There is tropical warmth
Inside my heart, that
Only an Island girl can understand
Why we eat the mango, the way in which we do it:
Making that small hole at the top, as the sweet juice
Sipped into our mouth, Like fresh breast milk

Mangoes help you unclog your pores
and add freshness to the face.
The internet is changing the way in which we think
Too much **** information, on things
That we already know from long ago:

Knife and fork to eat my mango;
Yeah right!!! Leave my island mango alone
Tourist westerner man!

Not once did I mention
the relationship between the island girl, the warmth
or the joy we gets from eating a mango…
but I will let you in on a little secret
it's the Organic ******* with the timing...

My poems in recent years has become,
The distance calculators: with its up and down
No one can stop them at the boarders, or
Seize their nouns or pronouns,

They can’t or will not be subject your isolation,
because of the singular/plural and tense disagreements.
It doesn’t need a visa or a green card to enter
the hearts of many poetic minds

They believe in us: we believe in them:
It doesn’t need your permission to make others smiles
My poems would always be foreign to you,
Like my way of eating a soft mango:  
with just a little opening at the top:
Because of the poems autarky: its freedom will prevails throughout  cyberspace:

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 allow my poems to travel far
Without your inputs:
Those who would look a gift horse in the mouth do not deserve the gift. Quote Brian M

Love yourself, accept yourself, forgive yourself and be good to yourself, because without you the rest of us are without a source of many wonderful thing: Quote

love yourself, then my poems, appreciated them for what they are,
because what this world need now, is love, sweet love,
not  hate, free ***** but let my poem travel.

What of these final evening thoughts
That really wants me to forgive myself
For what conspired throughout the day

Where, I just couldn’t do it anymore
Become a ball breaker,
I always dreamt of an early retirement .
my unfilled bucket lists

The Harley bike I never rode out into the country
Images of it parked near a tree by the lakeside
Like so, I became one with my thoughts
Loud: clapping sound only startle us

Once again, there are those mirrors that surround us.
Watching: and that one obstacle
The monthly mortgaged bill

I did not mean to write about death on a Sunday morn
He said that he didn’t mean to dial my number at 6 am
this awoke me from my dream
I was dreaming of being in California
Waiting to board a bus that was leaving at 2 pm
It was headed to New York City:

Poems can be amazing topic to ease the pressure of the day
Recalling an odd glimpse of a dream can be so puzzling
The dearly departed is never going to come back to us: unless
They are a part of a soap opera story line:
Somehow this mortal man ought to go and joined them

I wish that ***** would have called someone from the grave
And woke them up instead of me:

I just saw a not so love president in a recent photo
Standing alongside his daughter on graduation day
He too, look like he wish someone, hadn’t interrupted
His busy schedule, to pose for that photo session

I read a poem a day for inspiration,
How do you get your inspiration?

All those memories will be lost in time
Remembering, how the *** used to be
The pain, the games, and now it’s the shame
of unresponsive low libido , rerouting all lanes
Replaced, by the latest muscle relievers

The legs refused to go beyond the sixty degree angle
to stretch the inner thigh muscles

They crack their back, just by ripping the covering off the condoms
While their toes curves due to the deficiency of vitamins B12

Remembering how the *** used to be, wild, wild and carefree
Mobility without the Immobility
can ruin one’s ****** activities

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

Have you ever felt your identity shrink?
It comes and goes
Like a thief in the night

Withering away each time
Another one removes your shirt, your pants
"Shh don't stop"
It is you in this room
Alone

He is stripping you bare
He tells you you're good with your mouth
They all do
But they never listen to you speak