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

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 *******
.

The morning comes, and dark clouds appears
Facebook notification alerts me about those clouds
Are clearing today and I must look out for sunshine
So what about me: what about our equanimity
in the New York city?

What am I going to wear?
Here I am dress up like polar bears
Watching my window curtain clings again the window pane
So cold inside, so are the contents in the tupperware
Looking forward to this sunny day, before the night comes
Longing for that special trip to the Caribbean sunshine,

The air in the city seem so misty and *****
The loud traffics sound is deafen, it's sicken
It’s time for some March morning moonshine

The traffic light by Walgreen pharmacy is on the ground
The black ice still hangs around in the big city

A poet lamenting about the well-being of the city dwellers
As many folks filed grievances about living conditions of Newyorkers
A poet might as well filed a complaint over conditions,
that led up to her cold, cold **** and *****

My poems travel far
It doesn’t need a visa
Or a green card to enter the heart of many
It doesn’t need your permission,
to make others smiles
My poems will always be foreign to you

Translated in the gift of tongues,
My poems owes you nothing,
But it promises you more,
Let my travelling poems be my gift to you;

With a trendy feel of a human touch
in which the world need now.
Free *****, but let my poems travel

A visible spirit
She came to me and
Asked for my name
I asked her why:

Does she need my name for?
She said that I yelled at her
And if I do it once again

I would see the visible spirit of her
I have come across so many spirits,
On my job, and none could match
My mines: I stood my cool,

And I vouch never to encounter her
I would walk through the valley
Of the shadow, of death, and I would
Fear no threats, not for the likes of her,
I know her, I once was her, but
Not as stupid as her, wraith

I will not let it rest, I whisper
Under my breath, another one
On my radar, another close called
My way of doing things:

Back in time during some tense moment,
of weakness causes a state -of Confusion
or was it  an era of delusion in my poetic mind?
to my greatest surprise, this became a series
  of my confessional poetry.

Aching for someone to fill a void
A love that couldn’t be granted
Without the repercussion of the change.....

Why have I chosen?
Such a man of low caliber
To fulfill my wildest fantasies

A man who knows
Not what he wants
Who never delivered those timely sigh
Or made the almighty seem
Less powerful than him

Oh how long have I waited to reach?
That high pitch of satisfaction
To hear the sound of
“Oh God, oh my God
Without a choir chorale

My bed, his cave,
No waiver, the thrill is gone
A wish not granted
A void yet to be filled

Behind each smile is a silent frown
Behind each door is a chair turn upside down
Behind each super bowl history,
there were losers, winners, and yes

There were some wonderful entertainment,
Beyoncé and Lady Gaga,
the mighty twins and you....

Now back at the table of poetry,
there is the Bacchanal throw-out…
the mighty twin and you....

As you never bothered to return my Calls
  I shall wait outside your door and watch
as you build the gates of wrath higher and higher,

The taller your fences, the longer your lines posts should be
The sea refuses no river;
whereas most men and women turned on each other
your actions, their words, their inner thoughts
Cyberspace is now a battle space

Keep passwords secret and strong my friends
The famous Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote
The poet also resigns himself to his moods
I shall wait outside your door and watch:

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 *** *****..

Beyond the sales tactics
I listen to the voice of the liars
Loud in pitch, high with the verbs
I need to be alone, with my thoughts,
Mind control,

The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us;
but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us.
His attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful.”
― William Peter Blatty,

I want to mastered my own mind,
To deal with the universe and it’s allied:
How can one reason with someone
Who have lost everything?
Own your feelings or the situation owns you: quote
And do remember, it's not advertising; its mind control”

If you are a dreamer come in
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
If you’re a pretender com sit by my fire
For we have some flax golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!”
― Shel Silverstein

If I am a dreamer let me dream
Because you couldn’t dream big
Don’t awake me: let me save my pillow face
Too many ideas, jumping from one to the another idea
Sometimes, it feel like I am holding a snowball in my hands in the middle of July it dripping, it’s melting,

It searching for ten degree weather:
Dream further than beyond your height:

Billy don’t be a hero

Fear the unknown, fear the weapon
In all of my life on this earth,
I have never been into a store
And there was no toilet Paper
Is it a diarrhea epidemic?

