He yelled at me in Ewe, my friend.
I asked him to calm down.
Such an accent, powerful and forceful,
It fired me up, igniting a desire:
Passionate love with him, that's my aim.
For this, he'll need a bouquet of flowers,
A gesture to mend the death of love!

I'm weary of waiting,
Boundaries blurred; no limits seen.
But patience prevails—good things await.
The Israelites sought a king,
And the Queen will welcome him to her chambers.
His voice softens, realization dawning,
My love needs solitude and respect.

My poems serve as my sanctuary,
Words of a woman in pain or perhaps love.
He yelled at me in Ewe,
A language I can't comprehend.
Bittersweet romance, tangled and mysterious.

Let a fool be a fool

**Matthew 7:6
Do not give dogs what is holy; do not throw your pearls before swine. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces

Sit and be silent to be heard no more,
Perhaps you heard those words somewhere
Sometimes in one's life growing up,
Why people think it their duty to silence
another person not to speak openly and freely,

A spoken word or sound is meant to be heard
Like the loud ring tone of a cell phone  
And indication, someone is calling,
Somebody need to be heard:

My grandparents, and parent believe  
In silencing this poetess when I was a child
At a point where my voice stays inside,
Then step two where, everybody that knew me  
Kept asking why I was so shy:
Why was I afraid to speak to my elders?
Me being shy became social anxiety for some
As for my friends I spoke with confident, like a true trooper,
Grown folks intimidate the hell out of me,
Why? Because of commanding words
Sit and be silent to be heard no more.

As an adult, I have a hard time taking orders
From others, or being talk down too,
Maybe that's why I enjoy writing so much
Only I can hear my voice when I compose
Until I allowed my reading to take a peep
At my work, my Island tongue,
My American frustration on worldly views
I sat for too long, I frown for too long,
I bite down on my tongue for too long,
But I concocted a plan, on how to
Get back my silencers, and revenge them
With my spoken words of silence, without being seen

"Great is language, it is the mightiest of sciences
It is the fulness and color and form and diversity of the earth and of men and women and of all qualities and processes.
It is greater than wealth, it is greater than buildings, or ships or religious or painting or music. -----Walt Whitman.. "

I am taking notes.
I am adhering to the rules
Yet, I feel numb on the inside, restless,
Corona corvid 19 takes takes
And keep on taking away our family units,
How many more question, can we asked
Why, why, and why God?
Why so many corona corvid deaths

I cannot watch anymore,
I can’t feel anymore am I dreaming?
Am I feuding?  Am I stressing?
Is it my place to asked these questions
Have heaven run out of wings.
Like PPE for our essential workers,

Being silence is not is not relaxing anymore
Silence is a true friend who never betrays
Don’t blame the funeral directors,
Blames the Administrators, the politicians’,
The world leaders, a matter of facts
Don’t blame, set a flame and remove the blame:

Jesulema, Jesulema,: more death than  ww2
Coronavirus death soars, surpass fatalities in Vietnam War
Have been read in the headlines, lessons on waist lines
Don’t blame, set a flame and remove this so called facts or Bats

Oh! 2020 the year of the death,
The blazing death of fire,
A year no one is going to admired:
a year of the blame,
a year of deadly facts or bats

Oh! JerSulema,  

Oh God almighty.
A year of question,
A year of the wings
A year to spend less on the fire arms
And more on the PPE,
Let tackle this enemy:

There is a dream called Love.)

There is a dream call loved
There is hope and there is despair
Within all these that is said

These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from Me.
They worship me in vain;
they teach as doctrine the precepts of men.’
Another wonder scripture Quote

There is a dream call loved,
As human being some of us long for it
Some endure the worst for it
Just to hear someone say
“I love you. An antidote:
Love is the Antidote to Criticism and Judgment
Love is a weapon to hurt the one we love

You always hurt the one you love, the one you should not hurt at all;
You always take the sweetest rose, and crush it till the petals fall;
You always break the kindest heart, with a hasty word you can't recall;
So if I broke your heart last night, it's because I love you most of all." —Mills Brothers
?�J ?

My mother believed in prayers, more than my father did

My father believed in tackling his problem with a flask of  

White ***, I believed in the moment of things:

They are hidden compartments inside of us,

“Being in the moment” can be a helpful reminder if we understand it in a more expansive way

Perhaps it was true, when someone said to deal with some situation at moment times

I refused to grieve for my dearly departed husband,

Past experience, wouldn’t allowed me to weep at his grave

My lack of dispassion and willful stubbornness;

Did I really love him, did I really forgive him?

