Situations

With every gesture, shout, scream I’ve witnessed your spirit nailed to the cross!

Raped, stripped and scraped of your own tolerance,

of your own bearings

Mocking the sad, pretentious, rebellious clothing that gathers the dirt from a seasoned scape- goat!

Do find it in your heart to forgive an apologetic, over active heart that tries to grab the occasion as it comes

Alter the seed before it begins to bear fruit

Forge affection for sincere compliments

Strangle the tongue housed by strong vocals

Wither at the thought of mere, confrontation

Borrow the mists of confident men

And then bruise them                                              

lives in bliss                                            

Cooking, cleaning, lying, dancing, singing, blaspheming, laughing, cussing

For the bible specifies that the habit of one is just as bad as the habit of all

Basking in attention and others...... I wouldn’t mention

Plant and cultivate happy memories that I quickly forget

Run from the reflection that reminds me of my attributes

An equal set

My hands are stretched to meet with you

And find resolve for a trifling two

For I’ve succeeded in changing you

My twin other

I’ve found, explored and spat the bitterness of your words and hugs

Now embracing the likeness that wean us

And bury the monster that separates us

Forgive me soon

And i’ll honor the man you are

i’ll set ablaze the star you are

Merci for being bold

Situations

I wish he knew my god

His twist and turns in a carousel frenzy revealed he was confused

Bruised shoulders and elbows, scraped knees and toes

were only the surface of his wounds

Exists but hardly alive, his curse my demise

Cries....buried beneath his chest

His tummy empty...didn’t have plenty so he settled for less

His story I’ll never know...but what does it say of the veins bulging from his feet, hear dabbed with dirt, wearing a woman’s skirt and his friends

Crack and cocaine

I wish he knew my God, had he sipped the wine and nibbled the crumb of life

He’ll use his knife only to cut his blessings: 3 to 3000 baskets of fish and bread

There would be plenty if he sat with me at communion

And it would be the next best thing to his rum

For habits don’t change overnight

Then soon it would be no rum

The sun....will shine on him so blindingly to generate and perpetuate his faith

I wish he knew my God, our god....his song would be...[i will not hunger!!! I will not beg for bread!!]

I’d love him like Christ loved, hug him like Christ sat next to and embraced sinners: hypocrites, drunkards and thieves

I’d brush the dirt and leaves off his shoulders and cast away his gun

I would nurse where it bleeds, and those wounds would heal

I would give him life, new birth as if he were my son

The robe of righteousness would be the best garment he’d own

Gone would be those nights that were so cold...and those loud moans for a hand to hold

Healed would be his back!...healed would be those... bones

I wish he knew our god

Now sitting on his throne

Then crack and cocaine would be no longer be his friends....he’d survive the impossible like David did in the lion’s den

I would have him pray for me because the man he was! He is no more !!

I would be happy for his delivery

For mine would have been from the time I opened my door!!

Dreaming

We lay as the petals of a dandelion
kissing heads, touching thoughts, holding still, able feet
war breaks but no one fights,
weapons grew blunt,
tongues transform the rush and heat....

why must we journey the universe of mass and matter?
when the answers are floating earnestly
in synchrony with meaning...filtering you and filling me....us

we dream to capture the dew of hope, happiness and compassion
we dream to remind ourselves of the push and pull of form
we dream to propel against tainted norms

we dream because..... very few... do...

The struggle

Lips pursed to imprison the protest of a hot, sizzling afternoon under the sun
her....shoulders slouched, clothing stiff and matchless perhaps to symbolize the 'slaps' with a wooden stave at the bottom of a nearby trench

Her toes cringed from touching the road; hot and humid to give an illusion of a slipper that fit....just right...
She clutched the handle of an umbrella beside an electric post...waiting for her pick up...bus drop
with whom she'll negotiate a penny less of the actual cost
wouldn't mine being pulled in by the cop

Her eyes overflowed with "tears of the sun" yes the movie ...replaying the film through each gesture, squint, blink...

But, on the flip side, she has company....

Tall, dark, parched, llively, 'silly'...collectively they rewrote the pages of history:
neat row, clean shirt; no dirt, long pants that brushed his ankle revealing deep cracked heels...a
picture that hastily reminded the bulge of his left eye and chipped tooth!
"Sophia! Sophia !" the louder he said it the faster the crowd piled in warm seats.

