She spoke gibberish
words I did not understand
We shared great laughter

Where Emperors go
caterpillars can't contend
but by changing state

Its eighteen months since her delivery
Now she is penning odes ostensibly
Crayons in both hands: she is standing tall
What Dada says? "No writing on the wall."

With great care baby writes her graffiti
Not much untouched by her audacity
He tries to compromise with a new book
but baby says, "Daa Daa"; with a stern look

He has to admit the walls are hers now
Filled with scribbles and a chromatic cow
Its her version of Van Gogh's Starry Night
without the stars; a novice oversight

She's more surreal than Salvador Dali
The writing's on my wall: Pure Graffiti

I set my sight far on China
abacus counting; without confusion
But they're mostly short sighted
and that's no delusion

Heard about the Hong Kong march
but didn't recall till I'd seen what I saw
So I did what I did, now I understood
what I could, with Confucius

Never take a pen to a pig
nor your litter to the swine
for one, H one N one
Can I get myself the Canadian kind?

Import... extort, not for the canola  
nor the coals down under
If I'm selling what I stole from selling Inuit
like the forty thieves and Ali's plunder

How many men can stand as tall
without writing Graffiti on the Great Wall
that they built, that's psychopathic
for the people, by the people, the Great Republic

We all friends in Earth's society
No reason to start quaking
The Society of Friends are friends
The Quakers aren't shaking

No Quaking in Rome?
Nor the Sistine Chapel?
Black smoke, White Hope
White smoke, Black Pope

Does this seem dope? Just wait,
White State, Black Faith
Black State, White Fate
The impossible a possibility and a dope bomb

Start with a Quake, make a Quaker
If its a shake, make a shaker
Where's his taker of notes
penned at the Apostolic Nunciature

He heard a friend tell a friend's friend
Its getting late; confess your faith
If you ain't straight, you'll be left by the gate
near the wall with the writing

No thunder nor lightning
while I AM walking and all
In the city of the Monk
Graffiti: Writing on the Wall

Blackboards love math dorks
not whiteboards, glassboards, or corks
Chalk's gathering dust

Pursue with passion,
all those things your heart desires
they're life's contentment

Crafted by the hands of a Master
Molded to the likes of Gods
Beauty more astute than the Heavens
An angel more mighty than Hordes

Made from mountains of Fire
Descendant of kings of Old
A prince revered in Legend
Who conquers with words of Gold

Escape with me to heaven
Beguiles the angel of Dawn
Or I will descend to earth with fire
Deleting the day that you were born

Dance with me in Lust
Feel ecstasy by my hand
Make my days immortal
Exclaims the God like Man

Fly with me to paradise
Enticed the comely face
I'll give to you awe and satisfaction
till time emerge as space

Make my soil your Homage
Bond in sensual love
Feel ****** in manly touch
And saw to heights Above

Walk with me to eternity
Seal your soul as groom
Bring to me your bloodline
Or I'll make the earth your tomb

Tour my earthly Palace
Sail my seven Seas
Avail yourself as Princess
And sons you'll have like trees

They walked and dance in passion
Flew from earth to Heaven's estate
Sailed through love and emotion
Mere mortals as they mate.

Hello... Poetry
It has been some time
since I've enjoyed you
as my company

There's a special joy
on a rain-filled night
to probe this site
with the cadence of ebony and ivory

Hello... my friend
would you mind a glass
red wine....Cabernet, Amarone
best yet, some Long Island tea

Such a pleasure filled mood
as my thoughts protrude
these splendid dictates
both old and new

So long, my esteemed friend
until we next meet
when I can repeat to you
Hello again...Hello Poetry

Green means
many things
"Picture this"
I get around in my EV
The trees neatly packaged
The streams and the grass
and the cows' milk
and the eggs of the poultry
in abundance
"You're living in
the wrong city my friend!"

Some may say:
It is missing something!

Indeed, some have said:
This is incomplete!

