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

ACROSTIC POEM

F acebook is not the place for religious people
A ngelic fanatics, lashing on to the nonreligious folks words
C ritic dealers from across the globe: scandalous
E yeballing and ID’ in, every aspect of our lives
B roadcasting activities not fit or proper
O f men and women from the bones yard
O bjectionable political speeches of 2017 trends
K angaroos court for the Internet wireless hillbillies

Sunday Morning ******
My soul has been ****** dry,
due to the rising body temperature,
This drove me to speak in tongues

I close my eyes and I drift deep into a bed of jelly
as my heart called out his name,

My body became lifeless like emoji expressions
my new morning love of language
and we become one with our feelings

If my love for you were like diamonds
It would have been no cause for a divorce
I would have treasure it for the unity of its love
I would have praise the colorless crystalline form of pure carbon
The power it holds: The uniqueness of its colors,
And the authentic charisma in others it creates:

Just like the diamonds, we would have been unbreakable
That is why my love for you were not like diamonds
My love was more like a snow cone in Alaska
This melted faster than any glacier ice
.
Some might believe that feelings and thoughts are different
But I set them aside anyway to focus on our love
Anyway, It still didn’t matter…

**We were born to be real. Not to be perfect

A little not to Kiri Petro Sino*      

Some phantasms are like my lovers
Neither faithful nor trustworthy
My memories of them is slippery
Not kind, but phantasms
This left a bad taste in my mouth
Sad as it might seem:   I do not sympathize

Not all phantasms were my lovers
I think of them on bad days,
Some are losers, wearing the badge of shame
Not publicize, but hidden like a crouching tiger with it hidden sword:
They hid behind the skirt of their new loves:  griping,

They defeats and their regrets in life shows in their everyday life

Forgiveness is an act of self-love and respect.
- don Miguel Ruiz

My kind of forgiveness might be an emotion
Its turning that page of my life:
Without reading the Contents to the end smoothed me

Some of my phantasms are my everyday peers
  I think of them as lost poets without words
deep with their thoughts: individuals who are
afraid to express themselves to the fullest.

Tonight I’m to lie here and think of you
In slow motion: I am going to let the memories
Warm me up from the inside,
While the wind whistle his favorite tune
From the nearby window on Lead Vale Road
I will stay in touch with my best friend King

The one who brought me my first
Right on Magazine: the most memorable one with
Michael Jackson embraces the front covers:

That was in 1978, when poets wrote meaningful pieces,
With meaning, that touches the process of thinking
To boost our poetic frame of mind: this in turns dealt
With some of our internal or external reality in events
that happens in that era
Like his father Leaving, by Ira Sadoff back in 1945
A wonderful piece of write to be remembered

Tonight I’m to lie here and turn off my ****** thoughts
In slow motion: I am going to let the memories
Of us warm me up from the inside,
I remember those raining days which kept us indoors
Where a week of rain, felt like a death sentence
No hands holding or walking in Queen Park with King
No late night window shopping,
only lips singing from afar
Behind our share bedroom doors:

It was only yesterday, walking in the rain
And seeing so much broken umbrellas litter the street in the city
And my thoughts turn to him, with our broken umbrellas,
we retrieved them and sew them back together
Tomorrow I will pray with King
that an injustice will become forgivable

P.S:
**It would be easy to become a victim of our circumstances and continue feeling sad, scared or angry; or instead, we could choose to deal with injustice humanely and break the chains of negative thoughts and energies, and not let ourselves sink into it.”
― Erin Gruwell, The Freedom Writers Diary

Whose name is on your lips when
You think of ***? : The man in bed next to you
or the hunk you saw walking down the street yesterday?
It has nothing to do with the hunk on the street
Or the man in bed next to you
It’s the joy of fulfillment,  

Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows
For heaven's sake, it’s more to it than just letting it lay there,
Just for his enjoyment

As most usually calls it quickie, why not take time to
To Sautee the meat, and sipped the wine until the end
Instead to throw one back for a little relaxation session

What is wrong with dark blood?
Black, I might say darker that port wine
I often watch as the patients
take their last breath
Some of them tried so hard to catch it
But, for some they just let it go slowly
with a few moment of puff:

I looked left to my coworker and
We knew what those looks meant:
Dialysis will most often be short term

There are moments when I  would walk out of the room
Just craving for an imaginary cigarette,
A sip of beer, but I often settle for a refreshing
Glass of coconut water from the husk
Costly, but it’s worth every penny.

