The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
a temporary stage area is set up
flashing neon lights with the word strife

I can ssee them on the podium waging war
Against the upcoming warrior-poets
Sign of the times or menace to society.

The anthropology of young poet roars
Old King Cole poets
and his fiddlers three fade into history
like tainted old whiskey

The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

What do most women wants?

To make love the way they talked
By forgetting all the essential rules of grammar
as they knock over the nightstands
women wants to unfurled their underwire bras and let them breathe
..
Women wants to:
mastering the art of the catwalk
in their favorite pair high heel
Ignoring the jeers and the boos
..
What do most women wants
The opposite of what men wants
Free ***, drugs and money

When you kiss me yesterday
You said to make it last until we meet again
That was seven years ago on VHS
Yesterday, when I saw how you kiss me
I squirm
Your kiss was superficial and vacuous.
I still make love the way I talk
However, my memories of you is fading
like those old VHS

The snow blanket the earth
but it would never covers the ocean
It became a curse of the sea
So, it stays on the beach
Like a dog on a leash
11
To hell with the night
It’s just darkness over- powering the daylight
When men are force to close their eyes
And dream of the events of the passing day.

111
Liars who called themselves lovers
Will never come clean
It’s a permanent tattoo
Concocted in their brain
The road to recovery for them is
Systematic and strategic process
For them it is a hunter’s game

1V
You have taken everything in one’s strides
The time sheets, the lunch hours
You have become the employer
Twelve hours prisoners of the time clocks
V
Last night I heard Nana voice
She said that I worry too much
And get little sleep
I smell hibiscus in my room
That old familiar fragrance scent still lingers

But her words became self-soothing
She said, let’s go to the kitchen
And make a banana bread
Worries is for the rich man

VI

The poor man display his graffiti on cities buildings
no admission, no fee
priceless art crimes or
the best of a simple criminal mind

High art or low art
Eyes of a rich man
Or the eyes of a fool

I probably might have said it,
Or maybe dream it
Seeing how years of anger has tarnish my self-image
My teenage age was happier, wild and care free
Now I see elderly  men and women
Lost within their minds

The signs were there
He rubs his head so frantically
His shuffling gait frustrates me so much to see him do this,
his perception of time and space
Seem to be fading
Frustration, anger, and fear build within
I looked at him and smile.

He said to me lady
“Where am I?
Do you know me?
I can’t seem to remember anything
All I can do for him
Is to keep him safe from harm
“Take your medication
Mr. Rivera”
Just take your med” sir!


When the mind is happy
We should rejoice
Eventually, the mind will fade
Into invisible dots
……………………




When the mind is pure, joy follows
Like a shadow that never leaves.
-Budda

Only the dead are smiling.
To Console a broken heart takes strength
Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.
It took thirty long years
To unraveled the mystery of a lopsided affairs
She had love with conditions,
Only a few could ever endure
Finally, it came to an end with a confrontation

She said,    is she the other woman?
Lost in the moment of truth
His jaws drops while he mumbles the words
And said…….I have no idea what you’re talking  about Ruth

The music will go on forever,
While the night is still young
But a liar will always carry a twitchy eye
And the breathe of a skunk
My sister lover

We all knew him,
But she never knew his a quiet, somber demeanor".
It’s the timing of the beats in the song that matter
Gag long old friend, go long!
Spread your seeds amongst the thorn of hell
While your ****** fetishes moves to an unexpected object
“Let called her night rider”

Have you ever watch someone peeling a banana?
As they carefully remove the peel
Watch how the fruit emerge to the opening
That’s the same perception of the Gays and Lesbians on the street

Outside most doors is a heavy stone
Making it impossible to get out
So most of us take the easy way out
We climb down the ladders and onto the pavement
And said oh well,” I have solve that problem for today”
So what about tomorrow, and the day after
Do you have to go through that again?

Being nice to people is expected of us,
For us to survive in a world of delusion and confusion

Poetry to me have been my way of expressing my thoughts
However, I know of other ways to express them too
But why argue!

When I looked in the mirror I see a brave woman
I walked the street amongst the people
I see, a generation of confuse individuals,
who had to climb down those ladders
I saw children holding the hand of they guardians,
as the little Tots gazes
Into the eyes of the bystanders,
while the whispers became louder
“What is going to happen to those?
“Poor innocent child
I seldom smile, at the comments  because
Pink is also a beautiful color.

