We seek wakefulness,
What is Barbados to me?
Hot sun, and Broad Rim hats and old khaki pants?
Robust men with warm undertone skin,
That blends with the cultivated land.
We seek constant reassurance from the one we love
That they will be there for us in good times
Or bad times, just to feel good about ourselves.
What is America to me,
I mean so much to me,
A place where I was able to educated my offspring,
While I work from sunrise, to sundown
Under pressure, under humiliation however,
Every sunrise holds more promise, and every sunset hold more peace. – Anonymous.
We seek solutions for all the hateful people,
We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking that created them.
”
We can’t sit back and do nothing
Or wonder when the race hate will be over,
I think the Putin's war in Ukraine going after the wrong people:
We seek justice, for hate crimes
What Jamaica to me?
The place of rhythm of swing and slay
Where someone can fall in love today
And deceive you the next day:
We seek answers, but only God know
That his creation is out of control:
We seek peace and peace comes with love
Where there is no love, in one's heart
There will be no peace.
We all know about a little wisdom
But did we put it to the test
God opens millions of flowers every day without forcing their buds
Food for thoughts my poetic friend.
Be vigilant, be wise, never trust anyone.

Do not pretend that you don’t like it
when we have mind ***
you sigh! and said to yourself
“I just don’t get it..
That was so awesome, so real
Who need them?

I remember the constant tightness in my left side,
weakness in my fragile small frame,
those part of my life seem so dark and gloomy back then

He would every so often say to me: all you have left of you is
those black eyes peas’ eyes: are you going to make it to seven?
I recalled sitting on the big rock near the front porch in tears,
and watch as my friends in their starchy white shirts
and cut seams skirt headed to Clifton hill primary school
He saw the sad look on my face that morning
“we shall be leaving soon”, he said with a faint smile
I hated our long trips; my little feet would hang over the cross bar

Sometimes, I took turns walking the long stretch of road
exercising my weak legs, before I reach our destination.
My favorite breakfast before our trip was two soft boil eggs,
a slice of bread soak in bay leaves tea with chocolate powder:

I would be literally frozen with fear each time
I visit the doctor’s office: tears would flow;
I hate the weekly section, I held on to my father’s hand for dear life

I can still hear my cousin voice saying to me
You are so lucky not having to go to school
I envied her at that moment in time, I rather to be there in my
little corner of the room, playing with my silly putty or revising my time tables, instead there I was being poke with pine needles

I guess my childhood illness scared my mother to death
because she never tried to hide her feeling toward me
on the other hand, my father saw that distant looks in my eyes
Somehow, he knew I would made the transition to adulthood
Despite what others thought of my situation?

My morning therapy section consist
of building up strength very gradually to my left side:
a simple task like squeezing half of a tennis ball was so difficult for me
I tried as hard as I could each time: just to see that smile on my father’s face
While the doctor would say, one more time, one more time:
Concentration and skill was his aim, mine was to hurry up and go home
Going  back in time to observe ...the past helps

I will always say hello,

Oh my baby, hello, hello,

Am I the one for you,

We just don’t know,

I am feeling you,

I wanting you,

I teasing you, I am loving you

Hello, hello, I will always say hello,

Your hello is contagious

But I wouldn't be label the

The guinea pig project,

No trick, no ****,

Thank you for bringing me back to life,

Lady Folly
He did not kiss me when he said good-bye;
I let him go, not asking why,
Self-reflection
But I knew why, today I am taking a break
To reflect on myself, on this blessed Palm Sunday
What do I really want, what do I really need?
Somedays I think I know,
especially then I fall back into my mode
I see things others don’t,
my ****** muscle contracts each time
he rolled over, and touched, another,
even as he spoke kindly, I always knew
It's not cheating for him. Somehow for me
It's an invasion of one's privacy
As I feud within: I shattered mirror,
Of myself, this can’t be love it's not real:
Even though,
I’ve learned it is far better to lay in an empty bed
Then to lay next to someone who makes me feel empty(quote)
In my case, I am experiencing a folly of a woman
When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly


WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his *****--is to die.