We do not fear the unknown.
We fear what we think we know about the unknown.” – Teal Swan.

It was the empty shelves,
where the toilet papers stood before

It scared me. So many times
I walked those aisles
And fret at the prizes of the toiletries,
Would the thicker paper clogged my toilet
Would the thin sheet break easily?
Was it precaution, or prevention?

Fear the unknown, deal with the epidemic
My cousin, announced yesterday
She was tested positive, with the unknown
She seem hopeful, she seem fearless,
She believes in resurrection:
she believes in the scriptures

I do believe in not trying to be Billy the hero
I am a poet, not a hero with great noble’s qualities,

When your fellow poet becomes jealous
Of your nick knacks love of the art
pure jealousy! lots of rocks to throw

I will continued to nibble on my dry ball point pen
I will rise up;
You will always be the underdog
I am not your caged bird
The scattered jeers, your hissy fits
your dark shadow of misery
or the back channel of you being misled.
It's only fair to say that---


**'Stupid as a man,' say the women: 'cowardly as a woman,' say the men. Stupidity in a woman is unwomanly."
-Friedrich Nietzsche

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.

I heard the fear in her voice
I said to my husband,
Do you think she made the right choice?
He said to me

“Fear is not the enemy, she is her own worst enemy
That isn’t a great way to make money.
Her scream echoed in the still of the night

While the rats in the warehouse rustled, in every back alley
Making a dash for a safe haven,
She was trading ****** favors, and a bit of tally

The ones before her should’ve warned her about the nightlife
Because, survival is a positive state of mind, and
Blackbirds can only see the dark side of light at night:

But the pretty young girl, with the straight yakked weaves
What did she achieve?
The boots were made for walking,
the midnight stalkers would always stalk
But not for the girl with B1 straight yakked hair
wouldn't live to see another day.

The world is remodeling,
Can you feel it: did you hear it?
Black on black crime: The new Norm:

The Jim Crow laws were a system of anti- black laws.
These laws were made to keep black people lower than the white people .
The harsh punishments of these laws included being treated as a lower part of humanity.

Will this Black lives matter crash or will it
Seek black folk’s justice?

Who would have the sea any color the mint green
Or the school buses any color that yellow
Or the American green dollar
Now trim with black and red

Forget about the silver and gold coin, tossed them
In the Trevi Fountain:
just to please the madness
in some human’s hearts

look how those short two to three minute video
Often goes viral, in a nanosecond
And the lives of others can changes in a week

Oh, this new world is not coming together
Not much to say about those new executive orders
slow them down please! Slow them down.
No one love this worldly changes,
Especially the churches,
or what is left of the human race
Due bear in mind the ozone layer
Appreciate, the three months break

Pollution has declined and traffic jams have all but vanished.
but the increase of the Taser guns shot up
More than the shooting range

And when I called out to debunks this life
With all its beauty, its problems
God whisper to me, we need our poets
We need they spoken words and they written voices
we need a new Garden of Eden
     ,

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.)

My friend cannot forgave his wife
for not caring about him anymore
The idea of not having his shirts iron crispy
or having those long walk in the park together just to keep up appearances on Sabbath
Knowingly, it’s all about keeping it holy

when I left the Island, he thought about me
he locked away the love he had for me in a shoe box
and kept it hidden deep in his hiding place

Apparently, he guard it like an old elegant wine
Although, I thought of him throughout the years
I never wanted him to remove the love he had for me from
its hiding place:  I held on to that one portrait,
he held dearly to his heart

Images of the fountain scene:
I with my blue jean,
He with his John Travolta pants
Little did we really know?
Love never conquer all

We shares old photo from the shoes boxes on Sunday
He mumbles words like;
she had love dressing up
She had fairly long black hair,
our only son, she poison his mind
“I had loved that boy;
I saw the bones in his face cringed
Before, he told me that he wanted to make a bonfire
with those memories.
That when I stopped him in his tracks
Was it her ***** or her fat rear-end bewitched you my friend.

