Something will always remain the same
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Santa Claus with his red and white suit
Johnny Walker for the man who deserves
More than a gift: He is a winner by far
Another Christmas with re-runs of Home Alone (part one)

Episodes we dare not to miss that... include Indiana Jones the last crusade
Even as the Characters is all grown up and move on to different things
The poor chaps gain more shame than fame as the world watches in disbelief:

Something will always remain the same:  In and out of someone life
However, without that awkward moment when Santa Claus got stuck in the chimney last night.

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 treacherous heart set its mark

My beautiful lips you long to kiss
became the daffodils in springtime
As it slowly, unfolded by the sound of his Tenor voice.
I remember him, but I never remember his ****** touch

All poets are not romantic, but our poems can
creates a romantic setting, allowing us to see and feel
the words in each line.

A famous writer once wrote.
Have a heart that never hardens,
and a temper that never tires,
and a touch that never hurts.”—Charles Dickens

The mind, body and soul havoc the hearts
into believing that our love is worth fighting for
my caramel exposed **** reveal my darkest secret
my ****** quest was answered.

"while nibbling my ear he whisper my name
the sound of his voice, command my heart to accept love
or was it was the feedback from those dilated eyes?

the thoughts of his hand caressing my inner thigh
his hot balsam breath, working the curve of my neck
breathing life into the foreplay: my imagination of his
tranquilizing earthy cologne made me sigh with relief;
that set me drunk with desire, with the deep power of joy

We cannot quench the thirst without our vision, our heart, our life,
Or our passion, restoring our relationship wouldn’t be answered

Louder than a **** in a silent room
louder than an thunder roll
louder than a deaf mute
or a woman during labor
louder than cows on the pasture
or a wailing of a baby's cry
louder than a siren on a police cruiser
Louder than a fireman truck racing to a fire
louder than a carpenter who accidental nail his finger to the floor
louder than a chairman at a board meeting
as he try to get the crowd to come to order
louder than an angry mob in Washington after the Federal building shut down
louder than a preacher without the microphone
louder than I on grandparent's day
that's how loud the bigots barks

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 *****

Love yourself—accept yourself—forgive yourself—and be good to yourself, because without you the rest of us are without a source of many wonderful things.” ~Leo F. Buscaglia

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

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

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

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

In a world of filled of hate
Love is not the enough
We need a clean slate

We have given up on believing
The superior, then there is the inferior
The rich and then there is the poor
The celebrities and there is the followers
Then comes action, follow by reactions:
Politics and politicians:
Beam us up Scotty:  beam then down Lucifer

I read this morning that Kanye W
Is thanking the lord for his S68 million refund
Here I am thanking the lord this morning
Not to be gun down, by the drifters
Or to be sidetrack by co-workers,
Only if peace would come sooner,
And haters would vanish…..
Like the children of Hamlet town

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..

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.

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..

Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.  **
— Lao Tzu

To take back our love is a hard thing to do
Once you let your guard down,
Your future becomes totally uprooted and confused
You see old lover’s faces amongst the crowd,
Taunting us, like thugs

Why do people think that a dark cloud is unattractive?
It’s just as cool as any rainbow sparkles,
and as trendy as any black cocktail dresses

Being in love works well for some,
  It’s chore for others, not a lustful passion.

Let our dark clouds soars with the eagle, but allow
  the poet to write,  let him express his thoughts
Never allow it to vanish into the dark tunnel
Let him grieve, let him write, let him move forward.

The dead embrace the dirt
They will never sprung like
April tulips, on a frigid day,
Or survive as long as Hyperion roots

(The beginning of love is horror
of happiness (quote: Robert Bly)

So, let my poetry filled you up: with the knowing
(The dead are for morticians & butchers
to touch. Only a gloved hand)
before the dust….and ashes

Be more afraid of the living,
with their cold and warm hands
and deceitful minds above all things
they  spit and vinegar tongues