Look:

these stones lay
gray with lifelessness
gray as the clouds gathering
over his graphite city

such oddity of geometry
peculiar buildings with
perpendicular lines
raising parallel paradigms

and the unpainted sun
casts awkward shadows
across the gray stones -
empty sidewalks -
devoid of colours
devoid of life
devoid of people

Yes, where are the people?

but to critique my art

I'm not clothed myself
In sophistication
As the windy city sounds:
Fly me to the Moon
Miles and Miles
of familiarity
So what.
Bye bye black bird

I'll run wild and free
like Serengeti
with the wild things
Escaping frantically
Where all things die
"Eventually"

Night from night remade
with the strangest contemplation
like Gogh's fantasy of sorts... unsorted
hapless, on an empty linen bed
laid, bound in Brixton's *******
Not like the whistler's queen
nor Mona... more unsettling
maybe a strumpet's retreat
Too brisk were strokes in anguish
and forceful a brush, one and another
with all manner of emulsion
Yes? Then too... a little k-y
Art is always made and paid for
The artist is prized
John Myatt's a Masterpiece
It fetched him a sterling glut

Let me live
for this is where I am
beneath my father's tree:
eternal and heavenly shade

Let me live
and I will gaze
across the vast ocean
of memories to you

You see
for you life plays
this sweet song

you must humble
you must listen
to the end
the silence

silence brings you
these tears for me
and sadness you feel
the death of my memory

Yet you know me
as I have lived

So let me live
in you
in your fondest memories

Let me live
as I have lived

Anthony J Pierre
July 16, 2021

Boo,
        I don't write love letters
like you do

My words get blacklisted

'cause with love,
       things can get twisted, quickly

You see:
the sweet hips      
                   drips
            with kisses ...  can easily be
                            
the creep's lips
                      trips
             with hisses

Don't misconstrue, Boo
I see you
      like you see me
            and, I agree
our minds are connected
  
                   But
                             our
telepathy
           can certainly be
                                the lepathy

to confuse you
          and
        contuse you too

You don't see the pain I see
                I see the pane you don't see

It obscures my view
     I'm one of the pragmatic few
          I'm being true to you, Boo

These love letters must end
           In its place I'll just send

"Deeds" things we can both do
                          and claim ownership to

They can't be misunderstood at all
   The same ones used at a concert hall

If it's great ... then I'll just applaud
If it's bad ... then I'll just ...

                        Boo, I'm through

One thousand six hundred and sixty six
none: a salesman, a noble, or a cook
Macabre swam the sea of ****** Bay
In a fleet, the Dutch, French and Britsh he took

A crimson tide soaked the sand to a stain
Great reefs, he made, floating stench of maim
The more Macabre swam for lust of pain
More life, to the vast ocean floor, he claim

Now, three hundred and twenty three years on
Under a full moon in the depth of night
He, Macabre, still swims a ****** Bay
In search of an undaunted soul to fight.

Atop the mushroom
Clouds. Who knows from where
another?

You in your world
Stones and mountains
Dust and desire
The morning star
lingers. No holograms
one or two scores and
You urge to recite it:
"make bread!"
"make bread!"
but on these words,
how shall you feast?
one or two bytes and
behold:
Height and Temple
Cities and World
So great
and here he left
No angels
No holograms

Sixteen, sixty
and seven
does not rhyme

in heaven. Hell
maybe. Keep that in mind

In purgatory
We pray for the saints

Sin first for those who wrote really bland stuff

Marlowe. Shakespeare.
You know, it is enough

Blank verse
Blank verse
A pandemonium

That's right David!
You have a right
Not to remain silent

We're eating curds
A web of music
On his tuffet...
Sweet *** candy
Sugarhand
Sugarfoot
Drummer
Boy, Oh boy!

who told Moise to flee?
from these mountains
so free, so free: "Hayti"

to the plains his men go
egos of pharaoh's Egypt
egos thunder at night
this land of promise
so free, so free: "Hayti"

fill this basket, Moise
and sail on our tears
to the promise land
from these mountains
so free, so free: "Hayti"

La mort, après toi
ce soleil
ça brille et
ces ombres bougent

Pourtant, parmi tous
mes sombres circonstances
mon dieu, mon dieu
j'habite

Death, after you
that sun
it shines and
these shadows move

Yet still among all
my dark circumstances
my god, my god
I live

How many things
Time forgets
what was hung up
what was laid down

Across many years
a sudden reflect
memories are tears
and with brevity
that child sings:
Jesus loves me
Yes, I know!

