Sunday, December 11, 2011

My Field Site

there is something poetic about a droplet
hurling its spirit through the stratus to get your attention
poltroon to liquid honesty
grimacefully caper flesh to the yellow bellied underside of an umbrella-ed nature
scapegoated excuses lined in pinstripped lace-fronts and leatherette hand me downs
mitigating moist impact
causing it to ricochet 
misfire to the cloak of another
whoso brazenly accepted that precipitation as their own
however, never accustomed to doning the falsely accused
now parka sheaved
missing my calling in haste to flee yours
needing for moments no longer kef to your uncertainty
wishing to be saturated in divinity
decisions made
walked down desolate street
absorbed in the "should be's"
[found peace today]

Magical Christmas Lights

There was a time of innocence,
Tinsel, garland, and popcorn string,
Little darlings outside would sing,
I wondered what would Santa bring.

Childhood memories will never fade,
I do miss our Christmas parades.
Now I celebrate all alone,
Except my friends Smith and Wesson,
They said we brought you a present.

I go to greet them, but ring, ring.
Hello?  Who is this?  Santa Clause?
I really love you too Mommy.
I’m coming over with the lights.

New Hampshire Got It Right {“Live Free or Die”}

Do you hear it?
Do you smell it?
Oh boy, you sure can feel it.

The stench of Crony Capitalism and Corporate Fascism that has brought greed,
And narcissism to the down center stage spot light that now the masses must even opine.

Pepper spray is a rainbow to some.
Rubber bullets are a thanksgiving treat to others.

Corporate failures that should have a ‘Going out of business’ sign get the greatest government bailout in
American History, you A.I.G., Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Federal Reserve mother fuckers.
Where’s my bailout?!
OWS individuals are called ‘Lazy’ and told ‘Get a job!’

So to you two party system elephant and donkey cool aid Jonestown drinking fools,
Let it be said that no one did anything in the face of tyranny.

Only when satisfied we will leave.

Narcissistic Fascists Suck

Anderson Cooper, the CNN asp, Bill O’Reilly, the Fox cobra, and Rachel Madow, the MSNBC rattler.
Many mistook this triune snake for objective journalism.
Eagerly tuning into their favorite commentator’s personality of poison.
Rich in your corporate paychecks earned with or without integrity,
I do not doubt you all sleep like babies.
Calling you out is a simple change of the channel but,
Acid in my brain I flip back to watch like a bee to honey or a crack to a plumbers butt,
Turning my head left or right and up to down,
Help, please, someone help me from kicking in the screen!
Everybody plays a fool sometime,
Lies are no exception to the rule.
And now you do what they told ya!  And now you do what they told ya!
Now wait, what’s this thing called ‘The Internet’?
Dig deep you dungeon master nerds because your surfing a dialectical force,
Only second to Mother Nature’s ability to instantly change human behavior.
FCC and politicians bang their drums for net neutrality,
Too much free unregulated information for the masses is anathema.
Hopes and dreams of those rightly pursuing their happiness,
End up in dumpsters marked for EPA recycling.
Fascist forces prop up the elite oligarchies.
Run, run, run.
Evade, adapt or you go splat.
Ending with a tsunami of hyper-inflation, your T.V. masturbation causes massive emotional starvation.

Struggle Addictions

Crowded voids.
Impossible crowded voids.
Voids occupy a space.
Impossible voids occupy a space.
Disgust.  Anguish.  Resentment.  Hopelessness.  Fear.  Grief. 
There is no peace to be found.
Why does it always have to be negative?
I may be in pain, but I choose the light!
I will ride the light waves to victory.
This light even escapes the black hole voids.
I did not create the light.
Who originated all the voids?
No blame game here.
Light rebukes voids.
Nothing random.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

The Color Wheel

I’ve traced his migration here his Painted flags carried in his eyes and hanging from his doorposts his parents flying high waving the truth that they weren’t born here.
I try to backtrack through my own.
A living testament to your histories green card acceptance what path brought you to this place?
Row homes shoved beside people your history never dreamed you live next too south Philly has forced you to realize who you are.
Your flags not Irish or Mexican, Vietnamese, or Japanese.
Its red white and blue.
Stop trying to trace it back further.

