Poetry is one of the *** position that most of us
Is afraid of trying, we squirm to the ideas of
Giving it a go: the *** in poetry goes …..
from the low pitch, to the high volume
Of ecstasy, it doesn’t always have to
Be after dark, it was said that the gay men

And women enjoy *** more than the straight men
Implicit and boldly imaginative: hashtag
the straight men and women

Sugar level is low, while the gay men and women
Level is high on excitement; it’s all about the enjoyment
Poetry is *** to new ideas of acceptance,

A lady in the street, but a freak under the sheets,
Shyness in the voice, to a loud thunderous conclusion
Of mumbling words: asking for help from the almighty

Tomorrow, someone is going to look into their baby’s face
And called him or her Poetry, after a night of ***,
The toes curling *******, to face images of Satanism
While clinching on for dear life: Poetry is life
Staying alive, be not afraid of poetry…..


*What *** is, we don't know, but it must be some sort of fire. For it always communicates a sense of warmth, of glow. And when the glow becomes a pure shine, then we feel the sense of beauty." -- D. H. LAWRENCE

A visible spirit
She came to me and
Asked for my name
I asked her why:

Does she need my name for?
She said that I yelled at her
And if I do it once again

I would see the visible spirit of her
I have come across so many spirits,
On my job, and none could match
My mines: I stood my cool,

And I vouch never to encounter her
I would walk through the valley
Of the shadow, of death, and I would
Fear no threats, not for the likes of her,
I know her, I once was her, but
Not as stupid as her, wraith

I will not let it rest, I whisper
Under my breath, another one
On my radar, another close called
My way of doing things:

Sometimes we don’t
Even realize it but we die
A million times over and over,
Reincarnation, we keep trying
To do it right, they keep getting
It wrong: walking through the
Exit to the left, and enter
Through the right:
And there you are trap again,
Inside the body of a ****:
Begging for your life:
You want to turn around
And take another door with
The golden logo: you must
Never knock, just open that
Door and walk in with
Confident:  what happened?
Next, depend on the first face
You encounter, never look directly
into the eyes of any one, never smile
Let the new subjects called
Your name, did your name
Sound like a boy name or
A girl name:  was it easy to
Remember: it’s a new beginning
Impurities from the old you:
Born again: it time to latch on


**Pray to God with tears in your eyes whenever you want illumination or find yourself faced with any doubt or difficulty.

We must never **** the spiders
While, they wove their words into the likeness of thunder
You only watch the news to find out
Where the con artist stands,
He opens his mouth and nonsense comes out
He twitters like a bird and the sound of a dog bark echo,
Lowlife, unhinged, bigoted, racists, misogynist,
How do one goes from eating at his table:
To coming in through the back entrance,

And whether it matter to us or not;
We got to see what division can do to us
Some might even say, salacious and ridiculous
I think it’s a game change, with the wars of words
Bishop and knight checkmate!!
your move my dear..
and by the way :
You are fired!!

You must never **** the spiders,
While, they are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder?
Kidnapped the poets, instead of the poems
Therefore, I asked of you to stop all useless riots
On poetry, read them, embrace them, and
Learn from them: poetry is disciplined
And disciplined is the most misunderstanding word
In the dictionary: but somehow it is said that

riots is the language of the unheard:
we must never embrace racial riots,
or racial profiling: reach out to racial equity
stop allowing the messages of hate to go viral
plants row of trees, in the name of love,
I recently came across, ants yes, I said ants

When army ants need to cross a large gap, they simply build a bridge - with their own bodies. Linking together, the ants can move their living bridge from its original point, allowing them to cross gaps and create shortcuts across rainforests in Central and South America.

I recently saw human fighting each other, I recently read somewhere
Where children were locked away in cages
,
McALLEN, Texas (AP) — inside an old warehouse in South Texas, hundreds of immigrant children wait in a series of cages created by metal fencing. One cage had 20 children inside. Scattered about are bottles of water, bags of chips and large foil sheets intended to serve as blankets.

We must never **** the spiders,
While, there are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder..

Narrative Reportage for 8/2/2018

Home is the word we love to hear:
The dreams are never over,
They are always a break through: after the tears:
An x is lodge in our heads was it the,
rock, a tree, or the hidden board,
Time welt serve: time to cash in
Time uproot the rocks
that tree and those loose boards
would this be a happy ending?

You had choose the life of crime
The crime didn’t nail itself
Every day a black man
Under the age of twenty
Pulls the trigger, they turned off the light
He longs to return to his mother womb:
I see the love of their mothers
While she holds their hands at age three
at age twenty three I see the replacement :
the chrome bracelets: the resentment
Neflex the new society wants us to believe that orange is the new black:
“Our ancestors have invented, we can at least innovate.”
― Amit Kalantri

**“Oh Child
Look within
Find your ForeMothers
Find them
Find them”
― Malebo Sephodi

Every time I open my mouth to
Response to idiotic people my language change
It was so early in the morning,
And believe me, I wasn’t in the mood

For female nonsenses: one drops on her knee
And raise her hand to the ceiling, open her mouth
And let out a bunch of nonsense. The other whispered
“God protect me from these evil people,

I look at my co-worker, and he looked at me
Such juvenile malarkey, so early in the morning:
“He said” with a loud Sigh!!!!

