To be loved is great,
but to be love
is to elevate
others
before yourself.

It is to write
a world of compassion,
to press kind imprints
of humane intents
on the hearts of
women and men
whom you meet.

It is what I long to be
not a president or a king
but a leader of empathy,

an avatar of love
and peace.

After the plowshares
have been turned
into swords,
and we have been
conquered by
make believe lords,

I will bend a knee,
take a boot to my neck
let you see me
be put in check,

just to prove that we
are brethren,
and we can stand
together again.

I will write
a sharp and
contrasting light
to provide
hope in this
damning night.

Sending sweet
splinters of my
being
for anyone to see,
I will sing
“I love thee”
and be grateful
for this chance
to live.

It's well-known,
The younger you are,
The better your memory.
You refute.
I agree to your exceptions.
You agree they have less to remember.
We laugh, but know it to be true.
Our memory is full.
I unintentionally delete memories.
I don't get to decide how to make room.
The younger you are the more space you have.
The more empty cells, you quip.
Little vacuums, I add.
Wanting to be filled.

I make an exception.
Some cells are memory dedicated;
Protected from the sub-conscious decision-making process that is responsible for deletions...

I saw To Sir With Love
Over five decades ago (perhaps you know it).
I can't tell you which delinquent said,
Blimey, red blood!
When Thackery cut his hand.
I didn't care when I was thirteen
What the difference was between
Empowering teachers,
And overpowering teachers;
No!
But I recall the colour of racism
In the drama
On Thackery's face.

Lonely, I watch
strangers from the dock
stand up in time to fall off
and get lost in the brine.

I watch others
going under
as their vessels
start to sink,
and the floating wood
falls away
under the horizon
I was eying.

I see the seas,
and these
foolish dudes who
get lit and want to
plunder you,
in their sick slick siege
of these shipwrecked cities.

Thick lips
that drip with
ill-intent
from their fist,
swearing
they aren’t wearing
the flags of the elite.

Eyes of defeat,
I can almost hear you think,
“Wouldn’t it be
super sweet
to surrender?”

My fellow
dock dwellers
fall in line
whilst I sneak off
the dock to find
a safer seaport.

I am not sick,
or a sociopath,
but I’ve got years
of watching people
laugh at that
which should bring tears.

So, when I see
a young girl crying
in solidarity
with the suffering
of a stranger,

I think it is beautiful,
and I cry to.

When I know you
can sympathize
with guys
whose lives
are so different,

Then the numbness,
the cold shield
that I built
to block myself
from feeling,
slowly starts melting,
the tears start falling,
and I finally feel
connected.

I am sorry,
but do not
bother comforting me.

I am crying right now
but you will not read
this poem for many weeks
after this sadness
has passed.

These are not tears
of self-pity.
The water works
are because it hurts
to see others get hurt.

This isn’t a woe is me
small set of verses
for people to see.
This is saltwater anguish
as I watch others suffering.
This is outrage
at the outright inhuman displays
that these authoritarians play
as they spray mace
in a little child’s face
while her mother is
looking the other way.

This is a tongue held so often
that my own words
can no longer soften
this brutal reality.

This is my shame,
cause I claim
to be a good person
but I am not out on the street
with other protesters
cutting my teeth
letting cops bludgeoning me
with their nightsticks.

There is no justice today,
when allies say wait.

When they need to get paid
to keep their people saved.
So, the truth coming out
might be a little delayed,
but please just wait.

When fear of violence
keeps white allies silenced,
but they forget
fears where this ****
starts.

When I sit back and write
with a hollow sense of pride
but I’m not a ride or die ally.

I am the good man
who says he understands
social justice demands
in facebook posts,
and when I’ve paid
lip service to those
hurting,
I go back to my
comfortable life.

This time the excuse
that I honestly use
is fear of covid 19,
but the last time
I could’ve helped,
I was writing out my guilt
to help myself.

I haven’t stepped foot in the fray
since 2011
when I was advocating
for the rights of lesbians,
transgenders, and gays.

So, this is my shame,
such a stupid hypocrite
cause better men then me
are on the streets getting hit,
marginalized,
terrorized ,
brutalized,
while I get to wake up
and live a pretty tame life.

I am not noble enough
to sacrifice it all
in the name of love;

To feel each bullet
that was born of hate
fly through my skin,

To stand and march
and see my heart
get broken again,

To feel my pride,
being barely sustained
as I push on
when I know
that I push in vain.

I am not a king
among men,
nor princely in stance,

I am not a knight
made for the battlefield,
not a soldier who cannot yield.

I am more of a mix,
clowning jester,
sagely bard,
lonely lover
who writes with heart
to remind you how
others feel.

Now, I kneel
to your steel,
throat exposed
in fancy prose
cause I am not a hero
but maybe
just a little bit of
a martyr lately.

It’s been said in songs
but you forget,
been written down
but you won’t let
the truth overcome.

We need to breath
collectively,
so won’t you please
get off our necks?

We need to see
stranger’s as family
and keep the violence
in check.

Life is change.
The world is strange,
and danger is
gonna come,

but the only way
we make humans great
is when we come together;
When we celebrate love
and stop letting other’s
elevate their hate.

While you were swallowing
the t.v. news
that the corporations use
to sell sick perspectives
that get sales projections
and stock market values
going up,

I was back here loving you,
watching while you choked on
the pricey drugs you use,
to numb those American blues.

While you were slinging the gospel
casting your almighty god spell
so, no one would buy in
to that fact that you are trying
to deny facts in favor
of your favorite brand of lying,

I was trying to learn
the lessons you spurned,
so, I could take science and poetry
combine them in this flow you see
to share our shared humanity
and help us be better human beings.

Teenage dreamer
was embittered
cause he figured
nothing he did
mattered one bit.

Another life lost,
another child fatherless,
another man shot,
another human brutalized
and we see it happen almost live.

T.V. Bobble heads
spin talking points
to demonize the dead;

Drive by mace spray
of those who seek
to make a change;

A little girl cries
and needs milk
to washout her eyes;

A parade of storm troopers
patrol the streets
forcing innocent bystanders
to retreat, get beat,
or arrested on live T.V.

Rubber bullets pounding
against soft skin,
less lethal but still
penetrating,
blood seeping
from those seeking
a peaceful end
to this prevailing system
that locks them in
a recycled state
of grief and suffering

Just to show those
who were seeking an end
to police abuse
of their family and friends,
to all of our human kin,
they give us ultra force.

So now when his peers
cheer for hope
he still feels
the ill-will
of those who seek
to reap
their thrills
from the greed
that kills the seed.
of what we need
to be better.

You are charmed by the harm
these beastly beings bring;
eyes glittering giddily
as the violence you see
proceeds to bleed thee
in its thick sticky webbing.

How pretty your petty predators are.
How visible are those streaking scars
that once wept tears of wet red.
How you elevate those men
who came in like a whirlwind
stinking of ****, war,
and other forms of destruction
as they name woman ******.

No longer wearing nerves of steel,
now I am nervous and feel ill
as I watch your heroes ****
beauty and wonder before
science and art can bring in