The morning comes, and dark clouds appears
Facebook notification alerts me about those clouds
Are clearing today and I must look out for sunshine
So what about me: what about our equanimity
in the New York city?

What am I going to wear?
Here I am dress up like polar bears
Watching my window curtain clings again the window pane
So cold inside, so are the contents in the tupperware
Looking forward to this sunny day, before the night comes
Longing for that special trip to the Caribbean sunshine,

The air in the city seem so misty and *****
The loud traffics sound is deafen, it's sicken
It’s time for some March morning moonshine

The traffic light by Walgreen pharmacy is on the ground
The black ice still hangs around in the big city

A poet lamenting about the well-being of the city dwellers
As many folks filed grievances about living conditions of Newyorkers
A poet might as well filed a complaint over conditions,
that led up to her cold, cold **** and *****

I buried my father:

In the St. Augustine Cemetery
I visit at the old gravesite of the deceased annually
I saw the quiet grave keeper still standing there looking dazed and confused
By the looks of things:
My father resting place
still soaks up all the tears

My mother and other siblings said to me
That to visit any one grave site wasn’t their kind of thing

I buried my father underground: It have been so long
Since then, the birds would come to the house of my father
Looking for breadcrumbs from days old bread
The dead will not be forgotten, his name will lives on

When I was a toddler, he fed me white rice with butter
Sprinkled with black pepper and grated cheese:
With my weak voice I was say “thank you: he was so please

I buried my father in the St. Augustine cemetery
It’s one of the saddest places to visit,
Unlike seasonal passes tickets
So adjacent, those graves: so annoying those wild crickets

He might be far away from his home,
but not from our hearts
Everything on his grave seem so square and flat,
But the most outstanding piece was the letters that read
R.I.P:  what I saw was (Rescue Innocent Perry)

Sometimes, I wondered about the dead
About their done deals: their final feast
I buried my father there, but not his memories

I saw the old mahogany tree still standing tall
the pieces of kindling wood, he made for grilling,

I will  always remember him, and I know he might be
Thinking of me, his poetic daughter especially on that day
when I accompany him to cut the branches from the
old Mahogany tree, just to make backyard wood fire
For the family breakfast, lunch and supper
I buried my father: the naïve share cropper:

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:

I wow not to leave this earth a lonely *****,
Taunted by past lovers who label me as a witch?
Here I am today, keeping my eyes on the price,
I wow never again to be fed by more optimistic lies

From the Caribbean to the Central American shore
Every woman need to be love and to be adored
And not be willfully be subjected
to the life of a married man's *****

I have found solace in my poetry,
Therefore, I cannot commit adultery?

Living with shame, guilt and
asking God to forgive a sinner
Here I am today keeping my eyes on the price,
I just became an instant lucky winner:

Because of that little girl from across the Caribbean Sea
Who travels led her to the Central American shore
Once she said no more, she meant no more

A woman like me is often misunderstood.
Because of the path I have taken through the woods
I have listened numerous times to the blabbing brook
Who comments were rude, about the rich folks

But instead I observe from my homeless tent, the high achievers
I took it all in stride, while the mosquitoes chew on my legs
Women like me aren’t afraid to dream,
Neither are we bashful to wear
the wide rim hat at Easter time
Because all eyes would be on the winners (us)

He said I always write sad poems
who I am with you,
is really who I am with my writing
I tell it like it is. I always say what I mean
It might be the poignant anxiety of my mind

I observed people, observing them make me
Wondered about their lethargic self-control over their own life
If it’s not about health, it’s about their love life  
Believe it or not, watching them helps me
Get through a rough morning:
When I compose their pitiful stories,

It gives me an adrenaline rush, so I unwind
With a paragraph or two, dropping my ideas here and there
While I pondered about their state of mind
I learn from their mistakes, I bottle them in an old Mason jar

And I move on to my next subject, and that would be
The images and faces of Political madness
in two thousand and seventeen

My followers, my friends!
The Liberal minded is dragging us down minute by minute
Yes, I love to write about sad things
That fetter me. The dead can’t write about them
The fearful are too afraid to speak up,
A good rehab center is so hard to find,  
No wonder they had to make marijuana legal
So I had to touch on certain subject before I die
Their isn’t love in the world today
The little that is left, someone wants to buy it

Self-respects and self-esteem, we must try to distinguish between the two my friends

Staying silent is like a slow growing cancer to the soul and a trait of a true coward.


,

A cherry fencing: Croton hedges.
Pile wood and bricks made up the circumferences:
I have seen rooftops rusting after weeks of heavy rain
Shirtless cyclist speed passes the old brick house

Where no children seem to exist on the main road;
Where the lambs can be seen grazing on dry lawns,
As the sun ray reflects on your camera lens:
I promise to call you back later
before you drift deeper into a slumber.