I lost another one, it gone, it no longer moves,
What, whom and where, and why!  The baby!
My eyes drop to her knees with such unspoken grief,

I was told that’s where they go for safety:
It had to be some conspiracy:  five small angels
In five years, how does she control those tears?

At the moment, I need a glass of water and two aspirins;
She looks so emotionless and calm: the same exact composer
Like my friend had after the death of her son:

I on the other hand saw myself standing on the edge
Looking down into the darkness of a bottomless pit

Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

** If you gave someone your heart and they died,
did they take it with them?
Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?”
― Jodi Picoult,

I want to write a poem that politically minded would read more:
My political allegiance: my contribution to the art:
those Snakes in the grass would adhere too: without obligation;

The hidden agenda of the world leaders
Would suddenly, take the Sephora masks off
just in time to reveal what we thought of them all along;
Those voices of the babbling brooks: some louder than the other:

the poem must expose secret of the ocean mystery /myth
Without apprehending the beauty
of the dolphins and the whales legal rights;
While its uninvited guests are caught up in their lies
we the people must say to them
"you all can’t plead the fifth" because


They are still a lot of trivia question for us to answer.
And it’s still difficult task for some of us to find
where's waldo amongst the leaders:

Cow itch circle the hills
Picking up speed, what a nuisance:
My body became numb: the torturous seeds
The native never seem move: by the “muckleheads”.
The itch and the sand flies: a duel team

I was the victim: The vice was on my back
Under house arrest, a meltdown I was so trap
It was time to leave all of the seedpods behind
Fever, malaise, drenching sweats and chills:

I remember once I told a fan, about my kind of therapy
My morning’s session, of cleansing the mind
A blast of my past: the uneven dots on my temple walls
Am I making a break through, nope I never had closure,

The groom wore red, on his special day.
I was the one that wore velvety black,
but I celebrated their reunion with a tall glass of
Ca’ del Bosco Cuvée Prestige Brut, Franciacorta DOCG.
Wine:

I’m far too clever to be taken likely:
So, I  let  my poetry writing do its own disciplined

**"If you can’t be a poet, be the poem. – David Carradine"

For obvious reason:
There was once a lady name Annie
A very loveable, respectable Nanny
Her only wish was to become a poet
Without getting the terrible headaches
Until, she discover her grammar was uncanny
The beautiful tone of the poetess seems waspish:
According to the urban dictionary:

Once there was love
That left a light feeling, in one’s heart
It keeps us cheerful, even as ones recites bad hip hop lyrics.
Now it’s leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth
It came in from nowhere: out of left fields:

Ones can still pretend to like swimming in the winter time
Where bathing suits are 75% off the original prices:
In the Y.M.C.A the water is still in the swimming pools:
Ones’ ear is blocked with swim plugs:

Another problem, another loss of the game
Because, it’s still twenty below on the outside:
One’s heart misses a beat for the hundredth times
Warm body, cold hand and feet: not a good treat
Once there was love:
Now it's the emptiness of perception mode:

While, I pondered my age in calculator.
It seem likes I have block out my actual age after I reach 40
I have forgotten that I was over fifty,
My brother asked me “how old I was in calculator
I have never given it any thoughts
until that moment about my birthday
I pondered for a moment,
and said I think I am 55

He boldly said, that a lie, you are older than I am..
I have never given it any thoughts
until that moment about my birthdays
Unless it was too filled out my physical forms
or my Income Tax Returns submits

I so often hear them say, age is just a number;
However, my favorite number is 1;
It’s the beginning of everything

Beyond the sales tactics
I listen to the voice of the liars
Loud in pitch, high with the verbs
I need to be alone, with my thoughts,
Mind control,

The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us;
but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us.
His attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful.”
― William Peter Blatty,

I want to mastered my own mind,
To deal with the universe and it’s allied:
How can one reason with someone
Who have lost everything?
Own your feelings or the situation owns you: quote
And do remember, it's not advertising; its mind control”

If you are a dreamer come in
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
If you’re a pretender com sit by my fire
For we have some flax golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!”
― Shel Silverstein

If I am a dreamer let me dream
Because you couldn’t dream big
Don’t awake me: let me save my pillow face
Too many ideas, jumping from one to the another idea
Sometimes, it feel like I am holding a snowball in my hands in the middle of July it dripping, it’s melting,

It searching for ten degree weather:
Dream further than beyond your height:

Assume, just for a moment,
That yesterday wasn't really yesterday
You were in a vegetative state: you saw the light
just to be awoken, from your worst nightmare
The sky wasn’t blue, anymore it look gray:

The man in the white house was missing, off the radar
Leaving the people with nothing more than all his hopes
Then you remember, somewhere where you read
That the poet also resigns himself to his mood.
Perhaps, that why some verses should always end with an Amen,

I remembered sitting in my little chair in preschool
Waiting for the role called, j
just to hear her called my name correctly
But, my teacher never did, waverly, wabney,
Assume, just for a moment in time, I got up
And yelled it not warily, or Dabney it Demerara *** holes:
I always got a sick feeling, when they called my bestie name
And she wasn’t there, I always assumes the worse..

