"compton" poems
When you look into my eyes
You'll be lookin at a homocide
That's your soul's ****** demise
It's about time you decide
Whether you want to star in a thriller
With a silent sociopathic killer
A regular body part miller
Nothing but a body bag filler
I be living in this house of pain
Behind these curtains vain
Torn asunder by the knife
That is sharpened in strife
Letting loose liquid crimson life
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
with bark like alligator skin
the pines reach up up to the sky
eighty one hundred feet they fly their needles
as if to say
here we are O Wondrous One
take us
do with us as You will
little shake-tail squirrels chitter above me
as if to say go away! this is our pine
you don't belong here!
I reply
I do belong here the pines have told me so
I do belong here
the wildflowers have said so
and the creek has burbled its assent as well
I belong here I repeat
I will stay here among the pines with alligatorskin bark
and the winds singing through the wood
and the creek seeking the sea
yes I will stay
and I will roll in the feeling of belonging like a dog rolls in herbage
and savor that I belong I belong here/now
at last
c. Roberta Compton Rainwater
2009/2014
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
You can not stop me - for long
I will overtop your weirs
I will bust through your walls
I will seek your lowest point
And
I will succeed (I will succeed)
You can not harness me
Unless I allow it
You can not outride me
Unless I allow it
I am the creative force
I am the unstoppable creative force
And I flow where I will
You can not outrun me
You can not retreat from me
I am
I am the power
I am the power that
I AM THE POWER
That powers you.
c. 2014
Roberta Compton Rainwater
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Dre and the chronic came out like how'd I want it;
The g funk gangster now hollywood Prankster with a little of that, you know B funk wankster probably jests was safer
claiming when everything hinted in song was stealth cuz it all was health, like if i moved to compton to expose the stealth
my friends like my friend Toney too aboriginal to expose himself
nuff said
and Peter getting **** from all innocence to all claimed are really enemies before the stealth cuz now he's stand
bred aboriginal relate like his gained was stand claiming he's green eggs and ham when all i fed him was the green eggs and spam
I'll knock first before I was wack as strength to knock confusion the **** out like you in **** dirt; the patience actually was the equal in lengths,
**** it all, like i ever needed was precision-aim-range like they all needed me to prove each women given to birth precision like it was deranged strength
when i hid from the aim range, all gained in gay haste, to what i as game take: i'll expose the ************ like actual gained raise to ever touch, that how fast it was that when the game takes at *** grabs at tag match when at back when at me..... Strength Triumph Pain
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
There was an Old Sailor of Compton,
Whose vessel a rock it once bump'd on;
The shock was so great,
that it damaged the pate,
Of that singular Sailor of Compton.
2.7k
Another prophet who got his top knocked off,
this system’s toxic thought we’d found hope but lost it,
Nipsey Hussle shot down outside his clothing store Marathon,
live and die in LA grow up only to get shot down on Slauson in Compton,
and the irony is that he was taken out,
in the same neighborhood he had invested in,
from Proud2Pay to AfroTech Nip was a Community Activist,
in a system of force fed poisons he was medicine,
and maybe that’s why he was martyred,
just like MLK Tupac and Marley,
this is all real life in living color,
life’s not a Game but this is The Documentary,
every word true,
I mean do you,
think it’s just a coincidence,
that Nip was murdered when,
it was announced he was about to come out with a film,
about Dr. Sebi,
the herbalist,
who was also possibly murdered when,
he went public with claims of curing AIDS and other illnesses,
nothing random about this act of violence,
it makes so much sense when you think about it,
nothing senseless in the message,
I mean seriously think about it,
MLK shot on 4/4 at 39,
NIP shot on 3/31 at age 33,
why do the most violent things happen,
to the brothers that preach the most peace,
it all makes sense everything adds up,
but most will probably dismiss this just as another conspiracy,
I mean I guess it doesn’t matter ‘cause nothing will bring Cuz back,
RIP NIP Rest in Peace Nipsey another brother gone to young at 33,
and it’s all so eery it’s creepy,
all the above evidence plus,
“Having enemies is a blessing.”,
was his last tweet,
as the words of his last sound sit in my ears as they ring,
**** I wish my n!gga Fats was here,
how’d you die at 30 somethin’ after bangin’ all them years,
Grammy nominated in the sauna shedding tears,
all this money power fame and I can’t make you reappear.”…
RIP NIP
∆ LaLux ∆
LA 2019
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC
If Stephen King was black
Obama would not be president
Segregation would exist all over again
OJ would have gotten guilty without a trial
Except the black part would be technologically advanced
cars that navigate themselves
Sonic energy distribution
portable wings
the Rockateer would also therefore be black
Disney Land would be scary and real
Darwin would have been black
Go go Gadget’s engineer would be black
Malcolm X would have been mixed race
Carl Sagan ran the blackest gang in Oakland
If Stephen King was black
Therefore
Stephen Hawkings is black too
Einstein invented Compton in ten minutes
On a coffee break
The bees Einstein was referring to are the African Killa bees
And Einstein was the father of Wu tang
Stephen Hawkings hangs out with Mike Tyson and Alicia Keys
The Black Panthers like every other morning in the blackest house Washington DC
Made me eggs benedict with fresh eggs and ham
Dr Seuss is therefore black by association
Aunt Jemima would run the FDA and tap maples trees in the Berkshires
But she is white now
America would turn a blind eye and play more volley ball
and in us
God would trust
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
pale herons huddle
along a bank of grasses
like whitecaps, abandoned
November in the wetland
c. Roberta Compton Rainwater 2014
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
Old Neptune marks his boundaries today, leaves sargasso
and thin, bamboo-like reeds on the shore of Dauphin Island. He blows briskly, to urge his white steeds to the seashore.
