Birthdays grow old

Remember when anticipation built like christmas eve insomnia the day before your birthday
dreaming of parties filled with hot-dogs, potato chips
a donkey shaped piƱata
table full of gifts and more to come
as aunts, uncles and cousins arrive
birthdays to look forward to
1,16,18, 21 then 25
every one after that happy that we survived
rent, bills paying for labels instead of durability
stretching dollars into cents trying hard to make our lifestyle make sense
celebrate fittingly the day for eternal rest
is knocking; doors of opportunity
the stress and age are showing
activities slow to monotony
work, raising children into adults becomes the next step
guidance, praise accomplishments folly and misfortune may arise
show children how it is when it was seen through your eyes
wrinkled, no less and bright with experience
honing your intelligence
celebrate centennial existence
some friends and family now gone
left feeling like the only person on earth
starting every phrase with; "I remember when……"
your audience listens intently because your memories come and go like
dot dash dot; morse code
sharing truths whether bent or straight
along with history of lineage
fathers before; before
images of past never developed openly only in the minds eye
give respect to the silver-hair chief he now counts his family amongst the stars
remembered through obituary when the spirit takes flight
causing metaphors to emerge left and right
birthdays grow old
and if you are lucky
yours just might


Just Living - insert swoosh anywhere

23 something avenue
dusky night view
prudential in the distance
casting a brilliant light
down on the
rats running scared
late night doctors
up to no good
street lights
cabbie headlights
on a late night run
dipping and diving the fuzz
dime bags neatly packed
goin to meet up with cus
orange line mercy
red line connect
connect to the connect
down on the 93 express
too far off my block
red and blue lights
billy clubs, mace
dogs, fire hoses,
this shits gotta stop
a late night drop
turns to a late night stomp
head chest
arms legs
everyone begs
for justice
and fair trial
fully knowing
bad seeds
do bad deeds
giving fruit to dishonor
and misuse of power
prudential in the distance
casting a brilliant light
down on the
rats running scared
the iron gate slams shut
behind doing no good
eyes closed to outside
mind still living in the past
spirit broken by
empty canteens
long distance calls
kids that grow too fast
get out
do good
do GOD
do you
Just living


The oldest art form

Lyrical Courtship
is the oldest art form
I am trying to perfect it

lyrics provide
actions provide
the same, without the buildup

and silky
inviting, memorable
makes your tongue
stick to the roof
of your mouth
peanut butter phrases

my chocolate words
touch your skin
a passion from within
that have no

douse me
dous me
dou me
do me

creamy paragraphs
lead us to
heaven’s desires met
glazed with emotion
complete disbelief
in our past
body movements, human motion

I never knew love like this before
passion lies scattered about
with our clothes on the floor
to be reassembled, coordinated
before walking out the door

to stare into stars
far less beautiful
than you are

Lyrical Courtship
is the oldest art form
I am trying to perfect it



I stand in the midst of millions embraced arm in arm
Singing praises of Jesus and his Holy Father
The spirit is lifted from our bodies
Gently vibrating the inner ear of angels above
The angels fly to alert the Holy Fathers of such assembly
Who in turn, listen and find delight
Heaven opens up it's Sky
Accepts this offering of peace and fellowship
Then in it's final stage, rains down blessings of prayers answered

Full Circle

I drove by boys house to drop him off a twenty I had smoked from him earlier that week. I pulled up with a new prospect in the passenger seat. My man came down to greet us with a Newport in his mouth. Cool as fuk with that hazed afternoon strut
One step flick, Two steps spit, Three steps; he opens the door, 4th step; "Oh shit," He says to my female passenger. She says to him – "I thought you were in New York?" 2 snaps and a twist. He says to her – "I thought you were sick?"
"Aw shit!!" The 3 of us say. Look around at each other, and realize - We’d been fukin one another

Conversation with a friend Part II

Pillow Talk by juli grzybala

Take solace
in the bosom
of pillows, talking.

Find pleasure
in pleasuring
skin, muscles

Take heed
in my thighs
of moisture

Seek comfort
in the throws
of thrusts

seek comfort
in the throws
of pillows;

Counter to "Pillow Talk"
Our Conversations by Anwar

I rest my head
on pillows
filled with
angel feathers

softness never
by any
earthly form

spoken words
transform to
devotion, creating emotion

fully peaked
at dawn
rolling green lawn
jealous monuments
stare in amazement

innocent words
become guilty

lust ignited
setting off
global thunderstorms
heat, then rain

to my
taken from

our conversations


In the Lap of an Angel

I have written timeless metaphors
of troubadours and sundried faces of matadors
cast against the Tuscan sun
.................... but what matters is only one
This one that I give to you for you to share
or keep locked up for yourself
draped around your slender neckline
I will never forget the first time you noticed me
I still feel the first kiss that we shared
I can smell the scent of you when we........
I so love to kiss you down there
Love, beauty, and patience are your weapons
used to lay waste to evil spirits around those you love
I find myself privileged to be included in those above
Our time is now
and my heart beats for you
the beat gets stronger in the presence of tomorrow
giving opportunity to love all over again
So each and every night I can go to bed
dreaming of the next time I will lay my head
In the lap of an Angel