Depression, confession and denial,
Reality never seems to exist in your world
There is no solution for chronic unhappiness:
only daily words of kindness to ease the madness

Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom.
Quote - Rabindranath Tagore

Did you deserve it, did you deserve to be treated this way
You should have marry the good daughter,
She would have eventually
Turn out to be the good wife:
I am in another town
Thinking of you day by day, hour by hour
Composing a poem while observing,
the good, the bad, and the ugly
Of what family does to each other mental impairment?

A family in harmony will prosper in everything
As the stories were told
Where the beauty used to grow now hatred follows
by the village carpenter putting bolts on the front door
To keep the enemy within: as it was broadcast in the recording:
“There wasn’t any bolts were on the front door Burt, you said”.
The law is that nothing should be done so on the property”

The rose petal crumbles back to the soil, as she said that he was
sick in his head: just like the dead locks on the carpenter head
The garden hose slowly rolled back in a circle. By the sound of her voice
The suffering was so obvious, the abuse was publicize

You drifted back in time: To a place where you felt happiness
You drifted back to me: back to lovely memories
Never mind our outlook on life leads to two different journeys
Broken hearts, and disappointments
We encounter so many injuries and they heal
But broken hearts never mend:

*The more I begin to suspect there is no such thing as unhappiness; there is only ungratefulness.”

Should we have love in silence?
Or should we have love only from the heart?
Should we have let the past stay in the past?
Or should our stories should have never been told

The past is never where you think you left it.”
Quote ― Katherine Anne Porter

Somehow we just had to sin by silence
And mourn the death of a friendship

Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute,
day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.”
― Stephen Vincent Benét

Should we have love in silence, or should we have love each other
from the heart: we had the courage to stand up , we had the strength to
walk away from our abusive relationships:
Somehow we never learned because of blinded love and love affairs

Today, I saw a man on top of his rooftop
Whirling snow off with a string
He seems to have given it a lot of thought

Then I remember my father pouring tar on the roof top
Of our house: but that was for another reason
To prevent a leaking roof during heavy rain

The small buckets my mother would line up to
Catch the water, oh the little things we remember
From our childhood, oh the little smile we get
When we speak of the dearly departed

The mind of the poet never leaks the emotions
of love that flashes by:
As he held on to old memories like no other

My pocket poems
Isn’t worth much dowry
However, it’s all mine
Like nickel and dimes
Silver, or gold.
Tell out, my soul, to the world

Someone is writing a poem in the dark
Just to escape from the light of things
Nothing can escape from a black hole,
Creating fewer images in one’s mind,
I wonder if they can see a streak of light
Fighting its way through darkness

I can see them falling deeper and deeper
Falling, falling, but not enough to fill the void
A gun, a razor blade, a handful of narcotic, now it’s
the video cameras, an unusual collectible to assist with the pain
Keys, bolts and iron bars, hopelessly romantic
and deeply subversive: Madness takes center stage.



P>S
So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit.”
― Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke

The memory of you comes in different shades of gray
Like the Caribbean Sea breeze that stylized your hair
Saturated stain on my pink satin sheets
That was the moment when we knew that
Those two souls could never be discreet

Uncertainties heavily laden on my heart,
It’s a strange and confusing time to depart
In you her DNA float like acid rain:
fogging your brain
years of turmoil and silent torment:

Here I am lamenting with you:
You recalled that day when your light turned blue
You said that it felt like love and hate moving toward the kiss of death
The moment of truth landed like a erupt volcano on your desk

A God-fearing man, a gentle soul
Years of searching for motherly love, so it was told
Only to find Low self-esteem and low-grade fatigue
Trust equal lust: led to a fraud for a wife.

You hide your sorrow in your smile,
******* is nothing but a slow dying disease

Mother of your child, a son whom you once adore
They both put locks on the front door.
Then there is that woman from his past,
Oh, how she saves him from the edge of madness:  

Court full of lawyers, a judge on the bench
Fire and brimstones, infinite punishment for finite sins
The sun might shine but the camera will not flash
Because of a daunted woman,
Whose feuds are too hot to defuse?

