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 Oct 2021
Dark n Beautiful
What Love commands the train fulfills*,

The six thirty bounds to Coney Island

Where the green Ubers awaits the passengers

Morning greetings, (Urdu) of few words, were the



Pakistan, rules Mermaid Street with the neon green

Were too mama? where too, two dollars:

A repeat routine for most of us,



Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl, we all start our day at some point. And we all seem to start it differently. (Kevan Lee)



Five forty showers, get dress out the door before six a.m.

Grab the garbage, and walk three to the subway,
where love commands the train fulfills, which lessened  

My morning depression until midday, (who control whom)



Why was I born, why am even here, what is my personal worth?

Timeless question, who would remember me, when I am gone?

The train, the cabbies, would the streets miss my dragging feet?

Self-observation, is it worth a Newyork minute of whom will miss us. (really)

Void, void, void, void, void, void, void, and more void,

Just allowed the few that might to do some adjustments

For the sake of remembering me, for the sake of losing my car fare,

For the sake of not receiving, my monthly fees, and T-Mobile

you definitely would, release me from my grandfather plans:



Today, I sit in silence, away from all sounds, only the sounds

Of a keyboard, and my heartbeat, as the mouse goes click, click

For the sake of remembering is that a poet is only good at recollecting, reflecting, and making his audience believes in his words:
 Mar 2021
Thomas Bron Mukama
She broke but never melted
She refused to cry and shaved away wrinkles of tears
She put a **** smile on a crippled face

Yes oh yes Her crime was to love
No i mean to but not to see
To see not to focus
Eye of deceit and tongue of poison kept her a prisoner

She walked with her chest high
Like her heart was normal yet she had skips in heart beats
So the public applaused her glow
As her pain grew bigger than an ant hill

She said no to drugs no to kissing wounds
And role modelled the hurt
“It was a heart break”
Not broken hearted, rather broken hated

Like a sewing machine, she mended many but failed ro fix a single tissue to her own
She lives hive of honey, with her heart hanging on a bee sting
#herdsmanofprogress
 Jul 2020
Dark n Beautiful
Thousands and thousand
Of people, will die this year
From the virus, and the
Streets they lived on is sadden
By the masks someone
Refuses to wear, stingless
And reckless those buggers left behind

Another apartment available,
In our city, waiting, the grass
Seem greener, politics outbid
The tik, tok creativities challenges

If we listen quietly at seven P.M.
We can hear the cry of essential workers
Crying for justice victims,
The virus is a terrorist, boomer!
Launching attack on foreign lands,

Overhead we raise our voices
And asked God, not again!
In the meantime the skies seem, clearer,
the ocean seem, cleaner, less pollutions

Every time the flowers are blooming,
it’s reminding us that a new chapter of the day was born.


The races are shading, the people is vanishing,
The birds will read them down with a song,
Why!
Nobody is allowed near the headstones
Nothing last forever: unlike the red states
Winners and loser, statues falls to the ground:

Lord Nelson they are coming for your pillar
In Bridgetown,
You must come down, it is really civil rights
suddenly, not so popular at the dinner tables
he must come down!


.


,
 Jul 2020
Dark n Beautiful
Oh heavenly Bible,
he stood there holding you
A fibber, a republican, the people choice
So many times I saw him at the podium
Jeering and coming up against the people of God.
Yet, not a bible near by>>

A hope of promise to his followers
A curse to the dark, yellow and brown foreigners:
He often said that he inherited a mess
So were my father exact words
After he brought a second hand old Wolsey car
Back in 1967: he too inherited a mess

Now the crime in the land is uprising
More regrets than before: is servicing
More bombing than the Vietnam War

How shallow can one be?
How detached is he from his constituency:
The fear of the ego, and the power of the spirit
A poet ponders, about his next tweet or text

Such men behind the wheels:
means a nation will suffer,
God children pray
for justice and for peace.

They wealth kept on
growing from the backs of slaves
That is why we grieve?
Each and every day

An apple tree without fruits,
Cows without milk,
chicken without eggs
A well without water, those little things
we took for granted, is like a nation without
Patience, kindness and loyalty

Proverbs 28:11
The rich man is wise in his own eyes,
But the poor who has understanding searches him out;

!
 Jun 2019
MKF
From one
Who says, “Don’t cry.
You don’t want them to know”

And two
Who tells you
It’s your fault anyway.

To three
Who pretends that
You were old enough to consent.

And four
Who asks, “Was it
Really ****? I think you came.”

To five
Who doesn’t like that you said no,
So he ties you down
And does it anyway.

And six
Who grabs you by the throat
And tells you, “Stop fighting,
I’ll make you feel good”.

To those who think it’s good - yes -
Some think they’re doing you a favor

And they’ll tell you that
You want it
And sometimes you almost,
Almost , believe it.

Thank goodness there are numbers
Higher than one, two, three,
And, yes, even six.

Thank goodness they are not
All the same.