To keep thee from the evil woman,
from the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman
Lust not after her beauty in thine heart;
neither let her take thee with her eyelids.(Proverb)

His eyes were filled with a deep sadness
My Granddad became the bastardy king
in Nana’s eyes
Meals that was once set for a king
Was no longer being served with his favorite homemade bread?
his late night ginger tea was swap for coca cola
from the old ice box.
Nana just know how to discipline the old fool

Together we sat on the stoop and make small talk
He told me that he messed up big time
And felt like disciple Peter
he was afraid that my Nana would never forgive me
I looked attentive at granddad and said,
“Yes old goat you bite off more than you could chew
With those missing tooth

I guess what I said made him laugh out loud
I remember putting my hands quick over my mouth
Like loose lips sank ships
Now! listen here  little lady
Are those your Nana’s words? said Granddad”.
I nod my head and smile

Remembering my Granddad
On father’s day

Eavesdropping

A good man is hard to find
Said my Nana,
That was the day I saw tears in my nana’s eyes
As she nervously stuff her monthly tithe in the envelope
And headed out to church that Sunday morning
Before, shouting at my granddad
I guess she was mad as hell at the old fool

That was the day I found out that my hero my grandpa
Was having an affair with the widower Estelline Beckley
“Ellie you’re the only woman for me said my Granddad”
However, my Nana wasn’t haven’t any of that
So she slammed the door on Grand dad

I remember being scare, and confused,
About this family feud
So, I hid under the table, and prayed to God
for the scream and shouting to be over

For several weeks all my Nana did was prayed
And all Granddad done was to burnt her pots and pans
Boiling water and making coffee.

Nana told the neighbors, that those harlot with a trail
For a rear end,
can cause a man to climbed, a mountain without his proper gears
That statement still baffles me until this day.
Until many years later when I met my mother’s sister
here in New York the spit and image of my mother.

But had the very spirit and expression of my Granddad
so much for eave dropping and family affair

People build million dollars homes
Far away from the city dwellers
To be free from ordinary folks
Are well known loners

They even tried to own the high sea
Unfortunately, it belongs to all nation and mankind
It’s  known as freedom and seafaring power to all

In hopes of a segregation
without the unnecessary advocating
they build swimming pools;
and Bob wire fences

It’s hard for many of us to create duplicates of heaven
Without the approval of the mighty one
These efforts would remain tantalizingly and unreachable
Like the keys to the golden gates;

Some of the loners that goes down to the depth of the ocean
To do business in the water, have failed miserably
after they have seen the works of the all mighty

However, with all their money and the power
They is no escaping from your neighbors
There is only one thing that separated us
is death

She wore a silk yellow chiffon Cancan flare dress
With yellow ribbons in her hair
From the look of her brittle fingernails
And the way she held the hem of her mother’s skirt
I knew that she was a nervous one; with her watery eyes
Her mother kept up that old familiar fake smile
The nervous one keep repeating
“There a big fly under my dress;

I often wonder why the visitors
Never attends our churches
But would come calling on the neighbors in the afternoon

A stack of leaflets in one hand and a black sachet case in the other
I always thought of them as a demanding group of worshipers
My grandparents seem discontent
With their teaching; so to ease the charade
It came off like  Bible bashing

My nana would offer them a glass of lemonade
While my grandfather debate the lectures
They call themselves Jehovah Witness
"Hogwash  said Grandpa"

A Jehovah's Witness must walk the walk,
not just talk the talk.

I knew that it was always there, only about a block away
The Ocean
I could see the Single Ferry sailing with piles of wooden boxes
my colleague whisper to me
“Those are cadavers inside those crates: heading toward
Hart Island Potter’s field project
to the unknown graves.

The seagulls and the wild birds enjoy the ***** sandy
While taking in the early sunshine here in Coney Island

I remember a long time ago, when I had the sea fever
I would walk bare feet in the sand, and tossed small pebbles in the ocean
Rex my dog, would chase the seagulls and wild birds away
As he enjoy his morning walk with me

The cool breeze would massages my face and the hot sun
Would quickly dry up the salty vapors,
which made my soul rejoice each time we took that stroll
along the white sandy beaches on the Island of Bim

Seeing with the eyes of a poet’s is a gift
my thoughts, and  my unusual language,
The world sees  us poet and author as liabilities
A true emotional poet has a way of making you believe that the
“Sky is falling,
so he or she may suggests that you prop  up sky with the clouds
What’s in a word, besides noun and verbs and adjectives?
A poet’s heart, and they emotional torrent
So once again the sky is falling
While the rain turn to sleet ice pellets
A poet ways of seeing the beauty of it all
Through her work

How long my days, my nights listening to swagger jaggier
Since the seagulls, dance broke the sand-bags
Last year have been widely criticized as the torture year
How long my days, my nights listening to swagger jaggier
Last year hurt more than ever
the attitude of the unions lecture
How long my days, my night listening to swagger jaggier
Since the seagulls, drove the dagger deeper.





Author note...
sometimes in life we just have to take the good with the bad
remembering the storm of 2012..
I was aiming for:   The Triolet  Form of poetry

The many stage of a smile.
From birth our smiles became picture perfect
home movie ,the videos,
most memorable the hallmarks moments
posters and post card entries.
Page and pages for each moment of the day
little Jadie could not get away
Then her toddler’s years came and vanish into puberty

The high school proms and the marching bands
Throughout her college years,
fears, tears and uncertainity about her careers
The do and don’t

The older we get our smiles became frozen
Into shapes of wrinkles and frowns
The fewer things seem worth waiting for
What’s in a smile?

