Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I.
I like to imagine
that things will work out
smoothly,
easily.

II.
That going forward
will be like sailing
on a glass blue sea.

III.
I like to imagine
that no one will drown.

IV.
Not something I'd
imagined
ever.

V.
Three ****** up humans
might be enough
to fill in all the empty space
we've created between our hearts.
Chains on my heart, squeezing
Chains on my legs, chaffing
Chains on my mind, breaking
Chains on my soul, crushing

Babylon is my prison
Shared with my reggae crew
The keepers all bald
My visitor: you

My poems bring freedom and fat reggae beats
A ***** island boy, I walk these streets
On my street, I see baldheads: curse those neats!
They can pay big rent, mines late 2 weeks

I get home and water my tall herb bush
Its heavenly branches provide me with kush
I pack up the bowl, sip smoke from the chalice
I feel close to  JAH  he erases my malice

My chains are broken, dust in the breeze
The only way to stay free, smoke more trees
My liberated spirit rises up as I cry
United with JAH we Touch the Sky
My spiritual journey.
Deepest and most humble gratitude to all my reggae writing friends.
They bring joy and light to my mind
electromagnetically
feelings occur,
responsive to going ons,
pineal gland awakens the senses.

and almost every woman has heard it
"you're so emotional."
so electromagnetically aware
and we don't remember this,
now,

the womb,
the beat maker,
she tunes the
energy of the babe.
mothers wave of
waves fractionally
lay a deep foundation
of the babes waves.
I tell my children
if they can't find me
to look in their hearts
I reside there…
my rhythm, my beat, my heat
lives on.

my womb
charged that spark
that started the parting
of molecules
fractionally
creating its imagine
time and time again, (as we do)
until, begin again,
a new life.
rest your head upon my chest
child
for a recharge.

in our civilized world
we send mothers to work
in a make believe cycle of need.
babes heart searches
for mamas tone
she only cries short
cautious of overspent energy
first dose of sickness.

and EVERY woman has heard it…
"you're so emotional"
notably more so
during some part of her
moon cycle.
so obviously the moon
is more electromagnetic
than we guess.

and women are more emotional
because we are the heart
of the species.
we co-create the heart
of the species.
we require the emotional
antenna
to summon the essence of the heart.

we didn't come from a rib…
our ribs vibrate the
harmony of life through our time!
our hearts beat
the pulse of the
sun
and the dark side of the moon
and infinity.
we are electromagnetically
inclined to emotions.
systematically processing
the energy of existence.

perhaps the first title I will accept
a claim upon my being,
the feminine sensitive.
He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.


He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing
Fruit which the hungry heart craves;
He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed
Spirit with his beautiful melodies;
He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,
Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.
Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,
Opening their petals to admit the light.
He is an angel, send by the goddess to
Preach the Deity's gospel;
He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness
And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with
Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music.


He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and
Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his
Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night,
Awaiting the descending of the spirit.


He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the
Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the
Harvest for her nourishment.


This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life,
And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly
World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven.


This is the poet -- who asks naught of
Humanity but a smile.
This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and
Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings;
Yet the people deny themselves his radiance.


Until when shall the people remain asleep?
Until when shall they continue to glorify those
Who attain greatness by moments of advantage?
How long shall they ignore those who enable
Them to see the beauty of their spirit,
Symbol of peace and love?
Until when shall human beings honor the dead
And forget the living, who spend their lives
Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves
Like burning candles to illuminate the way
For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light?


Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have
Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity.


Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and
Therefore, your kingdom has no ending.


Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will
Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
you were patient and forgiving
you believed in me when nobody did
you stayed faithful and I did too
you trusted me more than I did
you saved me from myself
I owe my life to you
I changed for you
I am in love with you

s.r.
I need a fresh start
disconnect my heart from the paths already known
disassemble my life, stab a map with a knife
go wherever it shows, only myself and a bag of clothes
without a second thought im already on my yacht
crossing the big blue sea
set me free
set me free
set me free

s.r.
Tattoos that stain and burn my skin
With words and images
Of who I could've been
              Should've been
              Would've been
If I hadn't met you

Dreams of those happy summer days
With wind to make me fly
To get lost in space
       Stuck in a daze
And then I see your face

I was coaxed by the lies of love
And smashed down by my own hand

I gave you all the keys to my secrets
And watched you set them all ablaze

My heart can no longer trust

Song lyrics that taunt and chain me
To all the wonderful times
                 I could've had
                I should've had
                I would've had

If I hadn't met you
This clock has aged a bit and changed a bit.  But the pieces still tick, tock.  With a few tweaks and small pinch, we are able to reminisce.
The clock chimes and I am young again.  My earliest memories play like film.  The lullabies, the kisses, the smiles.  My mother holding me, I can almost feel it.  I remember how the world was so large.  Public playgrounds were jungles and I, so brave, would venture into the darkest corners.  My father keeps my palm in his hand, I can see it.  He didn't want to lose me. He didn't want to lose me. And yet...
Tick, tock.
The clock chimes and I am taller, wiser.  The girls at school laugh and taunt me.  I didn't mind.  They just didn't understand and that was fine.  My father gave me presents on Christmas, clothes to try to change me.  But, his eyes crinkled when he smiled.  So, I tried, I tried but the shirts were constricting and I felt like I couldn't breathe.  My mother walks downstairs after he is gone and slowly cuts the shirt away.  She kisses my cheek and I never changed.  
Tick, tock.
The clock chimes and my mother is slipping away.  She's running out of ways to lie but she still tries.  I was sixteen to her but to me I was forty-nine.  I shine light on her face and see it is dark and empty.  She tries on a smile but it no longer fits.  I watch her stare blankly at Rapunzel on the screen, she's reciting every line.  My father calls and I am not supposed to tell, not supposed to speak.  I am terrified.  She knows, but did he?  My father and I argue and can no longer fit our smiles.  I slam the door and he drives away.
Tick, tock.
The clock chimes and he tells me I'm poison.  He blames me for everything that goes wrong.  Soulless eyes, that child has soulless eyes.  He calls his home Texas while I try to rebuild mine.
Tick, tock.  
The clock chimes and she is gone.  I sit in a empty home.  I was sixteen, still only sixteen.  She knew, but did he?
The clock chimes and I am alone.
The clock chimes and I need to be an adult tonight.   I must abide.
This clock has aged a bit and changed a bit.  But the pieces still tick, tock. I accept my past, I call it mine.  I still feel so young inside.  Every memory makes me stronger and a little more alive.
O! Miss Hoity Toity,
Walking with pride, dressed like a bride.
Feeling all mighty.

O! Miss Hoity Toity,
You spoiled brat, gnawing like a lil rat.
Feeling all fruity.

You welcome yourself,
Displaying your head on a shelf.
Playing with people's feeling.
Is it fulfilling?

Your soul treacherous,
You are dangerous!
Blinded by your own reflection.
Have you no affection?

The sound of your stiletto rhymes;
With the beating of your black heart.
O! Tread softly, Miss Toity.
Shall I throw you a dime?

O! Miss Hoity Toity,
Stop the parade, stop the charade.

O! Miss Hoity Toity.
Time to wash your make up and wake up.
7 billion people do not even know you exist.

-Doey
And then, there are those people.
Next page