Life is a complicated status, no attachments, no buffering
So lets us make amends in a letter and post it to you
Or hide it in a hole in a tree;
Even burn it and toss it the air

I guess my imagination is intense,
Always seem so inspired, and
As you know my words is cheaper than usual
I am a word seeker, a self-made poet
a thinker not a talker….  Like the statue
The Thinker Monumental
1903… Auguste Rodin(1840-1917)

One loves my friends……..

Today, I felt like if I was were searching for myself
I felt like I was on a crowded boat floating
And this one passenger who kept getting
Up and making the boat leans to one side

I could hear the voices of terrified passengers yelling at him
To sit down, before he makes the boat collapse or even
Him falling overboard: the logic behind this is that some

People want money, but do not want to work hard
For it….they want water, but do not want to fetch it
They want fire, but do not want to chop the kindle
Their wish is to go to heaven, but afraid to die

Why am I surrounded by so many pea-brains?
Why do I feel like I can do better by myself?
I think that it is time for me to jump overboard
And swim back to the mainland

Secrets

Having left my thought in years they
Continues to **** with my body the canvas
Staring down the saddest moments of my life
Is my imagination getting ahead of me?

When, I was a child, I free a bird from tangle cords
Does its offspring, remember me?
Has the bird taught them anything about mortal pain?
especially ,not to build their nest in low pear trees

Secrets, continue to haunt my body the canvas
Every fortnight, when my soul seem to be at rest
Interrupting my dreams, with updates off past event

Not so hidden memories anymore, optimizing my life like an app
Like tiny dots of nested blackheads
Tiptoe to the surface, from deep within
Fighting to survive, just to be seen before sudden death

I shall pluck you secrets, from your darkest place
Without leaving a trail of blood on my body of canvas

I want to write a poem as long as California*

Nope, I want to write a poem as short as his *****
As short as a stump: When we think of bravery
Right away we think of the soldier, the hero:

When we think of his behavior its reflects on
His upbringing that influenced his character
The mouth that eats salt and pepper
Would thirst for water: it craves the attention

When I think of eating  some fishcakes,
I immediately think of the bones
That sensation of something stuck in my throat, then sudden death
They is an action, and a reaction
I want to write a poem that is going to outlive the pecker
But as trended as hate crimes…………

When I see you after a long day
Seeing, you don’t make things any better

a cup of peppermint tea a dash of milk
some lines of poetry in my head,
a sudden loud burp, and a grasp

But in my silent voice, I need not
say what is on my mind:
my mood swings , my physical arousal
I need to come to grips, with the real me

I really do not love you: I might like you,
but I am not In love with you…
I am the rose that open in the early morning,
but by sunset I close my petal from the world,

When I see you after a long day,
Seeing you doesn’t make things any better
I just want to say a quick hello,
And a long goodbye..

You may not believe it, but I have tried,
To come to terms with this thing
Called forgive and forget,
While reaching for the tissues box
So what about my hidden scars?
My daily reminders, my mentors
I have tried.. But they taught me to be
Strong, and believe that out of bad comes good

Maybe I ought to tried, a *******
To see if I can came to terms with that too..
With me, myself and I: what a fantastic dual

I love me: and I, was fondling myself.
My evil mind, my impure thoughts
My labor of love: I did try

Poetry writing has taught me a lot throughout the years
I can be original, but I would never master the craft
But I will have a voice of recognition: My human voice

To him who is in love with me
You speak a language that I don’t speak
A language; for the fool who believe

You have a voice of gladness and the smile of insults
In my past, I wasn’t good enough then
And I am not good enough now,
with that being said a hidden beauty would blossom at
the right time:

Coming from your wildest fantasy: you came off
Like one of my most famous nursery rhymes
The pied piper of Hamelin, the joker the sweet talker
Sad images, broken promises, those days have been gone,
Of our fondest memories there were none,

Many a night in the breathless darkness,
in that small wooden house on top of the hill
I still remember that still voice, which had numbed me
I had lost all faith in the human race:
To link my past with the future, would be a **** up illusion:

Like cycling backward up a mole hill with a loaded gun
Forgotten languages need no symbol: any refills

nope!