End of Spring

I yearn for
Blue and pink
Splashed with
A city landscape
Young children
And their watchful parents
Playing in open hydrant
Angry firemen
Bent on pressure
Cutting off the fun
Till they leave

I yearn for
Those steamy hot days
90-95 degrees
then rain
the smell that comes
from the ground
convertible cadillacs
with whitewalls clean
gleaming motorcycles
shorties in jeeps
with that gangster lean

I yearn for
Baby oil
Cocoa butter
Gold hoops
Tight shorts
Bikini tops
Bronze skin
Nice smile
Kind wave
Pushing a child

I yearn
The end of Spring

Last Time

The last time
For something just happened now
And just again
It occurs
over and over
As time exists
So does it end
The last kiss
The last sin
The last moment of pleasure
The last air from within
Rain dries, snow melts
The last time
For all times
Seems so fast
My belief is nestled in
It is how you live the dash
Last time

Hey Shortie

Hey shortie
let me holla
at you
I was sitting across the street
admiring the view
I tried to call out to you
just to say hi
your ipod must have been
turned up too high
……hold on
wait just listen
I am a man, not a boy
or a pimp with horns glistening
I want to take a sec
and tell you something….
I take the time to pray to the Lord
I take the time to check in on Moms
I figured that I would
add to my norm
that’s step to you
drop a word or two
let you know that
everything looks right
as far as I can see
not being a pig
or acting immaturely
….same as curators
view art on the wall….
the image heightened
by turning their head sideways
you are a piece of art
my sista
I could stare at you for days

Simple Man

I am a simple man
A man with simple wants
A man with simple pleasures
that ease the mind of useless thoughts
Nana always said there were all types of addicts
Now I know what she meant
I yearn the feel of a woman with an almost intoxicating lust
The feel, the touch, the curves, the softness of her skin
The shade of her breasts playing a trick on my eye as I inspect them closely
Closely enough to count the invisible hairs around her nipple
The profile of her body, lazily strewn across my bed
Inviting a traveler’s hands to inspect every slope and curve
at first and then
picking up speed
our destination is met
As is done with everything on this night
But I am a simple man
A man with simple thoughts
So I am here
All alone
But the heat from within is keeping me warm

Higher level

I am trying to get to the point in my life that
Everyone is looking up to me
The higher level
that stand two feet away
Tilt your head back to see me level
Not trying to be a big man
Just a real one
With large hands
That I can use
to smack haters and bigots around when I can
Feel me!
A level so high that my nuts touch the sky
And my eyes see helicopters whizzing by
They are dropping off the messages
from the hordes below
they are trying to reach me
teach me
love me
destroy me
hate me
surrounding those that tried to hold me down
I cast a long shadow when my foot lifts off the ground
People scatter, shimmy and shake
upon hearing the sounds of an earthquake
that’s the rumble in my tummy
round and robust
I am hungry for peace
My nation lives in distrust
I reach down into a dark warm abyss
Take a full mouth of molten lava bliss
I spray the area with fire leaving nothing in site
Just the remains of those that have been caught in my plight
I want to get to the level where I play with moons and planets
As if they were jacks
I sit with Hercules in his cave
playing spades and we toss some drinks back
bottles shaped like whales filled with ocean water
the real ocean spray
Chase it down with 2tons of meat sacrificed on this day
I feel the urge to touch a woman so I shrink down to normal size
but I have a gigantic wood on
Oh and you wouldn’t?
I am running through the wilderness
knocking trees over with my trunk of funk
Looking for a hole to dunk my donut in
I come across a majestic queen teamed with her sister virgin
Quite a pair of nymphets
Bodily requests of heaven’s touch give the soul a platform to dive in
Escaping to an emotion never imagined
the higher level

Black Rose

a midnight desert scene
my head tilted back staring at holes poked into the sky
a red tear drops from the moon crashing to earth
to the hidden springs beneath the surface
an iron maiden gathers her children to drink; gain sustenance amidst an abundance of nothingness
they fulfill her wishes and leave behind one single drop on a cactus flower stem
soon a metamorphosis begins unleashing from the prickly plant a beauty from within
a bud appears
then an awakening of petals stretching to meet the harvest moon’s rays
fully extended and stuck in prose
life has been given in short to the world’s first
black rose

