Erik T Blaze: Favorites

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Fire

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Devin Lawrence

Fire

The smell of something putrid
protrudes up through your nostrils
as you walk down these dimply lit streets.
You hear the fire crackling, you see the glow off the side of an abandoned building.

Is this one of those fires you see on the news -
set ablaze by anger and retaliation?

No.
It's the burning wounds along Jacob Blake's back.
It's the marks of oppression -
the scars we "distract" ourselves from.

There's a fire burning in America
and the source is plain to see:
while bodies line up along the streets,
people following along on their TV screens
say a prayer for broken windows.
They mourn items that are looted
as if it wasn't a life that was looted first.

There's a fire burning
and it melts the black skin right off their bones.
A skeleton has no color
yet they blame corpses for their own murders.

There's a fire burning
from Sanford to Staten Island,
from Louisville to Kenosha.
But those very flames were ignited
by the people designated to put them out.

Who watches the watchmen?
Who stands with the people?

The hammer has dropped.
The bullets have left the chamber.
As long as our brothers and sisters
have to fight for their right to live,
Red, White and Blue lives don't matter.

#change #revolution #black #fire #police #trayvon #breonna #rights #****

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Weeping Africa

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Emmanuel Davies

Weeping Africa

Far from home
Our minds thus wander
To a land
Vast beyond the ocean
Where the whites lives yonder
With minds stone cold
We shun our homemade products
The fats of our toil
We reserve for aliens
Who in their world
Are not worthy
Of a strike of an applaud
Nor a job to be poor

Our children scavenge for crumbs
In the hands of strangers
In their home land.
Our leaders with alluring deceit
Conjure soothing malicious stories
To educate us on the benefits
Of this benevolent strangers

Our youths for ignorance
Scramble to be noticed
By this fair coated aliens
Who's helping outstretched claws
Would save us from the ignorance
Of our daring impulsiveness.

No-one will ease her of the heaviness
The heaviness of her yielding back
Nor till beneath her scorching smiles
But would rather
Dance to the sophisticated tune
Of the aliens piano
Neglecting the message
Of her talking drum.

**! mother Africa
How she weeps so
Beckoning on her children
To come back home
To the hospitable warmth
Of her essence.
Where we love
One another without fear
Nor look down
At our resourcefulness.

#africa #poetry

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

warrior's heart

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

sparklysnowflake

warrior's heart

she finds that time is not linear
in the gospel-like gold and amber
that glaze the green poplar leaves
in her suburban summer evenings

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
but with legs in tired atrophy

at dusk the water ripples with silver-toned echoes
whispering mythical adventures and heroes
and the words churn and boil in her mythical blood
"I would rather be ashes than dust!"

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
but with legs in tired atrophy

every night still she stargazes through her ceiling
a coward's tears on her cheeks slowly peeling
courage like corn husks from her ancient soul
leaving her core shivering in the dust and dusty cold

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
freezes
with legs in tired atrophy

"I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”

– Jack London

#quarantine #covid #isolation #boredom

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Untitled 492

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Graff1980

Untitled 492

I am a bit of a thief,
a killer king
stealing things
that are not mine,
to write
another line.

I pilfered
the filtered
through which others see,
to expand
the breadth
of what I understand.

I leveraged
past experiences,
to supplement my view
that despite my ambitions
come off slightly skewed.

I even bargained
and borrowed
my voice
from tomorrow,
so I could pass
pleasant wisdom
down to
all who
come to
view
this poetry
I wrote.

#art #experience #vicarious

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Infinite

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Simpleton

Infinite

She learnt from a young age
How to be a genius of sadness
To allow it to come
And let it take it's course
To not fight
Nor run away
But to brave herself
And meet it head on
For there was a blessing in disguise
Could one learn how to heal
If they've never been hurt?
Healed people
Heal people
She took pain and cushioned it within her chest
Then with it she weathered the storm
Although her eyes knew not how to conceal
Her mouth rose to the occasion
So when sadness seeks her out
She makes no excuses
And keeps all its secrets
Her faith was infinite

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

keeping that spark

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Bogdan Dragos

keeping that spark

he deliberately chose
the nastiest
sound for the alarm clock

Zeeeehhweeeehhchhh

and there it went
again
Every four hours. Announcing that he
had to start the
engine again lest he
froze to death

The phone had 17% battery left. He
would need to visit
the library again
for a recharge but it was becoming
increasingly
harder as the smell of homeless
was growing more
potent on him

