idle thoughts of crisis (unfinished)

I check my g-shock to find the time
calculate the minutes in seconds
unwind
rewind
fast forward to hours
these days are full of water and blood
wars and deep pockets
cries, poverty and yachts
wall street, broad street and street walkers
human trafficking
blacks, latin and africans
packed in prisons
san francisco, geronimo and guantanamo
one of these doesn't belong
bombs and collard greens
artillery shells and rice
tanks and tang
rhetoric and apple pie
nooses and nosy neighbors afraid to tell
flash mob hysteria
hysterical laughter
the mourning after the aftermath
t-minus too many lives lost
smoke clouds and cigars
blueprints and code reds
plans, deception and death plots
assassinated dreams deferred
glib lies and truth serum
snowboarding, skateboarding and waterboarding
what does torture look like?
secret missions under the cloak of dark
light skinned presidents carrying out white agendas
someone blamed the tranny's
there are transplants buried deep in all this soil
it will be hard to bypass these clogged arteries
my heart is telling me to resist arrest and then attack
so what we are in the last days
this is just the beginning
3 balls, two strikes, two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning
even so, the game has just started
someone just farted on this whole agenda
flagulations
congratulations to all those
that write Fanonian rhymes in these draconian times
bless the wretched of the earth
the proletariat, harriet and the lariat
tbc......

2K10!!!

I wish to welcome everyone back to my blog! In the past several months, I took a brief respite to re-charge, re-dedicate, re-evaluate, realize, re-acquaint and re-equip myself with the ability to effectively express myself in my writing. Surely, this is not an easy process, however, I am getting back to the old me! For those who don't know, there is always a latent genius waiting to be brought to the fore. As such, I am feeling the fire! In 2009, I had some tremendous moments of achievement and disappointment, but that is the very reason why we live. To experience the myriad complexities that this world presents us with, allows us to appreciate the subtle beauty of reflection and comprehension. That is to say, life is a continual, non-stop, incessant learning ground. I am digging deeper into the inner resources of my soul to extract the impossible. This journey will be no less be warranted. It will be painful, dark at times, beautiful, enlightening, mysterious, faithful, challenging, yet necessary. To ask what I will do in this next decade, is to ask what I have done all my life, LIVE! Things will be different though. There are some pertinent questions that I need to ponder and probe myself on. Firstly, what can I do different this year, that I did not do last year? Secondly, what are some successful things that I completed that I can improve on this time around? Thirdly, what are some new ideas, some fresh thoughts that haven't been thought before? Is it possible that I can think a thought that has never been thought before? That in itself is thoughtful. I will try to think about it! Really, I am going to embark on this journey with the guiding and transformative power of LOVE. The most feared four letter word is going to steady and navigate this ship on which I will sail on life's seas. There WILL be new discoveries, old memories, faint but vivid illustrations of the possibility of uncovering the impossible. I will have to sacrifice some old vices and employ new techniques to help keep the path clear and steady. Any deviation from the ultimate goal of reaching my unlimited boundless potential will not be acceptable. My motivation is rooted in the beauty of the Sun and the glow of the Moon. Playing connect the dots with the stars and traveling further and farther than my wildest dreams is somewhat scary. There lies the peculiarity of the unknown. I have to go there! I must! This is a new decade. This is only the beginning of many things to come. Welcome back.

