I gave my son a wagon
and boy he had such fun
Until I came to realize
I did not have son

I asked about his mother,
he said they called her Stan
yes, she was a woman
had a name just like a man

And then he said, hey mister,
with comets in your hair
Do you have a sister,
and could her name be Claire?

I said, I don’t remember,
what difference does it make?
Ask me in December
That I just can't fake

He looked up at me funny
A squint had found his eyes
Today was kind of sunny
Oh what pack of lies

Well now I must be going
Although I’d like to stay
Albino crows were crowing
The time had come to play

He thanked me for the wagon
and rolled off down the lane
I think to fight a dragon
I just can not explain

When then I heard him sighing
while tiny wheels did squeak
He whispered, no denying
Hey mister, you’re a freak

Suddenly
Our struggle
Matches the effort
Dealing with troubles.
Youth will wane,
Years duly wax, and
Promises are forgotten songs
With hollow echos
Of Tomorrow;
Now that you're gone.

A book,
just pages
on leaves, whitened-
river washed,
dried then wettened again;
tears of words
torn from a heart-
his then mine, and mine again.

A book
of poems, written verse,
la poema-
the saddest lines of all,
but not all, no,
not all; not always.

Pages of Odes;
oh, the odes
to fruit,
to wine
and song
of the sea and mermaids;
the pages sing his songs.

A book
of heights
and stone,
he took us there-
a shovel in the sand;
of monuments
and ships
of drunken men and love
once loved,
and loved again.

Words
on silken thighs,
*******
and a red dress-
on a dark night
the stars and moon did shine.

A garden-
he planted a *****
into our hearts;
his dog,
it died
simply
loved too much-
Ai.

A book,
just a book
of pages,
of poems
by my bed-
dog-eared,
much read and loved;
his words ending
the saddest lines of all.

r ~ 8/15/14

we get little moments together.
though we have never had a time where it's just me and you,
i always think about the tiny sparks and colossal impact;
and wonder if you write about them too.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I haven't ever looked into the eyes of an animal or a bird

And seen sin there!