Oh, the mad woman of sea view
She made her bed, now she must lie on it
Brick stones are stronger that old boards
From now on the shower heads will turn cold, before the sun goes down
The mist off the ocean should stink like acid rain
Abomination on the lips of lying wife:

One day shall easily crack: when the
Truth shall reveal itself

God sees him, I see him. He is a lonely man
Love is a fly on the wall, a secure padlock on the door
A bag of dog food for the Bruce and Princess,

When love is in the heart, it can’t be altered
The soul beam: he would always be the laughing child
In her father fondest memories before
  his adolescent mind was corrupt by evil

Loves makes the parent proud,
love produce a health mind of control
the laughing child would feel no shame,
he would blessed his mother breast,
Without the slightest thought of ******

Some share the night alone in bed,
Some cuddled in with their mother
Love like that is forbidden,
If only he could escape from this house of ******,
where a parent only love herself
and see the younger husband in her only son

he need that inner strength to save himself from the touch of evil
False hopes, a rigid mind, a corrupt soul
Some share the night alone pondering,
How does her church feel about her sharing the night with her son
Who’s thirty one.

P.S
Satan's false kingdom, False nature, a false expectation

Serious talk
The morning service was about
Taking one day at a time
and forget your worries
While the piles of backlog unpaid bills bow
in the letter rack, the bill collectors calling
every hours of the day using those 1 800 numbers

And there I was standing by the kitchen sink,
doing the dishes from the night before:

while I pondered about the ambulance bill,
the credit card bill, so many *******  bills,
If I was to drop dead today,
Who would pay those bills?
Who would wash those dishes?

So I took out my small *** from under the counter,
And filled it up with water and gently turned on the stove
I began to cook my favorite porridge,
Oatmeal mixed with saga
I clean down the kitchen counter,
I gather my thoughts, I became the cookie poet of the month
while i munches on my words

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.
The important thing is not to stop questioning. Quote:
As I continued to stir the mixture together on the stove top
I kept thinking about the homeless people

Less worries, no bill, no bill collectors, no
Letters rack, just the last car on the last train track
And a sign that read do you have any loose change?

Death is like the lottery, you never knows when your number will called..
Quote:

What happened last Monday morning?
I woke up in my body and it wasn’t that body anymore:
Throughout my body I felt sharp pain
Followed by an added plus of lightheadedness
So I kept asking myself some questions,
What can the matter be?

The devil can be a liar sometimes,
I took a long look at my lifeline in the palm of my hands
It reads a long life ahead of me,
but somehow the most crucial pain
Was trying to outbid me: 

 As I lay there on the gurney
I thought about some cow’s heel soup with pumpkin,
Dumplings with the carrots simmering on top
The thought of food when you are feeling sick is unreal
But only a poet would have:
he thinks, he creates an illusion for a solution

That was last week today
I am having a bowl of delicious cow’s heel soup
Loaded with carrots and corn dumplings
To ease uneasiness:
I shall follow up with the doses of ranitidine
To complete this poignant write

All those memories will be lost in time
Remembering, how the *** used to be
The pain, the games, and now it’s the shame
of unresponsive low libido , rerouting all lanes
Replaced, by the latest muscle relievers

The legs refused to go beyond the sixty degree angle
to stretch the inner thigh muscles

They crack their back, just by ripping the covering off the condoms
While their toes curves due to the deficiency of vitamins B12

Remembering how the *** used to be, wild, wild and carefree
Mobility without the Immobility
can ruin one’s ****** activities

A little nod to
Georgia Douglas Johnson, 1880 - 1966
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I looked back upon this year
And thought about the things that upset me
I wave the white flag so many times,
And from another stand point,
I cursed off  the ******* that bother me
I stamp my feet upon the ground:
Of injustice
Day after day after day I pray for strength
Not to inhale the smoke of marijuana
But actually smoke the **** joint in my mind

When I looked back upon this year
And thought about the things that upset me
I stretch my fingertips, and I write poetry.

The secret of love is seeking variety in your life together, and never letting routine chores dull the melody of your romance.. conduct your business with a clear mind

Can I ever forgive him for leaving?
I remember it was a cold, cold morning,
as the saying goes:
Nothing burn like the cold inside your heart  :Quote

The cheery *** whistle  louder than the factory whistle:
I got so tired of fighting with the devil:
And on the other hand asking the lord for strength and guidance
to made it throughout the days ,
But as the old saying goes
He only helps them, who help themselves

Sometimes our love: Isn’t strong enough to caged them in
I remembered opening my journal and jot down notes on events,
That led up to the day of his leaving: I began to sort out my
  my plus and minuses like a grocery list on a low budget:
my thought turned to the innocence young lady sleeping in the other room

The way in which we met, a love that was pure, a love that was consent
and everything was about to be change that morning
I remembered sounds of the boots, I remembered the melt down
I remember the song, I remember the lyrics
These boots were made for walking.
One of these days those boots going to walk all over you.

It felt like if the devil boots were walking away from us
Down the street, away from my home ,
boots that had walked all over me for five years.

It was finally coming to an end:
The boots walked toward the elevator door
For the last time, the last slam, the last tear drop
and the last grip of the devil touch.

