You only watch the news to find out
Where the con artist stands,
He opens his mouth and nonsense comes out

And whether it matter to us or not;
We have to make sure that the Philanthropist
Doesn’t make it to the white house
Mr. Obama said that he has faith in the American people
Do you have faith in yourself?
or the mockingbird on the platform?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a sharp razor
an outstretched arm
a sudden darkness



When she dumped you
It should have been on top of a bed of cow itch
Unfortunately, for us the seven-year itch continues



A Steep Hill
Your silver motorbike
Why not take it for a test run

I don't know If I’m Having a Feeling
I don't have any emotions anymore
Or I am dreaming, while I am awake?
Is my mind exploring my feelings?

While seeking happiness in this 18 degree weather?
Baking a melodrama cake,
Pounding away my headaches,
Clearing the path, making way for better
Eggs, butter, flour, sugar and raisins

Raising the bar, with the baking powder
Of transferring my feeling into logic,
As it blend into a smooth non stanza
Poetic form of puppy love, clinching

and all that rises, rise in due degree
And is in everything we see and do.

Like whisky to a newbie
She said *** with her is so amazing,
Should her lovers take her words for granted?
  to the echo chamber, an invitation of uncertainty awaits
on the others side of love.

Just like any property a ****** is still a risky investment
Just like any investment could be,  
Another extremely shameless plug
As she pumps up the volume,
Like a female rebel on the run from the law

They love everything about this Island beauty
Like whisky to a newbie, her poetic euphoric vibes
  take them higher and higher, as her fans dance the night away

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jgf_I9vepDo

Heart of darkness
transcend some light
you confused the body and soul.

Heart of darkness
your youthful years
were gracious and gleaming
you loved with gregariousness.

Heart of darkness
blindsided by *******
it saturated the body and soul

Heart of darkness
forgive and forget
ratify a truce with love,
Let love in.

Heart of darkness
bruises heal in time
in love there is fear
however, perfect love
casts aside doubt.

Heart of darkness
sadness interferes with hope
we were saved in this hope
hope that is seen is not hope
leaving only trust.

Heart of darkess
the essence of hope
the secret to victorious living
lies in seeing good
in every situation that comes into our lives

Heart of darkness
Let love in....

I try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh so mellow*
I try to remember the kind of September
When I wore my navy blue skirt
with white bottom down top,
with glistening extension cornrows
so tight like dreadlocks.

I try to remember the kind of September
When I was young and carefree and no responsibilities
Now it’s September those after school activities.
Oh shiver me timbers to all the bus drivers
Welcome to another school year with tears

I look for words in the dark,
My thoughts were trigger by you
My Island soul knows no malice, until
negative thinking roams around in my head
It defines who I am, so I became the poem
And the poem became my affinity
to the nature of poetry
Fire bun, fire bun
Blaze dem Jah, purge dem ya hayed!

They came to my Island to feel
the warmth of the sunshine
as for me I visited a very difficult country
to become its shadow
I look for words in the dark:
My Island soul knows no malice
Only kinship with all life

August is wonderful month for star gazing.
Camellias, dauphin Oise and renuculars in full bloom this August
How much sun does my August Moon flowers needs;
the more sun, the more golden the texture shine  on through

Here came the brides, marching down the aisles with theirs fathers
While, the theme of Goldenrod, Sunflower yellow, Saffron and Dandelion takes center stage,

August is a month that stands its own merit
an excellent month for bird migration, but not for illegal immigrants
August's birth flower is gladiolus, its comes with, calm, integrity, and infatuation

August is the wayward month no less.
Star gazing at its best

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
I think of life in a kaleidoscope setting
Colorful, plentiful and carefully chosen
My daily worries about my Future endeavors

I became the silence of the lamb character for a nanosecond
Politician and political threats in Washington DC
still debating: some silently *******

Women holding up signs teasing the president’s daughter
Old men gazing at her pretty face with drooling ****** emoji

Thinking out loud, about the " if only"

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back; thinking
is 2017 the year of critical thinking?