I move, place my feet in patterned rhythms, twirling through my present pain I am dancing.
Ballet leaps on cobbled stone steps of my new home I am trying to fit in here.
Realizing I cant Mambo more than those that made it up I have gotten tired faster than I thought I would.
My history can’t manifest a new movement through another person’s back-story I have to discover my own.
Realizing its just okay to be black.
Not banging drums of kente cloth African dance moves but black
A Negro spiritual is about as far back as you go.
Your soul resides in its song.

I saw my history today.
Wrapped in swaddling clothes carried on the back of whip ripped flesh I don’t know how I got there.
Or where it’s going.  What cross it’s carrying.
Drugging through southern back woods Louisiana lynch dreams I saw my history move on toward Calvary.
Sacrificing its self for my future being.
My history realized it was black today.
Not dark skinned or light but the stigma of black carrying bullet shots and ghetto slang and Barack Obama all in the same name I made a discovery about me today.
Saw myself move toward the love of those who may have but a sliver of connection to me we are a people.
Made up of a heart full of nations I don’t know the name of all having migratory patterns landing us in a barrier 50 states and locking us to a share future.
My future stopped caring about what our separated pasts were it just saw your flesh tones.
And decided you could understand.
And understanding.
Agree to fight the oppression of the color wheel.

Philly Stew

Bits of food and flavor mix in the can of my Philly.
Chinese chicks tote chickens while white women push babies with baskets of baked treats.
My soup is HOT.
Campbell’s cant spice like my Philly and Progressive cant process the sounds and smells of the melting pot.
Its time you sup on the music of cheesecake symphonies and feast your eyes on the mixture of my home.
I can’t ladle you out a portion of it.
But you can smell this stew.
Raw fish fries beside buckets of fresh fruit ripe for my picking then cut and sliced to fit the blend of my streets and those who live in them
A fusion of the past where Vietnam vets bleed, and my amigos work then sing praises cuz they are fed, I am home here.
Streets so riddled with compound cultures you can taste it.
Take it home, warm it up, and be content in knowing that your palate has been expanded just by walking down the street.

TU Advisory

Is there an echo in here?
I could swear I heard that same gunfire just last night:
The first shot, Isolated, hesitant,
Then an answering triplet when the shooter concludes
He's past the Point of No Return.
The next morning Campus Safety tells the story
Sterilized: a block and time, a shooting in two
Sentences, with no blood. And the news breaks
And we reflect again on the tension:
Gentrified Temple, our ivory tower
Just a block too near the slums.
On Friday night
Drunken twenty-something white kids in troupes
Troop past drunken forty-something residents on stoops
We fear their violence; they hate our arrogance
And chafe with the disparity of opportunity
Too close to home to ignore.

On Eleventh Street, a foreign studies major
Buys groceries for a fifty-something neighbor
With arthritic knees. She invites him to dinner.
It's a good story, a better story,
But it lacks the gunpowder to resonate.


When I say I envy
You, I mean I envy
The choices and chances you had,
Nothing more.  See, love,
I used to say, love,
That the world never stops
For us, that there is no pause
In life's brutal rhythm,
And whatever it throws at us,
Our tired feet must find
Some way to stay in step.

But that wasn't true
For you, was it?
When you fell apart, everything
Ground to a halt—I 
Ground to a halt—
But for every dollar and every
Day spent on your well-being
You couldn't be well.

I never got that opportunity. 
The drums never stopped
Beating for me; throbbing behind
My temples in the space between
Asleep and awake.  I was left to wait
To watch our money run out without
Your income and try to keep
Our roof over my head.

There was no recovery for me
No respite from the hard world
On Daddy's dime.  I never told you:
I couldn't cry for four months after
You left.  Careening on the brink, I wrote
Truth disguised as fiction and fiction
disguised as poetry.  Finally it all poured
Out, sobs and screams and the words
“I love you every damn day—”
I still do, you know, though
Every damn day now your fingerprints
Fade a little more from my skin. 

