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.

In the beginning
There were Adam and Eve
There was kindness,
and there was peace

The bible said that it was paradise
and there was  Cain and Abel
The people said the serpent came
With the rain, which angry the Gods
There have been numerous deaths
This time there were no bodies
but their souls seem to vanish

I am here pondering does he truly knows
What love is? He thinks being said I love you
On every chat, or the ending of a chat
Simplify anything;
We can have anything we want in life,
But we can’t have everything.

I might say that’s an understatement
Despite our wants;
I never say I love you to another person
Unless I truly meant it within,
To experiment with another ones heart
And mind, is downright cruel
Some humans isn’t human at all




.

Beauty walks this world. It ages everything**
I love them according to the seasons
Let’s start with the winter scene  
It reminds me of June bridal dresses
Woven into the likeness of winter themes
Capturing Impureness without stresses’

The colors of springs, the beginning of testing,
  The attitude of one’s happiness that lies ahead for bracing sea breeze
The mindset of the summer beauty :shine through summer madness:

as we slowly move into the fall months
We tend to have spiritual thoughts about the madness of summer
The spring will dwindle, as the windy days come
Embrace the beauty of remaining days of summer

The beauty will be bottle in our hearts and mind for ever
Beauty walks this world, it ages like any another thing

It only seems like yesterday,
When I look at the camera and took this selfie
The waves rush up against our feet,
everything seem to be complete and carefree,
Tonight I ponder, I hold onto the memories

This is not a goodbye poem, this is a memorable piece
Accepting loneliness without judging;
Accepting failure without, feeling humiliated
I can smell the sea air;
I can taste the salt in my tears tonight

Everyone smiles in the same language
Not everyone hurts the same way

There is so much I am going to tell my granddaughters
about their mother... but for now nothing

Do you still remember: the flyer flies?
And the harmonic liturgical chant of the invisible crickets
Outside our window: oh how they soothe
us to sleep : an added plus to the sound of the falling rain
of all our wishes, did we meant to leave the
tropical sound for the deafen sound of gun fire ,sirens,
or burning tires of city life, startling's hearts everywhere;
almost every hour upon hours of restless sleep

awaken to the swift sound of chirping, squeaking engine
my heart longs for those crickets outside my window
as they hide beneath the tall wet grass,
I remember how I slept between darkness and dawn
Remembering happiness comes from contentment:

Silly Rabbits

What the bad news was
He found me too late:

For us to start all over again,
Meant diving into dark waters
I offered no guarantee
Didn’t need sweeping off my feet

Everything was going according to God’s plan
Not man’s evil deed:

In the mist of everything, I knew trouble
Was up head: Rings would be taken off
Snap photo would be taken out of wallets
And nights of cold showers before going to bed
The refrigerator would be empty once again

Because he found us:
The man who flew to high
nights would be like a silencer

Facebook on liners would be his friends
And the house of Jericho would tumble down again

I choose freedom; he took a leap of faith
Don’t cry for me: cry for him, from love to disgrace,

It took thirty odd years for him to look good in the mirror
but it took a few second to look bad in her eyes

It took me one year and I  fix it.
Lost time pencil in:
True love of a good friend

Don’t cry for me; cry for him:
I offered no guarantee:
I offer no sideline referee

Didn’t need to be sweep off my feet
Man’s evil deed wasn’t meant for me
neither being a relationship referee.

The Voice of reason

Forty years ago, and just a six years ago
When I gave the appreciation hug
I never knew,
The hug meant so much more
Affection beyond words

In the light of things
Without thinking of it, it was my
Impetuous behavior that stunned others

My friend wife never forgave him
for reaching out to me:
The more he yelled out my name
The tighter she held on to his leash
I smiled and wave at humiliation
At its worst:
He should have change course long ago,
and said Amen:

Blind in one eye, plenty of scar on his hand,
Rising veins of frustration for this dying man
Signs of a Battery spouse-syndrome
My heart bleeds for my weak friend
: To be continued...................

I shall build my bathroom vanity to suit my person needs
        In a marble glossy white strip featuring tea leaves
Where the sunset would lift my morning moods
As I quietly sit on the toilet with the latest Bluetooth
  
I shall lie on my high pillow top bed
        And listen to the sound of the larks
While the wild baby monkey sits on the ledge
        Where tiny soldiers of marching ant crawl in the dark

I shall refreshed my house with Natural Aromatherapy Incense
        Just to keep evil away,
and in addition keeping the blessing in
While broods of Dominique hen cackling makes a loud annoying song

       In the year two thousand forty-two, I will represent
As for now, I am planning and waiting for my long awaited retirement

Feeling so worn out:

Looking at losing me

It’s the insides that turn, as I ***** the hate
Me there in pastel, doing the task: unfeeling
Room 400-448.....
In my pockets I carry the purple gloves,
I have a little sense of humor for the Putin’s outcasts
And zero tolerance for the ungrateful faces

 I regrets the years of lying back and letting opportunities passed me by.

