I wish I can take your words
and carve them into the sky
as if you alone was the cement at the fingertips
of the Almighty
wish I can
breathe life into your nostrils like I held onto the strings
stapled to the backs of the wind
Dear poetry,
I wish I can copyright your metaphors,
& trademark your similes
Wish I could draw you away from every mouth
whose saliva has not promised to cherish your wisdom
like stomachs rejecting old food
You see I wish that your nutrition could be savored
only in the mouths of those who speak truth
I’m tired
tired of seeing Allegory’s
washed down the drain of unconscious minds who
seek only to dream fairy tales
bathed in rhetoric
to wake up wet with euphoric ignorance
I appeal to the relentless generosity of poetry
to drawback its compassion if it dares
and stop playing the violin on our hearts
like disobedient children that tap dances on their mother’s last nerve
cause
Poetry can change nothing if truth
can’t hit the concrete with a curve
I wish
Wish I could ensure that you are used only when truth spreads its wings like butterflies
nervously flapping inside the jaws of understanding
Like truth when it opens its legs to laws and commandments
and gives birth to obedience
In whose laughter resounds like the deadness of Sara’s womb
I wish
that deception can be buried inside the heavens
like the stars at noontime
that do not wish to be available
only so that our eyes may see something deep.
Tag: poetry
EC Quote Friday
Outside The Box
It is seeing the good
where good exist
and the bad too
without regard
to person or persona
It is passion
existing
in a universe
where truth is the only color
that matters
it is black balled fist
into the air
minus
the badge
of branding black power
to legitimize blackness
it is denouncing blackness
as a nation
it is a color
not a nation
it is nations
going underground
and bringing back a people
before slave ships
before slavery
before Africa
and America
before crack
and crooked laws
before history erased black Moses
and biblical laws
outside the box is back then
way back when
before the messiah’s eyes turned blue
back in the day
when his skin was brown
like you
It is keeping Saturday
when the world is Sunday
Sabbath
It is bible
outside religion
Faith
without being Christian
it is restoration
of a people
who ain’t been living
it is valley’s of dry bones
it is without waving flags
It is not expecting me to
celebrate freedom
in a land
where I ain’t never
been free
outside of the box
is honoring heroes
who were never
presidents
celebrating holidays
that ain’t on the calendar
it is rocking a fro
while penning proper English
it is nations brought in
while praising black skin
it is dred locs
without forged signatures
it is spitting salvation coated similes
to all people
without loosing sight
of who you are
it is sight
beyond the norm
call me anything but normal
this is life
outside the box
EC Quote Friday
EC Quote Friday
A Man
I knew I would marry you
when I saw my dads body
lifeless and shriveled
when I saw his skin
crawl away from his bones
when I saw his soul
castrated
the angel of death standing over his head
screaming cancer in the loudest whisper
I’ve ever heard
bouncing off the walls of that apartment home
you see I knew
the kind of man I would marry
at just thirteen
when my Dad’s breath got up and left
didn’t take me with him
and left nothing
but the definition
of a man
If My Books Shall Die – Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge
Hello there love bugs. So, today’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writer’s Challenge as hosted by Colleen and Ronovan, is on the topic of OBSESSION (*imagines drum sound in head*). But, here’s the thing guys, I couldn’t really find, or think, of a quote on obsession I really liked. Soooo… instead I wrote a poem.
If My Books Shall Die
If my books shall die
I have labored in vain
I have swam through centuries
And ran years in someone else shoes
I have climbed mountains
And crawled under valley’s
only to bleed death
I have carved my obsession
Into paper using invisible ink
If my books shall die
I do not wish to live
on the tops of your shelves
Or faced down on kitchen counters
Or underneath your children’s beds
I do not wish to live
In the palms of your hands
Or standing next to Grandmother’s old picture
In the living room
Grandmother is dead
And I do not wish to die
I want my books to live
Not on top coffee tables
But inside of you
When I am dead
No longer among the living
Crack open a book written by me
And feel my breath on your skin
Hear my voice resurrect from inside an ancient pen
Watch my tongue dance
See my lips move
And witness passion soar from beyond the grave
I read James Baldwin today
And realized I was carrying his bones
In the crooks of my arms
If my books shall die
Then my words did not really contain life
But if my books shall live
What are you waiting for?
Go to your bookshelf
Resurrect me
And carry
My bones
******








