Poetry · Writing

Magic

I have to write.

I stare at this blank page

and it stares back

taunts me.

It feeds off me

like a leech it

feast on my fears for breakfast

and sips my anxiety like tea.

Never satisfied

until I write.

So here I sit

Staring through this open window

waiting for the magic.

From a home I can’t explain

neighbor of imagination

down the block from love

Or is it hate.

Next to the house that always cooks barbecue.

That smell that sweeps the block

through open windows

love hate relationship with your belly

as it fights for something more.

Yet, here I sit

waiting for the magic.

Watching this orange fuck

slowly crush our stars

gathering Universal’s Minions

calling himself Gru

wasting on a par 4

stealing candy from unborn babies

from the home that he

is burning to the ground.

Closing our window

after only a few months

He,

We.

Need to-

Look for the magic.

Gather fingertips

the window is still open

Jump.

Don’t fly

We still have to fight.

So

Here I stand.

Writing

silent page.

Starting at the open window.

Needing to make humans think

think twice

and tell them a lie

that this window

Will always be open.

Poetry · Writing

the day before yesterday

Planning for the future

with a hammer

and a couple nails.

It’s a joke

I know

but it’s the truth.

The nails are a bit rusted

felt like I should mention that.

Bent too.

Head to Home Depot

to have your card rejected

but find a two by four

on the way home.

 

Buddy said she had

some parts for me,

pity screw.

Looking up already,

call it a note worthy day.

 

Poetry · Writing

Faith

The black panther lives in the rainforest.

This is the home of Faith.

The promising work of a florist.

Home forever even as a wraith.

 

Enchanting the world with sunny kisses.

Always with you like a reprise.

True nature’s cheery missus.

In spring time, love is carried on the breeze.

 

Her beauty undeniable by all.

All wanted to see what she could achieve.

Impossible to foresee thee befall.

This panther bows as she takes her leave.

 

All panthers ache and weep.

Rest now in your beauty sleep.

 

Poetry · Writing

getaway

i can’t stop the shaking,

the feeling of giving up

dropping everything

& start anew.

somewhere where no one knows

anything, where i can build,

somewhere quiet,

it won’t stop the shaking

it’ll be back the next day

maybe a month from now

but that time

sounds perfect

Poetry · Writing

blood adjacent

these are fine

this place right here

found it on a whim

i call it a win

i call it home

doesn’t matta where you from

you my brotha for life

this one and the next

your wife will be my sista

your husband will be my brotha

this bond is my treasure

this place right here

found it on a whim

i call it a win

i call it home

Poetry · Writing

scrapyard

you changed a lot-

all for the better

just not sure who’s

all in an attempt to be better

just not sure,

better than who,

i hope you sit down a write this out

before all that is left

is a scrapyard

of mixed dreams

false identities

wrapped in a fleece blanket,

each step was good

it was your own;

Poetry · Writing

jail cell

can’t be the breaker of chains

when your own dreams keep you bolted down

masking your insecurity with fools gold power

got you here, begging in front of an earless ghost

to let you free;

but you’ll be here in the morning

with a new plead you can try to be free

from your own self pity

let the world come to you

the power will only keep you here