Intimacy of the Mind and Pen

If I could simply state
I could never be without you
spiritually and physically you are my bridge to reality
..the voice of my soul
when you are not near, my thoughts go cold
my life…
unfolds
blank like paper is my stare
our words go missing because their existence is based on the time we share
together

together
our words become children delivered in sonnets and stories, nursed on haiku's about yellow morning glories
our children describe
what it feels like inside the greatest minds of our time
our grandchildren give birth to
Spanish villas off the coast of Orion’s belt
and our great grand children talk about
alligators skating on ice that never melts
together

without the union of us there can be no others
after, present or before
the devil smiles with another chance to reach out and settle the score
the tales of our culture will not live without leaving the mouths of unborn kids and herded by the shepherds in the morn
our bodies covet the linen sheets that crinkle while we write
the vowels tell tales of yearning bodies that travel through the night
and on their trip the words become the story of our lives
together

The Last Visitor

Inhale
Gospel music plays in the background.
- speak Lord, speak to me, I said speak to me -

She sits by the window, warming her tired shoulders in the setting summer sun. Her hands pick at the lint balls in the knit blanket lying across her legs. The worn edges tickle her ankles as she shifts in the recliner for comfort. The front window of the house has become her best friend. The children are grown, husband gone on so now loneliness sets in. The pane of glass displays moving images in the background of her reflection. She enjoys the movie with a new found happiness. We find her smiling with the happy times and crying with the sad times along with the characters of her personal play. Soon, the old woman realizes that she is watching her own life flash before her eyes. Those same eyes fill with emotion and release water drops down her cheek.
She is not sad but instead righteous. She yearns to be with her Father for all of eternity. Tired now, she slowly walks to the bedroom and lies on the bed fitted with crisp white sheets.
In the front room, the movie reel continues on without an audience until the final frame fades to black in the warm summer night.
The flickering sounds wake the angel of death. He is the last visitor to this old woman and comes bearing gifts, a package containing Nana's last breath
Exhale.

Watch your Son Rise

To my mother
grand and others
aunts, cousins, sisters
past and future lovers
I give this flower to you
In honor of your day
because without you
there would be no taure

- we live in harmony this flower and I
seed planted
watered; nurtured
plucked and pruned along the way
without your guidance or sunshine
there would be no taure
I am blessed to share your features, especially your eyes
so sit with me on the beach and witness
your SON rise

The Food 2.0

The food we feed our children with has run out and the kids are now suffering from malnutrition of positive role models. The days of our youth being influenced by the likes of Martin and Malcolm, Louis and Langston are long lost because now, they are fed bullets and drama. Babies filled with holes, souls empty, left alone to grow up in a community whose foundation is cracked itself. We look around and see thousands of young empty eyes unaware that the future for them is dim because their street lights were turned out before they even took their first breath. The sounds of baby screams keep me up at night tossing and turning, yearning to give them some lyrical food to eat. I wake from another midnight slumber to the sounds of the corner and then walk to the window and stick out my pen to test the temperature. My front stoop houses legions of street doctors from the 80's smacking babies with jums and tons of bubble gum flavored needles. Mothers surround the block looking for government cock because their mates suffer from incarcerated fates that pay for lives with currency concurrently. Just another plan to eradicate the sons of Africa. Little footprints outlined in blood cover the ground leading from the bank of the river Jordan, baptized in holy water so rich in ignorance that the stains will last forever. We flash in front of them humorous images of part time idols and now the television is responsible for more children than we are. The internet is blowing up with messages to electric gods ROTFG! Pedophiles preying on the children of absentee parents fill the empty ballots of prepubescent minds. The blinds are pulled on child molesters disguised as superstars with their freakish habits. The limbs of a countless number of children remain in trunks of the last platinum superstar. Appetites for destruction leave the parents with confusion once the deed is done. The models created end up in front of us and we are like,
"Who the fuck are you?!"
The children raise their eyes up then tilt their head and answer
"I am what I am fed."
The Food-