The heart can get really cold if all you’ve known in winter :Quote

Forgotten ***

I felt caged in by lust and desire
Suddenly, this famous quote came to mind

In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves, and then, in that very moment when I love them.... I destroy them.” ― Orson Scott Card,

I am tired of being nice; I want to be honest,
I want to say to him, you ******* simpleton,
It wasn’t about the ***; it wasn’t about the love,
If she doesn’t want him after all those years,
Why does he think I would want him now?
he can’t even love himself, long enough
Without, thinking about what is driving him insane
She wins again,
She destroys the man within

Feeling extremely unloved and worthless
A teenager's life can be difficult, and clueless
Young and restless,
Tall, slender and harebrained
We struggled with untimely feelings
Our heart becomes our mind. And
our mind become weak by older men flattering words

It has been over thirty odd years, and yesterday
for the first time  I saw an image of the thief
I felt betrayed and disgusted by the looks of Mr. Thievery

My non forgiving heart kept saying forgive the old weasel
My evil twin whispered: spat on the memories of the womanizers
He died with the memories.  But not the lasting,
loving dreams of feeling and emotions

The earthly, scent of the marijuana breathes
Still lingered in my brain: Was I insane?
Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and rough hands
Against my delicate smooth skin.  I spat on that
Our ****** relationship seem more like a crime to remember
Than any I have ever been in: I too spat on that
The years seems so long:

His ****** expression synchronizes with his life
Time clicked away last Thursday for Allie Moore.
R.I.P: brethren!

He did not know what it meant to love or feel love: Quote Michael

The mastered mind of the satanic deception
Satan greatest commodity for most human weaknesses.
*** sells! it destroy it distributes ,
a high volume of deception and wickedness
Where the gateway of strength emerges freely
as the soul of men unfold tremendously.

Literally and figuratively correct,
its label sensuality and prngr*phy
of the billion dollars *** industries:
A non-replaceable piece of the humans dignity
this humiliation of the world cast a gloom:
God never intended for it to be this way:

lust is selfish, an emotional force for some to endure:
Meaningful *** is a better option
if we can find it here on earth

From the invasion of the animal kingdom
to the big screen of Hollywood,
***, lies, and video tapes sells , it promotes:
Take back our strength of the self,
from the craves of the satanic passion and desires
It would one day end forever,
what have we contribute to this world?

Lust is selfish, an emotional force
Love is a better option!
when you look for the answer
the answer is yours
and yours alone!

Memo, memos on the wall: I remember them all
That led up to this day of diversification
My way of life is about to be changed:
What about us, and how about them

What about homeland security?
  Are we safe from hate?
it's happening all over again: strange judgement call.

It’s cloudy and dreary Wednesday morning: a city mourns
Or is it torn?

It seems like the country refuses, to pay the piper once again
So, his magical flute would lead the children down a path of darkness,
Our hearts are in despair, how we can leave our worries aside:
Rats, they had fought the dogs, and yes they have known to **** the cats

A lesson to be learned from an old believable nursery rhyme
Who hired the Pied piper, must pay paid the man on time.
In country in which we live is more divided than ever.
You’ve made your bed, now lie in it. America

Naughty Nice

*Her skin glows like the Grapes,
My yearning heart rises to your piano voice
and leaps like a dog at the whisper of your name,
Annie, my naughty Nice.

The evening ascends in on a great sparrow wing.
I am calmed by her tight fitted Blue Jeans
that  image I will carry into the twilight of the Rommel beams,
which hold next to my legs.

I am filled with hope that I may dry her tears of fear
As my arms falls from her blouse,
it reminds me of our secret house.

In the hushed, I listen for the last chain of the spring.
My heated face leaps to her summer dress.
I wait in the crystal moonlight in our secret place,
so that we may jump as one, face to face,
in search of the glorious yellow and spiritual glass of love

We might have made love
In the bed of roses: A bed of fragrant flowers 
As we consummate the joy of true love: at age sixty

where the pursuit of pleasure: is a taboo subject
where the Bailey Irish Cream warms our soft lips:

We might have reversed the aging process, because
our bodies become fascinating and seductive: coherent kingdom

We might have rattled the monkey cage: like epic lovers growing old
With one thing on our minds: we follow our hearts

I opened the back door toward the two o’clock sun
The day was winding down; the trees were blowing in the wind:
Long row of school buses: waiting for dismissal

I wish that he was here with me: Each and every day
Hangouts video chat is good and it’s bad: why must I rate them call?
Sometimes, I just don’t get this build in operator at all

I can feel your presence; I could sense your pain
A mile across the ocean: until we link up again

