I Walk Into Bobby Department Store
And I yelled where is the Bajans at?
This might sound a little weird to most
But, it’s that seasons when I get to hear
The native tongue, follow by the real country accent
Plus some rudeness as their form long waiting lines

But to see the joy of Christmas
Still exist in their tone of voice

Christmas time is that one time of year
when you could be happy without
giving yourself any reasons.quote

I could hear sentences like
I want to mail this barrel by next week
But I know they wouldn’t get it before next year
As an outside, listen in on stranger conversation
they might say to themselves

“What is this barrel they talking about
A barrel of ***, a barrel of jack Daniel
A barrel of monkey, what barrel?

Yes Bubba! that barrel it filled with gift and food stuff
For their family on the Island of Brim
So all I have to add to this is.....that

I am reminded that while New Yorkers say "standing on line,"
the rest of the English-speaking world says "standing in line. - Jeffrey Steingarten quote..

Downhill after dark we took our nightly showers  

Under the standpipe, dodging the cars light,

It was fun in those days, the life of the poor black child

The countryside, but the sweetest thing to remember,

Roast breadfruit, roast flying fish, roast corns,

It was fun in those days, for the life of the poor, young villagers

in today world it called Backyard Barbecuing with friends,  

when we did it was called poor people way of cooking, and celebrating.

So often now and then,  

it's good to go back in time

And relived, those awkward and happy moments

Only thing I detest was loading the sugarcane

On my head and going up the ladder,

The white man reap all the sweet

The black man bake under the sun.



Last month I sat in the most expensive Restaurant

And eat, lobster, drank expensive bottle of wine

I wouldn’t reveal the cost of the meal,

But, I always knew, that one day, this would

Have happen, from roast fish, on the hill of Prout Hill

To Washington DC exquisite night restaurant. MI*VIDA

And yes I made all of this happened:

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

Stop badgering the witness!

Love is a mysterious thing poker face
Even though we tend to think of soul mates
as a symbiotic union, we have to be open-minded

Marriage is a business transaction
We've all had nights we can't remember...
or wish we could forget
as we all recalled it was the mindset
that triggered strong emotion into an explosion
that separate the thing called love.

It’s have been more than twenty odd years since
the Weeper's victims left over tears, that never faded.
the dead  never felt neither pain nor anger

The jury is still deliberating long and hard with miles
  to go on the public views, so once again
if the gloves don't fit you must acquit
  Stop badgering the remaining witnesses America
Love is a mysterious thing, poker face

Our neighbors hate what they do not understand. As a child, it was so hard to comprehend such behavior. To me, it said more about them than us. However, envy is not jealousy; it was their way of feeling left out. They would say things like, “Her head is always buried in a book.” But to me, their noses were all up in my young business. I was always searching; I craved knowledge and loved looking up to intelligent people. As I listened closely to their words, I realized that conversation is a two-way street. Somehow, I loved being on their street just for the knowledge they seemed to possess. I never seemed to smile; my brain wouldn’t allow it. But somehow, my lips remained pliable. So many would say, “I saw your lips first,” but I knew I wouldn’t get a smile from you. My days aren’t like yesteryear; I don’t care anymore about other people’s feelings. The experts have a word or two for this kind of thing: “Emotional Invalidation” (rejecting other people’s feelings or thoughts). Or others might say, “I don’t give a [expletive].” In my youth, I loved beauty, but beauty moved slowly. I always knew that an ugly duckling would become the Queen of the swans. Our neighbors hated what they didn’t understand; they were too busy searching for words to put us down—words of hate, nothing that one could find in the dictionary. As a child, I never knew that grown women never wore underwear until that day when the neighbor fought her neighbor. Only two silk *******, and it was only for Sunday worship. So, the gossip goes, anxiety and uncertainty circulate. My neighbors and their offspring still hate what they do not understand. If you need to learn more, ask the village bread man.

Whilst I was walking down the street this morning
I tried to be polite and inconspicuous to a passing stranger

He stares directly into my eyes;
My brown eyes speak louder than my husky voice
without the spoken words or improvisation.