true story

she has a fast car..
driving around but can't get too far..
they always seem to stop at my door
with..
bags of insecure memories and totes full of shouldered burdens,
misconceived notions handed out by male oratory legends of lore
believing themselves to be gods
showing desire to be worshiped, catered to
telling tales of what's in store for you down the road..
if you just..
cosign for this credit card right here
and
baby please,
these jeans would look so good on me!!!
Bitch ass dudes
kicking game like they're the she
trading places for parking lot spaces
where the...
verbal garbage is parked on my street,
on my block
too many times she has used my steps as her last stop
and for real,
I am tired son
of patching up holes
your bullshit called home for so long
The hypocrisy is...
I was once like you...
full of premeditated dishonesty, trying to get what I need
..money, herb, the pussy
till I met, she
and she put it on me.. verbally ..
smoothly stating
One day this will all come back to haunt you
what if you had a daughter,
and some dude like you was kicking it to them
like she knew I was doing her...
hmmmm, I said with a rub of my chin,
shit was deep
I felt her, honestly...
we had a daughter
and I became the father
that all you broke ass dudes don't want to meet..

she had a freckle on her foot

she had a freckle on her foot
- a twinkle in her eye
dimple on her thighs
a southern sassy style
she had me at...
well you know
caramel
with just a hint of Hershey kiss
stuck with a set of raspberry covered lips
damn sister
you got it going on
we got it on
she got me...
singing in the shower
washing off sweat from another
two hour
...love
making
experience
the ‘c’ and ‘e’ repeating over and over
like a drummer’s cymbal
kick, drum, snare, kick, kick, snare
we share
rock and roll lovemaking
pulling on her hair
pulling on towels
lounging on the sofa
I move her closer
then
she notices me staring
and says...
"leave me and my freckle alone..."
from what I remember
it was a cute little thing
perfectly placed
right below her ankle bone

my words heal

the reflection of she wraps my entirety, and we hold one another for the sake of one another until our time exists no more...to settle the score she shoulders the weight of my soul on her bosom, forever nursing me back to whom I once was...
and I...
will forever surf the stars on the moonlight's tail; creating space for our love to touch...but fear not these words of absoluteness, for it is only I that truly knows the direction in which my heart grows...in the direction of forever...with just a pen and some paper

...my words

wine connoisseur

to me…
you seem to be…
poured from a fine Pinot Noir
filled to the brim with ageless beauty
sometimes
I imagine this
before I
raise the glass
and
inhale the aroma before my lips
savoring the taste
d
r
i
p
p
i
n
g
from your waist
one
kiss
at
a
time

Boy With a Coin

Good song and video
.......wanted to share..the woman dancing at the end reminds me of my mother.....
beautiful....anwar

Conference room daydreaming

when I look in your direction
I hear..
..horns and strings orchestrated by angel's harps
such lovely arrangements
of melodies exist amidst
the profile of your body
the stares of curiosity bind my eyes
to mocha skin tickled by the morning sun
boricua, dominicana?
cape Verdean maybe......
the sounds you create
take me to space where my imagination has you as my Queen placed high atop our castle
you watch from the towers while I dash the spirits of dragons and suitors
that have mistaken your beauty as an open invitation for more than flirtation
then being overtaken in the midnight hours by your aromatic powers I rise to the occasion
and receive your soft lips against mine as a reward....our mouths touch...and I am awakened
by the woman I am dreaming of....
she rests her hand on mine...
I'm blinded from the brilliant shine coming from her ring finger
damn......
Have I been asleep that long?

Arch - Angel of Love

words
spit
from attractive lips meant for Saturn’s moons
my empty vessel captures the calls from desires sister
want;need
become one with the woman that they came from
I stare and watch as
cupid shoots his bent arrows taken from invisible quivers
the sharp points
maliciously aimed towards my heart
near misses
become
cold kisses
and now I lay dead
betrayed by her love
once again

Poetic Biology

I roll
Nina Simone bones
then exhale
poetic meter
spirits of my ancestors
grow through the hairs of my beard
and show my African features
high
cheek bones
wide set eyes
built like a small powerful creature
ink applied to skin
become dog eared pages of life
left to decipher by all you HIStory teachers