The living embraces the struggle of staying alive
Due to the many heartache and sorrows
~~~
(When those we love betray our trust,
We find the depth of human pain;
Oh, let me rise above these hurts
Until the sun shines, once again!
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, "My Prayer" (1940s)
*
So , let my poetry filled you up with knowledge of knowing
The dead cannot harm you any more,
Way down upon the earth floor,

Let the tulips once again bloom
However, let the earth worm do the rest.
Under the tallest tree in the world: coast redwood
Hyperion:

These days I am loving TikTok more
Then writing my poems, ouch!
My body is not like meat,
Ready to be eaten, without the fear
Of contamination, harsh words indeed
My body my temple, my Floribbean honeydew
But tonight, my room seems crowded
The side chicks, the **'s and there you are.....
John crow I should indeed say:
My poems are messages from me to myself,
I am calmer tonight more than any ocean
The Pacific Ocean have nothing on me,
Even though it’s the most dangerous than any other ocean:
Writing about one's pain can bring out the best in my work
Pain forces you to go on a journey of self-discovery (quote)
I forget my true self when I am in love: whom am I really?
I am a ***** with a switch,
A past that was never attractive, only my illusions.
I thought that you were my king of my castle
Tomorrow I shall be sober, from the wine
I didn’t drink, then I will make some adult decision.

When I stepped off any JetBlue flights

I always look forward in passing through customs

like a relief of fresh air, as I broad a taxi

and homeward to the hills,

Now it's like humiliations taking over one's pride:



#Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. #



The smell of the countryside fresh air,  

The picturesque that blanket the countryside, (pleasing)

The welcoming of the breaded goats bleeping (Pleasing)

moves the little girl inside of this old gal.



These days it’s which hotel should I booked for my days stayed

in Quarantine, or which government facility will I be sent off too

Between a rock and a hard place,



I can’t stress hard enough about those Chinese.

Which make our Lebanese bombers looks like saints?

My fainted heart can’t stand this new normal:



The bleach rocks on the sands awaits my arrivals,

And I for one can’t wait to see this corvid19 as a historical memory

Too much emotional, overload for most of us.(including me) however,

being too hasty can also be deadly, or one would say  

Don't be hasty to hug! That was never a problem for me

I never hug, anyone...

Keep your distance, I keep mines too

Poetry is also a distance,  that why I love to compose..



Long enough have I dreamed of happiness,

Now I waited for news to strived for happiness once again

To dance from dusk to dawn, at Q in the community  

To walked freely on the sandy shore,

Without restriction, of a mask bandit,



I am not a swimmer, but to feel the salted water on my ashy feet,

The midst of sea upon my breast, and my cheap weaved curled into locks

That when I know, I am home again, upon that hill (Prout hill)

Where the neighbors' gossips, and tambourine echoes in the village church

On Sundays.

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




.

Every poet has a beginning
Every river begins somewhere,

Like every story, or poem,

I ever wrote, behind the door of fearfulness

I had to let go the uneasiness of entrapment that

******* my wellbeing.

The world is so crazy right now,

Even with all what mother nature dash out

As humans' beings we, still hang on strong,  

Every poet or poetess has a beginning

Every river begins somewhere,

“ I just love when she belts out

“You know my Name!

That songstress can sing,

She was one of the poets whom  

Was able to get from behind the door of darkness

And sang her heart out to the world.

She has a relationship with her music

I have a feud with my poems,

I see the world in a different light every day

*“I know people can be judgmental and difficult. But if you shut yourself away from the world, you'll never see how beautiful it really is.”
― Imania Margrie, The Pacemaker *

Take some time away from your job

And stay behind close door

Do you notice how you feel?

Away from that environment  

For me its peace, the freedom

And control of oneself

Every poet has a beginning

Every river begins somewhere,

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

When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you all

Come in closer, closer, I remember walking down 54 street on a cold December in Manhattan

I had just finish with a job interview

a little frustrated but nevertheless

I have given praises to the almighty for allowing me to see another day

Never mind I was jobless, after two years of sending out my resume and making

Numerous phone calls to business throughout the city.



It was a cold day in December, I hit the pavement and was looking and praying to find myself a job  

As I was walking down the busy street, I saw a queue from here to Halifax

So, I decided to join the line,  

not even knowing what it was all about (nosey me as usual)  

I never even asked any of the people on the line, what was going on



So, this white lady with a clipboard in her hands, came out of the building and was escorting A few people at a time, to come in.

I stood trying to be looking smart as I am, and waited

When it became my turn, this lady looks at me from head to toe

And said to followed her, I did as I was told

She led us into the room, and started to hand out a test sheet:

She said we half only twenty minutes to complete it

I stare at my test sheet he had like 40 questions,

And some math, and vocabulary sentences to complete

I finish the test in less than 20 minutes,

Wondering what is next to come with the lady

I got up she stare me down once again,

Took the test sheet and asked me to wait in this waiting room:

Once again, I did as I was told.



After another 20 minutes she came and got me,

He exacts words.

“We are looking for people to work in Macy department stores,  

