusation,
disavowed charges of alliance
due to mortal trepidation,
deserted a close allegiance.

I denied Him,
slouched slowly away on shy tiptoes
a covenant to forfeit
as He was buffeted by countless foes
and targeted by their spit.

Yes over, over, over prophetically true,
I denied Him thrice before the cock crew.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Lights Out






Homeless People

Homeless people,
faceless, nameless
babies, children,
weary women tired and spent,
hapless men, defeated men
on the highways & rugged byways,
zigzagging, crisscrossing
alleys and corridors
scrounging for food,
seeking handouts,
taking refuge in dangerous shadows,
challenging death, disease,, exclusion.
Homeless people whose denial
mauled-nutrition, alienation.
Unprotected by the law,
unprotected from the law.

Americans wed to desperation,
categorized, ostracized, dehumanized
in this so-called land of plenty.
My country 'tis of thee
is homelessness & gnawing hunger
ingredients of liberty.