Love at first site

........enter
she sits.........
beautiful African flower
with drops of autumn along her skin
short raven hair
my stares purposely
catch her attention
she glances as if to take a sniff
pauses
then purrs these words
I know guys like you
pursed lips
eyelids closing
as if to squash the last vowel in line
spirits of exes and soon to be next exes
sit firmly to her left and right
she explains that everyone has a two sided approach to life
speaks of eternal baggage
he, we and they become adage to her existence
over time
our conversation grows into a fire
burning down flammable inhibitions
then replaced by walls of unwavering persistence
soon
in so few words
she has me smitten with a zombie like affliction
my desire is to explore the inner depths of her mind
so I walk over close and place her hand in mine
within a dash of the third rail if my motives be in question
our time together
fast forwards to forever
where
I imagine us old; together still
her wizened hands
and fingers; long
gently plucking at the gray hairs on my arms
like petals on a lilly pad

tongue twisted

they said
he said, she said
now time lies dead
stabbed through the tongue
with a pen

Adultery

my love,
close your eyes and follow my voice
let me lead you to a place
- where our heartbeats
turn to footsteps along hidden paths of intimacy
moon rays bind your hips to mine
- lips touch
then destiny parts your legs
allowing me to taste from heaven’s river
grunts and groans from bare backed beasts
dragging knuckles along moist ground
release; rest
we dress
in silence
mouths
bound by secrecy and shattered commandments
our shame over taken by lust
now, the devil leaves us
and
my eternal withdrawals begin
I lose myself passing time
till I have to return you back
to your husband

Third eye turns to stone

evenings spent
deciphering hidden inscriptions scribbled inside
worn sleeve of a rose colored book
my sin sumeya children play with fire
leaving remnants of leaf and stems
discarded on scorched forest floor
a single tree remains
as lonely as the moon that searches for companionship during dawn
I offer condolences through a finger wrapped embrace
dank smoke lies imprisoned inside the walls of human organs
then released through a reversal of fortune
repeat
then pass

Hypocrite

have you ever gotten the feeling
that the person you were having a conversation with thought that they where sent from God?
like, their words to you about their own human struggle
contain messages or answers about your life
oratory measures taken; bound in an obsolete presence
listening to words from a lounge chair in outer space gives Heavenly directions from places never mentioned
the mental distance
the place where right and wrong struggle in a never ending battle
walls of trust built on common sense and reason battle with a soul dipped in treason
there must be a reason
for this change in season
or change in attitudes and moral complexes that exist as the nexus of immoral direction
listen
& understand the words of God and his Son
as they warm the spirit beyond the cold grasps of the devil’s hands
do as man has been directed to do
live and learn the great lessons in life
all it has to offer and take away
be as a ship
moored
docked for the long stay
not as the flag that lifts its head only when the wind blows
an action that the hypocrites all know

Línea negra

tattoo of
vertical life
exists along
womb
nurturing
seeds inside
beautiful skin
I show you
a drawing
from the inside
Línea negra

my Sunrise-written in 3rdIperspektiv

raven tinted luminescence
crawls across the horizon
lashes of light
open up
and kiss the velvet sky
virgin sunshine
offers herself to the indigo skyline
she leaves residue
of pomegranate along his smile
lusts pains
paint sage and purple streaks
where they once lay
orange meets bright white
as sunshine meets her peak
erupting
molten lava
life;bliss
she has risen
to seduce night
once again

D.S.T.

Tick Tock Tick
Tock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock Tick
my life; enveloped with emotion
almost a strung out devotion
I was a junkie
hooked on this thing called
love
inhaled
cooked
snorted
injected
I found myself floating with those from above
but that time is gone now
replaced by one that heals
while it wears my soul down
the mountain in front of recovery
seems too high
I am taking a breather now
my arms are rested on my thighs
I start to move again
running
inhale
running faster
breathe out
halfway up the hill
I am now flailing my arms about
I reach the summit at full speed
take off like a bird
flapping wings so fast
the clock can’t be heard
Tick Tock Tick
Tock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock Tick
a little bit softer now……..
I am healed

