The Attempted Assimilation of Taure

Today 
began the arduous task of the Attempted Assimilation of Taure
the ascension of heights that soar to moon and beyond
is not a feat for mere mortals
for I have asked God to fill my vessel with his spirit
so that I can be his trumpet & human portal
sorrow and despair can not be bread of which to live on
when the world is filled liars, cheats and vagabonds
I have asked Him, to keep in the light
of all that is birthed in the dark
before those things reach the cavern of my heart
burn bright as they may; and that they did
but still
Today 
began the arduous task of the Attempted Assimilation of Taure
stay back and stand clear
there is a Holy spirit hovering near
Closer to Thee is not just a hymn
it is the promise to me
from the Almighty Him

future photograph

I'm passing by my photo again
captivating, award winning shot nestled between a bridge and an ocean
birds rise from the horizontal lines as the sun lay flat on window panes
the reflection is lured away by the morning traffic
sexual architecture
I plan on taking that picture
Soon

in my own words

Most people when giving advice, (unless specially trained) can only give advice rooted from their own personal experiences. When I ask a question or seek advice from someone, I want that person's knowledge to come from a place that is planted, nurtured and cultivated by God. Most advice givers tend to steer, maneuver and guide those that come for advice with phrases like 'This is what I've done or This is what I would do.' My people, I don't want to know what it is that you would do, I want to know what would my God want me to do. How would He, if of earthly flesh and emotion, ponder my query. 


Do not answer or try to guide me opposite the path of your demise because then your are living vicariously; carelessly through me. The only one I want to have living through me and I through He, is God. No matter how good your answers to my questions may seem at the time, if the words are not blessed by God, then the words matter naught. Advice givers, get rooted in God, his words, his teachings, his reality. And for those that seek advice, understand from where that advice might be coming. If God's word is what you seek, go directly to Him. Ask of Him, big or small, all that is required to live.
Today

so sincere

My love for you is bound like the hands of a prisoner
I am your innate
intimate; inmate
Keep me forever shackled to your heart
and be my life forever

12:52pm

the title of this poem was going to be 11:45pm

but I took a little time for myself

I should write about 12:52 more often and leave 11:45 alone.

- the doves

spirit drifting.. like a windswept rain

drum line of heartbeats.. prolonging the pain
where a smile once existed.. now a ripple across the lake
the doves read the Sanskrit and take flight in the morn

-  into an angel, my love is born

question

what to do, what to do o Lord
-  when the prayers and praise turn to
condolences
or  

… side glances from those that lack anything to say

I do not blame them
when I lose the ability to communicate I feel crippled and feeble minded - I think that the only way to save the embarrassment is to be silent - the silence transforms my language into speaking/tongues - and from the tongue evolves a vision - a vision of never having to say goodbye to those that you love - a misconception based on insincere thoughts that somehow - someway - weave themselves into the tapestry of reality - like the tears that have carved crevasses along my profile…

…into the shape of sorrow

what would it be, what would it be

If my dreams

were reality

.::garden symphony::.

I
hear
sound

weaving in & around words like the g/clef of a trumpet blowing in the autumn breeze -

the trees have violins attached and to the flowers ...

a mandolin

together they perform a garden symphony to their love - a distant gaze from the window above - originating from a cathedral means - along a lane of brick and green -

when the sunshine ceases to shine and the rain decides to appear - the garden symphony ends - abruptly as the wind changes - and the pain closes in like the cold of winter - seasons of history lost with the garden symphony - memories have only paper remains and the sound has reason

to

end

cYr

rest easy my love

your spirit is now free

to roam in places

we will never see

- mother

has never sounded so sweet

until the day it became your name

love

anwar

what a long road

free

It is dawn

The last of the night drips off of the moon and I find myself conversing with the remaining stars speckled here and there on the indigo canvas - conversations mixed with a Bin Shiraz, a green stuffed cigar and the occasional split from reality - my ears are filled with Miles and Coltrane - Hayes and Cooke - soulful classics that gloriously blend with the sounds of the early morning traffic - I am free -

- like the birds in flight rustled from their nest by the passing jet - just as free as the smoke that billows from the buildings across the river - I am free - from any constraints - any issues - any drama - any complaints - I am free