Once I admitted I was in mourning
I couldn't stop.  I sank deeper into it
With each month.  But still there was
No rest: I had bills to pay and flooded
Apartments to flee: It's not always sunny
Here, no matter what the television says.
Not all of us get to live at a halfway
House in a Florida suburb. 
Every raindrop was another beat,
And I kept my bloody feet dancing
And threw back my head and sang
Sisyphus' song: I embraced
My rugged fate.

But beneath reality's callus
There's still that boy in me
Who drove six hours to take
You dancing on the sand
That night you felt too alien
To face your own senior prom.

I envy the choices and chances
You had.  If you'd given the same
To me, maybe this could have lived.

We Shall Not

'We shall not be moved'
Rings hollow when we're picked
Up and thrown out, kicking
And screaming The Whole World
Is Watching—but there's a blind
Spot when the cameramen
Are the first to go. 

There's a gang of boys stomping
Anthills: it's so much easier
To kick something over than
To create it.  We might look
Like insects under your boot but
Damnit we toiled for this
Two months undone in hours.

Resurrection City is in
A dumpster in Lower Manhattan,
Our footprints pressure-washed
Away. I had a dream
The helicopters enforcing
The no-fly zone woke me up.

Justice for all is a city
councilman arrested
bleeding from the head. The nexus
In our protest against corporations
In bed with government is policed
By a billionaire mayor sleeping
With a Brookfield Properties chair.

Now what can we say? We
Shall Not—what, Be Silenced?
That works, until brain damage
Leaves us mute.  We Shall Not
Be Subverted Or Privatized—
They're noble words, but
Time will tell. 

I can only promise this:
WE SHALL NOT go gentle into that
Good night.  Forgive me, America,
If this sounds like a shot fired;
I meant no offense.  Don't take
these words too harshly; it's a jest,
A rubber bullet.

Docutrines of Grace

In full disclosure:
I think I always knew
You wouldn't choose
Me.  Every weekend, singing
Your songs, something about that
Harmony rang hollow in the space
Between my soul and solar
Plexus.  There were potted tulips
By the podium last time I dragged
Myself to Your house of praise. 
It was high spring.  I haven't returned.

Now everything is falling and rotting
Like Your greatest disciples said this
World would. I was going to be one
Of them once, a warrior for You, at least
I told myself—but there was always
That falling, rotting doubt stuck deep,
Like glass embedded in my sole, scraping
As I tried to march toward You. 
I've read some books and I know now
That You built this into me:
The Blood of the Lamb
Is only enough for so many,
After all. 

Welcome to the cosmic kickball game:
I'm back in middle school gym class
Waiting against the wall
God and the Devil dividing up teams
For the Armageddon playoff.
I'm straining forward when You look at me
And there's this glow in Your eyes like
Pity—not enough, though, to change
Your choice.  You need a faster runner,
A stronger kicker, and I'm left watching
As they heed the call to Your side. 
Irresistible grace
Means they couldn't say no if they
Tried, like total depravity
Means for all my desperate glances
I'm powerless when the Adversary comes.
We all go to our separate locker rooms
Just like you planned it before the dawn
Of time. Remember that,
When you preheat the lake of fire for me.

Do I get a consolation prize?  All
These years running after You
Seem wasted if I was never
Meant to catch up.  Your best
Scholars wrote books on election
And they say only You elect:
My choice is predestined.
Maybe that's why Holy Writ
Turns to ash in my mouth.
In a limited atonement economy
There's no upward mobility;
My perseverance never meant a
Damn thing, but pardon me if I can't
Take my damnation like a man. 
I have a few questions before I begin
My weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Before You formed me in the womb
You knew me and marked me to burn:
What kind of god is that?  Will You
Answer for Yourself, Adonai,
Or as kindling for the flames am I
Still unworthy of speech? Our Father
Who Art In Heaven, You have
To say something
I don't know
Why You're doing this
I'm smaller and weaker
And I know I was never
Your favorite son
But I'm still your son, dammit,
I'm still your son