What do we have beside the modern gadgets: lots of emptiness?
Within our heart we search for the right song:  a soothing melody
of love and relaxation. Inner peace we gladly seek
Happiness will follow: before I cry myself to sleep

These same brown eyes will smile again in the morning
Just for you to see, just like all my thoughts
Some, naughty and some nice

I am so filled with happiness: I am so enticed by lust
I shall slowly close my Samsung I pad: and think of
Love in paradise of summer 2016,

When everything is said and done
you logged on and went straight to my page of
poems the one, you thought was grammatically incorrect
verses of encouragement, verses of noticeable texts


I am a poetess: I am the daughter of a man who
chopped down mahogany trees just to earn a living
  to feed his big family: a mighty man was he
he was a person not to be reckoned with:
A wired pressure cooker: a ***** with a switch

I tell my story in form of words
I will compose them quite clearly, just follow the lines
Because, the tongue is more to be feared than my words
I am afraid of the ocean, it doesn’t speak my language
  It’s has a long history of chemical: Sea salt

Who’s to blame not the ocean, only me?
I go to visit it; it never comes to visit me:
So when everything is said and done,
Who logged on and came to visit who?

You only watch the news to find out
Where the con artist stands,
He opens his mouth and nonsense comes out
This is going to be my last poem,
this is going to be my last rant before casting my vote
and where this poem goes,
Probably, no other man has gone before,
Deep into the hearts of the American people

A politician needs the ability to foretell,
what is going to happen tomorrow,
next week, next month, and next year.
And to have the ability afterwards to explain why it didn’t happen
- Winston Churchill

With these two candidates all I am hearing leading up to the election
Is about missing e-mails conspiracy
Aggravated indecent assault,
Lawsuits and the fondling of other women’s *****

I can see Russia from my house, said Sarah Palin some time ago
I can foresee the paint peeling off the white house wall, in solidarity..
And where the grass is not greener on the other side
Is where the American would feel the full weight of democracy
in the  America political games,

I can see immigrant migrating and some departing daily
I can see Delta, JetBlue and other airlines keep making money
Last but not least do bear in mind…that

There are two things that are important in politics. The first is money, and I can’t remember the second
- Mark Hanna

My friend cannot forgave his wife
for not caring about him anymore
The idea of not having his shirts iron crispy
or having those long walk in the park together just to keep up appearances on Sabbath
Knowingly, it’s all about keeping it holy

when I left the Island, he thought about me
he locked away the love he had for me in a shoe box
and kept it hidden deep in his hiding place

Apparently, he guard it like an old elegant wine
Although, I thought of him throughout the years
I never wanted him to remove the love he had for me from
its hiding place:  I held on to that one portrait,
he held dearly to his heart

Images of the fountain scene:
I with my blue jean,
He with his John Travolta pants
Little did we really know?
Love never conquer all

We shares old photo from the shoes boxes on Sunday
He mumbles words like;
she had love dressing up
She had fairly long black hair,
our only son, she poison his mind
“I had loved that boy;
I saw the bones in his face cringed
Before, he told me that he wanted to make a bonfire
with those memories.
That when I stopped him in his tracks
Was it her ***** or her fat rear-end bewitched you my friend.

I love a woman,
who's not afraid to speak her mind
who ain't afraid of the up-shots
In 1960 women burnt their bras
protesting and debated for equal rights

I have no time for women with weak links
they could loosen the chain
before they could really think
If you choose to be strong
stay strong, be confident:
Do not let your fears choose your destiny
Never let anyone senses your fear
or even drove you to the verge of tears..

I have no tolerance for a strange brew
idealism and self-interest
it defies me, and somehow
it make me uncivil,
but I am a woman of dignity
However, if you want to rolled with me
You have to be strong,
no wee, wee ,wee little crotch -less *****
Heartless.. for heaven sake I am not
I am just a ******* notch from the block

When I was about five years old
I uses to think of the village elders as being cool ,calm and collective
They always seem to have plenty of money in their pockets,
Flamboyant trends for every occasion,

It was a pleasure to watch them tossed back bottles of beers along with the small glasses of ***,
however, with each sip came the unruly laughs,
the big arguments, and then came the fists fight,
that prolong into the wee hours of the night

What does a young five year old child like I really knew
Behind those laughters and celebrations were hidden secrets:
of abuse, depression and the Government arbitrary despotism
The older folks would often say to us younger ones

“Children this is grown folks business”
Stop being so blasted inquisitive”

When I became a teenager
I saw all that coolness, calmness and collectiveness
Became a huge bargain, burden and stressfulness

Suddenly, for me the men and women at the *** Shop
and the Barber shop were gossiping about Politics, war
famine, women, *** and babies’ Mama Drama