- free like the wind
- free like a balloon floating through the air
- free like a spirit released
- free like
- free like

me
I have always enjoyed this time of day - just me and the remaining stars toasting the next blessed dawn - the night escapes us like a thief in the night - cloaked by the rising sun - the warmth of the new horizon breaks open a smile across my face

- and I am free

four eyes

some believe that..

love is blind

I say..

it blinds those that believe in it

"You're blind baby, you're blind from the facts on who you are

'cause you're watchin' that garbage!" - "She Watch Channel Zero" Public Enemy, 1988

he says/she says

· how can we get back to the place that existed before now ·

she says:

I used to love you

he says:

I still do

she says:

You don't want to love me

he says:

I still do

she says:

You don't know what love is

he says:

I still do

she says:

I need more

he says:

I still do

she says:

I have found another

he says:

he says:

he says:

he says:

- I Say:

I am lost without you - time stops when you are not there - my heart misses a beat where it once skipped when you were here - take me as I am - no return for damaged goods - love me unconditionally - feast on my weaknesses - I ask one thing specifically -

Will you

love me even if I don't love me?

Can you look past all of my insecurities my handcuffs and possibly, possibly...

love me

even when

I don't

love me?

she says:

I still do

he says:

I used to love you

she says:

I still do

he says:

You don't want to love me

she says:

I still do

she says:

she says:

she says:

she says:

she says:

- you never listen

he says:

- you never hear me

she says:

- I am always last

he says:

- you are the beginning and end

she says:

- show me

he says:

- while we are saying - we are not loving - we are not living - we are not - sharing - we - are - not - we -

she says:he says:she says:he says:she says:he says:she says

how can we get back to the place that existed before now

- that place called

- we -

thoughts

I remix the elements of nature and share with you the results

¦soul¦heart¦water¦sound¦love¦peace¦

My soul is etched with chords of my ancestors song and my heart beats to the rhythm of the river. The tranquility of my youth; replaced by the reflection of my adult form, seems so far away. I miss the sound, like one would a true love. It is my yearning, a peaceful journey through life and the rewards for the days that I breathe in the time of this existence. My spirit is filled with love and I cannot deny the numbing feeling that I am left with.

my resolution

~ continue to bless me Lord, until time exists no more ~

a new day

I want you all over me

like wind on a stormy night

rain leaves stains on the window pane

the way that your touch feels on my skin

everyday is a new day

to be bonded with you again

past::present

the sun is rising
I have evolved a full cycle
shedding skin from yesterday
I sit
watching
as the light grows from the middle of the dark
the sun has risen
now to third I level

beginning of downtown crossing

my mind is like white patchouli
mixed with a bit of musk oil
I like to sprinkle the scent onto sheets of bound memories
my fingers press out the smell with every indentation of a new word or syllable
much time has passed since I've been
here....

downtown crossing
people:
watching
smelling
walking
talking
going about their way
the scent of my city is the same
in this train of paper dreams
new memories framed in the windows of passing reflections

now the beginning has become the end

and we are passing through downtown crossing again

alone

she sits and weeps a single tear

along her cheek of rose

my absence has left her lost for words

and I have lost my love

....

I have lost my love

....

and I

have lost..

my

~love

afterthought

ice
melts

rain
drops

heart
beats

time
stops

always

but you

love me
     when you can

touch:my:soul

touch
my soul with words unrolled off tongues fed by syllabic soliloquies
touch
my mind in patterned sounds of 4 beat rhythm that dance themselves around me
the touch of two will wind itself round bodies like framed wisteria

wrapped in time
we dance on top of raindrops and collect stars from the constellation's nebula
love has no bounds
and like the wind
it moves through my limbs
scattering leaves
left illuminated by the red moon

the sun's teardrops

Life
Death
Rebirth
challenges
conquered in infancy
twisted ‘round variables of complex addendum
bespoke chambers of marginalized thoughts
we live...
in solitude
my spirit and I forever bound to this offering of life...
fists RAISED in defiance against death and it’s shortcomings
inside my clenched hand I hold the sun's teardrops
collecting the water till it becomes an oasis
covering the faces of one hundred centipedes marching through existence
in the distance it appears as nothing more than a reflection of my past
dropped from the heavens and drawn within a human outline
soon,
we shall become one
completing this circle of life by traveling the circumference
for now…
my spirit fills the tenements of body and soul
what is left will seep out of smoke filled tepees
I am part of her; earth and her needs insatiable
my bones; dust will mix with the wind; collected in clouds
finally finding rest inside the palace of my father
he will take these collected dreams and pour them into my mind’s eye
becoming
breath
life....
the sun’s teardrops