I came close to throwing a bone to the dogs
They made that awful sound before running off
Why did they startle the beast within?
Knowingly, they couldn’t finish the war

The heart knows its own bitterness,
and no outsider shares in its joy.
Pain is pain, regardless as to whom or what suffers it
Bullying should not be tolerated
I came close to throwing a bone to the bullies
B stand Bravery, Bullies, and Blowhards

To be teased, to be pleasing, to be smiling, or yet to cry
To take notice, after an ecstasy of rage
It understands you, it understands me: Our hearts
Breakfast for two in the ****

Muscles tighten without the pain,
hearing the wishes of our inner self
Pitter, patter on the window pane
to be teased, to be pleasing, to be smiling, or yet to cry
fulfillment, enjoyment, pleasurable moments
Breakfast for two in the ****,
What I wouldn’t give for such a dream

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

Breathe Again
Did I truly accumulate years of experience, or were they merely years of monotonous repetition? The echoes of my past reverberate, etching pain into the fabric of my love life and work. As time advances, I find myself embracing a newfound indifference—a defiance against the judgments of others. That perennial question about my funeral guest list—whose presence matters, whose absence stings—loses its grip on my thoughts. Let them bury me beneath the ancient mahogany tree my father planted long ago. There, sheltered from life’s harsh winds, I’ll find my final repose.
Love and loss intertwine, their dance a testament to human resilience. Can love truly conquer the most relentless hardships? Or does fate hold us captive, binding us to our own narratives? My ex, who departed last February, lingers in the shadows. Does he know he left us behind? Could he return, inhabiting another vessel, weaving a fresh tapestry of mishaps and lost chances?
The best storytellers are keen observers, attuned to life’s ebb and flow. Like a river, I carry within me a multitude of stories—of sadness and fleeting happiness. These currents shape my existence, etching their marks upon my soul.

My Wednesday Ranting .. Therapy
In deep darkness on a cold night
I listen to his heavy breathing,
He seemed like a tired person last night
Today, I am tired of broken love,
Tired of not being able to fully trust
This thing called love,
Love is supposed to be kind,
Love is supposed to be patient
He wants to cuddle, I just want to sleep
I never know when a poem will come to me
Throughout the simplest ordeal.
I love his smile; I love the feel of
his prickly unshaven ****** hair against my cheeks
As I write, I create myself again and again---Joy Harjo--
As I write, I remember bad times, bad things,
Of infidelity, --- Annie Lander
It wasn’t cheating, it was the image of my thing
Doing things to others, making them scream!!!
My wicked unsettled mind keeps asking me questions
That I cannot answer, however, I had asked God
To protect me and my sanity.
Let my fears compose a poem
And allowed me to understand, why the most painful thing
On earth is to love a man?
“Sometimes, giving all of your love isn't much so save a good soul, it demands soul for a soul as fair payment.”
― Gurusharan Singhs

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

When I see things that is so inhumane
I just have to close my eyes, and shake my head
I am part of a team there,
but I am not happy to be on board
A failing system that’s ruthless
So I put on my gloves,
and do as much as I can
Else I would be living that lie.

When I see things that is so inhumane
I just tighten my jaws and shake my head
To the things that disgust me the most
I burn incense as a symbol of prayer for the helpless

Can I ever forgive him for leaving?
I remember it was a cold, cold morning,
as the saying goes:
Nothing burn like the cold inside your heart  :Quote

The cheery *** whistle  louder than the factory whistle:
I got so tired of fighting with the devil:
And on the other hand asking the lord for strength and guidance
to made it throughout the days ,
But as the old saying goes
He only helps them, who help themselves

Sometimes our love: Isn’t strong enough to caged them in
I remembered opening my journal and jot down notes on events,
That led up to the day of his leaving: I began to sort out my
  my plus and minuses like a grocery list on a low budget:
my thought turned to the innocence young lady sleeping in the other room

The way in which we met, a love that was pure, a love that was consent
and everything was about to be change that morning
I remembered sounds of the boots, I remembered the melt down
I remember the song, I remember the lyrics
These boots were made for walking.
One of these days those boots going to walk all over you.