Oliver Goldsmith
URL: https://able2know.org/topic/6894-1
Poetry can be therapy, poetry can be therapeutic,
These past memories, months of longing feelings,
I need the touch of his hand, his voice I can easily retrieve
The path of my writing is a path of truth,
I am the one that contributed to this madness,
I am the one with the poet's keyboard and pen
I am the one that should have just stayed friends,
I am the one that hate all men,
I am the one that loves, hates, and then love again,
Emotions, emotions, keep taking me in the wrong direction,
I want to go back, to my safe place, called loneliness
My heartbreak hotel

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

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

Heavy winter snow

The snow on the street
looks so depressing
Black oily piles in
so many places,
the drains
the side walk
not even a living creature in sight

I ponder'd about frozen bodies
under the sad looking pile
I long for the island sun, the warmth,
and the fresh misty air
One might say who cares
But today I care when
I saw the looks upon their faces,

As the cold ripped through they flimsy clothing
then I thought about life
what is the purpose of existence?
when the other half is living
and the other sufferers
In silence

The words have been the poem,
and a good poem should fulfill us
  It can offer consolation and comfort
in our times of need

Lift up your pens, you upcoming poets write to,
your heart's content,  let your words,
be a conversation topic, be the closing of
the graduation speech, because
rhythmic language thrives, it allows most poems
to speak for themselves.
Who Killed Poetry?
No one did .

A good poet is someone who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightening five or six times; a dozen or two dozen times and he is great.'  

Randall Jarrell

Earth has its boundaries,  but humans  stupidity is limitless.

G.  FLAUBERT

Sometimes we don’t
Even realize it but we die
A million times over and over,
Reincarnation, we keep trying
To do it right, they keep getting
It wrong: walking through the
Exit to the left, and enter
Through the right:
And there you are trap again,
Inside the body of a ****:
Begging for your life:
You want to turn around
And take another door with
The golden logo: you must
Never knock, just open that
Door and walk in with
Confident:  what happened?
Next, depend on the first face
You encounter, never look directly
into the eyes of any one, never smile
Let the new subjects called
Your name, did your name
Sound like a boy name or
A girl name:  was it easy to
Remember: it’s a new beginning
Impurities from the old you:
Born again: it time to latch on


**Pray to God with tears in your eyes whenever you want illumination or find yourself faced with any doubt or difficulty.

This is some journey

Oh boy!
this is some journey for me
Eating poetry, looking at you,
I had no other choice but
to bow to the porcelain queen.
Some words take longer to ******* in the mind
To reach your bliss point, so know your happiness.
Certain insects are edible. But some words
are non-edible, for our inner creative force.

Some of my thoughts may be in my fingers,
From the time I woke up in the morning
my spoken words stay within my head
They are not offensive; however they might make someone
Somewhere, someplace broke a glass into diamonds

I’m going to kiss your lips,
they are cold and taste like the word America)Quote)*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am going to say curry, turmeric, ginger and, garlic
The secret to one’s health:
the true radiant of loving ones’ body:
Like this secret place in my mind
The Gardens at Marqueyssac, Vézac, France.(relaxing)

I’m going to make love to you like the internet explorer
Two words Private mode: just to quench the thirst (even though)
It wiser to separate the two, business and pleasure
One word complication: never bed your business partner (unless)
If you can pulled it off like my heroine McKenzie Bezos (go for it)

I’m going to exam your tockley,
It’s sinful, and deadly, like the  initials S.T.D
I am going to end here with a prayer,
Asking for guidance, and Lysol sprays:


Dark Poem

Top to bottom
Left to right
No matter how you look ahead
It was a sad, sad day

poetry archives-
watching from behind the screen
the critics torment

Everything Is Broken
Everything Is Broken
Broken poems,
Broken words,
Broken lines,
Broken links,
Leonardo Da Vinci Code broken
The critics not censored
Unedited

No words, just your eyes,
Your touch, just your smile,
your smell leaves me wanting more
I am weak when I am with you
Intoxicated by the touch of your lips
let this fire burn within for ever
I see not, I hear not
One love, one heartbeat within

I just got a called from my sister today.
She said, hello. “How are you doing?
I cleared my throat a bit and turned on my happy voice.
For a moment I imagined myself being in the executive seat
  turning my chair around slowly to greet my client.

I kept the conversation flowing, until my daughter’s dog came into the room. so I pretend he was my assistant coming to fix my coffee machine.
I had to let my mind take me to this place called calmness and most of the time this kind of diversion actually works for me

How I am, or who I think I am, my perfectly poised frame of mind at that given moment,
my wants , my island family needs, makes me want to write an unfriendly family poem

Without leaving any stone unturned.