A dream

One day while on a cross-country trip
I took a wrong turn down an old country road
The car started to overheat so I got out and started to walk
A few miles and a lot of thoughts later
I came across an old rundown gas station
You know the type
A self serve gas station
Convenience store inside that sold all of the lucky strikes you need
Hubcap connected to a key for the bathroom type of place
The kind you see in the movies but never see in real life
Outside of the station, sitting on a milk crate was an old man
He asked me if I have lost my way
I said no
My car is broken down up the road a bit and I need some assistance
He showed me a toothless grin and asked again
Have you lost your way?
Feeling dumbfounded over the repetitious question
I asked the old man if he has been drinking or has the heat gotten to him
He said
No. I haven’t drank in my whole life
and this aint heat its perseverance
An evolved state of perspiration
Handed down by generations
and besides, the heat has brought you to me
I asked the old man
Who are you?
He replied
I am you
Now things started to feel weird
How can you be me?
When I am right here talking to you
The old man shifted on his makeshift seat
As if he was going to say something heavy
As if he was going to lay the world on me
He said come closer
So I did
He said put out your hands
I did
He placed a piece of paper in my open palms
I flipped it over to reveal a photograph
It was a photograph of myself as a baby
As I stared at it more
It changed to a picture of myself in my adolescence
Then me as a young man
Then a picture of myself in my late forties
Then it went into its final transformation
An exact image of the man in front of me
Bearing the recognizable lines of my lineage
Around the eyes and mouth
A hint of Portugal
Mixed with the south
I was captivated by the photo
Taken aback to say the least
I glanced up from my thoughts
And the old man was gone
As was the gas station
Just tumble weeds and dust all around
I felt faint
Started to walk
But I stumbled to the ground
The sheer madness of it all
I just wanted to see the country
In my own time
Live as a pioneer
Like our forefathers
My life just flashed before my eyes


the streets are screaming for respect and honor
the mothers are screaming for the lack of children’s body armor
little Julio
six years old; playing in the yard
screaming at the top of his lungs with delight
a child’s innocence ripped to shreds in one second of adult insolence
the bullet traveled fast
screaming through the air
into little Julio
out of little Julio
screams of delight turn to screams of denial
when the masses realize all hopes for maturity of the infant soul
are now bleeding out on the same streets
that are screaming
for respect and honor


the pause between lovers lounging side by side

never awkward...
just enough to be
providing mental stimulation to a lazy Sunday afternoon
thinking of the depths to be explored
the eye contact says it all...
caramel caresses
all over my body cry out to me
with a yearning to be taken
duty serves to be ridden out
orgasmic journeys of
and then
we find out that
lightning can strike twice in the same spot
desires complete

the pause between lovers lounging side by side

Conversation with a friend

one of the greatest things writing has done is introduce me to a growing list of artists and poets alike. One of them happens to be a good friend of mine named Juli. She is a fabric artist, photographer and a writer as well. One night we were having a discussion, basically bouncing ideas off of one another and we came up with an idea to to do a call and response piece. She writes and then I respond. The topic we came up with was our friendship and the things that we discuss all of the time. Check out this two part piece.

"Conversation" for Anwar by juli grzybala
Rhythmic flowing
of letters; words.
and run-ons.

Abbreviated monologues
entwining to
the power of collaborative thought.

Ignition, irritation;
and inspiration.
To bring back
to the thoughts;
a new loop of lyrics...

into work, into life.
Into being.

It's math:
start with 1.
add 1
at 2
minus 1
left with 1.

Temporary marriage
of existence.
Hot as sex,
deep as death.
Powerful as birth.

Convoluted? Rarely.
opening core messages.
Revealing senses,
sense of self,
sense of others,

Beats increase,
peak, orgasm
and release
the fluids of free thought.

and fulfillment
of true, good

Counter to "Conversations" by anwar
I feel your warmth
quixotic notions to enter and enjoy my mind

to further notions of stairs to climb

to those not willing to be left behind

smile internal
for all to see

in my arms
the future of yesterdays dreams

on pillows
now wet with perspiration

caused by
the steam I feel
when this
icebox melts in desperation


on an afternoon ride
listening to... soul, jazz, funk and freedom rings
when all of a sudden...
my ears hear ... gunshots
old dude; living young
huggin the block
gets shot; kicks got got
guap got got
no cops till a day later
now trying to get people to talk
Cops asking questions; a little kid tells em
"I aint no snitch!"
The cops start to twitch
So I up and switch the situation
ask the cops
"Who killed Pac & Biggie?"
No words now but
-license and registration :: choose your words :: wisely son -
I am the Sun
at the peak of my arrival you place shades upon your eyes
so black is all you see
by high noon
many of my moons and future stars have heard
- "Whatever you say may be used against you in a court of law!" -