It felt like if the devil boots were walking away from us
Down the street, away from my home ,
boots that had walked all over me for five years.

It was finally coming to an end:
The boots walked toward the elevator door
For the last time, the last slam, the last tear drop
and the last grip of the devil touch.

The heart can get really cold if all you’ve known in winter :Quote

The Train whistles and sounds
Into the early morning:
while the cricket’s chirps frantically
at the clicking sound of rusty old tracks;
my heart beat  faster than ever,

I had to park my new car;
under the old train bridge
and board the 6:25 to
Bridgton

The homeless drug addicts
Seem quite content with their long term residency
Car 59
I looked to my left, then to my right
The foul-smelling car made the morning gloomy
Should I sit, or should I stand
Something about the early morning commutes
That really annoys this Staten Island's South Shore commuters
the stench in car 59

The sunlight slowly made its way into the day close to seven am
But somehow the addict and his partner didn’t seem to care
who broad car  59
so many dialects , so many nationalities
my heart beat faster , than ever
Why the hell doesn’t Metro North clean up the
this train line…

,

A little nod to
Joseph Seamon Cotter, Jr.

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling
Last year’s thoughts and flashing lights of passing cars*

Three hundred and sixty days of things: clusters:
Horrifying stories of battered women and abuse children
Sickening parents with mental issues trended across the globe:
And a new seasons of Law-in order special Victim’s unit on Netflix
Teenagers and adult on a summer cruise: party hard:

Sunday church goers grasping the holy bible so tight to their *****
like a stick of dynamite golden heirloom
Girls under twenty in their fashion nova curves club outfits

Leaving nothing to the imaginations: the old men will live longer:
According to National Statistics estimates: without their pacemakers

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling,
Last year’s thoughts and flashing days of
Mishaps and misery on my job
As this coming year draws nearer, I pray
That I will find a way
Out of this path I have chosen.

Preserving Childhood memories
Those years are like dusty boxes of old books
Each book classify as a quantum leap for me.
My first steps that led to many things,

I kept thinking about my small bottle of goat’s milk
Flavored with Grenada nutmeg to tone down the taste:
Perhaps after my father saw the look of disgust on my small face,
After my first tastes, in comparison to the cow’s milk
Lactose intolerance was the key word in those days.
Little did anyone knew of it…then..
Which was worse the cod liver oil, on Sunday Morning?
Or the nauseating feeling, of the repeats of the oil in one’s mouth

1950s hardly a child escaped mumps, measles, whooping cough or chicken pox.
Childhood disease was most feared, especially amongst the poorest.
So the old folks did whatever, it took to protect us ..

I was always searching, for my next chapter, as soon as I was out of
The danger zone to record, one line at a time
to the simplest things such as choosing the
Best pebbles, the loudest night crickets, to the most
Beautiful butterfly for my collections:

I think I had mention this before once I caught a snarky bird
And try to cage, the poor thing, until my grandmother beg of me
To let it go free, freedom for him was a squeak of happiness,
I could be wrong, but I think the bird return a favor to our household…
There he was picking away at the bananas on the kitchen counter,
Perhaps he saw the danger, that windy morning
A nearby kitchen towel was left to close to the burning stove,

Freedom for him was a squeak of happiness for us on that day
I must indeed say:
Preserving my childhood memories,
not only came from on top of that Hill
But from what that bird taught me,
About a kitchen window that opened with a slight squeak"
freedom
�

Child watches yours manners,

speak only when you are spoken too
Never be sassy; never look into the eyes of evil:
Else the whip will be on your cocoa backs
Its 2020 the whips snaps louder than ever,

Have any of you ever read the
“The Merchant of Venice

A poet ought not to pick nature's pocket.
Let him borrow, and so borrow as
to repay by the very act of borrowing.

