this is a poem about the Tulsa Race Riots
terrorism doesn't compare to self destruction.
disaster between the slaves, and their masters
we're richer, but they're smarter.
black wall street abolished, its name never in vain
although we remember, we'll never understand the pain
with our own eyes, it would leave us blind
by flash bombs, envy, discrimination
and hatred of our own kind.
gunpowder made buildings fly against the street lights
red and green, bombs still singing, ears still ringing,
we might as well be deaf.
the grass is always greener,
but our skin will never change or fade away
and to live in the past destroys our future
because just when we started to rise from the ashes
we burnt ourselves down again
from opposite sides of the city,
north and south
attract like polar opposites
wasting away green with envy
you can try to forget
because theres new paved concrete
but its still the same street
we owe to the stampede
jealously, destruction, revolution, prosperity
worn out buildings and bricks trapped us
but we're still free
under state laws
but only conditionally
the city sleeps when we do
but stays up late with disdain
days wasted and blown into the air
like concrete and fame
its a shame that
race riots black wall street and greenwood share the same name
it can't stay this way
one day, tulsa you'll change
you'll paint the streets again
faces engrained on
black walls like oil spills
treading new roads
buildings towering above
there are bodies below our feet
but that doesn't mean we're above them
and one day we'll breathe again
we'll write the names back into our history books
their sacrifice on our tongues
remembered, never in vain
like saviors honoring the pain
but never throwing it away
greenwood rising again.
The new motto for our generation
Puff Puff pass
So if you decide to keep
The beloved joint I just rolled
Prepare to get your ass kicked
It's not the addiction of marijuana
That keeps the freshly rolled joint
In between my lips
It's the fact that I can fucking do it
One puff Two puff
Here you go
I'll share with you
Because I don't care about anything
I'm getting high
So maybe when it wears off
I'll crash from the height
Skydive with no parachute
And kiss the ground just before I die
One puff Two puff
The reason the joint is here
Is because I want to be like my mother
Pops always said "You're just like your mother"
Lucky it isn't a needle
Why can't I put myself back together?
Why did I have to fall apart in the first place?
Why can't I be like Riley Knowles?
Why did I have to fall under Depression's reigns?
Why can't I simply be happy?
Why did I stop being happy?
WHY can't I laugh just to laugh?
WHY did I try to end my own life so short?
When will I be happy?
When can I smile for real again?
When will I share upbeat memories?
When can I move without gloom following me?
When will I fall in love?
When can I say that I am truly fine?
WHEN will I not be suicidal?
WHEN can I be in remission?
DO I think too low of myself?
DO I think everything is all about me?
CAN I put myself together?
I don't know. If you know, will you tell me.
I am smoker, thats what I am.
And it makes me feel good.
When I sit at a bench,
and watch people pass,
With smiles on their faces or scowls as well,
And I love to share a square with someone unknown,
As mine and their story pours out while we both take a drag,
To me that is living and having a good time.
I am a smoker, thats my addiction,
Others hate it, but to me that is love.
Infatuated with nature and its conflictions,
I'll rise really early to watch the sunrise,
The pretty pink colors juxsaposed with purple,
Birds, planes and cars all rushing: rushing somewhere,
Or nowhere at all, I just sit there and wonder,
With tendrils of smoke soaking my clothes,
I do not care to rush, I am a smoker.
Watching in silence trying to witness,
Something worthwhile and great,
While others are worried about being late.
I am smoker, that is my passion,
It might be wrong but it feels so right.
When I go somewhere beautful,
new, old, familiar or strange,
I light up a stick, and blow smoke at the sky,
Blow smoke at those faces, sharing the sight with me.
I will buy a new album and share it with a cigarrette,
While the headphones blast and soothe,
My hand comes to my mouth,
And feeds it its poisons or nutrition.
Call it malicious, but my tenure on this earth,
Wont be so much longer than it is expected.
I am a smoker, that is my sin,
I try to kick it, but it comes back.
Once I did not smoke for six months,
And i felt okay, as I watched others enjoy,
that which I loved and cherished at one point,
But after I abandoned her, my habit that is,
I asked her out once more,
and has not left me since,
She takes care of me when im happy or sad,
When I have been a good boy or bad.
She loves me no matter what,
Even If i did leave her once.
But I will leave her again,
Maybe today or when it has been enough,
But right now I will finish this pack,
And see what comes after.
Wishing Happy Birthday
To the past
It's all unfolding so unseemly and strange like reality itself imploded and was then folded and compressed like an origami universe with no beginning we can discern and we toss out all the thoughts that come first questioning and second guessing ourselves until we're simpering suffering simian simpletons acting out our lives in mock parody of what have might have been and then were thinking so much about the past that we bought a time share there to begin but we loved it so much we just had to move on in with everything ever hidden every single skeleton that we regret so much we can't bear to look at the truth about what we should do should have done differently and you see I know you miss me and you are supposed to be here right next to me sipping coffee and kicking my ass for being too promiscuous and drinking too much and wasting my finances and then we'd both laugh and I'd call you an asshole but I love you you're my brother and there's no one like you in the whole damn world and then we'd look at girls and talk about music and bullshit politicians and how to work on guns and ammunition and you knew so much about everything you were a walking store of knowledge and I miss that too cause there is never any absolutely a replacement for you and now that you're gone and after everything that happened it's hard to give a damn in a world without you.
