confession of a self-denying cynic

 

 

tip-toe
sof-
ter

try as you
won’t.

know
as you
don’t.

she calls
to you.
(you)

 

Siren song
realized,
as two
big
bewitchingly
brown eyes.

 

Promises
of chaste
propriety
tossed aside-
quickly.

all
is NOT fair.

No mercy,
as your soul
mercilessly flails
your heart
deep in the
inside of you.

 

out of

breath,
and
dizzy.
 
why?
why did she
touch you

right,
there?

why do your lips
yearn.

 

for
a brush with
the divine-
the divine realized
as protruding
pillows of soft
pink
that whisper
love.
Love.
tender
budding
bulbs that sing
dirges for the unrequited.

and flow
to ply
your soul.

and
your heart
spasms
so,
you submit.
you submit.
you submit.

you submit
to the Universe.

you submit
to Time.

you submit
to whatever folly
this
delightful
demoness demands.

because
you
are lost.

lost in the beauty
of knowing
self’s counterpoint,
revealed.

apology for the thief

I had
inside me
the love
and beauty
to gift you
with
twisted and
delightful verse.

but my Muse,
that
lovely
embodiment of Grace,
and spiritual
height,
demanded
tribute.
(or maybe I
offered -freely?)

you should know,
that I have
a Huge crush
on her.
(she’s so damn fine)

so all you get
is this
ode,
to her:

the poem thief

just, doin’ it

alive.

in a desert
sprinkled
with impotent
directionless
fecklessness
drones.

Each

 
Breath,
a reminder
of my  palpable
soul.

too long
in the barrens,
I know
I must recall
that:

I love to fuck
and laugh.

I like to pee, and
I love to dance.
I like to flirt
(with you);
and
I like to feast,
too.

I
Love
to
Live
Life
Loudly

fig leaf
lost
or
discarded.

letting it
all hang

I understand (because it’s bigger than guns, and race, and money, and oil)

Tears falling
down my
rock cold
face.
pulse,
deafening.

there
goes another one.

my brother.
my fam.
next time, maybe,
me?
foolish old man,

Shut-Up!

you don’t get
to tell me
what.
you don’t get to tell me
who.

who the
fuck are you?

you’re old,
but you never learned a damn thing.

my dog
has more sense than
you.
He doesn’t shit
where he lives.

you rape this earth
that gives us life.

our Mother.

chasing paper dreams
and the artificial.

you killed
and raped
those who loved her.
those who served her.

do you read?
do you remember?
did you forget?

I didn’t forget
I can’t. forget
I will never forget.

Thousands of tortured souls,
asleep,

at the bottom
of the sea:

upon Wounded Knee

in the Dreamtime of the aborigine

and the lost Arawaks,
in the Caribbean.

spirit mothers and fathers
to my brothers
& sisters,
and
to me.

these
were the lucky ones.
Yo!
step off
and
get out of my face.

seriously,
Move clown,
and get out
of my way.

I don’t want any part
of your rape
I don’t want any part
of your hate

on humanity.

I don’t want any part, of
the lie
perpetrated since
Eve,
and Adam
entered the shade
of that tree.

There is enough:
love
There is enough
food.
I know
what life
means

I know the Mother,

you,
you’re just a motherfucker.

 

 

 

 

whisper one-more-time

what never
was
still
chokes
like a rose
petal
falling
before
the thorn
pricks.
but even a thorn
is real.

can one choke
on a dream?

yes.

but
one can also
soar.

i flew,
with
you
touching
ether
blessed
by
Love’s Grace
and
Universe’s
embrace.

thanks be
to the
sacred
in thee,
and
in
me.

responsibility

I hid.

I ran.

I accused.

I nodded, and giggled away the pain,

and the sadness,

and the shame,

and the anger.

but not all of it.

Not By A God Damn Long Shot.

time for  little ray-ray to stop 

running.
Gooding

Dyson 

Williams

Martin

Pooler

Purvis

Arnold….

You all tried to teach me.

I didn’t listen,

But you all reached me.

and I heard,

in your voices, 

every emotion, 

and every broken promise.
I am finally ready.

in the fight now,

and it’s for keeps.

Thank you.

Brothers, Uncles, Aunts

And,

Cousin,

Thank You,

now,

It’s on.

sometimes Fate has butterfingers (an excercise in anticipatory preemptive post-opportunity  seduction)

I met

Beauty

personified,

and

She let me in,

close.

so close.

and then,

she was gone.

gone.

She saw

in me

something other

of the Divine.

Yeah… can you believe that shit?

in me.

We touched 

minds,

and poured souls,

but i wanted more.

i wanted a taste

of what i could not have,

of what

i may never

know.

But,

I met Beauty.

and i know

i am.

Yeah!

Am.
and She,
is

Glorious.

he angry, huh?

One.

Two.
Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Six hundred years:

Emasculated

Castrated 

Denigrated

Mated

Hated

Murdered 

Feared 

Enslaved

Dehumanized 

Sexualized

Murdered 

Institutionally and systematically murdered

Stolen

Robbed of history

Robbed of culture 

Robbed of name

Robbed of spiritual power

Robbed from life itself.

The power of this 

First Man,

diverted

to sex, 

drugs, 

cars,and 

cash:

dolla’ dolla’ bills, ya’all.
And still,

Murder

Upon murder.

Gang banger, corporate cog,….they see you.

And Dr. West, sorry,

But you’re next.

Was he angry?

Have we answered the riddle of the raisin in the sun?

I fear for the deaths of more innocents,

But as in any war

the innocents suffer.

Six hundred years of soul occupation,

soul obviation, 

a soul’s destruction,
Was this the first salvo?

Or 

can WE

find a better way?

A dog will only be kicked so many times.

Man

Is

No

Dog.