Today, I can look back and laugh at all those stories that I overheard
However, the Chinese brush delay,
now that is still  a puzzle

The weirdest sound came from my own voice
I telling him that I was afraid of the water, his teasing voice
Made the sound of the waves rush to shore

And there I was terrify, with the fear of drowning
While trying to be the brave female goddess  
My long wet hair looks flawless at the moment in time
And there we were enjoying the four level of happiness on that day.
  That was the day when we forget about the worldly things that enslaves us with guilt:

Him and me we made a breakthrough, his genuine smile
and I with my nervous laugh
Our persona shine brighter than any lost diamond in the white sand

we were upbeat, like any other loving couple on the island
as the relaxing sound of the waves electrify us into peaceful pebbles

We made love with our eyes; we tally up the score with our hearts
We officially went from being friends to lovers.

Long before I ever met you,
I saw you in my dreams
You were faceless,
Without a name
I felt that burning flame of love

Life has a way of putting the puzzles of one's life together
Unlike a floating feather
We landed on soft white smoke clouds

I manifest my DREAM while sorting my fears
The fear of love is more to be dread than love itself
You were faceless without a name
I saw the burning flames of love within your eyes
You saw a vision of uncertainty within mines

Along with our wildest fantasy
My premonitions was I being lonely

Many angels appears as false prophets
As they fall on they face before the throne.
I rather be alone,

So forgive my angry tone
Your faceless tears, that reaches out to my heart
You’re flapping wings, my many scars, my downfall
Forgive me, forgive my angry tone

Your kind of loving, your kind of feelings
Your way of living, your way of thinking
Your thoughts are everywhere,
Your mind wanderers, your eyes lie

You held on to my every word
hundreds of words we uses daily
Without the physical action,
you say you love me
That doesn’t mean you love me
Because, you think it weaken me

We both use it, we both **** it
Your kind of loving, your kind of feelings
Your way of living, my way of thinking
Is what we reap is what we sow,

You **** your words, I bargain with myself
my words are counterproductive :

My kind of night, my kind of day
Productive, inquisitive and worthy
Your kind of night, unfilled and frustrated

Deep down you love her, she hates the aging you
somehow you still manage to love her
with all her imperfections,

you woke up at dawn, and make her oatmeal
and you serve her  breakfast in bed with a dying rose
How idiotic, how clever, how fatuous



*A good marriage is something you have to work at. It doesn’t drop from heaven

Somewhere, there is a poem in our heads
About, Love, life, politics, natural disasters,
Religion and conflicts controversial issues

Suddenly, here come the uprising wars in politics
Isis and The Donald Trumps of the world crusaders

Here, we are as citizens, once again, starting to feel down,
Trying to find beauty in life, throughout the fixation,
A balance of who’s right and who's wrong,
These Obsessions with tic, TAC, toe politicians.
Somewhere, there is poem, a poem in waiting,
waiting, waiting, waiting, and waiting,

  Too many words, not enough ink for printing,
not enough folks who cares about such matters.

  The up and down to natural disaster due to the
the tricks of trade in the political world of politics
the missing e-mail, the hidden birth certificates
the beauty Queen who gain weight,
what about the real issues, what about economy
War and famine, child molestation, bigotry and fakery..

Suddenly, here come the uprising wars in politics
Isis and The Donald Trumps of the world crusaders
Here we are as citizens, once again, starting to feel down.

Earth to earth, Oh ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
How strange, how familiar, human connection is untrusted
when we awake, each passing day, knowingly that by sunset
Those words would be read out loud
Over an innocent, black brother’s grave site tonight
Too many tears, too many mishaps
who scattered those bullet caps,

Too, many innocent lives have been taken
By the hand of the nervous police,
Even The birds keep gliding in the air shows solidarity
In respect of the dead:
Some human wish they were like them they said.
A charge is one thing. A conviction is another
Black lives does matter.
Who pulled the trigger, which got the last laugh?
The innocent or the victims

More weeks of demonstration,
the fight for the white house continues with words not arms
Blood in the Inner City Streets, subways
and shopping malls, bias and frustration, sound the alarms

Who pulled the trigger, which got the last laugh?
The guns, or the victims,

My poetics tone this morning.
voice your opinion

She had just finish smoking the ****,
Then she decided to write a poem about smoking the joint
Or was it before she wrote the poem, or after she smoke the ****
Was the poem triggered by the ****, or did the **** triggered a write?
Does it matter now, after she rolled the **** into written words and smoke her ideas.
  

Al Cash once wrote that
*My soul absorbs you, my mind inhales your essence, and you confirm my life.” *
She usually took an aspirin after a terrible headache
But thinking out loud now she should have taken the aspirin before the headache
Or before she smoke the ****, that lead to the write
That eventually brought about the poem, which causes a migraine
Now her body reacts to the Drunken Sailor Syndrome
So once again never swallow a spider to **** a fly: just purge.