I am not young anymore, nor grey , nor old, for age is just a number:    when the aches and pains begins to set in and I start to wonder, I never travel with my raincoat  although I hate getting wet, because if you think you can run for cover faster than  when it pours; you aim’s seen nothing yet .  But not so anymore: I never leave my coat and cane when I am on a stool .Oh dear what has happened to me?  
It's like I am getting old.  I still dance to my social tunes and a do a little waltz sometimes,   You ought to see me stepping to some back in time reggae:  after all of that: is when the rubs and oils granny left me comes alive again to soothe my pain of aching joints: Oh dear they say age is just a number and life begins at forty. Begins to go where:
Downhill!
Written by Hartley Forde

He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
in memories of the dearly departed.

He said that he felt like crying,
but he wasn’t going to cry
Because if he did,
he might not like the taste of his tears
Those loose cells in the tears
is mostly of his mother and father.

He resented  them for not aborting him
He wishes that he was never was born.
Due to the facts that all his life he was scorned

He was in and out of intuition
Always in a state of confusion
Month too months he never saw the sun
He never felt the rain upon his face,
Only long session with the nurses and the
Physiatrist who thought of him as a disgrace

He recalled taking the train for the first time at age fifteen
And that didn’t turn out as expected,
He wets his pant, so he sat in his seat and slaps his head furiously
He was spanked by the nuns, ridiculed by Sister Margaret the head hunter,
Got a huge ****** thermometer roughly up his **** by a ******* dude
Suffered daily due to his severe autism behaviors

He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
of all his childhood abusers:

I became your favorite obsession
I wondered if my last hour had come.
I am not alive until you called,
In an hour or two my cell phone becomes as hot as I am.
Take me, break me, I can’t be obedient,

I want to feel whole again…
without looking over my shoulder.
Oh my wounded and troubled heart
My soul is in deep anguish,
Without this forceful conquest

Within my eyes, jealousy wedge deep
Because of my self-critical thoughts,
My early rejections, my feeling, thoughts and action:

Our grandmother’s words came to be fulfilled
“An old fashion botheration,
   My indulgence from my past,
This led to an old fashion romance,
That wasn’t resolved then or now.

Take this kiss from my lip
And in return take off your glasses
and let me see your weary eyes
You are not wrong, my jealousy is a disease

If life had be kinder to us,
I would have been yours,
And you would have been mine.
I would have been the slave to you,

I stood by the window, and stare down at couples walking by
holding hands and I thought about them and I think about us:
Making further plans and I waved my hand to them
and smile because love is a lie.

heart of darkness encounter of lies
I have paid my dues, I settled my tithes.

How can I tell my heart to stop loving him?
I became his favorite obsession, now he’s mine
Take me, break me, I can’t be obedient,
I want to feel whole again, my friend

My wounded and troubled heart,
My soul is in deep anguish,
without this forceful conquest
So why do I weep in my sleep?

My God of refuge, what was the hidden truth?
I played with fire, and now I am burnt.

My beauty isn't all it appears to be,
Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see
A little love, a little mystery, a little of everything
A little love, a little mystery, a little of everything
It's mine and it's ours are not the same thing.

I want coffee, and you want tea
The heart knows what it wants,
And the hearts want a connection,
instead of a stent surgery.

Love, trust, surrender and peace follow in this order
Love is confusing, love is a thief
Look into my eyes, or read my tea leaves
Love, trust, surrender and
Peace, follow in this order.