poetic suicide

I feel as though
my time here
is coming to an end
I want to leave
a final impression
for all of my friends
the jocks
the nerds
the suits
the straightedge
the hippies
the herbs
the skaters
the bikers
the gangsters
the clubbers
the hangout all niters
the multi-
national
cultural
biological
the women
the men
the preachers
the sinners
the saxophone
the violin
the drums
the bass
the turntable
the case
the lawyers
the doctors
the eyes
the face
of anyone that has crossed my path
heart left warmed by
water; life
casting long memories
no matter the sun’s height
my time on earth is over now
I can’t escape the inevitable
can’t hide or run
I am thirsty before I go
I make a drink
blue ink from a metal flask
pour; enjoy
tick; tock
time pasts
I drop to my knees
take up the pen
and squeeze
my final impression is left
all over the walls for everyone to see
poetic suicide

Something for you

to think of you
is an unwrapped gift
anticipation builds.....nervousness is replaced by a smile
no matter what the lord puts between us
luggage, cities, countless miles
I will never forget the space that you occupy
I wish that forever I could hold your hand
wipe the tears when you cry
witness all of your problems disappear
when you need to talk, give you an ear
be your everything
or anything
if you like

She loves me, she loves me not

Feel as I feel. Is that poetic?
is it possible for you to hear me through a sequence
of inaudible sounds shaped into frequencies
that bring my spirit into your world
beckoning me like the Sirens of Odysseus
intoxicating me with the allure of your spirit
just to crash my hopes and desires on the hidden beaches
and cavernous caves surrounding the entrance to your heart
once loved but now scorned; feelings
scorched like the world’s southern most desert
lips dry
parched flesh
yearning for the afternoon oasis of kisses to set your heart aflame
our love is coarse and dry like the ram’s fur of Aries
never escaping the desire to be together
but hating the time when we are

BONNIE & CLYDE::by anwar::ekphrastic

good night:painting by andrew nichols
BONNIE & CLYDE::by anwar
a poem of epic proportions

Bonnie couldn’t figure out what was taking Clyde so long to come out of there.
She had begun to worry that he may have been shot. "God damn it Clyde!!!", she screams as she slams on the gas pedal of the silver 745. She sends the car flying into the intersection in front of the bank and then pulls hard on the emergency brake. "Now spin the wheel hard to the right", she can hear him say inside of her head. "I know damn it", she says to herself being as stubborn as usual. She always hates it when he tells her how to drive, especially in the quarter to eight. This is her ride and she has it sitting parallel to the bank and the police barricade outside of the bank. Bonnie has blocked the entryway so that someone can only enter or exit through the rear door of the car. She climbs into the back seat and pushes down on a button in the middle console. A compartment opens up and reveals two high-powered automatic rifles, two nine millimeters and a few grenades. A smile of exctacy pours over her face. It shows that she gets off on this, a lot. This spur of the moment thrill this bank-robbing ride to hell and back, anything goes for her man and she was ready to do that now. No FBI, no police, no snipers, no one, will keep her from getting the man of her life and the love that keeps them whole.

See, Bonnie & Clyde, they both share an unwavering lust for the money and all things that come from it. They have blazed up and down the East Coast through banks and holding houses of some of the areas finest institutions. Now they have hit the mother load, the Federal Reserve Bank sitting right in the middle of Boston’s financial district. They had picked this final job together, a first. Clyde always called the shots so Bonnie was happy when he approached her about planning it out with him. Clyde called it the payoff of a lifetime, because of the location. One highway, with both north and south access directly in front of the building, waterways three hundred yards behind the building and then, there is the train station. Placed 100 feet away from the front door of Boston’s moneymaking machine, lies one of the largest spider webs of public transportation known to man. Its called South Station. With rail lines and bus lines going to over 1000 places every hour on the hour then not to mention three extra lines for the local community, this station stacked up to most in the country. What it lacked in size, it provided in confusion to anyone not aware of its many tunnels and schedules available. Both things necessary to those that not only wanted to remove themselves from the vicinity in a very short amount of time but also cause as much confusion as possible when doing it. This was their planned method of escape. Bonnie planned it that way.