What was he looking for?
Did he like what he saw?

The pain, shame or a sense of connection
Love, is nowhere to be found in my eyes,

It's ruthless, it deems, it disappoints
By now we all know the stories about the pain
Of lost-love,

It begins with a smile
A kiss a warm embrace,
The tears and fears during the last years
of something that was once so beautiful..

Did he love the raven in my eyes?
Sorry stranger! ,
I played the game of love and lost
I paid my tithes, sorry stranger!

Caw, caw, caw!
Did the stranger love the looks of the raven in my eyes?

While the children sleep
I learn from my immediate elders who taught me
the good, the bad and the ugly;
however, my strength is hiding deep within.
If only the pain weren’t so severe.

An ugly duckling who suffers Verbal and physical abuse
From the cool, pretty crowds of clueless incompetent?
You with your tawny hair, they often shout
Flat jacks with granny strap
String beans without the lean

So cruel; so mean those  terrorist sounds  
That goes round and round on the playground
While the children sleep  through the night
I play with night flyers
Golden wings and friendly flittering smiles we dance,
Into Twinkling lights of the meadow;
Late at night without the feuds or the abuse of the inferiors
I got teary eyes as I say farewell to my misty friends

Bigotry and hatred, Playgrounds terror,
  Children of the cornfields rules the inner cities school
Throughout kindergarten into high school

You must process the Skill of a tiger, speed of a leopard
Going to school going isn’t any fun anymore

This is the day of trouble, and of rebuke, and blasphemy: the
The children are coming to birth and there is not strength
To bring forth:(bibical)

Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.  
— Frank Lloyd Wright

Thousands and thousand
Of people, will die this year
From the virus, and the
Streets they lived on is sadden
By the masks someone
Refuses to wear, stingless
And reckless those buggers left behind

Another apartment available,
In our city, waiting, the grass
Seem greener, politics outbid
The tik, tok creativities challenges

If we listen quietly at seven P.M.
We can hear the cry of essential workers
Crying for justice victims,
The virus is a terrorist, boomer!
Launching attack on foreign lands,

Overhead we raise our voices
And asked God, not again!
In the meantime the skies seem, clearer,
the ocean seem, cleaner, less pollutions

Every time the flowers are blooming,
it’s reminding us that a new chapter of the day was born.

The races are shading, the people is vanishing,
The birds will read them down with a song,
Why!
Nobody is allowed near the headstones
Nothing last forever: unlike the red states
Winners and loser, statues falls to the ground:

Lord Nelson they are coming for your pillar
In Bridgetown,
You must come down, it is really civil rights
suddenly, not so popular at the dinner tables
he must come down!


.


,

A perfect summer day is when I am at the beach,
the sea and sun blend my caramel skin into an even tone
hyped up just watching the seagulls
diving straight into the water searching for food.
and all internet connection is shut down.


*Happiness is a day at the beach

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday Morning ******
My soul has been ****** dry,
due to the rising body temperature,
This drove me to speak in tongues

I close my eyes and I drift deep into a bed of jelly
as my heart called out his name,

My body became lifeless like emoji expressions
my new morning love of language
and we become one with our feelings

Tainted Blood

They lost me because I loved them enough to let them go, If you love something, set it free; if it returns, it’s yours. Or perhaps they wanted to have their cake and eat it too.

As poets, we often shy away from lines like these, Odium-filled phrases that don’t necessarily mean failure. A failed relationship doesn’t imply personal failure, But rather a problem—either created by us or our partner.

Let’s list the problems:

Lack of capital

Lack of patience

A weak man seeking rescue from a strong woman

And the list goes on, each issue a thorn in the heart. The pain fades after the first heartbreak, Yet trust and love become elusive.

I knew I would lose them—the scent of tainted blood wafted from their pores as they drew near. So, I stopped the kisses, the intimacy, and then came the unwarranted jealousy, the emotional hurt of rejection.

We see them for what they are, and sometimes, that’s enough to set us free.

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.

