And in the waves of confusion,
we laughed as life swept us off our feet.
And in the fire of destitution,
we claimed joy amidst the heat.
And despite all our tears,
and beyond all our pain;
We sought clarity,
and danced through our rain.
Nights like these
It's hard not to feel high.
The depression intoxicates me
While the jazz stands seranading.
I find myself staring at a wall
Picturing the scene.
I'm home again,
In that Grand terminal,
Where the trains sing and hum
Me a brassy welcome.
The spirit of the city
Is my religion.
Although I may not be there
I carry it with me wherever
The city is with me because it is me,
At least that's what I tell myself.
Once I snap out of this,
My delusions of joy will leave me
With nothing but longing
For all that Jazz way up north
In dear old New York.
Trampling through their city paths,
Hunting ground, mean street.
They perch aloft towers of oak;
Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped
With silk leaves, soft to touch
And hard to climb.
The Sun sets over the seven lakes
Of spring kissed, freshly mown
Fields of scorn blessed by
Solitudal and beady eyes.
Gates keeping out the world that
Wishes them harm.
They sit so high peering down,
At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might!
“Pfft you all wish you could fly
Our nation is
a living organism.
Alive with biochemical
a cell death
of our nation
are set and
if not checked.
Cell changes and
death is eminent.
and global mRNA.
a falling off occurs.
Our nation is
threatened and going
process as above.
Our acts must
be put together.
There is a
We are desperately
sliding both into
chaos and despondency.
We must get
out of this
cloud of frustration,
with a profound
physical presence of
sour people grieving
Don't let them
become too rotten
to infect everyone.
It may be
All ships must
sail in one direction,
Or very soon
we all go down.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
No matter how much strength of yours is kept
It always comes back down to whom you know
For every time you think you are adept
The caws of meritocracy doth crow
Americans have dreamt in dreams of gold
High hopes upheld with promises of clout
By working hard there’s fortune to behold
Lest lack of means cause gatekeepers to doubt
Yes, push that rubble up the sacred hill
To watch it fall and tumble to the depths
For all eternity it is your will
To pay with sweat and blood for all your debts
Perhaps if only there were something more
To lifting destitution from the floor
a sonnet for the oppressed
for peace in solidarity.
When is a man destitute? Destitution
is not being impecunious. If ever you
are poor, you are poor of heart. If ever
you are without, you are impoverished
of spirit. When coins of kindness cease to
flow from your being, then you are destitute.
Wealth is not worth.
Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire adult life. He recently finished his first novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.
If I could simply overcome
Possessive nouns and vowel sounds
I would not need to study ******
Heavy lies’ beheaded crowns
But you make martyrs with your charter
School exclusive service sector
To systemically condemn me
To the destitution nectar
Of the corner story *****’s
Potential Cinderella caged in
The statistics of the mathematic
Comatose’n like a Holy Ghost
Of tranquil ranking party skanks
Whose tanks plan out the projects
For the boys still shootin’ blanks
And then the slavers liberate
Some nation-state of god forsaken
Oil barons salivate
To taste the poison Apple’s stake in
Stock in stuffer markets takin’
All the products people makin’
Privatizing profit-docket lawless
Mother Nature rapin’
For some scarcity disparities
In wealth I can’t attain
You keep me feeding on the bottom
From the top, you make it rain
So as the brains continue drainin’
In amenity dependency
I tinker with the inner-machinations
Now the enemy
You’ve made me out to be you see
My generation’s future’s bleaker
Than the past in full HD