A mouse is small
and a mouse is brown
but when one appears
big people scream loudly.
I wonder if the small, brown mouse
knows why there's so much noise.
Poor mouse is getting bullied!
Chased by giants!
Giants are slow, though.
Big and loud and slow, you know,
and too preoccupied with other things
to catch every quick little mouse.
I think the mouse will win this one.
But I heard they don't like chilli powder.

A flash, a crack,
Twirling smoke
Sharp smell of powder
On the fume, slight choke

A flick, a twirl,
A clinking sound
Empty shells
Upon the ground

Don't even try
I'm locked and loaded

Smell it I do, then thought of you
Presence comes, in wafts rose powder
Sweet dust, pinching, untainted, true
Nana's essence, remembrance undo
Faith's instinct couldn't seem louder
Than rose powder, temperance's you

Heightened fragrance, blooming sense
No excess, bought at dime store counter
Perhaps to ward off onion's offense
Her pierogies, life's past tense
Empyrean staircase, she, soul mounter
Origen in belief, source whence
Rose powder thence, spiritual encounter

Across the bed, she has lain,
Not breathing not in vain.
My mood is as stoic as her skin's hue.

It started early with how the day
Cut ***** windows with sunlit rays,
Was as southern as a slice of honeydew.

She was leaning by the gate,
Like Christina Applegate,
As willing as a pauper without a clue.

I never asked her name,
To me, they were all the same.
(Somehow, I think this one might stick with me.)

There is an absence in her eyes
I have loved since her demise.
She will stay this way in my memory.

I pour the powder on her pale,
****** belly, then toot, inhale.
Through my nose, I feed my mind.

Sticky dryness of my mouth;
It's time to leave the south,
Go somewhere no one can find.

I can still hear the sound
Of the drive by shooting down
On the street from around the block.

The room is a vestibule
To the starlit harlot's tomb.
When I'm done, I leave her on the cot.

As I move through the door,
And leave behind the *****.
I muse, briefly, how I stay in the clear.

To all the good Catholic boys,
May you bang up lots of toys.
Have a ****** belly Christmas this year.

I don't have any emotions anymore
Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m having a feeling
Or I am dreaming, while I am awake?

Some might think that my mind
is exploring my emotions
while looking for happiness,

So I decided to bake a melodrama cake
Nope! I meant mel-o-cream butter pound cake
The ingredient is my path to getting my feelings back
Egg, butter, flour, sugar, raisins,
baking powder and a little milk
I just want to transfer my feeling,
with some logical thinking..


  Somewhere, deep within a non stanzaic,
and syllabic poem forms by the minute
It’s going to trend like this cake,
which is going to be bake with love

Poetry is everywhere,
creaming my butter and sugar is poetic
because butter and sugar never stick together. It also
reminds me of Nana’s golden brown patties, tasty and spicy
Adding the eggs, nutmeg, baking powder, brings out the
natural female traits in this Island girl,
without my empowering dreads

The raisins and the baking powder remind me of
The Rise of Radical African American Activism,
And all that rises, rise in due degree
so poetry is everywhere
it's  in everything we say and do.

You used to be so sociable and so cool,
No you just make me sit alone, stare and drool,
Paranoid, scared, every noise makes me turn,
And all of the while in my nose you just burn,
You are there like a shot when I'm weak,
Then in a few hours too para to speak,
I hate you so much and the things you make me do,
******* *******, yeah you heard, *******!
I want you to leave, no more lines in my life,
Want to be a good husband and Dad to kids and the wife,
You always spoke to the devil inside of me,
And stopped me being the best me
I can be,
Something has changed though and now I can see,
A life without *******, no more you and me,
No more sitting alone, racking and snorting,
Scared of noises, frightened of the phone ring,
Goodbye *******, you're devil's dandruff,
I hate you *******, enough is enough.

how much can he take from me...

can he steal my heart?

can he rip apart every muscle in my brain?

drive me corrupt and insane?

bend my trust like a worn out key where a lock can't be unlocked like his heart which is unused, unseen?

in between lies a thin line of fantasy, and among it floods reality.
sometimes, it's almost bearable to keep going, a lot of times actually it's the thought of knowing that I can perhaps pass by my dreams once or twice a showing.

although times have changed quite rapidly, and there isn't a thing I can do, I know, I just would like the opportunity of another life time to shown you.

I can't foretell the future, but I can hope for the best as I lead you back to her, the girl you first fell for beneath the humid air and baby powder engraved earrings.

Olive skin, not a sin on our minds together, just pure laughter and mixed signals coaxed with smiles that eventually ended up thrown into the sorrowful bin of 'whatever'.

I can change, I am willing to for the love we once held, but if that means changing every ounce of my into a twisted image of fake mange, then you can take you love and go get rid of the swelled heart you claim to have.

(j.a.r.)

Pain echoed
Drained my soul raw
Burrow deep
inside and crawl

Inferno drenched
Wretched smell
Into the cavern
Down the well

Covered in vane
Temptation is lust
***** little *****
No one trust

Misled youth
Grown up sour
Pass the liquor
One more hour

White powder line
Bills in a roll
Down toward the mirror
Snort up the nose

Damnation has followed
My every step
Meet my maker
I have never met