"banded" poems
Somebody is shooting at something in our town --
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?
It is you the knives are out for
At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon,
The **** of Elba on your short back,
And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery
Mass after mass, saying Shh!
Shh! These are chess people you play with,
Still figures of ivory.
The mud squirms with throats,
Stepping stones for French bootsoles.
The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off
In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds.
So the swarm ***** and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.
It thinks they are the voice of God
Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog
Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog,
Grinning over its bone of ivory
Like the pack, the pack, like everybody.
The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high!
Russia, Poland and Germany!
The mild hills, the same old magenta
Fields shrunk to a penny
Spun into a river, the river crossed.
The bees argue, in their black ball,
A flying hedgehog, all prickles.
The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb
Of their dream, the hived station
Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs,
Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country.
Pom! Pom! They fall
Dismembered, to a tod of ivy.
So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army!
A red tatter, Napoleon!
The last badge of victory.
The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat.
Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea!
The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals
Worming themselves into niches.
How instructive this is!
The dumb, banded bodies
Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery
Into a new mausoleum,
An ivory palace, a crotch pine.
The man with gray hands smiles --
The smile of a man of business, intensely practical.
They are not hands at all
But asbestos receptacles.
Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.'
Stings big as drawing pins!
It seems bees have a notion of honor,
A black intractable mind.
Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything.
O Europe! O ton of honey!
7.8k
across the Liverpool plains
the gas exploration
goes on without
being contained
drilling is never ending
holes sunk
which invariable
cause in the farming community
a disquieting funk
Santos
cares little
for the environment's
well being
its pipeline
must garner
all the gas
in the stream
landholders and those in the green party
have banded together
to protect the agricultural lands
from the rabid abuse
which the company
will wrought on
the water table
flora
and
fauna
they cry ****
as the company
exploits
the countryside
making of it
a harlot to be pillaged
and misused
the state government
is at sixes and sevens
so many competing
interests
must be listened to
should it give
Santos
permits
to
**** and plunder
or
will
it
allow
the
broad acres
to
continue
without sunder
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
no novocaine, no experience
the nurse on break
tells me to "wait right there."
the big lights above the pleather chair
my pale skin illuminated and glowing
under rays of white white light -
and I'm tied down like a
banded submissive
to a blacker than black chair
it's only me and invisible monsters
in a game of
cat mouse tick tock
tick tock
sweating, I realize I must move
there's no other option for this lab rat
I feel like
All I've ever been, is here -
sprawled out in the open
hand choked of blood and oxygen
I cannot take this
I cannot take this!
Something in my mind turns off
Something in my mind turns on
I chew the soft parts away easiest
it slides in my mouth
my teeth are cold and wet now
Chattering and lurching sounds
come from my mouth & teeth
as the splinters of bone
crackle away in my bite.
It took either a minute or a day
But it was over.
And so,
I left it there
tied to that black chair.
I opened the glass-paneled door with an exit 'bing',
and I was happy I never met the Doctor.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
Note the time
by seasonal migration
return of osprey, eagle
each feathered pearl
a moment strung
on the banded necks
of brants and loons
velvet-lined memories
gathered within
my threatened
wild spaces
raindrops find
their way home
watch them bead
on the backs
of sitting ducks
serenely surfing
sibilant waves
silkily filling
oceans within
my tumultuous
wild heart
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
Bring down the Yuletide smile
Of countless generations and open winter faces
Gaining frail but everlasting spirits
Feeling tender and warm at pieces of literature
Made relevant with countless references to such
Wondrous elements known to man
Not wishing to send negatives of loud examples
Moods of love and forgiveness abound
But can they last as time moves from a tiny
Microcosm of capsule-like events
Hung like baubles to an expectation
Why is this so?
Nothing is as regimented as December
True Yuletide is a celebration of an end
And a beginning, a pagan festival
Sustainable and honest from a tangible simple respect
Banded about and tainted by commerce and Jesus
Nothing could be further from seasonal vita
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 10:10 AM UTC
She ain't never **** a black boi but she use the word *****
And Her blk home girls give her the encouragement to pull that trigger
Born in the hills but addicted to the hood
I'm her curse and blessing man this ***** is always up to no good
Blue eye devil who love the dark skin
She said she never had it so deep when a ***** went in
She drive listen to legends biggie hov and Rudeboi
She told me she was looking for her pleaser stick so I just nibble her like a chew toi
Snap backs and Jordan's She's a ***** for retail
She got that white girl syndrome but cursed by the black details
Hello to the west end she went and add her best friend
Slave to the lifestyle but she know she will never fit in
Banded by color but my girl went ratchet
When she Confirm the fair-tale of food stamps and welfare Status
Racist antics but she defer the approach
Cuz her white friends can't understand what her blk friends don't
Family of mix feelings her dad told her no
Mama said be your self and get to know the unknown
I give her the face of a sign that saids do not enter
Becuz what you think you wanna no is better if you won't remember
But in the false claim we built into better bitter lovers
So lesson is always learn never judge a book by its cover
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
Tree of proto-monkeys,
brand and banded under Monkey King,
so clever, so adaptive
in substance and doing -
mushrooming in variants:
lemurs, monkeys old and new,
orangutans, gorillas, chimps,
and one big bushy brood
of extincted ***** brothers and you.