Instead, Bonnie finds herself in the backseat of the car loading shells into her pump shotgun and trying to calm her breathing down before she pulls on the bullet proof vest. She silently goes about her tasks as chaos exists outside the vehicle. The snipers have positioned themselves to take a shot as soon as she steps out of the vehicle. The car is wrapped in bulletproof glass so they’d be wasting their shots before they needed to. The snipers don’t know that so she plays a game of cat of and mouse with them. After her bullet proof vest is on, she pops open the door and then slams it closed really quickly. Instantly a two-inch bullet ricochets off the side of the glass where she is lying. Bonnie pops her head up and then a second bullet ricochets off of the roof. "Ok ", she says to herself, "that’s was 4.7 seconds". 4.7 seconds, to get out of the car and into the building before the snipers explode her head with one of their bullets. The door is two yards away; the snipers are reloading and aiming, waiting for the next shot. Bonnie takes her weapons in hand, kicks open the left door with the butt of the gun and then opens the door on the right with her free hand. Bonnie hears the first shot ping off of the ground right outside of the left door. They fell for her bait. 4.7 seconds she dashes out of the right door, 4.3 seconds sniper’s bullet leaves gun, 3.9 seconds the door of the bank is open, 3 seconds the bullet enters Bonnie’s right foot and exits through her left knee cap. She lets out a scream as she falls into the doorway. Her body seems lifeless, teetering on the doorjamb, half in and half out lies in plain view of the TV cameras. Every detail is caught on film and the entire country has been watching this standoff live from their living rooms. Now they watch another drama within the one that has captivated them for over an hour. They sit and watch as a convicted killer and bank robber fights for her life and crawls to find her lover…..

"Bonnie!!!!", Clyde screams as he hears the next shot. Bonnie lies there in a pool of blood and Clyde runs over to her in his futile attempt to save her from eternal demise. He runs over to the doorway and is hit with a sniper bullet in the left thigh. The second pierces his heart. It renders him motionless for a fraction of a second. The force of the bullet drives him down to the ground and he lay there, pinned to the cold marble floor of the Federal Reserve Bank. Bonnie reaches over to her lover and they pull into each other’s arms. Coughing blood and retching violently, breathing her last breaths she utters these words………………

my dear Clyde
our time has come
such a beautiful ride
the money was endless
but the thrills aside
I had more fun showing you
that I am a down ass chick
through all thin and thick
for you and us…...oooh in this I only trust
I will stand by your side
till the day I die
or we die together
our blood splatters forever
remain on the concrete of which we lay
people in the future will speak about this day
the time they witnessed true love with no bounds
in these final words my love can be found
I am happy and finally content
my head finally resting where it needs to be
In your arms
for all of eternity....…….. exit

always and forever - ekphrastic: poem by anwar::art by henry lee battle

my vows that day:
I have loved you since
the first day we met
the second time we kissed
the third time we fell in love
the fourth time is this
it is an honor
as my heart grows fonder
to take you as my wife
not till tomorrow
but for the rest of.......

......my life
forever changed when
rings twisted
betwixt our essence
intertwining lips to commence
our union under heaven’s
blessings
smiles & bulbs
flashing
hop over broom
feet; legs dashing
nervousness replaced by
eternal happiness
fast forward to
a picture of this
honeymoon bliss
bodies locked tightly
fire breathes deeply along your hips
release the passion from within
exploding
gushing; rushing
touching your lips again
rapture draws me in
our breathing
combined in perfect harmony
inhale
…
exhale
…
we live together in the arms of destiny
always and forever
that’s what this love means to me