He checked the time again
turned off the phone
turned on the engine
wiped the windshield with his gloved hand
watched his breath leave his mouth
fumbled around for a cigarette

no luck

He took out the lighter and
struck it
and all it produced were sparks

It's been quite a lot of
no luck
lately

At the library he took small
chapbooks
with him to a desk and pretended
to be studying them
while the phone charged besides
him
but not having anything
better to do he
read some of the poems in
those chapbooks. He didn't understand
poetry, didn't know
how to read it to
make sense. He was simply not
a man of writing and reading,
didn't understand why
the lines were so choppy
and didn't go all the way
to the right margin of the page. Why did it
have to look so
intentionally wrong? Also
why didn't it rhyme if
it was called poetry? He resigned himself
eventually. He'll never understand
this part of literature

but still, there was
something
he read in one of those deranged
verses with words all
over the page. One poem that
ended something like this:

"then something else in me said, no, save the tiniest
bit.
it needn’t be much, just a spark.
a spark can set a whole forest on
fire.
just a spark.
save it."

His English wasn't the
best but he
understood the message well enough

the spark was
there
still

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Shock

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Brian Yule

Shock

Gazing down
I see this dull blade drew blood
Dial blind as ache lulls
Defy ease as life oozes free
Don’t lie down
Don’t sleep
Keep fear sharp
As faint creeps the soothing deep
Passions eked
Awareness do not forsake me
Come on
Come on
Answer
I stare vague at the mess where my wrist used to be
Which emergency?
Ambulance please
Consciousness bleeds
I wake with cool linen covering me

#shock #injury #adrenaline #emergncy #pain

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Quietness Can Kill

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Luijoy France C Salcedo

Quietness Can ****

Too quiet
Too dark
Too silent
Too far

Walls seemed to continuously cave in
I kept on hearing sounds nobody can
Then darkness came, fear started crawling under my skin
I badly want to scream for help yet I just can't

Anyone who listened to my story
They'll either listen or ignore me
Or even both probably
No one just takes me seriously

It's been giving me nightmares
Unbelievable fear of time is what I got
Knowing -ber months is coming may be other's time for celebrating
But it's months of nightmares and inevitable fear to me

Can't breathe
Can't laugh
Can't see the light
Please stop

I beg for someone to help me
Only one remained and believed me
Others left out of disgust or fear
One includes my parents, it saddens me

I need some ears to listen to me
Some open mind to believe what's happening to me
A person who knows what's it like to feel the fear I've been living
Someone I can truly talk to and give me understanding

But even so I already found that person by now
It still haunts me whenever I close my eyes
It's hard to live with it you know
Every now and then they'll pop into my thoughts and take away my happiness

It draws my tears out of my eyes
It gives me shivers down my spine
The fear I kept on feeling whenever I am confined
Not only in darkness but in my very mind

The riddle was not yet answered
This mystery is yet to be solved
And here I was waiting for its end
Hoping it would leave me alone and live my life again

But just how **** unlucky am I
No one seems to understand how I'm feeling
My parents would always avoid the topic if I ever start bringing it
I felt so betrayed and confined

I can't believe I see my own home as my prison
Yes we're all together yet I always feel alone
School was also not an exemption
Everything just felt so near but still so far like a different dimension

Laying on my bed
This very afternoon
Rain drops pouring down
Moments after 12 noon

Still so bright outside
Yet my room seemed so dark
Loneliness looming over
Happiness crushed like pieces of broken glass on the floor

Too quiet
Too dark
Too scared
Too silent

Please save me
My heart is begging
Please hear me
My mind is screaming..

#quiet #confined #beg #fear #haunts #mystery #riddle

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Fake Eyes

Aug 2020 Erik T Blaze

Anwer Gani

Fake Eyes

You shake my hand in amazement, amid winter-dressed fields and tired white branches. When will this anxiety go away? Then the eternal words will come. How are hopes? When we remember those distances, we are filled with laughter and nostalgia. Yes, our memories are inspiring, full of tears. Maybe it will attract our friends and they will love to sail in this memory; in this sea of inspiration. Why not? We can be good writers, and of exceptional sizes. Yes, we can be good writers; we grow wheat and buy reeds to warm the autumn. Is not this our blood flowing, and our bodies sold in the streams? I am tired of these merchants and the people of cheap goods. They hold us fake eyes. Are they not tired of this slavery? Are they not ashamed? I hope you hear, there must be freedom, there must be a beginning, a scream that awakens the sleepers.

expressive narrative prose poem by Anwer Ghani