Trekking upright into dale,
valleys and over hills too
sore in feet to image
dragging a knuckle or two.
Scavengers making way,
scanning for patterns in
food moving or not,
adaptive doing from fin
to opposable rock.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
That was a red-banded paper
Itching to reclaim original state
Of un-sweet bagasse and bamboo
With surely no musical possibility.
Lonely were our drooping eyelids
Behind the vacuous leg’l scroll.
Some faded white trousers stated
Black legal existence nd’ bow tie.
Our sleep-together of fearsome nights
Leapt out of the window cat-silent
Into the sterilized portals of wordy law.
Our mummified before was not this.
Our after-thoughts slowly cauterized us
As we waited for the black decision.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 4:48 PM UTC
I saw a man dead today
Head on
Chest liquid
Legs no longer
The truck he collided with
Totaled
A human sized dent
The bike he rode
Destroyed
The compressions don’t help
Though many try
Human’s banded together for one man
Who stood no chance
In this death I learned
There is good in this world
In this death I learned
There is sadness
Once a friend
Gone for now
Yet he lives on in the friends he rode with
Those who witnessed that horrific incident
I did not know him
I never saw his face
We prayed for him
For those he was with
For those who have seen
For those who grieve
For ourselves
I saw a man dead today
But remembered why we live
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
The Market crashed as the people dashed
All the banks closed down
The people frowned
Natural disasters were all around
Stock brokers quite literally took a dive
Many people died
On the day the earth stood still
The daily grind
The worry over bills
Was replaced with the need to just survive
Some people rioted just to get something to eat
On the day the earth stood still
Some people screamed
While others cried
Some people looked down looking for someone to blame
Still others looked outward and sought ways to help out
Some people banded together to keep each other and their neighbors alive
Some people looked up
While some people prayed for wisdom for themselves and others
to get through this trial
Some people looked within only and felt all alone
Still others thought of this as a test of their will
On The Day The Earth Stood Still
I wonder if we were faced with this crisis
would we stand together
or fall apart ?
perhaps the answer is found already in our hearts
If we are lacking a strong network of family and friends
Now is the time to start
We don't want to be found slacking if the world falls apart
Sometimes things happen in a blink of an eye
It might be best to get ready just in case
No time left for slacking if The Earth Stands Still
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
That's when I felt it.
I grabbed the grocery bag.
I looked down because I felt it.
I felt it on my ring finger.
I felt the thick banded symbol.
I felt it on my ring finger,
Even if it was only a second.
It was a second that lasted long.
Longer than the last time I looked into your eyes.
That was all I could see,
Those blue eyes staring back at me.
The same ones that have been washed away.
Away with all of our memories.
I felt them all right there,
At that moment,
I felt everything you'd ever meant to me.
Then the bag moved,
The plastic slipped away,
Just like we have into new worlds.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
Talent, we still have it,
Our generation,
Needs to step up,
Touch and grab it,
We aren't what we make it seem,
We're more than this,
Touch and grab a talent,
You gotta Sound it,
Ready... Set... Do go,
And leave that house,
Go get grounded,
Make it on your own,
Make a living,
Make a world,
For yourself,
You gotta touch and grab your talent,
They have lived,
They have seen,
Now it's our turn,
To touch and grab,
Make it gleam,
Show the pride,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I'm not gone hide,
That ebonics from the motherland,
Which is cool,
But I can talk like me and talk like you,
From the bottom straight to the top,
Ima touch and grab this talent,
Show you up,
Head start,
That's fine,
But it's my turn to shine,
Blacker the berry the sweeter the juice,
Pac said it,
Mama always had my back,
But now she dead,
Lost but now I'm found in the name,
Speak the tongue of my God,
Spread the word,
Hallelujah,
I made it out,
I'm way to happy to stay on mute,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I made it out,
I gotta shout,
The world,
I see its end,
Finished,
Soon come,
Straight in this narrow path,
Touch and grab a talent,
Make it out,
Don't stay where you are,
Make it out,
I'm here to tell that it's more to this,
This life is a game,
I have the manual to this,
It's all in the B-I-B-L-E,
Soon banded,
They know the truth and branded it,
Sacrilegious,
And they have their God,
But I have mine too,
To the Man upstairs,
I'm sorry for all I've done,
Please save us too,
Take me home with you,
But to my people,
Stay black and stay proud,
Touch your talent,
Grab your talent,
Let's take over the world !