Maybe it was the disrespect, I couldn’t forgive,

The truth is quite different. Forgiving an offense empowers the offended. It is to a man’s glory to overlook an offense (Proverbs 19:11)



I would look at his picture on my refrigerator, and I love him and I hate him

In that same moment, we are surely bedmates

My distance craving, my longing to be held tightly throughout the night.



If a person can fulfill needs for companionship, love, *** or mating, there is a greater chance that the other person will fall in love with him or her.

I have done all of this, and came out the loser, all the time

Love is not for me.  loneliness is my captive

I know, I know, I know, loneliness need not to have the final words

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 *** *****..

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

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

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

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

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

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

Island girl reporting: Demerara Lady
Best Wishes

Sweet memory, can fades like old Navy clothing

As it leaves a bad taste in one's mouth

Like a can of Grace corn beef, with stale onion,  

dash with cooking oil, yet tasty, at the moment:



So many years has passed, the thought of them still

Makes my skin crawl, oh how I detest the memories

When the pain refused to go away:



I was about to turn the key..

And they he appears walking towards the elevator  

Same as ever, heading to same familiar place

Vulnerability is weakness, voodoo has its temporary moments:



Sweet memory, fades like old Navy clothing.

And a scorn wife never forgives, a viper sting.

How can the dead rest in peace? Knowing what  

They have done. Forgiveness has a price tag

And its black. The living will go on living

The dead shall roam the earth for eternity  

When hell is full:

Today I feel a furious intensity

About two years, ago

Family members would always love to share

The news about the passing of someone

Either from the village, or someone, I once knew

I remember during our conversations; I would tense up

And asked of them not to called and give me bad news



Death is a daily reminder,

right up there on our calendars



When I was away, my neighbor  

Call and told me, that someone was

Outside my door, all dress in black banging on my door



Right away my thoughts were

The Angel of Death, looking for me...

During these pandemics' day, he is all over the place

Like an Amazon Prime van, outnumbered by UPS trucks,

While the world is being shut down,

Some of the people, refused to give a rat ***

They still refusing the vaccines

Protecting themselves, or worried about this thing call death



Death  will take us all, poets always write about it

As they convey things that other forms of expression can’t. Quote:

A man with outward courage dares to die; a man with inner courage dares to live. Lao Tzu

My motto for today is live each day as if it's your last.

As Cold waters to thirsty soul,
so is good news from a far country*.

To feel the morning sun upon your face,
To be awaken with the kiss of the morning sunshine,
The sound of the birds chirping an unknown melody
Human voices, of laughter from far away,
Foreign tones without the titles,
Somehow, you manage to walked to the bathroom
First thought, where am I? How did I get here?
Why am so alone?


My poem always has a meaning,
My soul is tired, my soul is loss
Rubbing the palm of my hands together
Doesn’t seem to work this time:
It’s best that I reached for a glass of wine
Life can take us, or break us,
Lord whom can I trust?
I don’t need anyone to love me
I often whisper under my breath
But when the breath whisper back
Girlfriend, this life of ours is merely a test
a crazy ride dude, a crazy ride this
thing called life…no update, no update:

Cleansing my Aura with a good write
A good version of my inner thoughts
Without burning my candle at both ends
My friends…..my poems always have a meaning.

~~
*My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light." Ones of Millay’s open stanza

Sharks is not only in the river,
"Sometimes a shark can attack a human out of fear.
If for some reason that shark believed that"
a human is a threat then it might attack him."

As human being, we struggle with all sorts of emotions
So we plots against each, in ways more than other
unfortunately, those plot usually backfire,

For good can overpower evil in most cases
Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good:
So you should know, the poet said to herself.

This past Tuesday, a secret was reveal to me
That a coworker was plotting against me,
But, the one she told, warned me,
That a shark was not only in the river,

Who God bless No man shall curse…
This individual, somehow, the ones
In the lab coats, favor her to do the
Odd and ends, it reminds me of
The slave masters informers,
To report back to him, and they shall be awarded
I listen to the one she told,
And took it in stride
Shall I planned a revenge,
Of do what I usually do most
And let the cookies crumbles?

Today, is a new day, a day to write a poem
About slavery tactic, and how the minds of the weak
Of slave ancestor survivor, can creep back in time
and space into the body of this co-worker:

A slave to fear…however,
a poets like I to reckon with.
I foresee a slap in her face,
But a bullet to her heart,
She is not the smartest!
only the master *******
.

