Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2018 Viola
Path Humble
left my phone unlocked
on the taxi’s back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile I continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...
or my knowledge thereof and it’s
proper pronouncement,
nor
his amazement,
to disguise!

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving,
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
Let me tell you
About the man I've been dating
He's gentle
He's sweet
He's kind
He learned exactly
How I like my blankets
For when he tucks me in
And he kisses my forehead
When he leaves.
The man
That I've been dating
Isn't afraid to touch me
When we're out in public
He has no problem
Holding my hand
Or locking me in an embrace
Or kissing me despite strangers
Being around.
The man
That I've been dating
Always gives me
The most understanding look
When I'm talking
About a bad day
Or when I'm telling him
About my traumatic past
Or even when
We're discussing random topics.
The man
That I've been dating
Went out of his way
To bring me syrup
When I ran out for my waffles.
The man
That I've been dating
Has cried
Trying to get me
To see how beautiful I am
Because he so strongly believes it.
The man
That I've been dating
Has the most amazing laugh
And my world gets a little brighter
When he's in it
And he makes me feel
Like I'm enough for him
He sometimes even
Makes me feel
Like I'm too good for him...
Something that
I'm not used to.

The man
That I've been dating
Gives me movie kisses
And the most perfect hugs
Like our bodies fit together
And were made for one another

I never knew
Any relationship
Could be like this
Until I met
The man
That I've been dating
 Jul 2018 Viola
Kewayne Wadley
Before I knew it I ate half the bag.
Fifty pounds deliciously resting the bottom of my stomach.
I regret nothing.
Weighing my stomach with my hands.
I tried to save some.
Each piece more than the last.
Resting on the coffee table of her heart.
I didn't expect to eat as much as I did.
A decision made in haste,
I smiled.
Easily reaching into my own bag.
Replacing what I ate with that of my own.
Her pieces taste far better than mine.
Knowing that they belonged to her.
My heart rejoiced in knowing this.
My taste buds on the other hand longed for more.
Savoring the taste.
Ready to reach again.
Her heart, the sweetest candy I know
 Jul 2018 Viola
Kewayne Wadley
In ultimate reference.
I am not sure of the source.
With great modesty out the window.
I am a great believer and hold this to be true.
All things in heart are true.
A curious emotion.
Passionate in photography.

The literature of perfect emotion.

The exact existence of perfected mess. 

I imagine the most beautiful sight.

Cinematic in nature.

The things that appear exactly how they are.

Existing because our belief is they do.

In truth we are fragile.

Oblivious to the chaos that moves scene by scene.

We are in love pretending not to see how beautiful the mess we create.

How completely compulsive we are.

Ignoring that we've lost control,

Sooner or later,

We notice it's manifestation.

And I can see how beautiful you are.

In perfect justice,

I am mindful that I want to strip you down
 Jul 2018 Viola
Kewayne Wadley
In urgent call.
The door opens by elegant wrist.
Her lashes close.
Soft beads of water fresh out the shower.
Made glorious, covering me.
Her scent the tip of my nose.
Every wrong made right.
Sweetened cocoa butter, the hint of mango.
Artesian painting reflects us.
Offering safe passage from tongue to lips.
Open, the taste of delicate skin.
The fragrance of all I'd need.
Seasoned by discovery.
The rediscovery of thought.
The towel drops.
Every breath a caress from which we grew.
A flower in bloom, ripe in unification.
Well soaked in eternal ache.
The artesian painting retouched by desire.
Consistently in the utmost obligation.
Undressed,
The passage of me to you
 Jul 2018 Viola
Kewayne Wadley
In enough time she disappears.
Although close she's gone.

The utterance of nothing at all, the smallest laugh to herself.


If by chance you notice the new heels.
She's gone out the door.
When you ask what's wrong, the answer will always be nothing.
Caught in a gaze.
She doesn't mind the compliments.

Knowing it doesn't go anywhere.
The random men that take outside appearance.


The new songs she's heard.
The ones you sing back to yourself not paying attention to the words.

If you know her well enough.

Deep down you know somethings wrong.

She'll never say a word.

She sways a different sway.

Each new dress moving closer to the front of the closet.
When she's gone you'll feel a bit of a sting.
Wondering where she's at, where she's been.

Most times she's to herself.
Driving around the town.
Maybe to get a drink, watch a movie to herself.
You can't tell why she's listening.
Casually finding all these new songs.
If by chance you confront.
She'll tell you she's always known them.
Laughing to herself.
If you truly knew, you wouldn't have to pretend.
It's hard for her to come back
 Jul 2018 Viola
Kewayne Wadley
A woman sits on the train.
Watching, waiting for something to happen.
She rushes pass building after building lost in the sights.
The world flying by her window seat.
One track at a time.
Fixed between one common place to another.
She turns her head.
A man reads the paper.
Headline covered by the fold.
Presidential debate.
His hold is tight, side eyeing the woman beside him.
Her round face.
Randomly clicking on her phone.
Bored.
Social media sites.
Candy crush.
He views in full.
The air is cool.
Cool enough to put you to sleep.
She wonders if anyone notices her.
She yawns,
lips printed on the reflection of buildings.
She quickly looks away.
The train passes.
Overhead she sees a plane.
Never has she flown.
To see the sights above.
Would the experience be the same.
Travel size smile.
Hand bag at rest.
The train rushing faster and faster.
The buildings now out of sight.
The plane races on.
She turns her head.
Now she's asleep
 Jul 2018 Viola
Kewayne Wadley
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.

What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.

What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.

Shooting across the screen.

The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.

Sitting all day staring out the window.

Mother in hospice.

A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.

It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.

The after school sessions of comfort sped up.

Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.

Teacher student affair.

15 year old student found with 42 year old man.

When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.

Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.

Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.


Where's the specialty training for those who care.

The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.

The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.

Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.

The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.

Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.

Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.

The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.

Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.

The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Next page