I'm out ...
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
The air conditioner hiccups,
as the second half of
Cole Berlin crosses himself--
a face deeply creased by consequence,
looks to the west,
a surrendering sun fractured--
broken by hundreds of stories--
tons of concrete--
mountains of glass,
and the gentlest gloom.
Mr. Berlin's body devours itself--
as the critics and even the diehard fans
run out of time to play "remember when".
The reality enters,
at first no more than an annoying stomach pang,
then growing,
feasting,
shouting,
until each cell knows--
no time for the comeback.
Whatever beams of sun were once banded,
now dismiss themselves,
as night subs in--
Mr. Berlin, closes the curtains of his mind,
falls to the floor,
"Sorry folks, no encore this time".
A week he lay festering,
no more a replica--
only a ruin.
A fly in a web,
rotating on a world without end,
the record, it spits, skips, smolders in ditch,
contaminating the soil,
the virus gently purrs perfection,
no hiccup, no hallucination--
only swag up for collection.
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC
Luscious swirl colors
Sunlight reflecting off of
Rainbow jeweled depths
White cotton absorbs the laughter
In banded, restricted patterns
Blue lazy afternoon
Pink sugar candy
Green that's not so easy
Indigo spot light shining
Mimosa bubbles fizz with comedic intent
Juicy honey bells spiking my taste buds
I soak you up, great God of life
In turn creating sacred geometric love
On simple fibers
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
My thoughts bear me back
I can hear self speak
To mediocrity n’ tack;
Horror, how my words leak!
Hear me dish out
What I was handed
My worst - Infernal spout -
The vermin banded.
If I do live in me mind
What Paradise I expect to find?
Despite the daughter, my sole joy, laughter
What! Must my body travail
From rafter to rafter?
Then again, vermin mill round
I tap away, coroner profound
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Yet to be savoured
the hot vessel gifting shape
each layer to float aloof
formed by lift and separation
Finger high a simple layer cooks within
chopped, olive oiled, salt and peppered - but not aloof
above moons torn asunder are rendered invisible
by the bottom fed surge
Peppers roasted then rested aloft
A second fat yellow flow born of Elan Valley found eggs
milk and olive oil to lap, crest and paint over toasted colours
rising to crust shy cratered fractions
Atop rounded shapes of mushroom and tomato resting sliced
drowning under a richer fatter frothy yellow falling flow
Hot voids bubble and rise
cooked through, risen and browning
Behold plated warm autumn colours
banded in daffodil gold
.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
The dainty feathers all knew their perch,
As the leaves changed their hue, and again.
Until a fire, born of green lust, did besmirch,
The order of the forest held in timeless reign.
The delicate birds were all forced to flight,
Only some sought within, midst fiery storm,
For an uncharted course in misty sight,
Most of a feather banded together to a swarm.
But where does that feathery flock aim to go?
In the clasp of perfidious smoke quick to smother
Does every or any in that confident band know?
That absolutely everyone in a swarm follows another!
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
40 years of history
Rock & Roll and parties
Influencong both the no names and the great names
Black Country born
Where I bet you met a mean Black Country Woman
Did she hurt you bad?
Leaving beer on your face
Oh well, she could have lived in your garden
I think it's crazy
Elvis, really?
I never would have guessed
Who were you at ten years old?
Later you left the bright boys for the men of blues, good choice
Met the man with the axe that finally chopped away the cord from who you were
You weren't difficult, just struggling
The flock banded together, ready to fly
I'm sorry about your boy
Too young
I wish you could have been there
But I'm sure he knows he has all your love
By the way, I think I like your words the best
Vikings and Tolkein tales mystify me
Oh, and all the ***
How was Morocco?
I hear the sun just beats down on your face
And your eyes get filled with sand
But maybe I'll let you take me there
And from there I'll follow you up to Heaven
I'd rather take the stairs
But don't look to the west
I'd hate to see you cry
By the way, did you know they call you a god?
How fitting in your land of thunder, lightning, and sweat
Stand right up front, lest you miss a second of it
You sure have showmanship when you put on your elaborate robes of blue, gold, and purple
I'm sorry the thunder died
Since you couldn't hear it anymore you thought to teach young minds
But how could you really stick with that?
No, thats's not you
So you went back
By yourself
How bold
But you missed the good old days, didn't you?