-Azrael Always James
© Copyright 2013
If the Moralled Journalist could Amend his Report
That of a Mother feed her own Son
And let her Friends share her Rapport
Level that of her Hours for his Fun.
Those majestic immovable mountains
As mesmerizing as the prettiest fountains.
No. More so, I know so
Standing here on the highest plateau.
The sky depicts a deep dark hue of blue,
A hue that can make all stress subdue’d.
The air somehow heavier, harder to breathe,
As if God Himself forced my lungs to seethe.
The higher I climbed, the more it burned,
Til the top I reached, and rested, well-earned.
How blue the sky is! I would say,
No wonder they come here to sit and pray.
So close to Heaven, I wonder in awe
If They can see my each and every flaw.
Like a speck on a microscope slide,
I felt Eyes moving with my every stride.
I laughed; what else could I do?
Facing those mountains, refusing to move,
Making their stand, their point to prove.
Stretching far beyond my scope of sight,
These fearless peaks displayed their might.
It was me versus God, no one else there.
I was all alone in the cold thin air.
Now is the time to ask, I thought,
Of all the questions and answers I sought.
I glared at the heavens and began to vent
On why things happened, and what they meant.
And on the mysteries of life, time, and space
Why some people are good, while others disgrace.
Can there be no right in a wrong-filled world,
Where hope is dying, withered, and curled?
O why must Your will be done?
When I have fallen,
Is that when You’ve won?
Why do You listen, and help me not?
Do You watch me in silence,
Or have You just forgot?
I waited for something, an answer, a sign,
Something amazing, something divine.
My yells were turned into echoing spears
Of anger, frustration, and fading tears.
So this is my answer, I mused, understanding.
My life unto you I will be handing.
For I am to walk this earth alone
Soul ever pining for one like my own.
My greatest desire caught in the wind
Carrying my hopes, now chagrined.
But here the mountains will not tire,
They will forever rise higher and higher.
Making their point, remaining unshaken
Here their honor will not be taken.
At last, I shuffled down the gentle slope
Clinging to one last, final, hope.
A gentle breeze brushed against my cheek,
Could something this subtle be what I seek?
I thought of my family and friends who care,
The ones who have stories and memories to share:
Speeding on the highway with the windows down
Yelling with the radio from town to town.
Dancing ‘round cones on a dark-lit stage,
And making money at minimum wage.
Of awkward hawks and dynasties,
And engines failing overseas.
Discussing life, women, and the mind,
And how one so insightful can be so blind.
An epiphany occurred right then and there,
That I wasn’t alone; I shouldn’t despair.
And that ever-gentle breeze picked up once again
Aiding my trek down the gentle terrain.
The mountains continue their looming presence
But for now they don’t seem as intense.
As I set foot onto solid, flat ground
I realized I was lost, and now I’ve been found.
I am war,
I am bleeding faith
Turn away once more
Is a killing grace
Tears of despair
In untold numbers
The lives I have spent
To gift you
The death angels stare
I don't think people
I was born
In the depth of their soul
Fading to black
Seething In lies
Is consuming you whole
Now listen at the weeping sky
Hear mother's raging
Watch children die
chaos being the stated goal
Drink of war for your share of the lie. Hy
Ever had a rhythm stuck in your mind?
Something like Suess with his Cat and his rhymes?
At this moment I do.
I don't want colored meat
or mean nasty guys,
I don't fit on a speck or live in a pocket.
I am just me and I love it.
This rhythm may not make sense.
But neither does hopping on Dads or tying horns to your pets.
This is random and coarse with some smooth fitted in.
Childhood memories coming back and no longer dim.
We long for the days where nonsense was fact
Try as we may we can't get those times back.
So I'll enjoy my socks and box and fox
And i promise to look out for that dreadful lorax!
I'll skip down the lane where memories meet.
I'll share with my children the wonders of this world,
Where imagination and reality can become swirled.
the thing about feelings
is that they change
you may have been
or entirely immersed
but that doesn’t mean
that’s how you feel now
or how you’ll feel forever
and i fear that people forget that,
i fear we fail to remember
that emotions are not permanent
and maybe that’s why
her stomach hurts
when she thinks about
the girls in his life
or why i’m reluctant
to share old poems
because i don’t want anyone
to think that’s how i feel today
so maybe we should start asking
“how are you?” more often
and stop accepting
the default “i’m okay.”
and maybe we should start
caring more about
what people say now,
instead of dwelling on
words of the past