I want to write a poem that politically minded would read more:
My political allegiance: my contribution to the art:
those Snakes in the grass would adhere too: without obligation;

The hidden agenda of the world leaders
Would suddenly, take the Sephora masks off
just in time to reveal what we thought of them all along;
Those voices of the babbling brooks: some louder than the other:

the poem must expose secret of the ocean mystery /myth
Without apprehending the beauty
of the dolphins and the whales legal rights;
While its uninvited guests are caught up in their lies
we the people must say to them
"you all can’t plead the fifth" because


They are still a lot of trivia question for us to answer.
And it’s still difficult task for some of us to find
where's waldo amongst the leaders:

With a little Nod to Michael R. Burch

Let me give him all the respect he deserve
for his yearly contribution
my heart is now content

Let me give him a Cuban cigar
for my feet stay warm
Without my fluffy socks

Let me give him my favorite pillow
for my head  laid on a patch of hair chest
a warm embrace

Let the warm of his body
Outlast this New York weather
Intervals

Let me give him a guitar
for all sentimental reason
a joy within my heart

Let me give him the keys to my car
for public transportation is costly
  Money is nothing

Let me burn lavender candles
Its lighten the mood
Less worried

the world seem a brighter place
last night
what a lovely Valentine’s eve.
I didn't get to sleep at all.

A little nod to Kiki Petrosino

The heart ceases to beat. Because
Some ghosts are my exes
neither angry nor kind
their faces spiral like
old windmills that clings to dry autumn leaves
looking for a place to land:

Not all ghosts are my exes
I remember them as stingy, and womanizing
Some were wolves in sheep clothing
Not smart but conniving species,
They capture your attention, like
a slow moving sunrise, then lure you
Like a vampire before dawn to have his feed:

But that isn’t all, some of my ghosts who
Walks amongst the mortal grinning
Asking to be friends, to forgive, to reflect,
Not a clever move, my ghostly friends,
just deceiving: Tactics

As a wise man once told me,
No one can hurt me without my permission…
So some of the blame, of misfortune lies on me

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

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

Cow itch circle the hills
Picking up speed, what a nuisance:
My body became numb: the torturous seeds
The native never seem move: by the “muckleheads”.
The itch and the sand flies: a duel team

I was the victim: The vice was on my back
Under house arrest, a meltdown I was so trap
It was time to leave all of the seedpods behind
Fever, malaise, drenching sweats and chills:

I remember once I told a fan, about my kind of therapy
My morning’s session, of cleansing the mind
A blast of my past: the uneven dots on my temple walls
Am I making a break through, nope I never had closure,

The groom wore red, on his special day.
I was the one that wore velvety black,
but I celebrated their reunion with a tall glass of
Ca’ del Bosco Cuvée Prestige Brut, Franciacorta DOCG.
Wine:

I’m far too clever to be taken likely:
So, I  let  my poetry writing do its own disciplined

**"If you can’t be a poet, be the poem. – David Carradine"

Flowers

A sinister flower among flowers

The best of the best

Up and down like frilly French knickers

She drop her petals

The bleeding heart vines,

So lovely o’ so divine

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

February: the North wind cold and raw  
mother nature glum -like  an  old  macaw

My rose buds pots all blanket with snow  
lowering their heads -  like an old macaw

icy roads  treacherous conditions  is
like avoiding the nest _like  old  macaw

I rather stay indoors write a ghazals
Days without sunshine to thawed - like old macaw

I am all coop in like the Snow Queen bee
Singing freedom songs _like an old macaw

Let’s not forget our childhoods
Like playing in the rain, getting drench, and loving it
The scene I remembered most, was i watching Peggy the small dog,
in the window across the street.
While, the neighbors keep up their lawns, and areas neatly pruned
With the dull chopping sound of the cutlasses, early in the morning:

I generally held a book close to my face, while reading
But somehow, on that day, I kept  staring at the house across the street
I don’t remember if I had done my chores or not,
before the lady in this photo came home that day for lunch.
For her, it was all about keeping up appearances,
Dinner at six, all school shoes must be polished before seven
and our Immaculate uniforms, must be hanging on the ironing board.

And no matter what,
all lights must be out before ten o’clock.
“Don’t forget to say your goodnight Prayers, she would have said”
Lately I've been thinking about childhood a lot

Suddenly, my thoughts turned to my first soap opera, Peyton Place,
Woody Allen, Mia farrow, and all my childhood memories came to a haul with…images of my friend Dolly Benskin and her daughter Paige:
Paige die at an early age: which haunted me for years..
why so young?