About him who think he love me,
You speak a language what I am not so familiar with:

Is it that in some quiet moment
We think of death, leaving our love ones
Even our enemies, seeing them missing us

There and then we think of the will
Our assets, or debts our obituary
Or last will and testimony

To add or plus and minus we
Divided our love into groups
Should I let the neighbor have the dog?

Or set the pouch free: to pondered its love
Knowingly,  he was the only immortal
Who truly love others unconditionally?
Bit and pieces of the truth in an instant

When fake lovers goes……….
All left is the memories of the fake ******

When an honest-to-goodness man walks away from our life
our libidos bemoan for the sweetness of his touch
That timely impending delivery was outstanding
followed by a peaceful Amen!

Sleep falls, and we drift off with tears in our eyes
Our mouth become reckless with words of emotions
We wish for the death of our heartbreakers

The silence of the wind, drown out our thoughts
Suddenly, we reacts to the time when their barely delivered.
And smile… and said what a fake *** *****..

Sometimes when we wake up to the world of politic
And the men in charge has nothing good to say

“Look out, your window, look around at your back porch
Then look up above,  look at the ground
And repeat these few word, ashes to ashes
Dust to dust, God whom cans us trust?
Helplessly we are caught in a web of lies

Never stir up an ant’s nest, when it’s peaceful
Or poke the most venomous snake in the world
Because you can, what about the common folks,
Who wasn’t included in your plans?

We do not have the resources like their do,
To be sitting like target ducks, waiting, waiting and waiting
Oh, God of Glory, how much more can we endure?
How soon, how soon will doth douse water on the open fire
Just to signal smoke of peace:

Sometimes when we awoke to a world of political injustice
And tears comes to our eyes, as we feel the tightness of the ropes
Once again our heart began to build more hate
We fear for the unborn, we say goodbye to ours elderly

While this earth saturate the innocent blood of the wounded
The devil with the golden hair said
"no ducks is safe in the gallery:

I wandered lonely with my silly thoughts
In the depth of my physic mind
I heard laughter; I felt their pain

The crowd jumps over obstacles
Naked, green and unapologetic, they scatter
Those curious eyes, those silence viewers

My audience and my critics I must indeed say that
A poet’s mind seeks shelter, from the addicted past
Feeding off the water-main black ink fumes

Composing their thoughts on old brown paper
Closing in: on innocent bystanders
Before they yield to the power of the unknown

So many magazines, clips, circling freely in the hands of evil
so much times to take down the innocent bystanders
We have to wondered on who is in control of life and death?

He seldom bring me flowers
But once a year a dozen red roses
For each month he missed out
~
He never smiles,
unless there was a touch down
I used always made him a cup of herbal tea
whenever, he came to town

However, I on the other hand always smile,
without a reason: it was him and I at that moment
I asked him one or two lumps
I really miss the old chum

He doesn’t bring me flowers anymore
instead they sprung up from his grave in the air:

Some of us let the summer month’s gets to your head
As we feel the heat we become one with nature
Naked, green and unapologetic,
a kind of trend which most people follow,
and hard for the some of us to swallow

Like all other things the summer heat can
Make the darkest man visible, the sleaziest worm
Crawl to the surface, for a dark tan
But it surely cans nectar the honey for  the Gods
Fall is upon us, as our joints began to ache,

Halloween is a drawing near,
Am I the only one whose seem to care?
The fly flies settle down under the broad leaves
And here I am the green poet from New York is visiting Tennessee

Those Hot summer bikini bodies, is now as cold as Niagara Falls  
We fret as we began to throw down, the last of the summer days
Creeping backs into our jean and Woolly Love Heart Jumper:

Suddenly, here come the hurricane months, September,
October and November all with they uncertainties
  
As I kept expressing my feeling into poetry,
With my frequent minds pop no matter how strange
Embrace them I probably will do the same.