And thank goodness
Thank goodness
We can put ourselves back together
Without them.
 Jun 2019
MKF
The smell of tulips will forever be
Inextricable from that of cheap *****,
And I'll never quite be able to enjoy the taste
Of jelly thumbprint cookies without
Tonguing the teeth you knocked out
The first time we made them.
And I've always preferred open kitchens
So I don't have to think about how many times
You broke the door to ours.
And while I wish we spoke more-
I still remember when mouths were fists,
And words broke bones.
And though I know its in the past,
I still see the glint in your eyes
When a bottle goes by.
Time has healed our wounds;
My adult teeth replaced the gaps,
And you always replaced the door the next day.
We laugh freely now, and the tulips still grow
In the garden on your balcony.
But I'd be lying if I told you
That I can't still see the scars,
Or that the fear doesn't still linger
In our silent moments.
That sleeping with a knife under my pillow
Didn't start when you were still tucking me in.
 Nov 2018
Terry Jordan
I miss Vicki
Poetess sublime
Nature is her nurse
She wrote her essence every time

I don’t know why she left
Like Aretha, made me cry
Whatever drove her off
I just want to say good-bye

Her comments-wise, encouraging
With love she shared her best
You’re sorely missed, Dear Vicki
Farewell Dear Poetess
Vicki was so welcoming when I came to HP, and her gift as a poet unsurpassed.  Perhaps she'll get her fine work published.  Namaste, Terry
 Nov 2018
Dark n Beautiful
There is no happiness in keeping
ill-feeling inside:
There is no joy in pretense
Only regret and resistance of change:

Happiness is when what you think, what you say,
and what you do are in harmony.”
―Mahatma Gandhi


Was I a happy child?
I was always caught in the middle
Always pondering, the next move,
Looking for that safe haven,

My life start off in fourth row
My mother fourth child:
My father six seeds:
Trying to find my way was hard:
I remember climbing on to the rooftop,
to seek answers about my position #4
It was a scary kind of calmness up there,
Those emotional upheaval moments of my life
Had come to mold me:  yet uneven as today:

Going up there was easy, getting down was the challenge:
Aquarius is well-known to carries water in order to cleanse and renew.
Every three to four year I have to cleanse myself from toxic relationships
I read somewhere, that toxic folks: are referred as the energy vampires
And as you know I hate those Lamias:
Faces like a sap dog, and sinking blow fish.

There is no happiness in keeping
ill- feeling inside:
There is no joy in pretense
Only regret and resistance of change:

Happiness is when what you think, what you say,
and what you do are in harmony.”
―Mahatma Gandhi


Happy Black Friday my poetic friends..
 Oct 2018
PrttyBrd
The sun beats a dead horse through a desert of lies
the only oasis is 44 ounces of pure bliss
cooling the essence from within
There is no greater comfort, no greater satisfaction

On the hottest summer day
life drains out of the chalice of joy
Its remnants still cold against my lips
burning into my being the memory of it

Empty and discarded the heat rises
Once again roaming and rummaging through the day
searching endlessly for the reality to match the memory
a world of imposters pretending they are worthy

Trying to believe that contented equals happiness
Disappointment lies empty at the bottom of the bin
Left to wander in search of that purity of bliss
For there is no greater comfort, no greater joy
101618
127w
nothing else comes close to the real thing ;)
 Sep 2018
Dev A
I went through my pictures today
And I realized I used to be happy.
Something I haven’t been in a while.

The person I see in those photos
Is not the same person looking back through the mirror;
There’s a faint resemblance, nothing more.

I used to smile and laugh, always so joyful;
I still do, but it’s no longer genuine
No longer healthy.

People used to say my smile made their day
And all I could think was
It’s just a smile, how can it make such a difference?

I never understood what they meant
When they said the smile should be seen in the eye;
That there should be a glitter, a sparkle.

Now when I laugh, when I smile,
It’s polite, lacking reassurance
Missing the light heartened warmth

I went through my pictures today
And I realized I used to be happy.
I finally know what that glitter, that sparkle is.
.
.
.
It’s what’s missing from the mirror.
 Sep 2018
Dev A
She stands on the side of the lake
Watching the water caress the reflections on the surface
The glittering shine of the moon and stars
In the endless depths of water

She stands there thinking
I loved you with everything I had
I could have been by your side
I gave you all that I am


She stands with her head to the sky
With the water kissing her feet
As she asks the moon
Why wasn’t I enough?

She stands on the edge
As the winds play with her hair
Wondering and thinking of all that was
Waiting for an answer from the ethereal goddess above
 Sep 2018
PrttyBrd
i.

melted ice cream afternoons
bogged down

rising from asphalt
in magical mist
that transforms
the day into
a test of endurance

even dusk offers
no solace
in frozen watermelon bliss


ii.

smoke permeates fabric
hair and every surface
with peace and grit
wafting over
the crispy
edges of predawn

begging sleep
to the most stubborn
insomniac

rotisserie style dreams
till morning


iii.

there's less death today
waiting in line
in candy store nightmares
begging silence
from the jubilant

but the sky turned up
a dream state

in that beguiling beauty
is brilliance


iv.

in shadows
the earth falls silent

rustling through
tall tales
the moon births

images in hidden corners

evening strolls
turn adventures

and every day
burns quick
to be reborn slowly


v.

the weight of hell
in short tempered bites
**** will with a proficiency
unseen outside
a viper's silent hunt

ready for war
with fists losing
responsibility

breaking triple digit
pressure


vi.

Incessant banging through walls built faster than I am strong enough to demolish, cradling lace so it won't rip on my forked tongue. There is only so much care left to handle perception just trying to breathe through a smile.
91218
190w
 Sep 2018
Josie West
I have made a home
for the sadness living inside me
I have fed it with my fears
it has grown strong on my doubts
in return it gave me nothing
instead taking all it could;
my smiles
my strength
my sanity
until I am left barren and empty
a shadow of myself
a crumbling shell of a house
that depression claims as home
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