I use to love smoking candy cigarettes, but not between my toes
This morning of all mornings,
bonds with the carpet fibers is a piece of candy

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

When you write in prose, you cook the rice. When you write poetry, you turn rice into rice wine. Cooked rice doesn't change its shape, but rice wine changes both in quality and shape. Cooked rice makes one full so one can live out one's life span . . . wine, on the other hand, makes one drunk, makes the sad happy, and the happy sad. Its effect is sublimely beyond explanation." - Wu Qiao

Multiples Personalities

I’ll defeat you, I said
I have study your every moves
You clustered my inside,
Gasping for air, I struggled
It snow, I wore a tee shirt
No boots though, I took the train
Trouble follows me
Outrageous! I scream

Split personalities, alters assembled
At court street, Nevins and Applebee
Each taking turns to maneuvers in the cold breeze

I fought with all my might,
then headed to the voodoo priest
Gibberish sounds he offered
However, not for too long
With some great effort
Conquering we fought the beast
Depression you lose; we won.

I was sitting on the black stool,
next to her bed
she was elevated into a sitting position:
waiting to be fed,

I seriously thought by now,
She would have been dead:
Her fragile body, the determination,
Of the outcome of her life span:
makes her seems untouchable:
first born,, walk in
with a grin on his face,
his thoughts was similar to mines
She should have been dead by now

Small conversation, mostly about politics
His fruitless marriage and memories;
Of her teaching him how to tie his shoes lace,
a contemptible, socially inept person. In a suit

I should have dress her in her black dress
to match his suit, it would have been effortless
with the struggle of getting her into it…
I remember his break the silence moment:
Did you voted for Trump?
Why would he not.. asked how is my mother doing?
Did politics seem to matters most to him,
Or her wellbeing: In such a vegetable state?

I took a few steps down the corridor.
on my way back his visit was over:
tops five minutes

To him she is worth only five minutes of his time:
a contemptible, socially inept person. In a suit
she sang at his wedding, she taught him
how to ties his shoe lace,

she lay upon the bed with a tube up her nose
Waiting: for them to rain on her grave

He called my poem
Wise and tropical
The heat of the Caribbean:

The tongue of the goddess
Years of eating so much
Fishcakes lace with Guinea Pepper Seeds
Ginger beer and mauby bark drink
Top with lemonade and pomegranates
remains in my blood stream:

When I dream, I dream
and react like a chosen prophets
So, I spread my words like a modern Moses

Message in my poems, are
Like ashes, they can’t be bottle
They have to be scattered
Throughout the internet,
Around the globe: global feeds,
Depending on the poet’s pen
The archives is not the place for them to be stored

I once saw my mother sob
As she kneel in the sugar cane field
The tears was for her children future,
These days I sob because of a bad dream
Our American dream is no longer valid,
a beacon of hope without a definition
for our future:

Tupac saw the comings
In his dreams,
Suddenly, the silencer
Silence him,

Martin Luther king, had a dream
A silencer silent him
Apparently, John Lennon was getting closer to the truth
he too was silent

He called my poems
Wise and tropical,
I think of them as written transmission:

The screen maximized  and there you were
waiting patiently for me
and for the first time I really heard you speak my name.
  You lighten up the screen, you transcend.
I was captivated by your mysterious looks.

Something felt sweet and innocent,
was it your shyness..
Or was it in my private thoughts?

As we tease each other:
I saw fears within your eyes.
With the breakthrough,
you saw the joy within mine
For true love is passionate love that never fades:

Never again would we hide our feelings,
or made to feel abashed of what was meant to be.
Our eyes stare into the camera, our souls reconnected:

You made me feel whole again, when we talk of love
How many times since our reunion have we seen the blueness of the sky?
the lovely smell of the blooming roses from miles away
These forbidden ****** desires of a platonic love affair pressing
deep into the core of my heart.

Not free to be in each other’s arms, but brave enough to
Follow our hearts: we’ve set the bar high
Now we must reach for the star..