If we must die this year let it not be of neglected


Puffing and gagging for air,

While the virus ripped through our bodies

Because someone didn't adhere by the rules


If we must die, let it be of natural causes,

So that our names wouldn’t be another

count on the wall of the unfortunate  

Oh skullduggery, take the vaccine:



If I had loved them sooner, I would have missed them

They never love me truly, so I don’t remember they kisses

The touch I would have treasure, they smile I would have remembered,

It cost too much to remember,  

and too little to trigger the love in my heart



To think of them free, because of death

You think that my coldness, was my only way of loving them

But my warm hands were a reminder, that I am alive,

You never saw my face, when you were dying,

I know that they wish them did,

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

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

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

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

In the tapestry of life, memories weave their threads, and the echoes of past workplaces linger like faint perfume. Seacrest, with its morning shifts and graveyard hours, left an indelible mark—a mix of disdain and nostalgia. The Stench, both literal and metaphorical, clings to the corridors of memory.
Retirement, a withdrawal from life’s hustle, offers solace. It’s like stepping out of a turbulent river into a calm pond. Yet, self-reflection creeps in—an inventory of wasted years spent in an institution were money reigned supreme. What good remains? The ledger is blank, the balance elusive.
Here, at sixty, sanity is my prayer. A few screws may be loose, but not enough to rattle the Monkey cages of life’s absurdity. Kindness flows, a gentle current, but I know it can backfire—a vulnerability in a world that thrives on sharp edges.
And you, a familiar face, a reminder: “This path, tread cautiously.” In my next life, I’ll be a poet—a real one, successful and unyielding. A master tinker, weaving words into magic. A philosopher, unraveling life’s mysteries.
But for now, I am Annie—the content creator, the mother, the friend in need. And perhaps, that’s enough.

****
scars all
the victims
sweet revenge
attacker castrated: open wound bleeds

I always know when I’m in love
My heart reacts to the sound of your name
Like pounding waves on a stormy day
Until I received the text you sent yesterday
My love for you fade so fast like excitement.

When you kiss me yesterday
You said to make it last until we meet again
That was seven years ago
  I watched as we exchange that kiss on VHS

Today it made me squirm
Your kiss was an act.
Without the green lighting of  a sequel




“Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.”

― Thomas A. Edison

Holding on so tight
I can barely breathe
I can see star lights flashing,
flashing different colors of the **** bands'

The hooks dug deeper into my skin
Am I being nailed to this  cross?
Without the intimates that emphasize comfort?
The subtle lift, the agony of the fabric,
Bare necessities of the multiway bra

Whenever, February comes around
and if I am still here breathing ,
I must shed a tear
Whenever the coldest month
of the year gets to me
I flashback to 1959 and
the bullock’s heart tree:

My vivid memories might seem a bit strange,
But according to sources, it’s where my Nana
buried my navel string: under the old bullock’s heart tree

The bullock’s heart trees shall forever lived on
So are my memories of that secret place
the sparrows and the blackbirds shall
  forever feast upon the ripened fruits it produces

The broad leaves shall shelter the wild doves,
from the tropical sun and rain,
However, how strange my memories might seems
whenever, February arrives and I am still
breathing, I must shed a tear.
because, I am forever blessed ..Happy birthday to me.

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.

I think a lot about the character in some people
The character of a person in
the dictionary sense of the word:
Is not the character in my book: per say:

Writing reflects the character of a person like nothing else.’

The characters in my poems, is never about me
it's about my wiliness to come to term with them:
For the past two years, I took on this character
Who am I, what was I thinking and who told me that I could
have taken on such a huge responsibility:

Friendship is better for business than business is for friendship.*
I have proven this quote to be so true:
I have always appreciated when someone give me something:
I would cherish they gift to the end:

Years ago when I was a teenager,
When things were rough, my cousin and I would
borrowed each other stuff… clothing etc.
I remember my favorite blouse, I lend it to her
I spend almost all my wages just to buy the top
She took forever to return it to me:
So one day I build up the courage to asked her for it
She promises that in a week time she would return it:
a week passed, joined by another and another,
I took it upon myself to go to her house
To bring home my favorite yellow expensive top
There and behold as I walk in her back yard: in the sink
I set my eyes on my yellow silk top: in a pile of *****
Dingy laundry, my heart stop for a moment
green and moldy, lying there,
Crying out to me: rescue me!
I just couldn’t believe my eyes:

She never had respect me or other people belongings:
It has been over thirty years, and I still have the pink
robe my boss had given me after the birth
Of my first daughter, I cherish it,
I appreciated the thought behind her wonderful gift
When someone give us something:
We have to considered how that person care
Enough to get us a little something:
a token of their love

I thinks a lot about the character of some people
How they like to used us, and when you can’t
Come through for them, they sulked
They feed on others sympathy:
Don't help people who won't help themselves:
Just walked away: take it from this character:

Changes
As people we are always asking for changes;
Spiritual, politically or just spontaneously
During the election a number of folks asked
and some even vote for changes
We hate, we love, and we deplore acts of violence
then and now:  Now it haunts most people:
Some even would still consider shaking his hand:
Some got what their asked for, and some still undecided:

Let Us Not Become the Evil We Deplore.” By Amy Goodman

He never goes under the covers: he just love to be exposed
A ***** is a *****: in his eyes: He might asked to see the
Birth certificate, but not the death certificate:
but never the **** kit, the yearbook inputs or the
country clubs initial membership lists:
Birth for him meant still in control: death gone from one’s sight:

I was chatting to a friend one day, I said to him imagine
that everybody on this earth woke up one day
To find zillion of dollars in their procession:
What would that meant to others: the loss of the power:
Money is the leveler that runs the world
The bad things that we done in our youngers years
Will one day comes back to haunts us

The statutes of limitation is just the statue
Time will not be forgotten: Memories lingers
The pain, the shame of being in a humiliated situation
we are living in a divided country
Because, of so much greed and bigotry:

A change is coming: and it's coming soon
who run the worlds Girls!!!

Death came too soon:
To be precise every single day persay
it ended or did it not?
To all who knew them: we felt the pain?
But what lead up to this madness is: a crying shame
Your life is worth living
our heart bled for our love one
Right up to they last dying breath:

It ***** to keep a secret,
Jealousy is a disease, fear is mind killer
a killer is on the loose. Corvid 19

Two deaths, two stories
Double sins, double tragedy
But, oh, the feeling corona is leaving behind
The questions, no answers, so little time to reflect

Humanity is sickened by one horrific headline after another
I wondered who is going to be next:
I trust my life to an earthquake more than Politics

Raged like rough sea, against the salty rocks,
Holding on like sea ***** never letting go,
the thing call corona ..

1 Corinthians 15:54, 55:
“Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

To the one they left behind,
To the one who weep at the open graves,
To the one who silently stood by?
And to ALL of us on the frontlines

To the ones who knew of this deadly disease
And stay silent: isolation is also a killer;
To the ones who grieves and respond to loss

A mother who loss her daughter:,
a husband, who lost his wife..
so many cadavers , so many untold stories..

the crucial role we have to play daily..
This war time dynamic:

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

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

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

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

The Door into Darkness

How does one response to questions
About someone who drove them into madness
Times doesn’t always heal old wounds
Some wounds are none -reversible,
Some clothing is none returnable,

Her questions seem to be ..
What was the purpose of his life?
To her it might seem unfair not to answer
For me, it hurts… more that childbirth

Breaking a bone is painful,
Breaking someone spirit and heart weigh heavily:

The tongue that brings healing is a tree of life,
but a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit.” (Proverbs 15:4

His love for me plays out like an air filled balloon
From the Caribbean Island to the America shore
The King will choose his Queen,
But in his kingdom he longs for a wife,

The door into darkness, for me
Would not be, I prefer all my rooms
To be lit……

My Reportage for 10/8/2018
When I was a child, my mother and the neighbors
would sit on the front stoop and gossip
about current events: ones would pretend
to be reading her book, but ones ears were like
cable vision indoor satellite: broadcasting
Christine Blasey Ford and Judge Brett Kavanaugh
Stirs up a lot in me this past week
About my childhood memories,