With all of our desires,
Why does our relationship seem?
So, in and out, in and out,
A wash basin kind of love,
Sam Smith title, Fire on fire
Will burn out like Lits candles
I am deprived from gazing deep into your eyes
my genuine smile, been caught up
In a confusion mode,  
the light in my eye's dims
I am not accepting another I love you exchange,
I rather have the Thank you note.  
Or sir please keep the change!
With the old Sunday kind of blessing ending of Amen!!!!
Because loving you is not true, fighting fire on fire
Let's us save those words and come up
With the original plans, you are not me
I am not you!!!
This wash basin kind of love
With overflowed, and the love
Will run deep into the drain  
Heading straight to the river currents,
Fire on fire, no love should ever endure,
With all of our desires, are tainted with sin
I know of your motive,  
I understand their motivation.
With all of my desires, I am so
Seizing this Burning fire!
When you unveiled on your wedding hour
let it be  
Your true desire.( L)

When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I told him to give me ten years,

In that time, he must see only me

Taste only me, make love to only me

Reflected only in my space.

Like an enchanted mirror or hope,

Our souls will continue to asked

For our morning blessing/

Happy or sad, our morning salutations/

There is nothing more appealing  

Then seeing him in his white attires

a baseball cap, it captures the youth of innocent,  

Is the fundament of falling in love,  

After being in seclusion, it's also terrifying,  

A roller coaster of emotion,  

a mere Smily hideous gestures/

I can see no wrong now,

I can see no flaws,  

I see only what my heart wants me to see

Him, those eyes, those high cheek bones,

While I let me let my soul make love,

Under the warm of the sun,

And the cold from the north,

Entwining into each other’s arms

Who will bless this union?

Who will be there for us,

When it all fade like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

Let me , let me, let me..

If this is no poem then:

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

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

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

If this is no poem then

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

Today of all days I am dividing my tears into sections,

With each moment, with each tear drop and snuffle I makes

The paper tissues will always thread,  

crumbling signs some mishaps in life

surely, cannot be mended;



Yesterday was your birthday,  

Today it's my revelation, of life, (my life)

It seems lately, that I have taken a new route,

This road definitely is not paved with gold.



God truly bless heroes; he never fails me yet!

But, for sure I have encountered some obstacles,

Empathy, or just plain stupidity,  

I am an empath, I never thought I was this kind of person

As we grow older, it's so true that we see life in a different setting

the lows, the in-between and the high moments.

My so intensity, emotions, as they rise,  

and as they drop to low frustrations tolerance, I see red

Today, I need my ginger shots: who cares if it is unhealthy?



Today of all days I am dividing my tears into sections,

With each moment, with each tear drop and snuffle I makes

The paper tissues will always thread, crumbling signs of

some mishaps in life that surely cannot be mended.

Does anybody care about the upcoming presidential election this year?

We all love a good story.
With a good ending,
What is going on today is not a story
It is the reality, of mad virology scientist

Its headlines that read like this
“As Biden nears victory, worlds hopes
For end to American isolationism

It’s hard to say it out loud without breaking in to pieces
It’s easier to live a lie, rather than to surrender?

When the American truth needs no translation
The poet became an unhappy Ambassador,
he believe in worldly- views:  He pen is waiting
to announce the winner, (who would it be)

Nothing is final to a poet eyes and ears
But to a mad scientist: it says progressivism
To him man or language wasn’t created equally
Every poet should be responsible for his poetic language
while every scientists should be held responsible for his action.

As well as his emotion and excretion
either from the mouths, or from the other end
the smell, textures even the tones
as long as  the world  acknowledges
them as the Lever of things to come

it’s hard to say it out loud without breaking in to piece
where there is action they will be a reaction
Leadership money and power: is that what we voted for?
is this what we are dying for? Is that most people dreams?

Trumps , Biden supporters face off in Detroit
Headlines like these make a poet pen trembles..

"Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue
keeps his soul from troubles"
We are still waiting for the winner..