Only a matter time before you get it

click clack
the sound made
when pulling back the trigger
on a 50-desert eagle
see this weapon
is specially
manufactured to move another bullet
into the chamber
before the last one
has exited the gun
sound like fun?
ever shoot a hand cannon
in a crowds direction
watch the bullet
change
colors as it
smashes through stone
children’s bone
then finally
leaving someone’s dome
all over the cement
the gory stuff
we haven’t even got to yet

click clack
the sound made
when
bullet leaves nose
of my
metal life switch
I love to turn niggas lights out
sometimes at the same time
I can get him and his bitch
save time/save bullets
just walk up on em
take out the steel
and use it
bullet enters body
severs tendons
moves around the chest cavity
searching for an exit
hits the chick beside dude
she’s laying beside him
I am already jettin

click clack
the sound made
by the gun put to rest
placed up under my arm
inside the bullet proof vest
click clack packed away neat
I can feel the heat
from another spent shell
I am addicted to that
noxious sulfur smell
the night comes again
the huge moon pumps me up
for some more
innocent
citizen
killin
walk the streets
searching for more
unsuspecting peeps
mission accomplished
I don’t feel like running
I need a ride
see a black sedan on the corner
idling
someone sitting inside
word
their loss of life
not mine

click clack

don’t move
or we’ll blow your fucking head off

clack click

the police have me surrounded
following a tip
from a nosy neighbor
for two days
the sedan outside my apartment
been watching my behavior
report reads:
perp leaves by 7
returns by 9
walks with a limp or something
drags his left leg behind
consider him armed and dangerous
and keep this in mind
murders been committed by
a 50 cal desert eagle
this type of weapon
can blow off a grown man’s knees
before you finish a sneeze

don’t move
or we’ll blow your fucking head off

well
blow it off then
aint no way in he world
I will spend a day in the pen
from my 50
I unleash a volley of bullets
click clack
click clack
click clack
the police and D.T.’s
fall dead
sporting
peekaboo
holes from chest to back
click clack
click clack
click clack
sirens, screams, flash of light

clack click

oh shit
I think that I am hit
cops move in
you aint taking me alive, I scream
then
I hear the last

Click

when
gun explodes in mouth like fireworks
cops start to yell
too late, you pigs
my soul forever
click clacks
in Hell

First date

"My favorite color is yellow"
she says
through her wicked smile
the awkward miles have been passed by
through conversation and laughter
as we speak and move together
my heart races faster
should I.......
or should I wait
- wait - conscience replies
the result will be better -
so in my patience I reside
then something happens
did she just.....
was that a......
am I seeing things…..
yep......
it was…
I think she was just checking me out
an innocent glance no less
but one for me to count
hopefully to be followed by many more
her profile
invite my courting words
her lips
move in time
her spirit
matches mine
she has me smitten
yes I wrote that last line
it wasn’t a Freudian slip
I mean what I say
no matter when I am saying it
morning
noon or
8pm at night
she takes a left and
another left
my house on the right
"why do I want to go home"
the answer should be easy
the reason is something
that I did not want to risk
going another minute
without having your
lips
to
kiss

(v/a) -::last words of an abused child::-

I don’t want to die
but I’m going to
I mean
mom and dad didn’t like me that much anyway
during youth
consistently reminded
with
backhand slaps
forward kicks
forceful terms of endearment
my favorite
- I wish that you would walk down the street and get hit by a car -
through time I found that
I didn’t need to walk far
everyday
an 18-wheeler jackknifed inside my living room
spewing garbage
gifts of true voice
feelings; unwrapped
from: mom and dad written on the side
all because I reminded them of
- the hard times
each stomp and scream
would really mean
- boy I wish you were never born
I’m tired of working four jobs
my feet got corns -
daddy never really came home
he was too ashamed; frustrated
that I couldn’t be another woman for him to beat
I had to be a son
whenever daddy did come home
he would knock me on my head with a beer bottle
and mom would laugh as I pick up my teeth
place them inside my pocket
I would look towards the front door
wishing to be
outside
instead
inside
darkness resides
their words:
I hate you
if you had stayed inside
I
I
I would have
elevated my mind
smoked weed
bought cars and dresses
spread around my seeds
but no,
here you come
with a big ass head
looking like your mother
wish I could bust you in the face
like I do her
but you aint worth it
fact is
you aint worth shit
stuff on the bottom of my shoe
that’s what I got for you and your ass
with a little heel for some added class
thanks
mom and dad
for taking out on me
what you couldn’t see
wasn’t my fault at all
your words
helped me grow into
the animal that I am today
I see you in the crowd
not even looking my way
can’t you see
the lives that I took
where in honor of you
just trying to get attention
like when I was a kid
you would’ve been proud of my murderous rampage
the burning memories of a child
used as fuel to excite fear into victims
before the final knife thrust
in death I trust
so I sit still in the face of it
even in this electric chair
I learned from you
that I should never shed a tear
so I don’t
forever set up in jail
big guy over there
wearing the blue
wry smile
bout to hit the juice
send my soul to Lucifer
thrown into the eternal fire
20 murders
paid in full
all with one pull of the switch
my body
shocked
then
violent
twitch
my life ended
just as mom and dad wanted
papers read
Monster executed this morning at 10:22
to his murders he gave no excuse
I couldn’t read it
lost my eyesight
from years of your Verbal Abuse