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool
Than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

― Abraham Lincoln
……………………..
Conversation with older folks always
Makes us think about
How complex we are
When asked 80 to 90 percent of older people
How are they doing?
Most replies are the same
“Child I am just waiting.
Waiting!
For what
To meet my maker”
From the time we were born
Plans were made for us
About our life
What are you going to be?
When we grow up
And soon has one become an adult
Our thoughts about dying
Frighten us
You are born then you die
Life might be simple for some
However, it a race to
get over unfairness of life

I met my third grade teacher last year
The first thing she said to me
“Did you follow your dreams?
A moment in an instant world
I felt like she were in control
^
She is much older now
However, nothing has change
We born, then we die
No matter how hard we try
The ropes never seem to loosen

Please don’t anybody asked me to decide anything. I don’t know
It had been one hell of a week.
The white snow doesn’t know if to fall; or the rain doesn’t know if it should pour
It takes sudden depression to make us see what life is
Life without a path is like flies on the cow ***,
As it uses its tail as a whip and swished the flies away

It a daily struggle but somehow we manage to move forward
It takes a man or woman who is down on they luck to wake up and face reality
A wise man will listen, hear, receive, and is always learning: because he uses every tactic
Known in the book
He laid back and makes the poor man do all the work
While he uses he brain to secure his profits…
Please don’t ask me to decide anything. I don’t know
Even a rat hate to be called by another name; for goodness sake
A rat is a rat. Why give it a different name.

The best of the best stool pigeon know how to keep its beak close
So please don’t asked me anything.. I don’t know

I was never blessed by God,

I am the main sources of evil
I was created by man
I am known to have the lever that moves the world

So I was told
With my power I can help with the bailiff
Or
And I can make you jump of the cliff

Some folks never seem satisfy with me
When in abundant

I am known to misled
The
Wise, the meek
I never bring happiness

My association with ant-nose
As
The new evolution
Grain and brain

Who am I?

I am who I am
I can tip toe through a dance routine
While
Reaching for the stars
I might be the patent,
keen, Steve, Asics or rocket dog

However

My sole that flatten the lawn
I guess
That’s my
A contribution

You smiled at me
The first time we met

The Flamboyant Dexter

threatening words

“I am going to retired

You

Unless you go with my attire”

Who am I?

List of things to do before

I fall in love again
I allow my mind to take me
Into the
A wild opened fields
where the grass is turning brown in spots
^
There’s one
Wild flower
And
Dozens of
Scattered pebbles,
Under my feet
^
Taunted memories,
Bare trees with bend trunks
A cool breeze washes my face
No more umbrella tree
To relief me from
Ray of the sun
I squint from the sun in my eyes
^
To
Think of the ghost in my past
Or to deal with the
Ray of the sun
^
Lists of things to do before
I fall I love again
Buried the pain
Low the drawbridge
or
Keep the enemy out
^
I want to be happier
Than I‘ve ever been
To
Fall in love again
^
I buried
Painful memories
Under the bare umbrella trees

Her eyes, his lips

His lips have the power to bring
Her to a knee-weakening ******
^
Her eyes have the power to stop traffic
In
Mid-town
^
  Where          
Straight men could only dream
About the sway of her hips
^
A glimpse
^
Of
His project runway walk
His Aussie slang,
Swaggers and squatters
^
A real man stands his ground
^
A woman
She wants him to know she
Can stand on her own two feet.

Poetry is disciplined

sometimes at the executive table
when a situation is not going according to plan
It's better to excuse yourself
before leaving, ease out a quiet frat
then make the exit,
glance over your  shoulder
and watch and observed who sense your present.

His Kiss
His kisses were illegal
  Passionate, yet surprisingly forceful
Better than his first
More memorable than his second
His third smooch was as cold as a Bollywood kiss

I think I lost my momentum for poetry
the flavor fades from my lip
My heart sadden
My fellow poet was either snub or whip
alternatively , did he jump ship?

Whereever you are
you are a shinning star
you link to the core of our souls
without sharpen weapons
Your words were your tools,

Like the masters before you
You transcend a message
you sculpture with great integrity and dignity
without showing any animosity.

I never knew your character
I only knew your work
like a fine painter,
your work would sell,
Even when you are gone.

However, people see the quality work
not the quanity to the streams
Is freedom of speech
just a speech?
or just another historical write.
with all rights reserved.

I love a woman
who's not afraid to speak her mind.
and not afraid of the consequences.

Back in the sixty,
women burnt their bras
protesting and debating
for equal rights

I can't tolerate women
who is always the weakest link
Those kind of women
would loosen the chains
before they think.

If you choose to be strong
stay strong'
Never let strangers  sense your fear
or revealed to them that you're not
wearing any underwear.
And most of all; never let them see you sweat


I have no tolerance for such a brew;
it defies me, and somehow
it make me rude
it you want to roll with me
you have to be strong
no wee...wee!

Heartless I am not
I am just a ******* notch.

Are you on the verge of tears?