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

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

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

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

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

Out of my mind when the WhatsApp tone startle me
Into believing that it was him: who was texting me

When your love has reached it course
A good apology is hard to find: But why say it in a text
Knowingly the other person is going to be vex

Today, I was meditating on three words,
Happiness, empathy and relationships
I will never say this is the end: or will I jump ship
I will always add more to my trouble

Because of whom I am: when I was with them
My past lovers count their trouble,
but they never calculate their happiness:
While they were in my life: they make me
Lost my perspective on the true me

however, do bear in mind
Your true self is never lost

No heat, no sunshine.
please bring out the moonshine,

While the cowboys ride their horses
you must ride out this intensity of the winds
Mother Nature sings as the frozen lake slowly cracks
Casting her jeering spell of laughter,

Nine deaths so far, because of the storm
Ice is ice, not solid ground,
just take a look around
Stay indoors and write a poem
this storm is showing no sign of backing down

Inevitable
Situations that is unavoidable.
A little nod to Charles Bernstein


A college without students
Facebook without members
*** without a partner
A man without woman
A keyboard without the keys
A bath without soap
Donald Trump without passion
A twitter account without his followers
A night without rest
A day without snapchat
A bank without money
A soap opera without a plot
A Rally against poverty
A poem without rhyme
A nurse without the doctor
A train without the tracks
A death without weeping
A horse without its carriage
A car without its wheel
A wingman without his buddy
A lotto ticket without a dream
A day without a crime
A lady without her *****
A politician without ambition
A bar without alcohol
A patient without insurance
A day without rain
A memory without recollection
Childbirth without fear
A judge without the jury
A school without teachers
A nightmare without vision
A bed without headboard
Sesame Street without bid bird
Football without violence
A seamstress without training
A story without a dialogue
A baby without its mother
An election without voters
A couple without children
Inevitable
~~~~

Days of Rain
Day of tears, brings rain
Days of scented gardenia filled the open air
With perfume: Day of rejoicing for two lovers
Prince Harry and Megan making weddings plans

Happy news, smiling faces, but with broken tradition
We all love a fairy tales with a happy ending.
We love to see that love still exist,

We love when love merge and become intimate:
Still Close to our hearts, this thing call love
Jupiter merges with the moon to add luck
and understanding to love relationships play

let end this year with a little happiness. xoxo

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.

I had been on my way to work as usual
I am the seven to three shift
A shift where you see the modern slaves masters
The visionary of the Donald J Trump’s disasters

I saw a title of a poem today,
"The Bullet Was a Girl".
Now my title might be
"The Bullets Are The Russian
that led to  Obamacare assassin
That led to the suspects Russian interferences of
Human rights abuses:
The Russian might build the wall
Now that would be a vision no one saw coming,

Hold your arms out wide for my welcoming,
Let the shyness of you shake like a leaf
Bring out that swagger moves:

That, lion wait to devour someone,
Lift up thy chin, pulled back those shoulder,
Hold your arms out wide for my welcoming:
Let the lingering scent of my oil, blast that
Burning fire, because all eyes are on me

The snow Queen shall melt faster in the sun:
Before, the jumbo jet takes a rest.
Walking toward you, and only you:
Unleashing the tigress within my soul:

I may walked like Jessica Rabbit
But purr and walked like a white Persian cat:
Let my walks tell my story.

The Voice of reason

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

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

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

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

Why lay out so many dishes on the table to have dinner
such as tureens, sauceboats, and centerpieces
salad forks, dessert  forks, wine and water glass
Drive-through are essential everything in one bag

(me)

There is no grass left for them

There is no beginning to an end of the trolls
It’s today, it’s this morning, and it was also yesterday
They were putting the poet’s poems into the earth
Our creative work, curled like sour milk.

I don't understand what the troll motivation was
For crushing our dreams deep into the ground;
Without giving us the plus and minus grades,

Frederick Herzberg came to me in a dream
and whispered these words:
Satisfaction and motivation
One remark he made before he vanishes from my dream
He asked me if I knew how to get rid of sour milk smell?

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

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..

Some of us let the summer month’s gets to your head
As we feel the heat we become one with nature
Naked, green and unapologetic,
a kind of trend which most people follow,
and hard for the some of us to swallow

Like all other things the summer heat can
Make the darkest man visible, the sleaziest worm
Crawl to the surface, for a dark tan
But it surely cans nectar the honey for  the Gods
Fall is upon us, as our joints began to ache,

Halloween is a drawing near,
Am I the only one whose seem to care?
The fly flies settle down under the broad leaves
And here I am the green poet from New York is visiting Tennessee

Those Hot summer bikini bodies, is now as cold as Niagara Falls  
We fret as we began to throw down, the last of the summer days
Creeping backs into our jean and Woolly Love Heart Jumper:

Suddenly, here come the hurricane months, September,
October and November all with they uncertainties
  
As I kept expressing my feeling into poetry,
With my frequent minds pop no matter how strange
Embrace them I probably will do the same.

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..

Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

— Carl Sandburg, 'Poetry Considered.'

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

November





Helen Hunt Jackson
.
This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning’s rays
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet’s day of pain?