rollover sex

10:31pm
I am dreaming
white capped waves
smashing against stone enclaves
engorged peach
juices trickling down cheek
strawberry and cherry Jell-O kisses
topped with whipped cream; chocolate chips
frozen ice melts on nips
forming wrinkles around tightened skin
hairs stand straight on end
sweat mixing in
with silk and latex
air fills with aroma of
beautiful sex
brown and black
mixing
twisting
biting
backs
toes
arched
internal fire
spark
external moans
waves through bones
repetitive body shudders
words in foreign tongues
uttered
a sickness
caused by
the rushing
water sloshing
gushing feeling
of sweet
release
cum remnants
freed from their dark prison
traveling down knee
shared with wet sheets
seconds pass by as
heat rises inside loins
of captive vessels
chin firmly nestled in shoulder
resting; nuzzled
breast shoved into chest muscle
gasps of air
paint pillows with
auburn shades of wet matted hair
the spider webs locks
tie hands and arms
into upright positions
legs create playboy shadows on walls
in this rollover free for all
your touch stirs me
your wetness
frees the beast inside
next scene
seems like
drummer enters room
flesh being beat upon
brat a tat tat
brat a tat tat
tat a tat brat
start remixing the track
headboard cracks
bed falls
we fall
clock falls
damn
it reads
12:31am

Whispers from the trees

sitting in class, reading through a history book
I find myself drowning in handed down university gossip
it seems as if historians and presidents shined lights on our past’s shadows
leaving entire passages whited out
our words washed away
fibrous
blood stained
splattered; stretched ropes remain
formed into nooses once used to release spirit from anything black
dark flesh rots
ripped; torn apart
on the bark of trees bearing negro fruit
the trees limbs so laden with innocent souls that
lifeless toes touch blades of grass on their ascent to heaven
I sit in my chair under the arch created by the hanging tree
and search around looking for messages dropped to the ground
from hands clenched tight together; holding onto their last breath
pain riveting from the neck down to their blood stained coverings
I am listening to the trees’ whispers
uttering
last prayers of the dying
free me
free me
oh heavenly Father
free me from this place
where my skin color has become the measurement of my livelihood
I look around and find spots of blood
remnants left over
from post mortem beatings
not red but purple stains remain
the type of blood that exists only inside the veins of royalty
those of my past’s kings and queens
now reduced to a slave mentality
lifeless bodies hung on trees to catch the summer breeze
left in a way
to teach dem other negros lessons about wanting to be free
that’s what the massa say
well now massa is telling me another story
he teaches democracy
and how it has always existed for the right of human beings
he goes onto say
we will enforce democracy
like
the pilgrim’s thanksgiving on plymouth rock
and stuff it down the throats of anyone not willing to eat our words of subjugation
well
subjected we were
to plantations
tilling mother earth’s creation
until finally
raping her of the opportunity to grow us out of here
here
in
this
foreign country
this
place
we once never knew of
a mind will always revolt unnatural surroundings
what you called disobedience
our ancestors called
survival of the quickest
I turn the page in my history book
and find it blank
my pen starts to write a new history passage
recycled words dropped onto the soil that my ancestors watered with their own
blood; sweat
urine; tears
from bodies hung in the summer breeze
becoming fertilizer for our future
producing Whispers from the trees