Throughout the city in all departments store

what hours can you work miss lander?

I sigh for a moment and say, the morning shifts

She said I ace the test; she took ANOTHER look at me again:

And spoke. You will BE BETTER OFF in the shoe department

Not the clothing, not the beauty counter, but the shoe department

I put my fake smile ON and thank her so much,



How dear she, after praising me on my test results

Because my *** was black,  

she wants to put me in the shoe department:

I filled out the necessary paperwork for pay roll

And I shook my head in miss believe,

I came home, and I tossed the paper in the garbage

And never took the job.

My beauty is meant to be seen,

To love beauty is to see light

I might not have been beautiful to her, but

Beauty is happiness,  

Racism is really a curse,

The advantages and the disadvantages of trying to keep a person down

They just can’t see beyond the color of our skin.



Rather than just saying we’d like to live in a more fair and equal society, we need to do our part to achieve it. (Quote)

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

Mr. hourglass
Why didn’t you stand by me?
I realize now that I was hardly alone in my naivety
during my youthful days

I remember
my curvy shape
my long slender legs,
The stride of my step as I sway along
the sandy beach of clover bay

I felt
the misty spray bounce off the sea and bathe me
within in that frame of time
my mind was free
from all negativity

  I reflect back on the years of my youth
I am so smitten by the truth
Oh! How I long for those wonder years
Without the regrets, the tears
I dread all futuristic journeys
That led me so far away from you.
Mirror of my past
this girl before you
Have lost her way

For love

You forget your true identity,
you walked around half daze
video chatting for hours on  IMO
Without the awareness of monthly data usages

You filled up your lungs up with air
a constant feuded, about the profoundly tender
Letting, go of the cheese for the shadows
While, losing yourself in a foggy dream

I am holding on tight to my Linguistic style
and not for, that kind of love

I am like the best opening lines in my poems
Waiting to be read, by others and not for love

69
ways to please your lover
He takes the nine,
and you take the six positons
Checkmating! or checkmate

Come, let us plant the seed of love,

let's create what some scientist said that was impossible

Let our love show in a magnificent way

Let it be healthy, wealthy and wise in coming years

It would be tears, it would be joy,

He would be our love joy and our sweet boy:

There is madness, there is happiness,

However, as we all know, happiness is found in the

Madness of one's life.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”


― Friedrich Nietzsche



Enter me with the warmth of your love,

Deposit the gift of life, as you seed flow and reach the tubes,

One smart egg will bond to become our next generation



Why would we do this, why?

Love like this is rare,

Come, let us plant the seed of your love  

And we shall see our blessing of tomorrow.

Are you ready for fatherhood,  

Are you ready for the responsibility

Are you ready to believe that one plus one  

Equal three, are you ready kuku?

So, let's plant the seed of love.

We plant this seed, on the bed of  

Residency the Blessing, on the coolest night

In Accura, near the Gulf of Guinea,

A sign of life, a sign of hope,

You should plant this seed,

It could be a future doctor

who would  cure, senseless disease

A politician who can change numerous things

As he travels the world for free,

And speak up about the country economy  

Or become the better poet, than his mother

Could ever be, Lord blessed thee!

One day his grandchildren will ask

Who was my grandparents, thank God

For them, that hour, when they planted the seeds.

I will always have the fear of love
.
A fear of relationships and love tends to be deep-rooted,
and be connected to a fear that love hurts (quotes)
The heartbreak, the intimacy of knowing, that they were there
And now they are in the arms of another,
Doing the things that they had promise to us
Like loving us to death, while opening mortal wound:
Death ends a life, not a relationship>” Mitch Albom
What is lovely never dies, but passes into another loveliness
I hate my x, but not his offspring,
I love coke- cola but not the caffeine
I love ***, but not the togetherness:
I will always have the fear of love,
But I will always remember that one kiss,
The last goodbye, but his first hello
That look in his eyes, the day I saw him cry
I won’t apologize for guarding my heart
My expectations, of him shatters us
(My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him. Luke 3:15)
I shall not be afraid to walk the street alone
Without his hands in mine, or his comforting words
At the stop light, “please wait before we cross”
But I still have the fear of love for the mortal man
He oppresses, dehydrates and ever suffocates us (quotes)
However, God’s love never fails us:
I shall always distance myself from love
Even many might say that love is life,
And life is worth living without that kind of love.
I shall never tremble again, nor grip my heart
Because love had disappointed me
My love for them is real, they love for me is about the money,
,

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……..

Life is like a camera, so,  

We must capture each moment

Like a pro, with the important

Of being sweet and innocents as  

We held them closer to our hearts,

the eyes of her grandmothers

The fingers of her father,

Said its all, a princess of both worlds

Our number one girl, Nyla

And old saying, if we raise our children right

And without spoil them,  

We will not have to end up raising our grandbabies,



Her mother smiles when her baby smiles

A grandmother laughs out loud  

When her grandbaby gurgle at her

As she coo and make eyes contact,



We just have to listen to find real poetry,

As we make any day with Nila our favorite day,

Pink looks well on her, as we capture,

The beauty of an adventure future Queen,

I saw adventure,