Insignificance

I have no new things to say or write today. Only my feelings are propelling my fingers to type these words. Absurd. I have felt this way before. Been down this road before. Drank from this cup of life's lemon juice before. Bittersweet nectar. Alone in my room of thoughts, I think about my life in the presence of my loved one's. I look into their eyes. They look at me with admiration, love. Why do I feel the expectation? There is a conflagration burning in me deep. I can feel it when I sleep. To be better. To be bolder! To be a master of my dreams, that I may not travel this road only. Lonely. These messages tend to take on new trends. Sometimes it depends on the mood at the time, that will define the magnitudes and the measures. I treasure quiet time. The still small voice of the silent. Whispers. I'd rather not talk today. I prefer not to move my lips to convey language. I am on speaking terms with myself. Soley. Defining my method of communication through patience. Waiting. I must take a pause. This evening, I am breathing. Breath. Feeling life as I write the anti-thesis of this synthesis. Detached. There is no significance to this insignificant, scribble scratch. Only words searching for meaning in a world of ambiguities. Conflicted. I am. I am placing my journey on a gurney. Laid out. Stretched to limits of infinity. I am composing. I am posing. I am prosing. Quietly. I have no new things to say or write today. These are ancient lines I've kept confined. In my mind.

You

You are the Queen of Palestine
Goddess of Brooklyn
I’ve read your love for words
I have felt your hurt and your love for love
For that I love you!
I’ve met you in tenderness, underneath blankets of understanding
We cried over brooks overlooking rainbows
I have danced your tears in reminder of my own longing for justice
While you were sleeping, I placed roses in your bedroom of coral
I listened to your breath music, rhythm and blues
and wrote this poem in remembrance of all women all over the world
liberated and in peril of never tasting freedom or peach cobbler or jerk chicken or spanish rice or even the taste of tears
salty and bittersweet
you have written stories
they write Dizzy’s pain in the name of Coltrane
they scale bars and carry notes over the high seas (high c’s)
i received your letter from a bottle and drank myself sober
you’ve intoxicated my penmanship
if only i could sail the Persian for a virgin kiss
i would kiss your fingertips and script this vision in a tablet
to publish your spider web on the inner nets of every room of the rainbow

Oeuvre #3

I fight with the insides of my mind daily. At nighttime I seek companionship in sleep. In sleep, I see myself in the eyes of the storm. My own eyes tell me that I look like raindrops falling in the wind. This is my moment of reflection. I mirror myself after no one. Don’t tell me I look like, sound like, or remind you someone else who appears to be like me. It is highly unlikely that you will find another like me. You’ll find none that can write like me. I write what it feels like to feel empty and alone in a room full of family and friends. I write what it feels like to see myself through another person’s lens. I write what it feel like to not like life, like this life really got something for me. I’m the confused conundrum with double aims. I never wander aimless. I know where indecision can lead me. Bleed me blood with sweat and tears and I am useless to the cause. See my blood sweat and tears and stitch me with gauze. There is no structure to this. There are no foundations to be laid. There are only dreams of future days with the infinite. Don’t try to read this for clarity. Rather, let the murkiness of this writing help you understand the reality of my calamity. So, don’t tell me you know what it feels like. I don’t need any sympathy, because when I die there won’t be a symphony. Just read my favorite poems out loud, among the living, that I may die, as I have lived. Giving.

Oeuvre #2

Memories are the torrential rains of my storms eye. Clouds cry, which form the outlines of paragraphed skies. Authored by the beauty of the day, my life is composed of prose. Thoughts are those ideas that shape me like triangles of fine art, on square canvas. I can see myself, by myself with myself. I am realizing the center of me is the middle of my eternity. Rain(bows) allow the sun to pierce shadows like arrows, giving victory to metaphor in a war of words, or should I say worlds. The city set on the hill of moons can be seen by stars, only if you close your eyes and open your imagination. I have been inhaled by the nostrils of the wind and exhaled into the world to give breath to sound. My life focuses on the out of focus. Clarity is a matter of perspective in the mind. Always mind me, I’m never like this. Never mind me, I always like this. Invert convoluted thinking to discover their parallels. Aren’t you aware, driving yourself to develop your train of thought, takes place on multi-dimensional planes? Sometimes, I look in the mirror and see distorted candles that resemble flames moving like motion pictures in frames of sweet stillness. I am offered to engage in conversation with the man in the mirror. I respectfully decline. I realize, with my real eyes that when I open them up. I see just fine. He is me!