I was always an emotional state of sensing another‘s emotions.
At an early age I was that child who spoke with colors: I held on so tight, to my crayons box and silly putty that I made an image of my fist:
As an adult we hold on to grudges and bitterness
I too am guilty of that: when would it end.

A little nod to Kiki Petrosino

The heart ceases to beat. Because
Some ghosts are my exes
neither angry nor kind
their faces spiral like
old windmills that clings to dry autumn leaves
looking for a place to land:

Not all ghosts are my exes
I remember them as stingy, and womanizing
Some were wolves in sheep clothing
Not smart but conniving species,
They capture your attention, like
a slow moving sunrise, then lure you
Like a vampire before dawn to have his feed:

But that isn’t all, some of my ghosts who
Walks amongst the mortal grinning
Asking to be friends, to forgive, to reflect,
Not a clever move, my ghostly friends,
just deceiving: Tactics

As a wise man once told me,
No one can hurt me without my permission…
So some of the blame, of misfortune lies on me

Dead Horse on the race track

If this is happiness, then sadness is on layaway
     Then my futuristic plans is chalking out my future
Better to know, before stepping into the horse’s droppings
     Than this upside of uncertainty of man’s failure:
To me it’s stressful, but not always bad:

When the dark clouds clear, the sun will appears:
Those long months, those lonely hours,
Always rolls back to and stay low on flat surfaces:
January, February, March, May
and June always, goes by so fast;

I have past the one hundred and eighty one mark for this year
I add more to my bucket lists: I am single and free
I haven gotten a deep French kiss throughout those months
Not even a little hello **** or a grab by
the ***** approach from the perverts
but I am moving on: and loving it…

The whispering night, the silence ring tones,
It’s better off without the whimpering whimper:

**Better to flee from death than feel its grip.
HOMER, The Iliad

Next to her silks petticoats
my mother’s  brown stocking lay there
on the bed: on the iron board was her
Crispy iron Sunday dress,
on the dresser was her favorite perfume
and talcum powder. And this meant only thing
it was Sunday morning service:

This morning I remember her routine,
I never got into the habit of the military habits
My free will soul would never allow it:

I remember passing the Police exams
As I was about to go for my training
My mother discourage me from going
She based it all on my small petite figure

Her exact words: you think you can fight
Off those big men: Those criminals out there
In the big streets.. I never got to prove her wrong
So, I turn down the police academy recruit training:

And trade in a trip to South America in nineteen eighty three:
I remember that last night before I got on America Airline

My last old year’s night party at the Hilton Hotel,
The loud music, the co-workers, and there I was with
Mixed emotions of being Happy and Sad:

I wish they had a word for being happy and sad
at the same time because that's what I feel every time I was with him:
my other true love< E.B
I still have that **** gold and black spaghetti straps dress
I wore that night, each time I fallen back
To my old habits.. I would take it out and take
One more look at it…and whisper my past
And ask myself why I am holding on to this
Dress for so long: we didn’t had the internet or the Bajan tube
To look back on:  but by seeing that dress. I saw the younger me
With vivid  moments of happiness, and bad decisions:

Today I lay here in my bed with my memories
As I divided them in happiness and sadness sections
Have I proceed with my plans in law enforcement
Would I be alive today to write this poem
Have I not attended the office party
Would the scars of that night still frets me
At each place, in time some of us stop
To picked a rose, or even smell a rose
That why I love this quote:

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: ‘It is the time you have wasted for
your rose that makes your rose so important.’, Anne B...

because, it have seem like I have made some loser that was in my life seem important:
Did I do it for him or for me? Now that is the question..

My poems in recent years has become,
The distance calculators: with its up and down
No one can stop them at the boarders, or
Seize their nouns or pronouns,

They can’t or will not be subject your isolation,
because of the singular/plural and tense disagreements.
It doesn’t need a visa or a green card to enter
the hearts of many poetic minds

They believe in us: we believe in them:
It doesn’t need your permission to make others smiles
My poems would always be foreign to you,
Like my way of eating a soft mango:  
with just a little opening at the top:
Because of the poems autarky: its freedom will prevails throughout  cyberspace:

Translated in the gift of tongues,
My poems owes you nothing,
But it promises you more,

Let my travelling poems, be my gift to you;
With a trendy feel of a human touch
in which the world need now.

Free *****, but allow my poems to travel far
Without your inputs:
Those who would look a gift horse in the mouth do not deserve the gift. Quote Brian M

Love yourself, accept yourself, forgive yourself and be good to yourself, because without you the rest of us are without a source of many wonderful thing: Quote

love yourself, then my poems, appreciated them for what they are,
because what this world need now, is love, sweet love,
not  hate, free ***** but let my poem travel.

There is tropical warmth
Inside my heart, that
Only an Island girl can understand
Why we eat the mango, the way in which we do it:
Making that small hole at the top, as the sweet juice
Sipped into our mouth, Like fresh breast milk

Mangoes help you unclog your pores
and add freshness to the face.
The internet is changing the way in which we think
Too much **** information, on things
That we already know from long ago:

Knife and fork to eat my mango;
Yeah right!!! Leave my island mango alone
Tourist westerner man!