Paralyzed with fear, the stench of death, sores my eyes.

   My childhood years and home seems hallowed, pure, in comparison
To those rooms, of horror, I am never smiling, only speaks when spoken to

The Likes and dislike relationship between the downtrodden and me
Are based solely on a professional level:
The place of my birth haunts me sometimes,
But yet I regret at time for leaving: while I feud at life

My memories are so dear to my heart, without being biased
My resume, which is to say is impressive, however, my caramel color
Was my downfall, not enough privilege?
Not enough financial opportunity to break through?

Here I am daily putting on a united front like a true trooper
If you ask thousands like me, Should I keep my feeling to myself?
Should I toss the purple gloves aside for a keyboard, pen and paper?
Some said that I should be grateful and not be resentful:

To be on the clock nine to five: for what low income testing
Should I be happier? I just cannot
Not on their clocks

I Hear America sniveling
A nod to Walt Whitman,

I hear America sniveling, life of hardships
Those are the nurse’s aide, each sniveling
looking tired and worn out
Petrified of being on the morning shift
The Porter sniveling as he drags
the fifthly mop down the corridor
The “Don’t walk signs.
Which everyone seems to ignore

The cooks crying as he wakes up early searching for dietary old ladle
Just to meet the breakfast rush, with sleep still in his eyes: his life seem to be a lie

The doorman sniveling as the workers rush through the doors
The looks on their faces, his hands stay closer to the company Tasers
The foreigner taxi cabs drivers speed a headed of each other for two dollars ride
As they tries their best to form a complete sentence..
Knowingly, that his spoken words is grammatically incorrect

The babies sniveling as they mother drop them off at the sitters,
  Poor babies wish they could stay all day in their mother’s arm
The poor man sniveling, can be heard through the land, America
The rich man broad smiles as he killed another elephant for their ivory
Takes images proclaiming victory

The sadness of the hardest workers, or the elderly folks in pain
Shows an undivided world of tough hardships and poor leaderships
Each one to his or her own self, like homeless man Robert in the rain
We wakes up each day under the same sun, the same cruelty and injustice
the testing nuclear weapons in the atmosphere  since 1945 and just recently another test
And we continues this repeat, and the more we feel and see or smile turn into frowns
I heard America sniveling:

*Even in hardship, God’s goodness prevails.” E
― Todd Stocker,

I lift my aching body from the bed
Liked an elder from the wheelchair: rigid

Looking at the mirror, I saw an unfamiliar face
a bad taste in my mouth, brought tears to my eyes

Oh God!
this old familiar hidden pain throughout my body
The light in my eyes dims, throughout this ordeal,
One foot move slowly, the other dragged along
Should I close my eyes, and listen' to it?

Could move on and fight this battle,
Or visual the pain with patience, a caption poem

The pain is rising up, the words began to unscrambles
Letter by letters, words by words
a needed password is required  to block or reset
Every sinew of my anatomy

I lift my aching body from my bed: I got to win
This downhill battle called chronic pain

The thousands of grey hair circle my hairline
matching the wrinkle lines on my aging face
They came with pain and hardships,
and not enough love to go around;

Suddenly, an expressive emoji of my younger face
came to surface, happy yet sad, yet no crack
but this all came about when time had relapse :
so many heart-break, so many mistakes,

Like humpty the wall breaker, or was it the dream crasher?
Time has treated me like a step child.

He bluntly crucified my friend
I’ve known liars, I‘ve known thieves
I’ve seen crooked lawyers in action
I was shocked by the jurors reaction
  I have study the body languages of the fibbers
Read between the lines of the tell-tales

But to concocted a preposterous but believable story
Just to feed it to the judge: That is so cold, yet so bold
I always believe in the old saying,
Only fools represent themselves in the courts of law
My heart bleeds for my dearest friend
His soul have grown weaker than elastic knicker

Akiane Kramarik  said
"No matter what happens around us, or to us, through love,
our soul reaches immortality, conquering all dimensions and all destinies

He had bathed in the forbidden sea, where the mermaid had warn him
Not to entered:, Where the daughters of Lucifer lured  kindhearted men from good homes

He builds their house near the sand, and it slowly sank
He looks out to the Atlantic Ocean,
for guidance and saw the raging waves

Then he remembers nights of unsettling dream:
He have known liars, he have known pain,
Somehow, it was hard for him to stay afloat in
the murky water  I’ve known liars

  I have listened to both sides:
but earlier this week the judge was so quick to chooses sides
Is this the end for my friend?