She Steal Like a Thief
Her husband married his mistress
She closed her eyes and once again
    she lost him to that
She thinks of him as omnipotent

At last! she wears his ring
Now it’s time to bridle her tongue
and show the world that
she belongs to Master Singh

What goes around comes around
Karma is a . Now its casual ***
with Tess the * switch

He smiles, she laughs
He slows down, she picks up the pace
He sneezes, she said bless you”.
she began her new life without hesitation, without delay

To her the man is omnipotent God
worshipping the ground, he walks
yes, master, no master

somehow, she manages
to love, honor and obey.
she steals like a thief

I used to wake up with a particular feeling
On Sunday mornings, when I was just a lassie
Nothing could have been more appeasing to the nose
Then a leg of roast pork baking in the oven
Or even a bake chicken or lamb stew
On the top burner, while my mother would sang out of tune
in the kitchen, as she prepared the breakfast, and Sunday dinner
While putting together a Sunday feasts

As for my father, nothing seems of important
Than fixing the old engine or washing down his old Woosley car,
As for me, it was removing those tight braids, or laundry with my wash pan
and scrub board, my mother would be busy in the kitchen,
But somehow, she can tell when we weren’t doing the laundry correct
Even down to our pair of white socks,
And to think latterly of its ****!  back then.
I meant to big up some old dudes from my village
The ones who had left a lasting impression on me throughout
the years, those characters, those lively old men
My father, the sharecropper, ******* or gun smoke)

Dan Dan aka (Daniel Mrs. Sealy husband) I referred to him as
Norbert the man who encourage his wife to gain weigh MS Evelyn  
His way of thinking, he loves women who had meat on the bones?
Old man Sealy the village butcher,  the slaider
nobody could have slain a pig like he uses too,
Odaly Roach, the biggest eyes in a man eyes  
But he would always, give me a penny or two to buy my candies
I remember, his friendly words, of future endeavors (R.I.P) my mentor
Pap_pee, my friend father, he would give me one of his ripe avocados the most tastiest fruit of them all
With a smile, I would thank him, (may he also rest in peace)
It's time to put the aside the old resentments; lies,
Some of them were good old grumpy old men
And some of them were bad *** characters,
While looking back, most of them were BLP Political men
However, no one could have never left a lasting  
Impression that Buddy Sealy the man with the black felt hat
The old man with a bicycle who enjoy his life to the end.

Make love not war America.

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:

A Balance Of Who's Right And Who's Wrong
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.
especially black lives:

  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..
so many issues, so many she said, he said,  and fake news

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.

because of the tongues.. a man who speak in tongues.

is a man  who hides his word: his spirit is speaking mysteries

Written by
Dark n Beautiful  New York

I saw a pretty street this morning I forgot the name**

I remember dressing my daughters in pink

I never had the opportunity to dress someone in blue

I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.

(would it have made a different?



Yesterday, it took me almost fifteen minutes to convince

A polish patient to take a shower,  

so I did is what the new norm does

I pulled up Google, and I asked to translate  

Take a shower tomorrow .. and he did it for me. ( jutro prysznic)

Life, what we had to do to earn a buck!!

Would it had made a huge different if

Police officer Derek Chauvin

hadn’t knelt into George Floyd neck last year?

I think Derek C was trying to prove a point

Like a sharpen no 2 pencil it broke...



I will leave this answer to the jury to decide

Poetry writing is like a *** position  

That we afraid to try,

My way of writing poetry is unique

I allow my mind to take me there

And my fingers to type  in calibri style

Never be afraid to express oneself

Be true to yourself..

Having a fight with you  
Is like punching myself,
Trying not to get bruise,
Our soul is connected,
My heart sway each time we speak
inflecting pain without intentions
Yelling at each other for no reason.
Trying my best to see things your way
Knowingly, it's so wrong to stray from the love
Can this kind of pain make me feel better?
Or scar us for life?
Having to fight with him
It’s like taking a swim on a cold winter day
Without thinking of myself as a polar bear,
We always said I love you, daily
Can love conqueror all.
My heart knows how to attracts emotional pain,
Our souls are waiting to make that ****** connection
So, I don’t want to fight with him.

If We Speak of the Hurricane



We think of past storms, the aftermath

The deep wailing of the crowd

The interview of the bystanders

And here comes that sad looks

of the homeowner faces

And there it stood that uprooted fallen tree,

Inches away from their house

And that when we know,  

It was the rightful thing to do

Listening to the voice of God:



In the wind of the solemn sound

I remember the falling Palins,

The rusty galvanizes that blanket the streets

Where the birds of prey nested:

And once again, we listen to the voice of God

In the wind of the solemn sound

If we speak of the past storms,  

and chat about hurricanes disasters

I remember how the winds pressed on the

Apartment window, forcing it way in.

But I listen to the voice of God

As I heard an uprooted tree, clash down

On the rows of park car, before the alarms sound

Scattering debris, block the drains

Water filled the lonely streets,

And once again, we cry out to God

The volcanoes, now hurricane Elsa  

Why We??

Reflections of Love

She approached me, her eyes filled with longing. “Why is it so hard to love me?” she asked. I hesitated, knowing the truth would wound her. “It’s not you,” I replied softly, “it’s them.”