Not once did I mention
the relationship between the island girl, the warmth
or the joy we gets from eating a mango…
but I will let you in on a little secret
it's the Organic ******* with the timing...

To all those who goes crazy every time
They heard the word “I love you”
You all need some kind of help;
I will forgive any child under two
Because they are learning and
They brain are like sponge
they soak up new words , phrases and
images for their memory bank

It’s funny how sometimes the people you'd take a bullet for,
are the ones behind the trigger." Quote

when we love, we immediately change the path
in our brains, we crave, we seek attention,
we become addicted :

I remember a long time ago,
When my bff and I would hang out together
We were happier and free will individuals

until she allowed those words from  a man
to get into her head “I love you
the same man broke her heart,
and it almost killed her:

when we love, we toyed with our brain:
to all those who goes crazy every time
you heard the word “ I  love you:

Think of Donald trump and his speech
on how he love his country
and want to make America great again

The Cities we grown to love and hate at the same time:


We live in corrupt city folks
keeping the guns at the ready while we sleep:
is our mojo:
while the nightlight burn bright

We speak different languages
While listening to some nasal accents
These are our neighbors, the city dwellers
You and I, we are the foreigners of the city
Inside us we long for our homeland:

There goes the fast moving yellow cab in the city
Driven by the visitors: the ones with the bad accents
We knew all along, we are not free
From the stares, and the resentment of I.C.E: enforcement:

It quiet inside, it loud out there and when we
Opened our mouth we are the loud people
that speak the language of our ancestor:

Before them city Judges: we are judge, we are label:
We are the aliens, 1 Chronicles 29:15

We are foreigners and strangers in your sight,
as were all our ancestors. Our days on earth are like a shadow without hope. *

We speak the languages with some nasal accents:
this morning the spirit of my ancestor came calling:
it time to follow my heart..

Someone once wrote
I never thought I’d keep a record of my pain
or happiness:

It all started back in two thousand and four
That was the day he fornicates with the island *****
Today, I am searching for words and meaning:
Of lost, lies and regrets: but what have I done to ensure

It would never happen again,
I had to clean the mirror of truth:
Hold back from falling in love again:

Then I remember the quote:
The face is the mirror of the mind,
and eyes without speaking confess
the secrets of the heart. Quote St. Jerome**

On the other hand it was the best thing
I ever did: and that was to test the water:
Somehow, it made a lot of sense
About two is company, three’s is a crowd:

What have I done? I let the weasel ran free
So that I could have built up some happiness,
Yesterday, is history, today is creativity and new ideas
Tomorrow seems like pending announcement:

Now I am OLD, and losing my touch,
it seem like low battery anxiety:
Danger, a dangerous rush
my body once a temple: decreasing in life span
Does the dead feel any pain? or the strain?
With the energy I once had: had leak slowly:

The lawyers, the courtroom brawl: I fought
Did I come out on top stronger or more knowledgeable?
It became my battles, not theirs, not them, but mines
I carried the heavy load on my shoulders for years
I have been in a hibernation mode for decay: in tears
My little hell whole, not they, them or theirs:

People often say that motivation doesn’t last.
Well, neither does bathing – that’s why we recommend it daily.” – Zig Ziglar

could it be the reassurance of feeling fresh, like a daisy?
Why do they have to pull me back ?
When I feel like I am out the door; to freedom
Why do I get the nervous tense? ,
when I answer them text or calls?
It doesn’t’ stop, this ongoing thing called caring,

my mind love to grasped, those dark secrets of my own,
my own inner battles leans toward the poetry board,
my fingers flies from left to right:
while my little pinky points upward toward the ceiling:
praying and praying:
I pondered, lord, let it be untrue,

Because, the dead shouldn’t feel any pain or strain:
now I am old, and losing my touch,
my body once a temple, have heard it all..
and as you know the devil is a liar.....my friends
.

Death came too soon:
To be precise on a Saturday afternoon
it ended or did it not?

To all who knew her felt the pain?
But what lead up to that hour: was a crying shame
Her eyes were full of life
Her heart bled for her offspring
Right up to her last dying breath
It ***** to keep a secret,
Jealousy is a disease, fear is mind killer
a killer was on the loose.

Two deaths, two stories
Double sins, double tragedy
But, oh, the feeling she left behind,
The questions, no answers, so little time to reflect
Humanity is sickened by one horrific headline after another
I wondered who is going to be next:
I trust my life to an earthquake more than to any lover
Raged like rough sea, against the salty rocks,
Holding on like sea ***** never letting go,

1 Corinthians 15:54, 55:
“Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

To the one they left behind,
To the one who weep at the open graves,
To the one who silently stood by?
And never give a helping hand,

To the ones who knew these kind of persons
And stay silent: isolation is also a killer;
To the ones who grieves and respond to loss
A mother who loss her daughter:
Two death, two untold stories..

I can never take back the things I have said
The “I love you, my words of the day,
My imperfect gestures: you *******!!
that gesture of affection with my imperfect self, ...