Sleep On Box Day

on suburban street
the cars pile in for the festivities
christmas lights gleam off the packages wrapped in foil
mother yells, yuh nuh see dem don’t want di food to spoil

The Jamaicans are here

adults and picknis alike drink up
wrey and him nephew spice up every –Jesus Christ ting-
di punch,
di sorrel,
di egg nog,
uncle freddy and him  daughter poor some pon di cake

no christmas compares to another
every year brings a different feel
carols include

as all the americans dem pak up dem bag and pick dem gifts
we keep it going
Drink til your Drunk
Sleep on boxing day

The Silent Denial

the morning brings about the same issue from the day before
last night,
the cries of the baby filled the space with shrieking sounds
the morning news serves as the wake up call
cereal floods a bowl
while eggs scramble on the stove
two cars leave,
on occasion, one returns earlier in the day
sounds of love are made in a bed belonging to another
no cute cuddling because there is no time for lingering
they were caught once before
two cars in the drive way by night fall
the baby coos while splats of orange drips down the wall
silent dinner
3 words said the rest the baby

they live in the silent denial of their relationship
dirty looks are exchanged
but they know why they are there

cries of the baby fill the space
with shrieking sounds

it always serves as the reminder

Our Bodies

our bodies

we do a magnificent thing…

with our bodies… 

mostly performed in the late night
because the candles beam brighter
long days are forgotten on these nights
longing for our bodies so close

it begins with touch
not g-spot 
but the spot
one that raises hairs on necks 
and dicks in jeans
i see his eyes
no other distractions
just me and our passion
so much held there
i stare at his soul

my boy begins to fall 

tightly cradled in arms 
brown skin always looks good in cream sheets
soft lips caress hard tips
soon this strong black man begins his descent

back to neck
ears to head
my fingers sooth his fade
convulsions erupt from the vaginal volcano
where the god has chosen to dine

minutes of pleasure appear as moments of euphoria
shuffling sheets lead to black on black crime
i am sentenced to silence
no pillows to stop the shrieks
your baton used to punish me
strokes from the back, side, front…

minutes of pleasure appear as moments of elatenment
i bite his covering fingers
i have slipped out of control
my pussy speaks for me now
I have now given up the reins 
every move I make is controlled by him
felt by him 
with him always knowing what’s next
we ascend to an unbreathable space 
he has given me a rare and special gift 

came again

i want to bring him to where he has raised me
moist grounds are plummeted
as he re enters
with no reinforcements
he reinforces
his thrust

minutes of pleasure appear as moments of ecstasy
there is no pill
i teeter on the edge
but strong hands hold tight
declivity is not easy to obtain
somehow we get there
brown eyes close…

we do this magnificent thing… 
with our bodies.

Executive Memo RE: The Occupy Movement

Dear employees of the 1%,

Everyone has become obsessed with the 99%
Since 04 Jay Z has been talkin bout these bitches
But history shows that eventually it all falls down

Your cares are no concern of ours
Your aches
Your groans,
Your moans
Your strikes or
Your plights

As a company we are tired of your water cooler conversations on joining the resistance
My minor corporate infractions are nothing compared to your misdemeanors
Public disturbance
Obstruction of traffic
Human litter crowds the concrete
So now you occupy…

As employees of our company, we strongly advise you to continue all services necessary for me to run my life
The bus driver seats
The secretary stations
The blackboards in the school
The garbage on the street

Dissention will not be tolerated

Please make this memo top priority!