Never promise eternal love to anyone. Nothing lasts forever—not even a poet’s wishes. Thoughts and feelings exist only in the vast expanse of space. My heart retreats into solitude, seeking answers.

I made a pact with him: ten years. In that time, he must see only me, taste only my lips, and make love to only me. Our souls, like enchanted mirrors, reflect each other’s desires. Hope blooms, fragile yet resilient.

Morning blessings—happy or sad—become our ritual. His white attire, the baseball cap—the innocence of youth captured in every glance. Falling in love after seclusion is both exhilarating and terrifying—a roller coaster of emotions.

I see no flaws now, only what my heart craves: his eyes, those high cheekbones. Our souls entwine under the sun’s warmth and the north wind’s chill. Who will bless this union? Who will stand by us when leaves fall, and all fades like forgotten dreams?

For now, let me love him. Let our smiles intertwine. Let our souls make love, defying time and space. 🌟

Make love to me with thine eyes,

I will respond with my body

Never leave me feeling unfinished

Like the house of a carpenter

I will never ask for more;

my ****** drive increase,

Shifting, like a rebel without a cause

I will not Forfeit, until you are ready

Or until my heated pillow catches on fire.

Make love to me with thine eyes,

never let your hands touches my body.

I will send you kisses by GIF tenor

But I will cartoon your Pilli **** with pleasure

The lord is my shepherd  

I shall not want. Psalm 23

However, Make love to me with thine eyes,

I will not forfeit, until you are ready

If not for me, let it be of goodwill

There will be roses and daisy
When you are gone: dripping water
will drop from the sky liner,
the neglected tall fence overlaps

On to the neighbor property: little did she know
Those Iron bolts and hinges trap your ghost within:
Heavy with guilt, her bald spots will shine
Under her broad rim Sunday hat, as she sing praises
Many have notice that you are no longer there,
Now the world know of her secret love affair,
With the elderly church parishioner:
Holy, holy Oh God almighty

Those members can surely sin,
Now, the world know now of her ***** affair,
There will be roses, and daisy, when you are gone
Dripping, water from the sky liner,
Centipede in her bloomers:

And the ghost of you, will be trap in her chambers,
Where the sin of ****** was repeated,
These perhaps might be useless memories

whereas , a poet ears, and pen never forgets,
The tears of the dead, confession,
Oh, there will be talk of your passing,
Some good and some will comes,
across as being empathic

There is always that faint whisper of what a pity!
It took years, but the widow E.W. stood there and wept
Holy, holy Oh, God Almighty,

I have remembered you.
I remember, how we  
Spoke of never being separated  
Living together until eternity,
When we were young, we saw things  
In a different light, brighter than most people...
Some might have label, us as Thelma and Louise:
You were kind, you were adventurous, and most of all
You had a heart, but I knew you weren't a lady.
But I respected you back then. (I am puzzle by you now)

The Gambler,” you have to “know when to fold 'em.
Thank you, Kenny Rogers. And I just did it. I walked away
However, I was her best friend, imagine the treatment that she
Done to her sister, was humane,
Leaving her scar for life. (Leaving her wondering Why?)
My kind, adventurous friend: (my Thelma)

The last time I saw her, I didn’t even recognize her
Until, I pulled her sister aside and asked who she was?
Our mind has a protection emotional warning, (at least with mind)
It wouldn’t allowed me to connect her ****** memories:
her ill treatment, toward me, were uncalled for. (Mental abuse)
These days I pour my heart into my writing
Her sister, pours her pain into her cooking,
And as the saying goes practice makes perfect.
She is so good at it. Our way of getting our therapy
Without flattening our wallets. Even breaking the bank
Forgiveness must be earned. But whom or what will
Make the pain of betrayal go away

Psalm 55:12–14
12  For it is not an enemy who taunts me—
then I could bear it;
it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me—
then I could hide from him.
13  But it is you, a man, my equal,
my companion, my familiar friend.
14  We used to take sweet counsel together;
within God’s house we walked in the throng.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A nod to Emily Dickinson


I measure every Grief I meet

I know they all felt like mine

Some smaller some larger,

Yesterday, I got a text from a friend

Her exact words.

“my daughter got shot to the head

Last nite die@ a visual

At first, I didn’t know what to make

From those few words .. I later  

Reach out to her, but she kept

Refusing my text or call

Which is understandable,  

in a times like these

Is pain ever going to get old?  

Is man ever going to stop the violence?

Would all of these weapons going to be around forever?

Why does it hurt so much to alive these days?

