Tag: poem

I Wonder

notebook-pen-writing-style

I wonder what would happen
if I threw my pen into yesterday
let it scribble up the past
and teleport those memories
to the edge of my fingertips
If I splashed this page with infinity
so that you remember forever
where you came from.
Or what if I just thought about it
wirelessly sent messages across dimensions
bringing back roots
and read your thoughts before they reached you
replace futility with the integrity of substance
create worlds out of nothing
create soldiers out of nobody’s
a ghetto child that’s restored to his place as a King
I wonder
If I could.
Would you let me
transcribe history
staple its pages to the roof of your mouth
let your tongue unfold like ancient scrolls
saliva running like living water
and dripping like liquid foundation
stand in the backyard of Eden
and hide no longer between rocks and hard places
find your place here
inside the body of this pen
along the lines of this page
I give you permission to bleed
all the crazy reasons why
you matter.

Those Who Love

It’s their presence alone that
lifts the floor and
commands the clouds to unclench their fist
cause
love wraps its garment around
their bodies
like insane prisoners to compassion
confined and restricted
to the affection that binds them
stitched and knitted
like a fresh garment,
like fresh skin
to the beautiful body of genuine
call them
the mentally insane cause
they got to be crazy
to be binding themselves like this

Encoded

shutterstock_61775431

Certain memories won’t let you forget
they rush before the forefront of your mind
like messages that escaped the past
only to cement themselves inside you
climb their way through blood vessels
encoded experiences written in our DNA
for thoughts do not disappear
do not evaporate from the mind
only to fall short in the abyss of nothingness
they’re instead a strand of silent data
entwined within the past and the present that is you
and sometimes, the future too
encoded memories
they erupt old wounds like falling planes
in smoke filled clouds
a twin tower sacrifice for your humility
a taste of truth for our memories
a thorn in the side
encoded data
so we never forget what falling feels like.

Insomnia

Caught a glimpse of your shadow last night
would have missed that much had not the wind whistled
like it does when it wants the curtains to dance.
And she so coy,
the way she looks over her shoulders
when nobody’s watching
giggling fabric
She so cool
love the effortless sway from moonlight to windowsill
It was this lovemaking of the wind and my curtains
that alerted me to your footsteps
and though short-lived, I can still smell the essence
that is your backbone
a taste of perfection after a clean death
…but you didn’t kiss my grave rejuvenation last night.
I waited for you
like a desperate lover on the edge of embrace
hoping for your calm to hold back my storms
for your peace to let down the curtains of drooping eyelids
but dear sleep,

I was your fool last night.

Delilah’s Responsibility

Samson-and-Delilah

I wonder if it was a spiritual experience
wonder
if blades covered their eyes against the war to which you had grafted them
wonder
if angels had taken the time to whisper to strands of hair of their coming demise
I wonder if they saw laughter dancing in your eyes
and if they had prepared themselves
with breastplates
and helmets,
and knee pads,
if they held their hands up
wonder if the blade hesitated against the strength of the strands
that rubbed against each other
like
lovers
strands of hair that were intimately entwined
hair that made a covenant with the earth
hair
that had promised to protect him since birth
that clung onto one another
like Samson clung onto you
strands of hair that loved
like Samson loved you.
But I wonder if it was spiritual for you
Did you see them as Kings planted inside the throne of private follicles
and fighting battles there
or was it just
hair?
was it spiritual?
for you?
When you touched it,
did you shake hands with angels,
did truth shoot through your body like electricity,
did your fingers grow numb
Did you feel it?
Did your stomach back flip, turn your tears into rivers
Did your mind leave you
Did it purchase attorney’s to plead mercy on behalf of the war you had begun
the moment you looked into his eyes and said “I love you”
Did the spirit find you guilty of conspiracy
to commit the world’s greatest terrorist attack
or did the Philistines just want their money back
I wonder
if you noticed that at that moment your hands were weapons,
heavy and strong
locked and loaded
weapons of war and your heart were choir directors
and yall played
Oh so softly the music of deception,
you sung ballads on his scalp
And immersed his enemies in your lap
I imagine you had bullets beneath your cuticles
You see, I wonder what your life was like
But most of all,
I wonder about the events that lead up to your iniquity
I wonder
Dearest Delilah… about your responsibility.
Wonder if my brother saw righteousness on top freshly painted nails
I wonder if 7 dread locs are added to your scale
And I pray…
I’m not presented with such a responsibility
I wonder if foresight blessed you with the image of Judas
without his consequence
wonder if his betrayal was your inspiration
to get through this
wonder if you are our warning to learn from the past
so that the present’s truly
a gift.

Give Me Life

Backgrounds_Windows_7_-_Source_of_life

Your words are beautiful
the way you paint them.
Tie descriptions around waterfall,
Walk us through frowning mirrors and smothered air,
And then auction them off to our fondest senses.
Touching us gently enough to resurrect imagination,
you have talent and you know it.

Cracking open heaven so that we may feel
what it’s like to sleep on top of clouds
or rightly discern what a teardrop taste like,
for we glide along in the melting pot of your splendor.

But your words do not live,
nor do they bring forth life.
I can hear the sirens of an acrylic woman
drowning in her own salt water…
Can you help her?
Will your words assist her in their beauty?
Your words suck the breath from our lungs with its daintiness
the Picasso of Poems,
A hanging Mona Lisa of walking glamour…
Except what I see
are lynched portraits
pretending to swing delicately
from the trees you attached them to.
A jump rope fantasy of tree houses and hopscotch.

I can smell the sizzling fragrance from miles away,
But beauty is just simply not enough for me.
I need to know that before time hugs my flesh,
before the gravediggers begin their song
Can I count on your words to CPR me into its arms?
Or perhaps,
I’ll just remember how beautiful
you are.