..... this man....that woman....his cracked heels...

her cringed toes...her squint...his chipped tooth

"Kunta kinta"....."Coolie mudda"

Slavery.....Indentureship

i watched in oblivion out of the sun; through different lens

I respected their push, energy, necessity... to keep on keeping on

Their necessity.... to keep on... keeping on

keep on...keeping on(echoe)

..

Love is....

It seems as if i can wrap myself around the toss 'n' tumble of pungent memory as long as there is love... and... poetry

Memories i can't simply forget like William shakespeare and Juliet, Macbeth? though his story different....
It was written by a poet of love and if that's what spewed from his pen ....then that's how he'll always be remembered

If... that's what spewed from his pen...then... that's how he'll always be remembered


....why... do i unravel and travel along the painless, effortless journey of what was real epiphanising, uncompromising.....realising that

pages glared to resuscitate the life and perpetuate the resounding voice of a naive 16 year old describing love as if 61!

what can she possibly know?...i questioned myself.... but it occurred to me that love is youth... in an emotional, devotional way...

you know what it is when its found, explored and experienced....

Love is addictive, attractive and reactive

Love has no weather; it's a silly hat above rediculously huge yellow goggles frowning at the sun and dancing under the moon

love is a song that wouldn't end soon


Love is as simple as a breath of fresh... air


Love, like a clock, ticks as long as ...the heart... permits

Love is the slow, rhythmic beat of the drum... sinking into the melody of soft strings on a spanish guitar and.....saxophone......the play of an old polished flute... especially when the characters are mute

Love is an antiquated wine; intoxicating, riveting and quenches the thirst for knowledge and introspection

Love is as beautiful as knowing God

God is as beautiful as knowing love

Love is giving without weakening....it's giving in excess

Love resembles nothing, wears nothing but bears all beneath the steel walls of our breast

Love is never captive but free

Love is grateful for that 16, 61 year old who thought that.....

Love is..... always.... faithful

Toxi kiss

It's inhumane not to notice the thrill of things abstract and unreachable

The touch of elements unspeakable

The whisper of thoughts unthinkable

For in the wind of all that has to be, its dust cleaves and weaves without fray

As mortal souls rebuke stray

Toxi kiss
Its softness n stickiness lingers

its stain infects and perplex willing 'casts'

enveloping the moving world and to an unforbidden place then cast...it lasts for as long as you want

perpetuates memories of more to come

congratulates the toss and tumble of intimacy and childish fun!

Toxi kiss
mesmerizing the language 'french'

as savoring souls clench... to a warmth... to forget where, when and why
the world exists among lifeless planets

the journey of continues as lips wrestle to transfer the inexplicable
moisture gripping the affable...

tugging gently with an innocent attempt to intoxicate and invigorate

Toxi kiss
Realizing only the smear of spontaneity

engulfing an oral somersault

Eluding the thirst 'n' quench of fermented malt

exploring and exploring the perfection of fault, then to perfection again

The journey is almost never ending as all dreams must come to a halt...

Manaka: a jungle experience

A similar number appears, all groggy from the previous night's supper
they trailed down 'n' up steep slopes
to....re-assemble and struggle to keep eyes peeled and thoughts alert
wishing and hoping that the journey's theme can convert

HURT is an acronym for weakness
no space for dreaming, too little time to stand still
as the breeze fetch the potent scent of crushed insects and fresly cut leaves to make way
though sunshine warms the surrounding moisture
the weather is perfect to make hay

The clock ticks with personalities as shouts n mumurings NOW contribute to the fog "skid trail!" ......"chop away from the skid trail!!!"
Voices heightened, the feeble frightened that this may never end!
Hunger visits; then moves in without warning

Heavy boots tarry, worry subsides to anxiety
but nature, though ignored, beckons her soothing sounds as weary souls make their rounds: back n forth....back... n... forth
OTHERS....growing bored n numb
nibbling on a crumb

The crowns of trees shook as chilly winds drew near
"only the bottom of the lianas!"...."leave them hanging!"

soon they finished with the tape flagging, then tumbled in muddy trucks
As dazed eyes dragged on sodden tracks
eager to be closed and rested in chilly-warm hammocks!