Never write a poem while smoking the ****,
Poetry is life natural high, an untimely wave that never
Cease to amaze us.

I had to let go the sweetest love, and let it rotates again
Because the journey to love is a journey to one’s self,
Your highest, most sacred and loving self(quote)

While my broad rim hat were shielding the sun from my face
Who was shielding the hearts of sin?
Your smile, my laughter, your presence and your calm demeanor
Somehow the calmness worries me,

But, I must do bear in mind that some roses bloom independently
and some struggles through the concrete to survive
this morning I am struggling with the thoughts of emptying my suitcase
Too many memories, too many smiles and most of them
Came from, you, I never wanted my vacation to end
But once again the journey to love is a journey to one’s self

Where do we stand, after the darkest hour’s commute
and the fall season arrives in my part of the world
without warning?

The black birds will stop singing by midsummer,
and our love will fade from view, low blow , low blow
to our  lonely hearts,
I am not too big to sit here and cry....
another step back  from happiness once more.

Last night

Last night wasn’t like any other night
I was like a tower of strength
I took hold of the rein and
mastered a very difficult task

I sigh as I watch you snore
I took a sip of red wine
felt very satisfy,
While, the lion slept
the pleasure was all mine

Humid August Morning

Packed in my mind lies, all betrayals of my past
It shows on my face like a ****** mask
Over the passing years nothing seems to change
Not even my wore out tattoos nicknames,
I seek answer; I search for peace,
  I am caged, I am seized
 With my innermost thoughts and convictions

What’s my purpose, which one of my petals is going to fall now?
Who’ going to step in and staged an intervention?
I am caged, I am seized, I am so loving ******.
Surrounded by happiness, laughter and some forgiveness
Once again, here I am taking another summer test.

  Open bars, aged faces, cold frosty Banks beers
An islander tradition nothing changes,
not even my tattoo nicknames, Bajan Yankee
Caribbean Queen and Meany heartbreaker,

However, when the laughter fades,
and the music stop in the most romantic setting
A black heart, a broken soul, makes old memories resurfaces;
I see so much, I heard so much and
I overthink so much about worldly things

How can I not go back to the land of the flying fish?
Or where the Bank beers are four for ten
Or where the rooster wakes us up at the crack of dawn,
where humble people just smiling
and saying hello makes a different.

The annoying mosquito buzzes under the protected nets
Till I reach for a can of repellant with anger and yelled who’s next!

I‘ve heard the annoying barks of the neighbor dogs
The unsettling morning news, but nothing as soothing
As watching a black bird singing in the apple trees.
Speaking to the heart of the humans souls:
Once again I am an Island Girl

*See how the nature trees, flowers, grass grow in silence
See the stars, the moon and the sun; we need to be able to touch souls

Confusion
Oh, for the love of the younger me
Torn between feelings for my teenager lovers
Protecting my heart from the lying *******
I ran from their clutches and I spread my wings

Somehow, one of them gets to follow me
On the devil playground call modern directory
Gazing into my life day after, day after day
making it seem like getting older make us restless and hopeless. .

Oh, for the love of the younger me
Torn between my feelings for my teenager lovers
Still running and protecting my heart from their lies
Those lying ******* from my youth

Meow power does exist.

Love is a mysterious thing poker face
Even though we tend to think of soul mates as a symbiotic union,
We have to be open-minded to all venues
As we all can recalled from failed romance,
that it was always the mindset
that trigger some strong emotion into the explosion
that separate the thing called love.

It’s have been more than thirty odd years since
He walked away and left me with deep tattoo tears,
Those tears never fades, but the pain remain the same
Love shouldn’t be a pawn in anyone’s game

Like a needle under my thin layer of skin,
I can see it crawling; it can see it poking,
teasing that draw me closer, and the teasing
that pushed me further away with the wind

Would I ever learn?  Would I ever stop looking for love?
When would my heart say to me, enough is enough?
Stop falling for their lies, get angry and take off something
Or violently break something into pieces, like a thief in the night

  Stop badgering my mind, stop targeting my heart
Because love doesn’t live here anymore… stop!!!!

Self-respect, self-endurance and self-confidence
Now it is my turn to walk away undefeated..


*Feed me the truth not your lies
don't tell me it's chocolate cookies
when it's almond cookies..
don't tell me it's over,
when it now in full bloom
don't tell me you love me
knowing that you belongs to another

words can be so simple just
feed me the truth not your lies.