But one thing for sure you can never remake
The thing you have destroyed, (me)
Replacement, is not the same,
Originality is not authentic
They are not one and the same:
I have come to forgive you,

I have come to like the shine of your head again,
I often wondered, if you love your past
Of did you let it explode like ****** gas?

I have taken down the Christmas ornaments
And replace them with the Easter theme
And I am about to think of this unstable spring weather
And what it might happily brings this month:
I did a wonderful thing:

I reached out to friends from a distance,
But fears that some friendship would be interpret the wrong way
I did a wonderful thing: in light that it’s mother’s day
I feared that a war might break out soon
Between America and it’s allied, because of
Mr.Trump strange hands shake style which comes off as lies,
May the God almighty help us?

My words of wisdom or my bittersweet words
The words of my imperfect self during my morning thoughts
Never let them stop you from knowing the true meaning of love
On this mother’s day eve
Lord covers us with your blessing…

Island girl reporting: Demerara Lady
Best Wishes

I am not going to clean out the closet during the winter months
Everything is frozen solid,
I will wait until spring; I will wait, you will wait with me,
and watch as the dust bunnies unfold by summertime,
It wouldn’t be too long now, before winter makes her exit.
Unfortunately, waking up to this headline Kanye west
Thinks that slavery was a choice,
His phraseology: is this his finally thoughts
Sometimes, we just have to keep our words frozen

Conceal, don’t feel, and don’t let them know
Well now they know Demi DeVito

From the looks in his eyes:
The world knows he is not a well man

I’m going to write a poem about peace,
Peace is what this world needs now
And Kanye need a little hibernating
He need a little rest….
.
**yet in the church I had rather speak five words with my understanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue

This ***** ******:

They say that beauty is in the eyes of the
Beholder, so does this ***** have eyes?
the power of evil and bad,

Today we see what it can do
Many a nation have gone to war,
Because of this ugly beauty,
many family units has been tread apart
Because of its evil doings,

The seven hundred wives of
King Solomon and his three
Hundred concubines was
a great example of what
the ugly beauty can do:

Infidelity is on the rise,
so many lies: so many shortcoming,
Lucy ****** is an embarrassing subject
why men lie and killed for it?

this remarkable commodity: with
****** is like a Van Gogh painting,
It gets lot of attention: the baseline dimensions
is still a mystery: A weapon so powerful

It can break a man down to his lowest
It has a language of its own.
silly words like sup, sup, sup.
the same sound effects of a cold beer going down
the gullets: the smoother, the  esophagus: pleasers

The ****** and a beer have so much in common
they both get their men all the time,
a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation,

****** you are surely blissful:
Men incredible dreams
who wouldn’t want to own the team?
No matter how destructive or fulfilling:

* Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent,
more perfect than all that a man can invent.”
― Roman Payne* Quote

Jealousy is a weak link<
it is far most dangerous than the stages of cancer:

Mothers are not supposed to bury their children
Should she seek revenge for her child?
Should she forgive?

Keep the sweet memory of your child alive
Within your heart, let the world
Remember her killer as the monster
Let the unknown deal with his spirit
Let the angel, guide your child spirit
To a better place,

The struggle with revenge is centuries old. Shakespeare said, "If you ***** us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?" Shakespeare clearly thought revenge was as normal and predictable as the sun rising. Quote:

However, it is not: it just a pacifier solution,
To calm the madness of the mind
Is to be in control:
Because, jealousy is a weak emotion:

Nobody knows when our last goodbye going to be.

When our Love has gone and left us: we crawl back into the shell of our former self:
we remember, we relived, the first marble
that was taken from us, our favorite pencil that was snatched by the bullies
We let our emotion take over:
our marijuana-addled state of mind seized
Sleepless night, reckless hours, Dehydration and Insomnia –
Heartbreak is real: deception is a poker game:

We remember the struggles, we remember our kindness,
The sacrifices we made, especially burning the midnight oil:
Then we see that old familiar face,
Stepping right out from   our bodies in slow motion...
And take charge, we tried our best to stop the madness,
But it played out like a cloudy dream,
In a panicky state we yelled for it to stop;
to please come back, please, don’t do that

Our mind creates our thoughts, but when the beast
Is out he goes on a rampage, right to the source of the game
To the love who has gone and left us:
The damage has been done: how do one move
Away from the game: death is inevitable

When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation. Matthew 12:43-45
R.I.P

We sit side by side,
Mother, child and daughter
An unborn fetus, nurturing,
We had the same dreams,
The same feature and the same walk:

we had to take on bed rest for them to
Survives: we had to follow doctors orders
For them to be healthy and wise:
They didn’t ask of us to be here. We choose them
We lay with the wolves, and we
Got impregnated:

Nothing in those books had prepared us for
The their rude awakenings,
pages of good intentions,
Words from someone else’s experiences,

Not necessary our own stories,
Experiences of another….mortal man
I love quiet places, I love the silence of
My own heartbeat,
the crystals sound of the healing singing bowls
To stimulates ones/my brain cells:
the alien’s gifts for us humans beings:
One and one isn’t always meant to add to two
You see, one on top of one merges as a whole
Two on top of two piles up like a thick granite block
As parents we always wish the best for them