Brown Girls

    Koco’s nail salon
    Owned by Brown girls who believe
    In our money
    They took a chance in
    Creating business for us
    To make black profit
    Innovators who
    Recognize Brown Girl’s beauty
    Blooms from the inside
    When you walk by there
    You can hear self-love talks and
    Grown women Giggles
    Community made
    By faces that look like me
    Giving back is free

Empty House

In the hood, there is
No Santa, like No Daddy
Just moms still trying

I Promise

I promise I’ll wipe your tears
I promise I’ll clean food off your soft round face
I promise I’ll hold you close when the pain feels too real
I promise to tie your shoes, and wash your clothes until you learn how
And I’ll hold your hand tight when you find your feet’s first steps
I promise I’ll pick you up when your arms reach for me
And I’ll sing you small lullabies.
I promise to show you your colors and letters and seasons and animals
I promise I’ll drop you off on time, and pick you up on time
And cheer for you win or loss
I promise I’ll help you through the tough times
I promise I won’t break you the way you’ll break me
I promise I’ll wait for you to come back
I promise I’ll wipe your tears

Come Up To Short

1, 2 eyelashes
3, 4 lips
5, 6
Nose and ring respectively
7, 8 dark circles
9, 10, 11 scars on my face
self made by self same hands.
Destruction in the deconstruction of
supposed blemishes I find daily on me.
Plucking poking pinching peeling
so as not to see any bumps.
Anything that will make like she was,
Who’s face festered and oozed.
Nightmares flooding my mind at night.
What can I do to rid my self of this
            self-perpetuated curse. (I hide my face.)
Her beauty rendered from inward out
My disdain/arrogance borne from outward in
Qualities of me inherited by the
            lesser parts
Of my family.
Blemished, short, hairy wild, confused, disorderly.
Kind, compassionate, nonchalant.
But I’ve learned to be grateful for the gifts
Of speech and insight, vision, truth, love, hope
            beyond what is physical.
I’ve inherited a kingdom of history
A world of knowledge
And thought this small vessel may seem at most times
Incapable of carrying the load
My ancestors help me.

Who Am I To Judge

I always see you
You smile like the worlds okay
You walk with your head bowed
I wonder if it’s to pray
_You’ve been through it
In your eyes traumatic scenes replay
And nothing is as flawless as what you try to portray
But who am I to judge?
_I didn’t piece your life together
Perfect puzzle
_You build yourself up
Then something happens to make it crumble
Life’s not fair
But its fun to pretend
You sign off every page of your journal with
“I wish it would end”

Thank God for the hard times
Cause when the sun rarely shines
_We start to appreciate it
While most people hate it
I love the rain
No umbrella
Smells of smoke in the air
I basque in tainted glories of my sad despair
_I’ve lived in it for a while
Can’t fathom another lifestyle
I try to read my Bible every once in a while
____Call me crazy
I’m 20 with 2 babies
Slept with a older man cause I thought that he would pay me
Told him my babies were hungry
Said he’d only deal with me
Showed him my phone bill
He said he thought my love was free
Fuck that
Since I was twelve my life’s been whack
Mother was barely present
Got caught up in crack
And I always caught my daddy taking peeks at my back
When he first came in my room
I didn’t even react
Guess he thought I’d make up where my mama had lacked
___He’s where I learned most sex acts
People thought I had it together
Like my life’s intact
Every night he lay inside me I would fade to black
Told me to act like I liked it
Forced me to moan and look back
He’d always whisper, “You are such a tease”
Didn’t apply to school
Application fees
Thought he would help if I did anything he pleased
That was the first day that I dropped to my knees
To my father I lost my virginity
The nerve to move his hands across his chest
Holy Trinity
I tried to stop it__
But I feel like I’ve lost my divinity
Guess he felt bad
__And the shame
He couldn’t take it
Came home from school
He had a gun to his head in the basement
I said, “Shoot,
If you did it wouldn’t be in vain,
Maybe God would forgive for the nights you made me say your name
Waking up to a nightmare and I can’t even scream
I think my life without you would be like a dream
This shit was never as simple as it seemed
How the fuck could you touch and disrupt your own seed
Pull the trigger
_____It would be a gift to see you bleed”
Then bang
Blood splatters
The gun dropped to the floor
That was his way of not hurting me anymore.
His apology
I’m sorry
Let me try again
Looking for love in men has left me with a bunch of dead ends
So please pardon my demeanor
Smiles phony
Eyes dim
Only time I feel half whole is when the choir sings hymns
Wish I had brighter story
But I made it here today giving God my tainted glory.