I felt unnerves, about topics that old folks chat about back then:
I remember the villains, child *** predators and ****** fathers
the child's entrapment and powerlessness era in our small village
Where the old folks buried the secrets under the rugs
And prayer about it on Sunday morn

Flashing back to those stories,
too often is nerve wrecking
I called them the gossiping sundown moments:
Shilling was a clone of Brett Kavanaugh: he drank and he forgets:

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! /
The world forgetting, by the world forgot. /
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! /
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
'Eloisa to Abelard', Alexander Pope

Those gossiping sundown moments,
Never dies when it enters the ears of a heedful child:
I was always one of those children,
Who was so careful about stranger’s looks?
the friendlier the neighbors sweet talk tones
I would take off with speed like the swarm drone
Odd! but that was all it took:

All emotions, even those that are suppressed and unexpressed, have physical effects. Unexpressed emotions tend to stay in the body like small ticking time bombs—they are illnesses in incubation.”
― Marilyn Van M. Derbur,
:

The Looks at the many faces of people
We meet throughout our life time,
They always tell a story, some good, and some bad
I have radar eyes, and my instinct is always correct
If a stranger gave me the elevator eyes,  I will surely give
him the Amazon women warriors’ response

We have the pervert looks, along with the many faces of depression,
and lately the zombie-like robots plastic world looks,
While the lion and the tiger’s heads and eyes fixed on its target,
the critics silently stalks our poems looking for noun and pronouns and verb agreement

Because, their ego can never be satisfied,
However, do the lion have a story to tell?
Do his eyes see clearly?
It is a simple yes or no

We have been loving the same ******
all this time,
you thought he was your
I thought that he was mine,
Now, he’s all yours,
An error
Bittersweet blend of sorrow
~
My precious little angels
Now, it all comes to this
An end of an era
~
I know it never a good time to say adios
To the one you once love and adore
However, now is the right time to engrave his name?
on his tombstone
Here lies Mr. ****** all alone
~
We have been loving the same ******
All this time;
You thought he was yours
I thought he was mine
~
Breaking each other hearts
that lying **** ******
in Toledo Ohio

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The forgotten essential workers
Who is seldom mention.
Who is so often belittle,
Porters,
Cooks,
Laundry workers
Dish-washers,
Elevator-repair men
Recreations,
Front Desk clerks
Certified Nurse’s Aide
Home health aide
Waiters,
God! Oh how hard we work!
Private’s aides

Now as we celebrate Juneteenth 19
Black lives matters, can we really be seen
After four hundred years of oppressions
Can we tossed back river of tears
we are in 2020 is this our commission?

We as Essential workers in your nursing homes
Being tested twice a week,
By your essential worker phlebotomist
Who puncture my vein with his cannula?
For the governor executives order
listen up you uncouth nurses who poke
The swab sticks deep into my nose.
Listen this quackery has to end!
Pandemic, politics, election strategy
We essential need more respect.
You with your white privileges, and your treats

(RE: PCR swabbing, week being on Wednesday and ends on Tuesday.
If you work 4 or more days you need to be swabbed 2x per week
In a 48hrs time frame, if not you will be taken off the schedule
You will be humiliated, said the Administrator  Mr. Sal
Because he is not a babysitter there to reminds you..
Said a non- professional white privileges)
as the city navigate the pandemic
moving on to injustices of systemic racism,
poverty, militarism and
a war economy:

Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe..
I
Mr. Governor Cuomo: I cannot breathe

The Game Change
Two strong competitors fighting for the crown
So many promises, Where can we go wrong?

What did our bible?
Said about speaking in tongues?

Someone must lose in order
For the other one to win

That is what known at the game change.
Knowingly, nothing would ever be the same again

How many competitors from the past fulfill their promises?
Fools us once, shame on you, fool us twice,

We just have to say Amen but indeed... Oh! Jesus Christ.”

We listen and watch all those tricks and trades
With ponderings thoughts we said “who really said what?
Can they really step up to the plate and deliver?