But it’s the ending we don’t know of : words
Of sadness, bitterness and loneliness
Came from places of ungratefulness
Not from the corner of one’s mind:

my mother is close to her ninety birthday
Through the years, those hands I once thought
to be so rough are still taking care of
Of her family, she prepares the family meal daily,
not neglecting the heavy house works

she still finds time to go the city and paid her utilities bills,
Her mind stays sharp to fight off the aches and pain
Of an aging body: I admired the woman for being so brave:
For managing joint pain

When the time comes for me to stay silence,
Is when I am dead: even then I shall appear as the
Ghost you were afraid of> Amen:
,

The morning sun appears showing us
Who is the star of the day?
It shows it power, until the rain
Comes out to play:

It sends a message to the evening shadow
Asking of it to confuse the night,
With diamond shape stars,
and moonlight and magnolias trails,
Light up the sky with star lights

We need the light, more than the dark
But we need both the sun and the rain
Said the weather man from sandy lane:
But who one needs the icy snow,
That one has to go:
It reveals it hatred just like the evil Snow Queen
So each morning  as you wake, think of how
The morning sun appears showing us
Who is the star of the day?

##“If you want to be reminded of the love of the Lord, just watch the sunrise.” ##
― Jeannette Walls, Half Broke Horses

A Glimmer of Hope:
This feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen to us
As most would analyzed this force of hope
A rose expressing hope, a yellow ribbon the symbol of solidarity:
of a love one,  a rainbow after a frightening rain storm
When, the fragments and flashes of thoughts life experiences badgers us:
we sometimes see a little glimmer of hope:
a force of evil and a force of good
just picked one and believe in it..
We as Poets try not to sound so biblical.

However, for our struggle is not against flesh and blood,
but against the rulers, against the authorities,
against the powers of this dark world and
against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Ephesian 6:12

Today, at this moment, my mind setting, my weekend
of mauby bark purging, I am  seeing and accepting
my glimmer of hope. For the past years, I went from
maybe, I see what we can do, maybe it was your fault,
you should go to church, you should leave things in God’s hands

If I hear anything I will let you know, I will talk to him,
I am seeing and accepting my glimmer of hope.
Never stop believing in yourself,

If this is no poem then:

Then it must be a good **** during a rainy night
Because it a rush, a rush to get to the finish line
Legs stretching higher than a frog most heroic leap;
That’s when you have to admire how terrific the organs
Can be during moment of ecstasy:
If this is no poem then

Donald Trump is not taking residency in the white house
Where Politics is still a multifaceted word: according the wikipedant
And hate intolerance, greed, revenge, violence, famine, disease,
Continues to be the number one problem in the world today:
If this is no poem then

There are no use for poetic devices, and my feeling shouldn’t
Get in the way of the truth, of setting me straight or free.
Poetry comes from the island, where the native spoke
Dialect like they don’t give a ****. .about the language called English
Breaking up words into sugar cane…and making raw brown sugar lyrics

If this is no poem then

It ought to be: or take the road to Bombay:
And see if the folks there really love poetry…
or give a rat *** about they missing teeth.

The things we grow tired of were the same things
we once love and adore, in our relationships
Their faces, their smell and their voices
What a turned off: what a misconstruction
these little things turn out to be....

Hold your arms out wide for my welcoming,
Let the shyness of you shake like a leaf
Bring out that swagger moves:

That, lion wait to devour someone,
Lift up thy chin, pulled back those shoulder,
Hold your arms out wide for my welcoming:
Let the lingering scent of my oil, blast that
Burning fire, because all eyes are on me

The snow Queen shall melt faster in the sun:
Before, the jumbo jet takes a rest.
Walking toward you, and only you:
Unleashing the tigress within my soul:

I may walked like Jessica Rabbit
But purr and walked like a white Persian cat:
Let my walks tell my story.

Funerals for him is killing loneliness
He sets the alarm clocks in time for the announcements:
If familiarize with the names of the dearly departed:
he lights up like the light on Broadway:

The dearly departed is at rest: his struggles with reality,
of how the world runs: is unsettling:

the funerals arrangements is always the same:
The tone of the announcers : slow and gloomy,

Black and white would always be the traditional attires,
and the hymn ash to ashes will echo in ones ears,
so long as the tears flow slowly throughout the services:

As they lower the leveler into the ground,
they are gone but not forgotten:  R.I.P

Poet and death titles,
Death shall have no hold on me,
Death shall not make me sad,
I refused to mourn death: and that's the truth about me

Drinking and eating after the services: Is it a good gesture?
From soak tissues to soggy appetizers: the crowd pleasers
From the wet cemetery: to the living rooms floors

Poets feel and see the irony:
As they sat in their black and white attire, eating and drinking
Mount Gay or cold Banks beers:

The colorful graveyard welcomes another tenant:
Funeral for him is killing loneliness
He set the alarm in time for the announcements.
Fear man, not the dead: we two are so incompatible

**Regardless of whom you are or where you’ve been
You can be what you want to be. W. cement

My Alter

You took over from time to time
What I have:  I have accomplished from nothing
I must give praises to you my alter
You terrified me, you strengthen us

You took over without signaling.
we became unique individuals
Sometime we merge and we got to
To the other side:

From beautiful memories to ugly ones
From beautiful quotes to the hideous one.

