By: Cedric McClester

Her baby came out
But in a haze
As a consequence
Of her drug addicted ways
Seems like
An epidemic now-a-days
With too high of a cost
Its victim pays

Yes she’s sorry
But what ‘s the use
If you ask most
That’s just an excuse
For her poor choices
They might well deduce
But it’s a disease
That causes the misuse

Looking back
She wonders what went wrong
As a matter of fact
That’s an old familiar song
For those seeking pain relief
That  takes too long
For it to acquiesce
The pain’s so strong

People think
Much differently today
Than they did
Ten years ago, let’s say
Accordingly what
They didn’t suspect
In their own families
They’re beginning to detect







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.

still is the night air,
scent of new blooms says something;
all dark, moves discreet!

a white whale in sky,
fought with a dark octopus;
west wind erased both!

Tram's bell
like a damaged
barking of an old dog.
Not mad or angry though-
-A Natural Flow of Chaos.
Languidness has come again
and is filling the days.


"-Have you ever been to a Moon?
        -No, only stared at it.
         It is sufficient in this exotic
         place, this exotic planet.
         Seas, sandy shores
         starry violet sky,
         Come join us, dig deep into
         the soil of neurons. That'll
         do the job.
         You'll wake up on the beach,
         beside us dancing."


                     Each place and moment
                      has unique smell
                      to it.

          I watched a bird
          climb a tree,
          jumping swiftly
                  Sat on the balcoon,
          and stared at the moon.
                          Old paths

Because you are wonder-bread-woman--
bearer of two and a half children,
five feet and four point six inches
of dapper domestication.
soaring, you are at the peak of the bell curve, and when you slip
it's on spilled milk, never cried for.
wistful, you stand on the edge of the bed and reach,
manicure  outstretched towards plastic glow in the dark stars
upwards of your eight-foot-walls,
because after all,
ceiling's the limit.

This world is beautiful once we realize
that time and expectation
provide no limitations
on the people's adaptation
and the mental emancipation
within the growing nations
of enlightened pro-creations.
See, I believe,
that when I find my destination
- there will be no hesitation -
for I have that dedication.
I want to spread my thoughts,
wander off, take a vacation.
For now I'm sitting patient;
just posted here, at my station,
counting the small money I'm making,
constantly wishing and waiting
for one marvelous day when
someone else hears what I'm saying.

                    
                    11/25
                    2013 © (KD)

I remember when we were young,
and the shark fin made by falling water droplets
from the back-and-forth sway of windshield wipers
on our car window would scare you
Because you thought that the spaces we couldn’t reach
would form monsters in their crevices,
and I would laugh and roll my eyes,
like big brothers did.
And I remember how,
on nights when we would sleep over at grandma’s,
the pitter-patter of our puerile feet on hardware floors
was the only sound to be heard.
Shadows formed where the beam of my flashlight hit,
adorned with fading Spiderman stickers and the like-
and you would squeal under my whispered protests
because of the unfurling octopus limbs
that were the leaves of a potted plant.
We grew older, and so did my suspicions,
as you crept out of the realm of childish make-believe
and into a world that even when showcased in daylight was a nightmare.
Demons, from the deep fire that enflamed the world’s core
tried to penetrate  the surface, according to you.
But as their hands reached forth out of the earth’s skin,
they curled in agony, the evil of the earth halting their conquest.
They fossilized and shriveled in autumn’s wake,  
gray and deadened fingertips just unassuming tree branches,
the perennial reaches just fibrous spindles blurring in the sunlight.
The world held prospects despite your macabre claims,
And as we grew I distanced myself from your melancholic tune.
Trees were trees, and bore fruit at summer’s twilight
and the friends I made were all of the parts most sweet.
I was content with the woman I met, she blonde-haired and lovely
her free-falling locks sparkling gold in every light,  
and her personality as rich and as glossy.  
I was content with my life of looking away from spaces
where our human hands couldn’t reach,
demons out of eyesight in the beam of glass city buildings.
But as the dusk of one day segued into the dawn of another,
I grew weary,
each routine just a part of this monotonous human noise
to which I, too had voiced.
And I found myself driving one day when thunder roared in the sky,
rain once again pouring into its shark fin mold.
Your voice came into my head,
the demon hands that had had died trying to take us over with their evil
but overwhelmed by our own brand of hellish wretchedness
lined the freshly paved sidewalk,
and with a twist of the wheel one unreachable space met another.