Butterfly Theory

locust sounds all around surround me with their native tongues
the words unfold into stories told of mankind’s living sins
my sisters and brothers of the swarm beat their wings in the summer’s winds
they tell me secrets of the world learned from the ancient virgin nymph
she unwinds a tale from African lands; the people and their suffering
etched inside her crystal wings centuries of slaves speak of their lament
the souls of our ancestors wrap themselves around a linen document
and with the joining of the two deliver messages directly heaven sent
we find the heart in a place that base existence on the subject’s shade of skin
the coarse black hair stands on end when beaten with horse’s whips
lashes unleashed on back and neck cause abuse felt by the next of kin
and from the scars rise bloody mounds resembling hand painted faces of children
eyes well with tears and water drops down rusty cheeks charred by the rising sun
the moisture left behind outlines a sketch of shuffling feet along the auction block
the step up to the hanging noose that many of them got
for feeling lost in a land not indigenous to their minds
now working on massa’s farms and paid just pennies for their time
to feed a family of light skinned children who don’t belong to the host
but instead an alien brood hidden from the old plantation’s ghosts
persecution of my people continues throughout decades of racial turmoil
time unfolds and a superior larva crawls from the tightly packed soil
ready to enforce the civil liberties given to you and I
Earl Little and Martin Sr. carried seeds of the future leaders; now angels in the sky
their voices moved an entire generation into marching and sitting down for a while
showing the nation that we as a people together are a force to be recognized
a people that cannot be thrown into the lions pit and torn from limb to limb
but instead one to learn from and invest a piece of future in
the growth of a people and persecution sometimes go hand in hand
but to know where we are headed we have to know where we’ve been
and now Barack emerges as the Ornithoptera Alexandrae
and the elders can now smile
for all the miles our people have traveled the snakes now have something
hard to swallow
from this man we all shall rise
the way the sun does;
everyday that we call tomorrow

- Flying

So he writes: watching the sun set against the backdrop of night. the lust of ebony drips from lips as he waits on the evening sky
He writes: of saturns and moons eternal bodies blessed with an occasion to share his first love
He writes: somber sonnets and silent soliloquies pressed against the fall air. like fingers in her hair he intertwines his words through space and time
He writes: of stars appearing as constellations along her spine as he connects the dots. seducing scorpio with a feather and making virgo smile
I write:
the night is my paper and she is my love. we dance together like two butterflies in flight along the path of forever. only stopping to rest on a cherry blossom to bask our wings in the moonlight.

sidewalk shaman

It happened to me
suddenly/like
the wind that blows in between downtown buildings
"excuse me sir but do you have any change for the winter?"
clink, clink, clink
clink, clink, clink
he jingles his cup as I watch and listen
"excuse me sir/ma'am, but do you have any change for the winter?"
with each shake of the cup
the din of the change rattling
I'm drawn
he shakes and cries out
like an ancient shaman wearing ankle bracelets
while conjuring spells with a magic staff
beset on all sides with encrusted jewels
poor sidewalk shaman
his audience wasn't listening
burying their heads deeper into shoulders
escaping the cold bitter reality
continuing to ignore this young man and his pain
his cries for help fall on mannequin ears
a tune he has played for years
the call and no response from the mass of passer byes
hunger has taken his mind and body over
never had a chance, this homeless land rover
nothing to do but
turn and face the mirror
the result of the growing insult of being ignored/not treated as a human
then with tears in his eyes he turns in my direction
head pressed against the glass
heart beat logarithms etched into the reflection
I’m transported to a world all but mine for a short amount of time
in the split second of space that we share
we surf together on oxymoronic parallels of despair
that here...
amidst the regurgitated prosperity/no one seemed to care
abandoned
adopted
in squalor forced to live
abused
accused
all of these words are his
insulted
imprisoned
with nothing left to give
but less answers
like
penniless
loveless
homeless
sidewalk shaman
oh you poor sidewalk shaman
my mind has witnessed enough
whirl your bullroarer
transport me back to my world
the reality of yours/too much
too much to take
not enough distance between what’s real and what’s fake
but wait
your reality was decided by Egyptian gods of fate
Shai, Meskhenet and Renenutet
like a child on a cross country trip
asking are we there yet
I want to be home
safe and sound
where I exist
…….all alone
blink
I’m awakened by a familiar sound
clink click clink
the sidewalk shaman still spinning his instrument around
Sir can you spare any change for the winter?
and into his world
we all enter