Are we willing to put our country in the hands of the wealthy?
Who never knew the meaning being dirt poor?
Or Shall we say, no more, no more?

Show us the beef you influential flimflammers',
and we shall show you where our loyalty lies;

*Because man is his own authority
he use his brilliant educational philosophy, to be creative
he wink at the cameras, and said
” I get back to you on the real issues”
You law abiding fools

Satan is a liar, and so is man.
White lies, black lies and grey lies
Everybody lied at some point in their life
why stop now?
All eyes are on you!

How many time have my black brothers and
Sisters divided theirs tears Into Sections
With each drop, with each snuffle
With each tissue:  we thread:  as we bled to death

The chanting will echoed, the violent will rise
the barricade will  followed: then someone will die.
Black Lives Matters: Black lives matters
Are we really free?  
Are we still running from the police?

They is no such thing as equal rights
Those are upright and downright lies:
No justice no peace:  said you mama,
So heartless said your sister,
I will killed them said my brothers

As I compose this piece, racism is another kind
Of deadly disease: without a lease, without a cure:
As I stay here and listen to
the helicopter circling the neighborhood
All I can think of is bad actions, deadly reactions

Everybody stay calm, everybody stay down
Life isn’t fair,
chanted the big crowd  in Trafalgar Square:

1 Corinthians 15:54, 55:
“Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
Death only uses violence:

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

In the beginning
There were Adam and Eve
There was kindness,
and there was peace:

Everyone smiles in the same language
Not everyone hurts the same way:
Goodbye my brother .R.I.P

A time for demonstrating, a time to showed leadership
a time to be happy, a time to be sad,
A time to pull the trigger, a time to seize fire
A time for karma, a time for relaxing while the night calms

Rest in Peace my brother: George Floyd

We sit side by side,
Mother, child and daughter
An unborn fetus, nurturing,
We had the same dreams,
The same feature and the same walk:

we had to take on bed rest for them to
Survives: we had to follow doctors orders
For them to be healthy and wise:
They didn’t ask of us to be here. We choose them
We lay with the wolves, and we
Got impregnated:

Nothing in those books had prepared us for
The their rude awakenings,
pages of good intentions,
Words from someone else’s experiences,

Not necessary our own stories,
Experiences of another….mortal man
I love quiet places, I love the silence of
My own heartbeat,
the crystals sound of the healing singing bowls
To stimulates ones/my brain cells:
the alien’s gifts for us humans beings:
One and one isn’t always meant to add to two
You see, one on top of one merges as a whole
Two on top of two piles up like a thick granite block
As parents we always wish the best for them

But it’s the ending we don’t know of : words
Of sadness, bitterness and loneliness
Came from places of ungratefulness
Not from the corner of one’s mind:

my mother is close to her ninety birthday
Through the years, those hands I once thought
to be so rough are still taking care of
Of her family, she prepares the family meal daily,
not neglecting the heavy house works

she still finds time to go the city and paid her utilities bills,
Her mind stays sharp to fight off the aches and pain
Of an aging body: I admired the woman for being so brave:
For managing joint pain

When the time comes for me to stay silence,
Is when I am dead: even then I shall appear as the
Ghost you were afraid of> Amen:
,

The Heart of the Woman
Whose heart has been broken a
thousand and one times
pain of heartaches, dream destroyed

She remembers, he forgets
the heart became so,
dark as the African night sky
She was scare of the dark,
she was afraid to love again.

Suddenly, like a flower the heart slowly unfold like a rose.
The heart of the woman loves again.

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
suddenly, the poet hold his breath

He remembered a time long ago
When her well pedicured feet caught his eyes
and not her mind: that fetish duck..

She could have let him touch up her pedicure
Instead of playing with her heart strings

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A woman at the height of ******
This is where the poem comes to a howl
And the poet, hold his breath
He  remembered a long time ago
When her well pedicure feet caught his  eyes
And not her mind..a fetish dish
She could have let him touch up her pedicure..instead of playing with her  heart strings..

A 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..