I saw the colors of the rainbow,  

I saw Ilene smiling in heaven,

I saw prophet, prophesying,  

I saw two families coming together from different world,

The cool color of pink symbolizes the joy of happiness

As I listen to the sound of real poetry

My cousin, our sweet pea, my cotton candy,  

Our baby Nila..

,

Getting tired or out of breath while making love
But I never get out of breath while
Composing a free verse or
writing poetry in the form of a Villanelle styles
*** is like running a marathon:
So upgrade your *** game

Mother's Prayer" by Mary A. Loberg.

A Mother's Prayer
Help me dear Lord, as a mother, I pray
And bless these hands folded in prayer today;
May they be ever strong as they guide, as they teach,
Beings never too far for a child to reach.
May they never, with selfishness, try to dissuade,
Nor too quickly punish, nor too slowly aid.
May they point out the pleasures in laughter and song,
And may they show, wisely, the right from the wrong,
So that one day I'll know that I've helped all I can
To make her a woman, to make him a man.

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.

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

Oh Jesus can you hear me now?
It have been so long since my last confession,
I am drowning in guilt, but fighting to
keep my head above the water

I can’t let them see me cry
Unless you have bad times, you can't appreciate the good times
One potato, two potatoes three potatoes four,
Give me the strength to walk out that door
The look in my eyes: this hate in my heart

All the things that drive me insane are the poetic words that kept me going
Turn my eyes away from worthless things; preserve my life according to your word.
Oh Jesus let not my heart be troubled

I never look at a blank page for too long,

Same goes for facing a blank wall,

it seems to be always missing something.

A photo, a picture, and most of all memories.



When I was a child the same goes with my readers

without those colorful photos, I wasn't

contented with reading the book.

I must have read The House that was up sided down"

More than a dozen times, love how the illustrators  

Mind-expanding illustrations, vocabulary or concepts

had capture my growing mind at a early age.

Today my mind, doesn’t go for the illustrations,

But it can capture poetic details about life,  

And the subject matters: as they come to surface,


When it comes at me in the mirror,

It's not me staring back, but a poet,

A modern free verse kind of poet,

Or would we say a Amazon online shopper,

Instead of a walk-in stores browser

Who see from the rearview of her eyeglasses,


The brothers, I have known them that for the past

Twenty-three years, not on a personal level,

But by observing those two as individual characters,



One was a war vet, the other a computer tech,

One with some post-traumatic stress disorder,  

The other like no other, had a Smoking Marijuana Fixation:

Most likely contribute to his cancer, which lead up to his death,



The other brother, is still here with us,

Hanging around in the lobby, making weird sound

And ****** expression, of a deranging war vet,

We must never assume, who is healthier and who is not.

Because death is a divider, a time stopper,

And unapologetic, defiant Donald Trump of times


At times, I also can be unapologetic

I owes you nothing, I owes you nothing,

I see nothing, I hear nothing, and I am the free verse

Of my daily writing, without rules,  without your approval,

or even riding my bike without a helmet.

Or walking the street of Brooklyn without protection.

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,

Enough:

Enough of this of this up and down weather
It’s a gift, its giver backer: Its' Indian giver
it's April in December:

warm enough to walk without a jacket last Tuesday
The feel of the warmth against ones cheek
And today it the scarf tightly around ones neck

Enough to quiet the mind, enough to fret the spirit
When you find yourself staying indoors,
eating waffles, and playing checkers
then you know it’s that kind of injustices

watch the words that comes out
of your mouth,
when the rooms aren’t heated
then you thought about going mental ON........
the nippy wind whistle through the cracks,
and you wonder about the arthritis in your back

Immediately your thought turns to envelope
the rental receipts : so avoid that!
Desperate for the heat of the sun,
Feeling the effects, of a long dreary winter days
Where the songs on the radio keep

repeating, bundle up and go outside,
It prom dresses shopping 2017
Help me dear Lord!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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

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

Every house has a story:
Every piece of land has a past and also a story to tell
When l was a little girl:
I would dig deep into the earth looking
For proof to these stories: a perfumed bottle, a piece of rag,
You name it: I know there was a story.

I remember our first home,
After, moving out of my grandparents’ home
An old run down board house, with the open ceiling
Two bedrooms, no build in bathroom,
Somehow, my parents made it our home
For my siblings and I:

Something about the Iron bedhead caught my attention
The color of black, a little rusty, on the rims
But, l likes that old head board.
My parent got rid of the old head board
Just to keep up with modern times
I wish I could have kept that thing
I know where it is buried: in the gully
Those childhood memories of me
Digging into the earth for artifacts

Every piece of land is unique;
As well as every person is different..
Even the poet within me, seeks,
Not for treasures, but for answers,
I recently made some enquires about
Old man town man piece of land
Everybody wants it, but nobody can get it

Lots of stories can be told about this land
But not enough about the man character
They is lot of things I wish I done different

As a young adult, but I guess,
it wasn’t meant to be:
Today I am calm, yesteryears I was
That, poem that never was publishes.

Haiku

white beard and red suit
a big round of **, ** **
Jolly Santa Claus