freestyle thoughts

I ran into an ex weekend, then I backed up and hit her again
who’s paying for the damage to my heart?
insurance doesn’t cover the flood of tears and scars on my wrists
an eternity of time left to heal the wounds of instantaneous harm
misguided and undirected like a plane on autopilot
they find their mark when the fuselage is lodged in my heart
burning to the core
big hole left to fill with some more

the kiss below

neck
breasts
stomach
thighs
knees
anklebones
just below where your toes
join your foot
all the places I would like to kiss
soft…
wet…
pauses in between
roll you over and start from the bottom again
heel
calf
back of knee
thighs
mounds of undulating flesh and bone
small of back
feeling me yet
shoulder blades
back of neck
earlobes
nowhere else to go….
but below

sustenance

I am starving
my life was once sustained by words caught in a net drawn in from the sea of humanity
captured syllables flip and flop into linguistic somersaults
I would cook them with abstract thoughts until the meat falls off the bone
without them I am starving
my paper feels alone

....
Will you feed me?

A Hustler's Dream

something happened to me today
I found a conscience while sleeping inside my cell
it had been missing for some time now
since I was selling powder through the roof of my silver Eldorado
should have seen it; thang was laid out pretty
100 spoke wheels spinning along the streets of my worn out city
raw cane packed so high in the house that it looked like I was collecting clouds
I was the police, the judge and the god damn constitution
I fed the entire hood my brand of justice with little or no mental collusion
cooked, wrapped and smoked
handcuffing motherfuckers with addiction
noses wide open from their white affliction
drugs and hoes fed my children; nursed my ego
I easily became a ghetto neighborhood hero
medallions and chains hang
cars, homes; knives and guns bang
my people would never be the same after my time in the game
we couldn’t go back to those soggy cheese sandwiches
roaches as pets
empty refrigerator
mom telling me this is as good as it gets
two younger siblings staring up at me
I was the man of the house before I hit puberty
even at eleven I had a hustler mentality
started with the grass, then graduated to powder
got bopped at fifteen
left the fam a security stack
my mom has never been prouder
kept her out of debt and my canteen creamed
22months to serve; I can do this in my sleep
25 now and running; living the hustlers way
everything was copacetic like Rakim used to say
had a baby boy and a girl on the way
that’s when it happened
I was riding the block with my little man beside me
turned at the second light and saw a young brown honey
hi how are you?; through sticky wet lips and big pearly teeth
I’m doing fine and so are you as far as I can see
she’s handing me the number through the window of my car
I see her eyes glance up and her mouth form into a scream
directly across the street, dude is on his knees
pointing a Tec in my direction
shots rang out
then
silence…
smoke clears
an eternity passes before I look up from the driver’s seat
adrenaline and blood cover me
look to the left; honey lay dead
look to the right; my little boy
my seed, my prince…. shot in the head
I can do nothing but stare at his lifeless body
his mother’s eyes looking directly at me
blank but still full of childhood memories
a bloody teardrop falls
and lands on the armrest
simultaneously I wake up from a ten year old dream
PRISONER NUMBER 01202009 YOU ARE FREE TO GO
16 MONTHS SERVED and nothing to live for
but tomorrow
rewind

Inspired by a walk

while I walked..

the crunch of the snow kept me aware

kept me from slipping to that edge of despair

you know the place, we all been there

not paying attention to where you’re going

watching the footsteps created from behind

subconsciously leaving a path for the past to catch up

running now

faster

harder

had to pull off the layers

sweating

huffing and puffing

damn Newports

used to be built for war

have the tags to prove it

but now

black ink is only there

the moonlight provides companionship

but her love will only last for so long

she will leave to elope with the horizon

and I will stand on the bridge to nowhere

watching the tide set against the grey sky

the frost leaves my nostrils

and paints a caricature of my thoughts along the backdrop of stars

the night; she and I are one

my lover and my friend when loneliness sets in

she wraps her arms around and holds me warm

in the distance the church bell rings

shattering my visions

so I turn and face the inevitable

there is my past once again

its funny how the past, present and future

all look the same