Are we going to run out of words to comfort each other?

First thing I read this morning, on the net

“Headlines.... a young mother abandon her newborn in a New Jersey Restaurant

It might seem heartless to some, somehow, without doubt

that young mother was afraid for the life of her newborn

What future does that child have,

What future does she have?

I measure every Grief I meet

Death is something we can’t smile about

*“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.” *
― Alan Wilson Watts

I took this line from  Emily poem

  to end my version of this piece



And though I may not guess the kind –  
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –  Emily Dickinson

I never heard my mother told
My father that she loves him

Dead Horse on the race track

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

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

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

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

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

The light that once gleamed from my eyes, the golden beam that upstage  my caramel cheeks; my rude lips upon which he pressed his own hungrily—my naïve body, darker than the night: rejected  his hours of longing: I just can’t forget that day he walked away”

On the Beach that day  
Somewhere near Olsten’s Bay
Wind whistle as the tourist passed by
My heart felt light, yet it felt heavy:
Blue Caribbean Sea water, wrap around me
Like an invisible burrito

White sands cover my brown toes,
My one size fit all bathing suit cling against my
Pear shape body: my thoughts were unstilled:
                Frightening:

the surrounding was a perfect fit for true lovers,
Somehow, I felt trap in a circle,
what it love or pity for this mortal
“A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.” ~Mark Twain

I suppose I was that man/woman:
Rejection is the most unforgettable thing
Move on, rub dirt on it. (Malarkey)!
Why did we allow this to happen to us?
Why did he allow this to happen to him?

Deuteronomy 21:15-17
“If a man has two wives, the one loved and the other unloved, and both the loved and the unloved have borne him children, and if the firstborn son belongs to the unloved, then on the day when he assigns his possessions as an inheritance to his sons, he may not treat the son of the loved as the firstborn in preference to the son of the unloved, who is the firstborn, but he shall acknowledge the firstborn, the son of the unloved, by giving him a double portion of all that he has, for he is the first fruits of his strength. The right of the firstborn is his.

It not a good thing to play a hero!!

Power and Form

Power and form—the two intertwined elements of human existence. Our words, sometimes sweet, other times sour, leave a lasting imprint across the tapestry of humanity. We often say “yes” to please others, driven by our so-called rational minds. But is the life of a poet or poetess more fulfilling than that of a farmer? Are we expressions of nature or mere victims of regimented affiliations?

As unpredictable and impossible species, we roam the Earth daily. Power and form—there’s no secret society (or perhaps there is). Our secrets are laid bare under the watchful eyes of the world. Strangers peruse our family albums, much like they search for emoji hearts and likes to boost their self-esteem in the online revelry. We unwittingly sell our souls to a forceful enemy—jealousy, insecurity, and the curiosity of others.

I celebrate my strength through my mediocre poetry. Why? Because not everyone can compose their feelings onto the screen or paper. Today, I am retired; today, I am free. But some days, even freedom becomes monotonous. Mental fatigue sets in from being so… 🤔

Whatever is good is God.
Whomever chooses to be bad is just evil
So let the foul pollute himself.
Whomever continues to lie let them lie
bad liars must have good memories:
Today, my avocation is what help me
Its help deal with the madness, that surround me:
It only takes the one, two, three to set off my anxiety
“The thoughts you resist persist.” quote:
The positive energy I retain, I immediately give off
a hearty welcome, with a smile is just letting you all know
That I appreciated every one of you.
Whatever is good is God:
Whomever, chooses to be bad is just evil
My life is an open book, as I reveal it my poetry writing
Some folks do plastic surgery to better themselves
I improve my minds with my writing,
Words are my friends, so I surrounded myself with words
As my broken heart hurt me my writing improve like
A crying baby who was given a lollipop:
At times brain sax calm me,
Lying awake wouldn’t help the situation,
But the tick Tok tick sound of rain, might:
I choose my words carefully,
Because the manufacturers lie at times
All sizes don’t fit all.

Garfield
My Love, G


Your skin glows like the mango skin

blossoms desirable as the flowers in the purest hope of spring.
My yearning heart rises to your steel band voice and leaps like a female goat bleep

at the whisper of your name, G.
The evening ascends in on a great dove wing,
the ones that were in a flock this morning.
I am calm by your warm cotton white T-shirt

That you wore so well, just to please me.