It is May Day
Not a sign of the tulips blooming
The sun won’t stay behind the clouds forever,
Said the weatherman  
What the hell do they know”.

I woke up with the intention of burning
The African scented candle stick: forgetting
That I didn’t purchased them yesterday:

Darkness fell upon this May morn
The air is cold and gloomy: somehow my
Favorite visitors took time from the morning routine,

Landed on my window and sang to me

I texted my brother and reminded him
To water the roses,
Trimmed the dry leaves,
On my outdoor patio upstairs

I remember  May Day long ago
When I finally broke the *****
I have pondered about that old lover
From time to time: with a genuine smile
So far my memories is kind to me,

There is a picture of a rooster on the kitchen wall
it reminds me of my grandmother kitchen
Where food wasn’t an abundant
Despite adversity:  
but lots of love was there in that old house:

Dark sky can dampen one spirit.
However, a hot cup of coffee, a keyboard
Can boost ones energy,
Composing a poem, a happy poetess
Or a game of slots can brings out the art of creativity
As she takes on the morning with a few
Words, a few lines, hoping to put a smile
On the faces of sadness

Snow, rain and grey sky ... sets again
Upon the coldest part of this city
where hundreds of grounded flights
Once again took to the unfriendly skies
So, here I am thinking of the land of the flying fish
With one wicked indulgent on my mind
The fire ***, palm trees and casino nights.

  St. Lawrence Gap is where the exchange rate
gets bigger and the euro goes from hand to hand,
meaningless ***, ***** talk and a bit of ...fun
a dream within a dream, little favors
just to entice them, those locals folks
to encounter one night stand

All I need is one week to glow with the sun
One week, one weekend and my tassel bikini

You cannot swim where there is no water
However, you can drown from the inside
Our skin changes ever seven years,
New cells, new ideas, new technology

However, the first lady in the house
Is not the same lady of yesteryears?
Even if she said she doesn’t care:
Most likely, you can drown from the inside
From tears, humiliation, aggravation

Never mind how traumatic those situations might be
There is no antidote for buildup pride 

Love is NOT the antidote to pride – humility is:
And who has agitated her more than him:
Her eyes and her voice show fears:
I sense her wait, she will be free again
Fake happiness is dangerous.

**Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting." Bernard Meltzer

I am a poet. From me, you will get only the best
It’s called persistent, not defeat
a roller of criticism moves me,

However, to watch my surfer friend Andy out on the wave
driven with the wind, those moments of the great madness
  makes wonderful poetic lines, I sense the rush, his madness,
and his sense of honor.

I shall therefore joyfully boast in my sufferings my friends
However, when you disrespect the poet, you disrespect the art.
you cut your roots at the source, and your thoughts will grow silent,
I am so blessed with the spirit; I am never stumped by fears

Yet, if you hold my poems against the mirror
the mirror would never read the contents backwards,
My messages to the world have no secret.

I am your poet, not your puppet on a string
My words are louder than clappers,
Like a heavily smoke-filled room,
My words might gag you,
because my words speak wisdom

This poet is not ashamed to write from her heart
My poems is like most nightmare transcending
our fears for the best.
I am breathing, I am writing.
  this is the new age of poetry

While, I pondered my age in calculator.
It seem likes I have block out my actual age after I reach 40
I have forgotten that I was over fifty,
My brother asked me “how old I was in calculator
I have never given it any thoughts
until that moment about my birthday
I pondered for a moment,
and said I think I am 55

He boldly said, that a lie, you are older than I am..
I have never given it any thoughts
until that moment about my birthdays
Unless it was too filled out my physical forms
or my Income Tax Returns submits

I so often hear them say, age is just a number;
However, my favorite number is 1;
It’s the beginning of everything

Come and take me with you to the chamber of love,
and prove your love to me once more
So strongly scented, I smell the Jasmine in the front yard
This made my heart calms by itself

  We sat on the bed and gazed deeply into each other eyes
Suddenly, I saw verse within a song.
and my unwritten poem to be published based on my emotions.