Slash and burn!
Frankincense
And Myrrh
Like shorgum
Like maize
You, amaze me

Matzo's to eat
First night
Is law, Pat Yisrael

Netting up, nothing
Keep birds out
Bring birds in
Who? Yao? Nothing!

Nothing like bantu
Nothing like kin
He parts the Red Sea
Knesset

Mannequin men; murals
stationed crazy
as a cat walks walls
There, mundane masks
Their bloodlust eyes
Such intensity
In the silence was night
Tiny drums crescendo
stubborn in teflon skin
Shooting stars stars.
Shoot like me, paparazzi
Free Speech Free Speech
Flee Speech,  a breach
It's Crazy!
Cats on a catwalk
Meow Meow Meow
Moving mannequin men

Mannequin men murals
Stationed on a crazy catwalk
with their mundane masks
and bloodlust eyes
Such was the intensity
In the silence of night
Tiny drums crescendo
with stubborn teflon skin
As stars tossed from hell
Crazy cats on a catwalk
Meow Meow Meow
Moving mannequin men

Oh William, Oh William
The Franciscan Friar
Oh William of Ockham
Who deems thee a liar?

If the solution is simpler
Then it ought to be right
But not... not for love's hurt
That I crave in my lonely plight

Oh William, Oh William
Wild roses and briers
Oh William my brother
Princes, Kings and Choirs

The foamy seaside surf retreats
on broken waves, replete
with inebriated words
sober hearts
surrender
❤

The brain,
what a glorious thought.
Surprisingly,
its splendour seems less remarkable
at times
Its purpose misunderstood
Where is its history?
Thoughts mined of Thoth's mind
Fossilised, it remains
in warm pellucid waters
Shallow as my human intellect

Deeper meditation takes forever
greys turns white undiplomatically
with all its human prejudices
Grey matters: its a matter of fact

It glows and grows
synapse after synapse
to perfection.  
A Shrine of Muses.
Each crenulated shelf follows
consciously
Serendipitous

Consider its vastness
lobe to lobe
hemisphere to hemisphere
where water entombs it
A hippocampus
Like Hippasus submerged
beneath open and violent sea
A cage for wild and hostile imaginations

To find its perfection
leave your thoughts behind
Dive deep outside yourself
The ocean ends where
reason reefs
the barbaric wreck sinks
senses are subdued
descend in slowly
The school
The sun
The rays
The colours
The species
The knowledge of life
The brain: Marvelously imperfect

Let scarlet feathers go
as love does exiled too
One hundred leagues
One hundred Roman feet
One hundred prosody

For Augustus' dreams
condemns me treacherously
and I cannot breathe
Each gasp for life is death
Each death a new stanza

Let scarlet feathers go
as love does in exile, too
across white cloudy fields
beneath the asphalt sea
Let scarlet feathers go free

Bound around
The Zodiac
We are the stars
Linen *******
White Gesso ground
razor thin
In the colours
of Escobar

That sunset for George Floyd came so soon
was indeed another heartbreaking cheat
But what's worst for us: another blue moon
shone again so bright on Ebony Street

A brick was laid in the wall of pity
while the darkness of the nights are sombre
Isn't it for poor George's adversity
That the yellow-hat men had not ponder

Now cities aglow for George Floyd's fall
As knives clatter and windows shatter
Yet still this Curious wall stands tall
to show us all: black lives don't matter

In these perilous times I'm forced to think
Would it be the same if Floyd was pink?

Feather light words exhumed
heavy as Mussolini's clock
coo coo times, chimes
and a fascist bird sings;
sweet and succinct

Taken as is
might slight delight
The vitiation of words
in the phrases
Petals dead on a wet, rotted bough

You think
you had enough, Silly?
It's a love song

Let us go
You and I
Where the music
Makes you high
Like patients etherized

What's wrong with that?

They will come
They will go
Speaking of Macca de Angelo

A bloom is a bloom
warm and fragrant
and it pervades
It holds its scent
of knowledge
for today
Tomorrow,
I'll remember!

... my world is made whole
with these tiny little things
I'm big with small love