Just the thought of when you were kings made you salivate, like honey dripping from your mouth
So for a second you went back to letting the kingdom gather to hear your melodic speeches
There's nothing former about you
I'm so glad you refused to be a joke
Not letting anyone come to the conclusion you were all washed up
Didn't become anyone's show to direct either
Sorry the love is gone though
And all the crazy, **** passions
But you still look good together
So I guess this is my way of showing my appreciation
No, my admiration
For a legend
A king
Thank you
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 12:58 PM UTC
You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.
It is the land that freemen till,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
The land, where girt with friends or foes
A man may speak the thing he will;
A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where Freedom slowly broadens down
From precedent to precedent:
Where faction seldom gathers head,
But by degrees to fullness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive thought
Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time
When single thought is civil crime,
And individual freedom mute;
Tho' Power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great--
Tho' every channel of the State
Should fill and choke with golden sand--
Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.
1.5k
When did the measure of your worth become a brand?
Banded sneakers, streaking vibrance,
vibrating mobile nuzzled in hand.
These do not make you.
Backward cap, for a new era,
sagged pants, swagger stance
for this hoodlum hoody wearer.
These do not make him.
Gucci bags and other tags,
designer purse, cursing contraband,
fake names make her gag.
But these do not make her.
They say don't judge a book by it's cover,
so why a person by their assets?
if it were asserted by another...
Belongings do not a person make.
Kindness, courage, compassion, heart,
personality, wisdom,
even a love of art.
These a person make.
Take some time to introspect,
inspect the way you see yourself,
You'll be happier for it I expect.
You make the person.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
General Patton and droppers
in between the cushions of couch,
in between the ceiling fan and carpeted wasteland,
in between nirvana and judgement day,
heavy, heavy,
I lost my way --
I Dug the Pony,
I Luft the 99th Balloon,
I was a Carpenter and You were a Lady,
in between sheets,
in between seams,
in between nail and crucifix,
heavy, heavy,
I dug in and stayed --
I wedding banded,
I honeymooned,
I threshold,
in between purgatory and heavenly blur,
in between intersection and parallel,
in between watercolor and pastel,
heavy, heavy.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
~for yocum~
<>
the quality of commitment is not
restrained by quantity, nor by size,
impressed by nylon sheerest volume,
avoirdupois grams, Imperial weight,
steeled feathers, immeasurable, one ton
tips no true scale into red lined sincerity
the necessary respectful silences it requires,
the social nearness of geo-distancing,
all need prodigal acceptance,
like a long lost son, welcomed without questioning
we flawed, banded by many weaknesses, poorly confessed,
yet, no excuses tendered, to it, long ago surrendered,
but understand this, constancy is not judged
by the frequency of our waves, but by the fervor of an
undertow of unwavering constancy
one that unceasingly rages, beneath superficial, steady waves,
and through the thickened, roughed old skin separating atmospheres,
I have grasped your heartened essence man,
found its depths, blessed it with words, you’ve never fathomed
surely you will growl at this, claiming obfuscation,
excuses not in your vocabulary, nor should it be,
though you require the steady reassurance of frequent brevity
so and yet, but and still,
I deny your claims, what you think, incorrect,
cause I know my heart, and well it kens what lays in thine,
what’s in yours is in mine, deep planted, a full nut grove flowering,
your complaints, mine as well, all part parceled, with grace accepted
for what is friendship but the path
through parted seas, joining two borders,
the best part of that is the landed connectivity,
leading to where we two ends,
meet in laughing two-gether
old fools, younger-then-than-now,
committed, grumpy men.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
this is an excerpt from a very long, (shudder) private poem about a dinner party with visiting friends, up from Memphis to celebrate their birthday in NYC.
Unplanned, I gave them all gifts without hesitation from an unusual collection of mine that they were admiring.
When questioning my unexpected generosity, by way of explanation, I jokingly said
"there is no room in my casket."
~
*sweetly thanked for the unexpected gift,
the poet replies comically,
"there is no more room in his casket",
for even these, small trifles
later in the quietude of
late night contemplation,
comes a greater realization,
the truth was unseen
in his offhanded remark,
now, gives him pause and cause
to capture a greater revelation
there is insufficient room indeed,
for accompanying the poet on his finale,
an uncharted encore voyage akin to
Tennyson's poem of
the famed voyage of Ulysses -
thoughts yet unthought,
a few thousand poems,
that time forbade completion,
all must yet reside beside and inside his soul,
timed-released escapees
from the real yet artificial limits of
physical deterioration
these,
be his boon companions in arms,
his banded-brothered company,
purposed for inspiration,
his lasting re-actualization
so plentiful, indeed,
there be no room in the casket,
for the merely beloved,
beautiful physical objets d'art,
they too must give way
to the natural law of
"unto dust returned"
but poetry*
never dies
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC