Category: poetry

The Guesser & the Stranger

Glancing , then drawn  I am  to capsules

of texts and frames of  images. Even  now

narrowing the  bold print, Death keeps me

guessing.  About  fullness of  life  and

returns of tomorrow . Never knowing

nearness of the end.

 

Beloveds build  nostalgic pyramids

of light and pillars of wisdom.  Lives stoked

with  tender strokes  and brimming  embers.

 

Such  reads   run the  the scope of humanity :

noteworthy  and infamy, drones and dreamers.

Death is the jester who keeps me amused

–the wild card who keeps me guessing.

 

A peculiar host , this stranger rests

in my parlor. His face veiled, his lips  pressed,

his eyes astray. Keeps me praying .

HARVEST

Baltimore sista  Carolina twista

She has a way 

Her eyes

project  sunrays

Her face delights

in almond peach cherry banana flavors

Her words ripple southern breezes

All she touches smiles
She has her ways 

 

Image may contain: one or more people
 An amazon she stands      A lioness she  purrs
A  canary she coos             A buzzard am I 
for her stallion legs
Like potters we play scoop and smear 
I let her have her way we revel 
in our harvest

DO IT

wiles & mazes we knew
would come to this after all
A tingling twitch wonderfully weird
this thing

here now you me
we zigged zagged dodged and darted into
a corner of curiosity we knew
in this game winning’s only
the beginning ….

Image may contain: 1 person, sitting and indoor
 an alien eye
halo of  lust      imp of surrender
this here thing now
got you me we
’bout to seize what we see
shall we ?

SUNRISE/ Tomorrow’s Offering

 

1

 

Mighty nation, rise

Cast to  the wind the ashes

Of sorrow — dust of the dead .

Beloved Afrika, we must

 

Rise again. Light the adrenaline

of lost ages. For you

the damned is not destined.

Master what you will.

Will is the master.

Clutch the anguish of the fallen

warriors & strike  back

 

with bloody  fury.  Salt the gashes

of nations . In civil wars,   snarled

with  fire powder.   Line  the  wounds

–refulgent  scars, stripes  of glory –We

are emblems  of tomorrow’s light.

 

The horizon is our altar.

On we fight , to be what we must

be.  Free. To rise again,

as Afrikans.

AMPLE SAMPLE ( 1980)

(Jazz at the  5-Mile House )

 

When folkz vibe in  a   joint 5 mile high

They brewin stew –hot n happenin

Jammin gotta be juke  man!   Like Fuzzy Kane

Cool-hand Luke on keyboards

I like waving steam –know what I mean?

 

Now comes Ms Ruby cattin a groove so hot

The night wilted—jus dropped dead

Sho nuff we flowin—keepin it goin

Groovin brewin stewin –just like I said

Next up — Mr Saxophone blew a blast

Then copped  a croon       spit fire     sprayed cool

Jus kept it goin  spewin what we  knew

 

Here comes Mr Drummer  sneakin a snare

Poundin a pulse

Looky there     Looky there

He on the prowl Bringin  up  Mr Bass

Spider-plunkin  oh-wow

Specially this one cat who kept  growlin “I like that !”

 

Now that’s alright  cuz we too

Think the  models are  goldalicious

Struttin to  Travis ‘   nods &  winks

 

Now comes these young Turks

Boppin loose & steady they wanted some too

Showin  the ol timers plenty of what  they  do

Got  the message &  gonna  carry the  news

Sky’s no limit      Know what I’m sayin

 

Serve yoself  ample samples

& chill out loud

MORNING POEM

Sometimes you wake to a refrain. The pulse sparks
and blood itches. Dawn echoes and whispers hymns.
A lyrical surge lodges in your spirit,
ascends, peaks in formations
and visions.

This surge breathes, speaks
in brittle breezes–
“Morning.”

YOUTH

 

stock photo, silhouette, sunset, electricity, lighting, dance, festival, dance-floor, beachlife, sea-sand-sun

 

Young hearts, young minds are feathers

flirting wherever gales whisper

 

                               Young hearts, young minds  kiss spectral  plumes

                                                Oh!  But one brush, one blush –the  flash of  fame

 

                     Young hearts, young  minds are feathers

        Wistful wanderers who weigh bounty

                                                                                                                                                                                                     on scales  of fancy and  fantasy