Big banks are more dangerous than standing armies,
and the practice of borrowing and spending money
to be paid back by the next generation is stealing from their future
The U.S. debt to China was $1.07 trillion in April 2020

Someone forget to paid the Pied Pipers,
Was it the poor man, or was it the rich man?
They troubles became our trouble,
Now we all are suffering in the land.

They debt or the worldly infectious disease  
Now we all are suffering in the land.
Child watches your manners, speak when only spoken too

A poet can silence, a poet can be vanish from the world
And Robert Frost said anybody can start a poem,
but it takes a real poet to end one.
And that’s such a beautiful ending, gawking at clouds. Quote

Let us poets tell the real stories,
No let us convey the truth about the merchants!

The sun has risen, and a dove is cooing outside my window. All the tall buildings on my block seem to be resting. Here I am thinking of the cave man—his strength, his battles. Skylines, super tall buildings, and yes, some of us are not liking the look of our city. When there is no hope for your city, its citizens suffer tremendously. Why do other cities thrive better than some? The big question is, what makes a city thrive? ‘The more people you bring in, the more vibrant the city will become,’ Euchner said. But who are these people? (Ha! Ha! Profit holders.) Lack of empathy, people struggling with mixed feelings. While the impacts of rats in the subways make the alley cats stay low in the darkest alley, the sun has risen, and a dove coos outside my window. Meanwhile, the morning sun on the tall buildings seems hopeless. Here I am thinking of the cave man’s mental state: My brain is tired, my soul seems a bit weary, and I need more sleep (so mentally fatigued). Comme ci, comme ça!”

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:

Compassion, compassion

  Poets, viewers, poems with injurious remarks
Why we do the things we do?

We were born to suffer together
a poet who asked his viewers to feel his pain
Throughout the lines, while tearing down the barriers
that separate and divide the poet and the readers

I bluntly said to that poet, one heart, and one love
If I was to say to that poet:  death is good for some people
They deserve to die a painful death,
Am I asking too much of the poet to show empathy:

Who gave him the right, to steer me through his attitude and guilt
Who gave him the right, too asked of me to join a sympathetic crusade?
right now I'm in the process of turning empathy off and say buzz off Man!

What Love commands the train fulfills*,

The six thirty bounds to Coney Island

Where the green Ubers awaits the passengers

Morning greetings, (Urdu) of few words, were the



Pakistan, rules Mermaid Street with the neon green

Were too mama? where too, two dollars:

A repeat routine for most of us,



Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl, we all start our day at some point. And we all seem to start it differently. (Kevan Lee)



Five forty showers, get dress out the door before six a.m.

Grab the garbage, and walk three to the subway,
where love commands the train fulfills, which lessened  

My morning depression until midday, (who control whom)



Why was I born, why am even here, what is my personal worth?

Timeless question, who would remember me, when I am gone?

The train, the cabbies, would the streets miss my dragging feet?

Self-observation, is it worth a Newyork minute of whom will miss us. (really)

Void, void, void, void, void, void, void, and more void,

Just allowed the few that might to do some adjustments

For the sake of remembering me, for the sake of losing my car fare,

For the sake of not receiving, my monthly fees, and T-Mobile

you definitely would, release me from my grandfather plans:



Today, I sit in silence, away from all sounds, only the sounds

Of a keyboard, and my heartbeat, as the mouse goes click, click

For the sake of remembering is that a poet is only good at recollecting, reflecting, and making his audience believes in his words:

How to make yourself happy
compose a poem
and called it poetry,

let your inspiration comes
from that day, that time, that hour

when you felt sad:
then whisper to yourself
Good, golly miss molly
I can breathe again:

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

Running Alone

Within a crowded world, I lived my life alone.
Some dreams were fulfilled in unexpected ways.
Often, I believed I’d found my true calling,
yet reality unfolded differently.

I existed in the sheltered confines of my truth—
the road, the pain, the silent games of survival
in a sometimes hateful America.
Disappointment etched on faces,
three years to secure a decent job,
odds and ends to make ends meet.

