Poetry

CLEANLINESS

No matter how many times you
hang our souls out to dry
in the white hot heat
They may never………
Generation after generation
they drip with what have
by now become the ubiquitous &
dare I day say the redundant
fluids of struggle
Blood
Sweat
Tears
&
Yes those souls will always be Black
Even those you have tried to bleach with
the Clorox of capitalism
&
Yes we may never iron out the wrinkles or
creases of the self-hating
However the wayward will always be
brought back into the
fold
Scrubbed by the detergents of our national
dysfunction
Race, Rinse, Repeat
Race, Rinse, Repeat
Race, Rinse, Repeat
&
Yes we will have to clean those chains as well
before we break them
If we are sincerely to remove any/all the
shackles of supremacy
we will have to admit that the eyes of our true deity
sure as hell ain’t blue
&
Yes SHE our God is black like our souls
unfathomable in depth or perception
Today is our perpetual Sunday
&
Today is laundry day in America
&
GOD DAMMIT!
We must all come clean.
______________________________*_______________________________

THERE IS NO ONE ELSE

You of all that has come &
gone, must return
Come back to fill this vessel,
fill these pages
You of all must give breath to this
lotus
that has refused to bloom &
instead has decided to remain beneath
the mire of an incessant murk
You of all must take this hand
i will be your Lazarus &
you, well you must be my
Jesus
You of all must teach me the notes
of salvation
that resonate through the chords of
life
You of all must give me
all of
YOU
_________________________________________*______________________________________

P.O.V.

From where I stand
they listen like fearful children
waiting for mother to get home
Because she’s way past late

From where I stand
they applaud like the saved &
pray like the non-believer
who has just found out that
they are terminally ill

From where I stand
mountains become wishes &
memories become reasons to
believe

From where I stand you begin &
end everything I know to be
real

From where I stand you are the
divine root of the universe &
I can see where everything
comes from
___________________________________________*____________________________________

SPECTACLE

The drought dry days of regret are
over
Alas water has returned to the
Hamlet
The dam has been broken and the river
flows once again &
as I rest myself at the rivers bank I
stare across and into fields of
evolution
There are resolutions ready to be
cultivated &
I will watch them grow high like
golden wheat
Tall strong & ready for harvest

You may have seen me then but I am
all that you see now
The soul once ruptured has now been mended
with the threads of actualization
Leaving no evidence of stitch or scar
The heart more than once broken has now been
liberated
Freed of every cast or crutch
flying under the weight of it’s
own wings
The dislocated hope has been returned to
socket
restoring the divine principal with in the
body of faith

So these tears that you see are not the salty
liquid drops of pain/regret/sadness
they are the delicate drops of joy that come
from eyes well worn
Eyes that will always find love
forever look for you &
constantly seek solution
even in the middle of the madness
________________________________________*_______________________________________

WHICH WAY SHOULD I FACE

How far is the storm that
hangs in the distance
How far is the calm
that follows the storm
recycles our path &
Helps us look at our world in a
New Light

How far is the end to the
relative laws
Written by those with
relative values
Everything material is
relative

How far is the child that gives
his mother love
when hope and faith have both
betrayed her
I hope that child is not too
far

How far does the cry reach of the
innocent slain.
Some say very far but most of us never
listen

How far do we have to go in order to
prove that physical destruction hinders
spiritual construction

How far off in the
distance is humanity

___________________________________________*____________________________________

COMING HOME

In passing old women with
chocolate & caramel colored skin
wave hands at me
as if I were a hero or a face lost
Taken by bullets from the police or another
Black Man, it doesn’t matter
Lost
In awe I stare at each of these faces
Smooth faces as if tiny Angels have kissed
them over & over again
Kissed back the proponents of
age
kissed back
pain
grief
despair
back
back

In passing there are stops along
the way
Enough time to release a poignant
melody
I look across the tracks seeing no one
who looks like me
I am reminded that the evil we perpetuate as a
people, is the very light we refuse to
give as individuals

In passing there is a
lexicon of women who sing the blues
&
I am the only one in the audience
Multiples of myself playing each part
From the one who loves them to the one
that leaves them
In passing there is you
A figure formed from heaven
Where I can still see the radiating
fingerprints of
God
All over your body

In passing you are the
energy creative &
in passing I turn around to
come back
back
back
to
you

________________________________________________________________________________