The Candidates:
If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves

What have they said to us
That we haven’t already heard before
Can they bring America Back?
From the brink of disasters’

It’s best they stop trying so hard
To make see Russia from their house
The majority of American only sees colors

Green eggs and ham, green lawns, green acres,
Green, green, green, and more greener the dollars

Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness.
And they live by what they hear.
Such people become crazy... or they become legend. Jim Harrison

As for me I usually clear my throat, and swallow deep,
While I listen to their speech rehearsal:

A little nod to Carl Sandburg

Blast through oh moon of summer!

Double Dutch with the cow who jump over you
The Dish Network Lies About Having 200 HD Channels
while driving us crazy with their summer repeats

However, shine bright on the young ones who hopscotch
Their way on the city pavement way passed they curfew:
While the old folks listen to their foul language and laughter from their bedroom windows

Shine bright on the young lovers walking hand in hand on the sandy beaches
Shine bright on the missing piece of jewelry they drop in the wet sand.
But allowed them to find it before their honey moon is over
It’s was wedding gift from the groom.

Shine on old tired moon of summer,
The elders was in bed before the sun went down,
The ****** slowly patrol the boardwalk with ice-cream in their hand
Waiting to be picked up like on garbage day

Shine on us old tired moon of summer tonight
The free outdoor concerts could bring together the weirdest crowd:
Shine on old tired moon of summer,
Prove us wrong; prove us right, because you still have that magical touch
Your love always shines through for lovers like me….

After every storm the sun will smile; for every problem there is a solution, and the soul's indefeasible duty is to be of good cheer.
— William R. Alger

Come warm your hands around me tonight
Let go of the cold restraint that dangle your heart
I have dreamt of this day,
I have long for this hour
Come warm yours hands,
Rebuild your smile, and rebuild the trust

Stand upright at the council meeting my Zula warrior, my king
Unleash the passion within, stop struggling with your feelings
instead, come and fumble with these long, longs chocolate strings

Come warm your hands on my body
And forget the flittering open fire of hatred within her eyes,
It's cold night on the tropical island,
however, it's lavender essential oil on my linens
there's chocolate ******* to be thread.
tasty pasties and edible ******,
it’s warm in my chambers,
its love in my heart,
there is action,
there is passion,
come take a deep look into my eyes
before you address the unsettling crowd
Your Queen would always be by your side.

Stand upright at the council meeting my Zulu warrior, my king
you were meant to rule .................

I suppose the iodine in the fish I
Just had for dinner was working fast on my brain
I kept thinking out loud:
They don’t truly believe that if they build a snow man
In the middle of July:  and expect its foundation is going to hold

  Do they strongly believe
That law enforcement is ever going to change
Because of a sign that read “Black life matters”
What matter most is to save ourselves?
From unnecessary target practice
Last but not lest: Next to fire, straw isn't good. (Don't tempt the devil.)

The same ones who's afraid of
Of the black man is also afraid of poetry
And why are they afraid of poetry?

One might say because of the sound.
They are afraid of the black race,
Who God has blessed let no man curse
One might wonder why: Oh my God, Why?
I definitely think it because of the sounds.
The whispering sound of the wind,
the sound of tortures soul being dragged off into the night
chain, being dragged, video cameras flashing and recording ,

The unsettled soul of their ancestors wicked deals haunts them daily.
The loud bewitching sound of the African drums that echo in their mind,
The tainted blood of the guilty flows in their veins,

However, when would it stop?
When would their accepted that
Guilt, shame and embarrassment are universal emotions
that are among the most painful of human experiences one could ever endure

That guilt travel thought-out history, the black race will rise again
Another man down!
Another input for the history books.
Another march on Washington DC
Certain sounds scares us............

I am not ready  to face this man
Who broke my heart into squares?
I am not ready as yet to look him full in his lying eyes
And asked him why did he made my eyes overflow
I am not ready to asked him if he remembers
  the birth of our child, the signal from the moon,
the last Friday night of fish and chips,
I Wailing and speaking in tongues,
being strip down to my waist
I was encourage by him to be strong
But instead I held on to his left hand for strength and support..

That trauma was only for a very short period,
My broken hearts will never heal,
My soul long for answers,
However, to reshape my heart again take courage, but to

* Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting…*

Just before he said “How are you Are you okay?
To slam the door in the viper face once again is a step to healing.

To be teased, to be pleasing, to be smiling, or yet to cry
To take notice, after an ecstasy of rage
It understands you, it understands me: Our hearts
Breakfast for two in the ****

Muscles tighten without the pain,
hearing the wishes of our inner self
Pitter, patter on the window pane
to be teased, to be pleasing, to be smiling, or yet to cry
fulfillment, enjoyment, pleasurable moments
Breakfast for two in the ****,
What I wouldn’t give for such a dream