You brought the joy back in my life:

You carry into the twilight, the van beams light
night for night and park just to chat with me

while you held streetlight flash next to your face,

The sign of powerful genes, the sign of eternal love


I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears

With the taste of my soursop lips upon

Your fats cheeks, as i make you laugh out loud.


while my eyes fall from your eyes, a constant reminder

  of that smile we shared in my living room,

.
In the hushed, I listen for the last whoosh of the fall's leaves

Instead, I removed your hands from my pouty breast

You constantly remind me off.

.
our soul long for each other touch



I wait in the crystal moonlight for your secret message,

so that we may race as one, arm to arm, in search of the glorious blue sensual wings of love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your flesh was never warmer to my passion(quote)
My passion was more than you could have deal with
My love of poetry writing, is my secret weapon
I am not gifted, I am black, however I am motivated by words,
I have never found them too difficult to string together,
But to make sense of them, that is another matter
Sometimes I think I am madder at life situation than an the Madhatter
I love to think that I am in love,
But this love thing doesn’t love me,
My mood at my age can change like night and day
And as the saying goes, I can't come out to play on a rainy day (no way)
Loving from a distance, and loving from the heart is also risky,
These are times when ones have to reach for the bottle of whiskey,
Sometimes, I think I am winning, but sometimes I have to take a step back
And recharge, because living in a fantasy world of lies, *** and video links,
Can be extremely dangerous, like the mixing bleach,
Words from his lips in his native tongues,
easily soften my heart, (today my heart is racing for you)
Such poetic, sound, I love to watch as he cleanses his body
For forty-five minutes, all I could think of to say to him
had you ever thanked God for such a blessing:
His smile said it all. I release my eggs: because of the poetic gesture:
My birthday will be in five days,
My age is reducing, because of feelings,
Somehow my body seem to be laughing at the calculation (😊
Rudderless!! But to hell with it , I am not docking no time soon
Ama is on her way to ….

Who know me best,  

Who know me, (me)

When I fall in love

I fall hard, or am I mistaken his love

For candy on my eyes, for now,

Or is this the real thing,

I know the truth,  

Am I in total denial of wanting.

Denial has a dark side:

I have a past, of repeating,

The same mistakes,  

Why can’t I see passed those brown eyes,

The saddest part, he hasn't taken me to cloud nine

Or touch my G spots, or glorify me,

What is it about him, that make me thirsty,

I cry so much last night, I cried  

Cry of loneliness, ****** deprivation,

I even cry after ***, they called it the

drowning in a sea of feel-good chemicals like oxytocin and dopamine,  

But it never happened, the done deal so why am I crying?

I will blame this one on my booster shot,

What the hell they injected into my body?

I am seeing things in a different form of light.

Or is my lack of trust?  

I cry even more, seeing his ringtone

And refused to take the called,

Just wanted him to reach for me instead,

I wonder if he has any idea, of what he is

Doing to me: I am a woman,

I need to be touch.  

How can I overlook this jealousy?

And focus, on me, and not on you.

Your needs are being meet,

I feel like I am pregnant, again, waiting  

For that little life inside of me to

Come out and love me. Wholeheartedly

Happiness is a temporary gig

Some of you might disagreed

But look at the facts, about happiness

it's as the saying goes: money can't buy happiness.  

I have come to the conclusion, to enjoy one's happiness,

you have to create your own happiness,  

But first look within, and be honest

Who really make you happy

Who is responsible for your happiness?  YOU!

Not your children, your husband, your coworkers,

Not even your pastor, but You..

So, if you want to maintain happiness in your life
always put yourself first,

I saw this quote and I immediately adopted it



See the positives in things rather than the negatives. Don’t open conversations with people about other people. Slagging people off or negativity just comes back through Karma. So be kind to others, we never know why people react sometimes the way they do, but most people do not purposely mean to be rude or unkind, it is just quite often they are under certain stresses and strains. So try to be understanding and see why they are acting that way rather than judging them Quote......

If happiness was mixed with coke a cola.
imagine, how many of us will be smiling..






































.

Who life is this anyway,
Is she mistaking grief for depression?
as the saying goes.....
Grief is an opportunity to develop authentic belief

Twenty year ago, I lost him, I grief for him:
When he abandons us, should I have filed grievance?
these days it's  so hard for me to hold her hands
And pretend I do care, about his passing,

Why must I be force to see things her way?
I love him, he love his mistress more, he walk away,
Our memories of him is not the same,
I see unloved, she sees the longing for his:

Poems stay with me, after he left,
Remembrance is not the same
Poems stay with me after he walk out the door:

Few days after her birth,
I cut my foot on a cardboard
The dark scar, never faded,
It stay with me: longer than his love,
My tattoo of betrayal of all his lies:

Every problem in world cannot be solved,
Each and every one of us at some point
Had that bad taste in our mouth..