Family Secret

An Ice-cream man, with an Ice-cream van
His melodic chimes seem magical  and enchanting
the heat waves, a major summer killer

Little children with happy faces make biblical verses
Jump off the pages and come alive
Block to blocks, street to streets
laughter could be heard for miles

 There he was sitting on the old stoop
A little freckle face boy.
with eyes of a deep, dark blue
Waiting for God to answer his pray

Poor, little Vincent Maloney

He remember his grandmother harsh words
"Wipe your tears away, and pray in silent
Young Vincent Maloney"

“I pity your mother and I pity her choices,
and most all I pity her
For eloping with the colored man
 Barbara Coleman husband

Wipe your nose, and weep no more
Your daddy ain't your daddy
But your daddy doesn’t know

.
Race is not a determinable concept my child.

It is easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father. – Pope John XXIII

As a girl I survived the best way I know how
I would run errands for the neighbor
In exchange for a small change or food

My body frame size, my wild big eyes
Were the sign of malnourished relived childhood?
Hunger and Malnutrition are not the same
But in the eyes of child are hidden meanings

I want to write something about that era in time
But do I want to relive those day with a poem?

We make the Memories, so sad but so relived
That small bowl of corn meal Cou cou meant a lot to me
To my mother it meant shaming the family name

The tall wild pine tree saves me, from revealing the truth
a full stomach  had given me time to think about what not to say
About eating the neighbor’s food:

The internet have gave me this amber jewelry to create
and go back in time..
To a place to make things right
.

A little nod to
Edgar Guest

When you’re up against a bully
Meet them face to face
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and give them a taste

Never panic or hesitated: aim toward the lower waist
If you fall to the ground, don’t be discourage
It’s just a stumble, its just the adrenaline rush
but never let it weaken you

See it through!
Forget all those stars that circle around you

The Bigger the Ego, the Stronger the Anger
Kick his *** until he/she does the tango
If the worst is going to happened
Let it be Lose or win:
See it through! My friend
it’s birthing time again

Lift your chin and set your shoulder
Get up and plant your feet and make a fist
Kick that bully ***, Feel your inner strength.

Think of Joe Frasier, Ali and Foreman impeccable timing and their knock outs drops:
only a wise poet like me can only wish you the best of luck

I did not mean to write about death on a Sunday morn
He said that he didn’t mean to dial my number at 6 am
this awoke me from my dream
I was dreaming of being in California
Waiting to board a bus that was leaving at 2 pm
It was headed to New York City:

Poems can be amazing topic to ease the pressure of the day
Recalling an odd glimpse of a dream can be so puzzling
The dearly departed is never going to come back to us: unless
They are a part of a soap opera story line:
Somehow this mortal man ought to go and joined them

I wish that ***** would have called someone from the grave
And woke them up instead of me:

I just saw a not so love president in a recent photo
Standing alongside his daughter on graduation day
He too, look like he wish someone, hadn’t interrupted
His busy schedule, to pose for that photo session

I read a poem a day for inspiration,
How do you get your inspiration?

Just when I thought there wasn’t room enough
for another thought or poetry in my head,*

Up came this documentary poem
The Wednesday of May 24 was the day
President Trump meets with the pope Francis
at the Vatican: smiles and pleasantries aside
Who’s coming up with these lies?
Who have ties
with Russia and Putin?
We the outsiders are still unclear
about another golden buzzer:
But under a crystalline blue sky is where
Pope Francis and the President meet
Here I tipped my pen to
MARK LANDLER and JASON HOROWITZ
Reporting….
The fraught silence in political history

Another Sabbath day, another sinful neighbor and her husband
Trying to keep it holy: over there at number 1 Sea view Road
For so many years those two folks kept on trying:
faith works with patience

He kept on asking this the same old question
wasn't it time for me to make some changes in my life
When are you going to church"?

Mandela frequently deflected accolades by saying,
“I’m no saint—that is, unless you think a saint is a sinner who keeps on trying. “Quote

While the sounds of the siren, startles the restless babies
A full Breakfast consists of fried eggs and crackers
A pitcher filled with coffee……and this poem
Anxiously waits to submit…

The sounds of the sirens, breakfast consist of eggs and dry *******
Dangerous heat wave is reported in this part of the country
The loud music of the selfish neighbor, boom box
It’s time for carnival. It’s time for the carnival.
And added plus to the sound of the loud siren
Wakes us up in the morning to NYPD  helicopter circling

Its Brooklyn, it’s the ghetto,
Its Ludacris, it is selfish, it's the Sabbath

What of these final evening thoughts
That really wants me to forgive myself
For what conspired throughout the day

Where, I just couldn’t do it anymore
Become a ball breaker,
I always dreamt of an early retirement .
my unfilled bucket lists

The Harley bike I never rode out into the country
Images of it parked near a tree by the lakeside
Like so, I became one with my thoughts
Loud: clapping sound only startle us

Once again, there are those mirrors that surround us.
Watching: and that one obstacle
The monthly mortgaged bill

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
suddenly, the poet hold his breath

He remembered a time long ago
When her well pedicured feet caught his eyes
and not her mind: that fetish duck..

She could have let him touch up her pedicure
Instead of playing with her heart strings

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..