I recall an agency assignment:
a two-year-old toddler without ears.
Her white parents, handed a challenge,
failed to change their ways.
When lunchtime arrived, they said,
“Step outside to eat; we’re Jewish.”
I listened, smiled, and walked away,
never to return.

Racism, pain, and low expectations—
I vowed that no white person would feel
what I felt that day. I quit the agency,
guided by my grandfather’s wisdom.
Sanity demanded distance from those
who’d deny my humanity.

And so, I moved forward,
my black hands never again touching
that white baby.
For I had lived my life alone,
seen it, and flushed it from my mind.

In this world of bigots,
I stood firm, resilient, and unyielding.
A bigot, intolerant of differing beliefs,
could not break my spirit.

Could Not Break My Spirit
Running alone in a crowded world, I lived my life in solitude. Some dreams came true in unexpected ways. Often, I thought I’d found my true calling, yet reality unfolded differently. I existed in the sheltered confines of my truth—the road, the pain, the silent games of survival in a sometimes-hateful America. Disappointment etched on faces, three years to secure a decent job, odds and ends to make ends meet.
I recall an agency assignment: a two-year-old toddler without ears. Her white parents handed a challenge and failed to change their ways. When lunchtime arrived, they said, “Step outside to eat; we’re Jewish.” I listened, smiled, and walked away, never to return.
Racism, pain, and low expectations—I vowed that no white person would feel what I felt that day. I quit the agency, guided by my grandfather’s wisdom. Sanity demanded distance from those who’d deny my humanity.
And so, I moved forward, my black hands never again touching that white baby. For I had lived
alone, seen it, and flushed it from my mind. In this world of bigots, I stood firm, resilient, and unyielding. A bigot, intolerant of differing beliefs, could not break my spirit.

Oh how to
To think that my body once capture your attention
From the top to the bottom of my physique:

To think that our minds didn’t care what our brains thought,
When we said I do: knowingly we did not:
And when we went ahead and tied those awful knots: such crackpots
Regrets we had a lot! But then again who doesn’t,
Marriage is like wall papering.. Choose your spouse carefully
Else that fumes will lingered and lingered forever:
My lover!
How we made each other unhappy
How we fought like the bull and matador
In and out of the ring:
I won!
You were dragged off to the slaughter house:
Since marriage to you were twenty- eighty: I knew better:
Too painful were the memories, but how sweet was the revenge

We use to say young and old alike, aging and living together;
Alone but never lonely: not I/ not with my narrative poetry:
Arthritis and constant back pain: hair coloring and
Wavy weave: one with myself and loving me to death.

Too think that my body once captures your attention
from the top to the bottom of my physique:

A sudden blow: and he laid still
His dreams and hopes: crush
What have he done:  poker face
He dropped the cheese for the shadow
His life flashed before her eyes:
It's hard without question,  to
see my brothers cry.

It’s so hard to hear the chanting and the weeping
As mothers, friends and total strangers
Come together to fight for justice,
It hard to see and review the audio tapes
As he lay dying:
" I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe".

We've known smoking cigarettes can ****
However, living in America of a different race
is more cancerous than lung cancer

Especially when the verdict always come back
"No conviction, no conviction",
He died of natural causes,
So much trouble up north of the Brooklyn bridge
Cry for justice,   cry for justice.

Even in our dreams, but nowhere else,
imagine that my love

We seem to have landed on cloud nine:
Somehow we awoke in goose down feathers
Our sweaty bodies were drape
with 1000 thread Egyptian cotton sheet
Our ******* wasn’t unique,
our passion came off like a dangerous religion
Sneaky, sneaky, but always ostentatious to the facts like
Ripley's Believe It or Not

A New beginning, a new chapter a new natural high
What is love? We must never mistake it for ****** favors
*** we see it, we hear about it we discuss it behind closed doors
Give us your blessing, blessed our puppy love
Moreover please forgive or transgression.
A New beginning, a new chapter...a natural high
~~~