Here I am this morning thinking of Christmas,
And the last time I had that taste of sadness
It can drag ones down, into the darkest place:

A poem will stay with me, after them gone
Our memories are not the same,
A poem will stay with me after them gone
And words will be sprinkle, on pages of happiness

I divided my tears into section
With each drop, with each snuffle
With each tissue: I thread
I remembering the good times we shared
February, was your passing
today: it’s my revelation:

*Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer every man. you. Colossians 3:16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little nod to
Walter Everette Hawkins
Ask me why I love you, dear,
And I would ask the sparrow
If it matters! That he ..he stutters
Love is a forbidden nectar,
And so we are like flowers; and bloom only, when the sun, kisses us.”
― sir kristian goldmund aumann,

Don’t ask me if I still love you
I wouldn’t ask you my heartbeat,
If being downright violated isn't too much for me
Ask me why I love you, one more time
And I will ask the debt collectors for more time
Or I will ask my brain, not to confuse me
mind, body, soul and spirit (my Trivedi effects)
Then it wouldn’t be any need for us to get upset
If I get the right answers
I will smile with you again,
Ask me why I can't trust my heart with you
Let the other one reply.
She knows you better than I do,
When the **** hits the fan
Where the heart is pure
And if we can’t find the answers
We shall depart
only the inner voice gives me freedom

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Great lines, something to think about (Edward Thomas)

Woke up to the rain and the wind beating on my window pane,

Yet I thought of getting dressed and going there.



A subway system, so far not yet up to standards,

A job like mine, no one need to hurry too

A mindset like mine, meant for me to lay low

during the northeaster...rain and wind

Poor yet full of pride, I am the servant Queen,



Yesterday, I struggle to maintain my sanity

Due to working conditions: at the workplace

I have been feuding for years. Nothing changes

not even an added penny, before its death,



More work, more stress, no respect  

Night supervisors, penciling  

or rather maneuvering into the darkness

at six am. A street crowded with overturn bins,

Flooded streets, with mudded running water

Mother of Nature, another dangerous disaster?

You meaner than corvid and Alaska,



I am the servant Queen, poor, yet full of pride:

I am fed up with others trying to take me for a ride

Sometimes, you just need a break from a bad situation

Never, berate yourself for giving expression to your emotions.

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;(Edward Thomas) line

I planned to stick, to my believes, nothing will change,

I will always be the servant Queen, as longs as them reign:

Time and distance—speed and time—allow us to see the good in most people. I strive to recognize the goodness in others, even when hope seems endless. They bid for my love, and my boomerang-addicted heart should know better. Why hide the truth about one's feelings? However, expressing emotions through self-care is essential. The unexplainable feeling of longing for someone so far away can also play tricks on your boomerang heart.

A natural height, whether safe or unsafe, can lead to a state of happiness. According to experts, euphoria or exhilaration accompanies certain achievements. Imagine being awakened by warm, manly hands on your body—instead of hearing him say, "I wish I were there" (😊 is a plus. Long-distance relationships require a reality check, considering both time and distance.

---

Granville Wesley Clarke

May 14, 1921 ====July 19 2011

The late ******* or Perry

A golden heart stop beating at sunset July 19 2011



Today my memory is a large duck egg

Yes, that large duck egg, you got from the  

Chicken coop, so that I could have it for breakfast”

If you haven’t tried ducks, eggs
it's time to became a tester.


There will be no funeral today,

Only memories of the people we love

I remember the tall trees, in which you

Climbed in order to cut the branches that block the view

And the wind that cool our roof top  



I remember our morning strolled in big gully

In which we would go and pick green lemons

I with my small paint bucket, you with your big brown onion bag

with our findings you would fill it to the top,

My small paint bucket I  also filled it up to the top:

With my doo rag tied so tight around my head I sweat bullets

my brother old pants protected my skinny legs from the bugs

There we were strolling through the woods  



Almonds,  I ****** the juices, and hammer the nuts with a rock

As you cut down trees, to finish your pig pen,

There will no funeral today, or weeping

Just good old memories, about the dead

Rest in peace, with the angels,

Until we meet again,

The Mask Tell Our Story

No one can see us when we wear the mask
The phantom of the opera,
Swiftly, we walked by with a frown.

The mask tell a story,
Of what evil men can do,
Of a rich man,  a poor man
who never travel to foreign lands\


He wore the mask, of soot
On his face, on his hands,
But, he never travel to foreign lands
Somehow, we all is blending in now..