The most beautiful things are not associated with money
They are memories and moments and if you
Don’t celebrate those they can pass you by Alex Wek
.
I had to swallow my poor pride: an instant jaw clench
This was so not I:  unfolding: heart wrenching:
Nothing I earned didn’t came so easily,
I share a lot but not my inner or outer pain
it was all on us: mostly me

I was loved; I was also being hated
I was that woman that sang the blues into the night
It seems like I had created you for good intentions
Intervention or soul searching:

We are in for the long haul:
Good morning! Good day and good night.

Oh how to
To think that my body once capture your attention
From the top to the bottom of my physique:

To think that our minds didn’t care what our brains thought,
When we said I do: knowingly we did not:
And when we went ahead and tied those awful knots: such crackpots
Regrets we had a lot! But then again who doesn’t,
Marriage is like wall papering.. Choose your spouse carefully
Else that fumes will lingered and lingered forever:
My lover!
How we made each other unhappy
How we fought like the bull and matador
In and out of the ring:
I won!
You were dragged off to the slaughter house:
Since marriage to you were twenty- eighty: I knew better:
Too painful were the memories, but how sweet was the revenge

We use to say young and old alike, aging and living together;
Alone but never lonely: not I/ not with my narrative poetry:
Arthritis and constant back pain: hair coloring and
Wavy weave: one with myself and loving me to death.

Too think that my body once captures your attention
from the top to the bottom of my physique:

From the look of you:
I became the arrow and you were my bow
That aim right at my heart:

I grasp my chest
Looking for the blood of redemption

You were my rock,
Never my divider,
And I fell right into your trap.
Launch into nothing…

I leant upon the cold iron prop
On the subway flat form: suddenly,
my thought turn to this movie from the 80s
About a little boy name Alfie
Whose tongue got caught on the frozen lamp pole
During a daring rush trend:
Winter months can be so brutal

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not;
and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Winter Depression, / a seasonal S.A.D
In the mist of all this: I saw a small bird
Rumbling through the garbage looking for food
His dotted feathers caught my attention
Perhaps not all birds fly south for the winter after all:
Homeless birds seek shelter with homeless humans
Without the small outdoor wood fires:

The beautiful landscape we once admired is blanket with snow
The roar of the winds and the surging of water;
It wasn’t a pretty sight to see with my watery eyes

We cried out to our God for a little relief
But most of all we keep praying for safety
I fell on my **** trying to step over a bank of snow
Luckily I didn’t land on my face
The humiliation and the botherations of dealing,
this kind of weather year after year:

we just have to bear in mind that
Winter begins on the winter solstice and ends on the spring equinox.
The roses will bloom again, the tulips with rise again in April
And we will determine which one is the morning dew
And which one is not the icicle dripping:

......................................................­...................................
Prayer for autumn and winter days
I’ve just rediscovered this beautiful prayer from belief.net. I know it’s now winter and the title is Prayer For Autumn Days, AND I’m not crazier than usual, it is still appropria…
sparklesandangels.wordpress.com

Life has no guarantees
We can’t sit back and believe
That life is perfect
There is an action, there is a reaction
There is no perfect poem:
there is no perfect world

Poetry comes from within, Poetry is all around us
Sometimes we see perfect images
But without the poetry insight
It would feel like *** without love:

We just have to listen to silence to find real poetry.
Poetry walks the Brooklyn Street lacking clarity
Poetry sits amongst the congregation grasping:
back alleys and subways cars waiting,
but each in its own order to recite their observation.

We just have to listen to silence to find real poetry,

We just have to listen: the world is changing……

My love looks like a choir boy tonight
His angelic voice lighten up the air waves
But he is in his sixty, a pensioner
His weaknesses make me strong

To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable;
to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” ~Criss Jami

He looks like a teenager engage with his first crush
His low haircut and a soft whispering voice,
His only mission is to make me happy
My advice for him: comes from a quote

##To see the world, things dangerous to come to,
to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other and to feel.
That is the purpose of life.
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty**

I have a lot of admiration for my love
A wonderful man with potentials

Death only uses violence,

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

Standing naked in front of a mirror of truth
Did you gasp for a moment?
Or did you grasp the robe tightly by the string?
Our mirror the body shaming objects
Our brain Positive or negative to the truth:

As we stand in the front of the mirror of truth:
Our eyes become terrible liars
Fat stigma is spreading around the world: everyone is our mirrors
body shaming us into believing that skinnier is healthier:

The three rolls at the side of your body a reminder that those
Thanksgiving mini apple pies was a **** lie too,
Everything in Moderation is only  sweet poetic words

**Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.”
― Anne Sexton

Out of my mind when the WhatsApp tone startle me
Into believing that it was him: who was texting me

When your love has reached it course
A good apology is hard to find: But why say it in a text
Knowingly the other person is going to be vex

Today, I was meditating on three words,
Happiness, empathy and relationships
I will never say this is the end: or will I jump ship
I will always add more to my trouble

Because of whom I am: when I was with them
My past lovers count their trouble,
but they never calculate their happiness:
While they were in my life: they make me
Lost my perspective on the true me

however, do bear in mind
Your true self is never lost

I Walk Into Bobby Department Store
And I yelled where is the Bajans at?
This might sound a little weird to most
But, it’s that seasons when I get to hear
The native tongue, follow by the real country accent
Plus some rudeness as their form long waiting lines

But to see the joy of Christmas
Still exist in their tone of voice

Christmas time is that one time of year
when you could be happy without
giving yourself any reasons.quote

I could hear sentences like
I want to mail this barrel by next week
But I know they wouldn’t get it before next year
As an outside, listen in on stranger conversation
they might say to themselves

“What is this barrel they talking about
A barrel of ***, a barrel of jack Daniel
A barrel of monkey, what barrel?

Yes Bubba! that barrel it filled with gift and food stuff
For their family on the Island of Brim
So all I have to add to this is.....that

I am reminded that while New Yorkers say "standing on line,"
the rest of the English-speaking world says "standing in line. - Jeffrey Steingarten quote..

Feeling Lonelier than ever
Sadder than the Mad Hatter
Waiting and waiting for news
We must not depend on others
To make us happy, we must not
Relying on social media to fulfilled our days

We must not put all of our eggs into one basket
and we mustn’t be brainwash into believe that we can trust man
we must not feed on others sympathetic moments
Or make them our sympathetic companions:
just stating true facts:

The experts say that it’s perfectly ok to have
Sad feeling at times: it’s called the season of emotions
I love the summer months, it brings out happier times for most of us..
I saw an ad once it’s said it: Facebook making us lonely

In order for us to get on to Facebook we have to logged on
Just like any other switch, for us to see in the dark
We must turned on the light, without the light we might
Stumble in the dark and fall:
so if Facebook making us lonely
Why logged on: it just simply mathematics Mr. Watson(:)

Why move to a room where there is discomfort?
Stay close to your comfy chair and do a little meditation
Reflect on the good times: cleanse your soul: from your Toxic workplace
A week at work with negativity coworker: need a removal day

**If only closed minded came with closed mouth

Days of Rain
Day of tears, brings rain
Days of scented gardenia filled the open air
With perfume: Day of rejoicing for two lovers
Prince Harry and Megan making weddings plans

Happy news, smiling faces, but with broken tradition
We all love a fairy tales with a happy ending.
We love to see that love still exist,

We love when love merge and become intimate:
Still Close to our hearts, this thing call love
Jupiter merges with the moon to add luck
and understanding to love relationships play

let end this year with a little happiness. xoxo

At the cheffette’s restaurant table down the harbor road.
Your nervous eyes said you love me,
Napkin holders and the salt and pepper jars,
Stood between us: Two people on a date.
St. Thomas and Christchurch.

Nervous sweat and sweaty palms—
So young, so unknowing, so innocent,
Blue happily but nervously times
Grueling stomachs, Emotional changes,
always lead to peer pressure

What a hell of an evening, under the other‘s gaze,
You remember the important events in my life,
I come to accept the sensitive side of yours

Your slender build: my blue bellbottom fitted jean
Curious as George in an animated scene
Your eyes was wider than any taskbar

You couldn’t make it through a first dinner date
I gobbled down my food with a glass of fruit drink
Easing my hunger and nervousness tension:

Of times so memorable, yet gone with the wind
Like platform shoes, and the disco satin jeans
All remove from our closets, like the baggage in our lives
Leaving tainted memories and nasty scars:
Here we are today, still eating at different tables.

The sizzling sound of the radiator
Waked me up too soon
The cold breeze nibbles at my feet
like the unwanted houseguest

The sunlight come peekaboo to soon,
leaving the darkness behind yesterday sun
The New York cold weather frets me

The Island sunshine, calls out my name
Lying there with my compatriots
The cold and the non-sunshine

I have a long day ahead of me
I refused to be self-pity

Mostly I would like to feel a little more
And stop the entire make believe:
How many of you can say that they truly love their job

I hate it when someone says to me
You better be glad that you have a job
My job is like a relationship, bittersweet
I work hard to get the job,
but it’s time to divorce it and take a long vacation

I remember my grandfather’s donkey, Wilbert
The poor man work that animal to death,
One day I swear I heard the donkey said to me
I hate my job, but jobs out there for me is limited
I have no skill, I have no talent, so what the master
Asked of his *** he has to obey:
he passed away six month after the talk

We had that heartfelt conversation…Wilbert and I (:)
I would like to feel a little more, and stop this entire make believe
How can I be a poetic leader when I am always complaining?
A donkey never complain,

Weak motion of instability
I count the years and the times you invade my body
I call out your name Pain. I called you chronic pain
I remember my first experience with you

You ******* the left side of my body, you weaken me
When I stood up from the bed, you held me down
No matter how hard I try to be strong, you enfeeble me
I tried to drown you; you swam back to shore,
And came back to shore with a vengeance:

You **** me in darkness; you humiliated me in the light;
You are not temporary according to others,
#Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever#

Nestling in my arteries, while enjoying my misery
I know your name is pain: I hate your games,

Stop choking my dream, stop following me
Let me howl, let me sing, let me dance,
Just leave me alone………………..Pain