The water is dark with disturbance, veined with foam like tatted lace. The scent of Neptune swallows the fast-moving air crossing
the island from Gulf to Bay sides. Oil rigs
haunt the horizon like boredom, breaking
the vista, reminding all who see them of human limit. Old Neptune accepts no limit, no boundary. We, who want fixity
as security, we watch as Neptune abuses boundaries, expands us
whether we want him to or not. There is no fixity; yet there is security. There is consolation in flow, in flowing with Great Neptune, rolling in his
tidal urgencies.
c. 2014/2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
A puff,
two puffs,.... A narrative or cleft notes for the Praxis exam. Otherwise, as smart as a equinimity is, a expository form in writ. The monkey's wait in Compton.
I belay the last law they have and will naught forgive or forget a Jesus freak.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
herbs new mown send green scent to me
an undertone of pepper - non-explosive -
marks this spot especially
a creole mixture to spice the morning walk
were I the chef of this walk
blandness would prevail
for blanding is safe
and requires no inspiration
I am learning recklessness and wantonness
it is in my eyes, should you peer into them
it is in my heart, should you sound it
it is in my being now and you can smell it on me
like the peppery scent in that spot there
I am become a creole recipe
delicious and warm
fulfilling and comfort to the traveler
in this landscape
Roberta Compton Rainwater
c. 2009/2014
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
the weight of seven
hummingbirds -- 21 grams --
is what leaves the body
after death
on that hummingbird breath
the soul leaves
a wispering whisper
of seven tiny, winged cavatinas
being sung back
and singing themselves
forward
into the chorus
to enter again
a melody -- in
the Eye Of God
shimmering
iridescent
wings beating
the rhythm of Love
c. 2018 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
here is a cup of fog
mix it well
with melancholy
spoon in a bit
of saccharine ---
indigestible sentiment ---
and blend it all
together
take this tablespoon of
creative fire
douse it with
unrelenting tears
repress it into a ball
then let it stand,
covered,
that the yeast of
sorrow may bloom
when doubled,
punch it down to
bloom again
punch
bloom
punch
bloom
work the dough of Life
to death
form it into a blob
put it into the cold fire of the ego’s
oven
leave it there to burn away
to nothing edible
serve it in hard chunks
on delicate china
and --- wait
trust that the teaspoon of
Love added at the last minute
will be enough
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
that leather skin beehive humming in the Hamptons
is just like the ziggarat ghettos of Compton
a fob on a boil on the face of your hidden face
and a stab at your entrails from the inside; commonplace -
Romans demure to your architect
you'll have your symmetries before breakfast...
let no one forget.
gorgeous ****** suns, gallant in emptiness
a horde of unfettered lovelies, spawning petulant ***** to other *****
a lull of ponderous, a bead of serene, swimming in hot pink mist
and peppercorn wavy gravy.
i slay these dragons to form new words
that Oodle your frenzy
and keep you
for mine .
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
you are the illuminated
manuscript
I, the reader
the lover
of you
show me your illuminations
your singing arabesques
the music
of you
chant your canticle
hidden in the golden calligraphy
wrapped
within you
open your pages
to me -- for
I am the reader
the lover
of you
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC
your words sound my bellsoul
a depth charge of incandescent tone
to coalesce the ground of my whisper-being
to sunder me from self-falsity
to shoe my doubting feet with fierce clarity
to walk me thus shod in cradling Truth
more deeply into the oblivion
of my ethereal dark whose web tingles and sounds
with tiny silvered bells
I am belled
sounded by Love in Love
Its deep and penetrated tone
calls back
the shards of being
I abandoned
along my lifeway
so to join me
together
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 4:19 PM UTC
it’s like,
I ride songs into sweet
remembers
of my daddy
of my friends
of my sister, and my twin
I float in a star-strewn nebula,
a compostella, each star
a different scene and cast,
each a member of my asterism of
memories
each and all beloved
clear as the ringing of a bell
flooding my eyes with tears
of sorrow and joy and laughter
I ride music like
a flying carpet lifts on the magical,
gently carrying my heart
into the beauty and sorrow and laughter
of Love lost and
Love found
c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 4:31 PM UTC
fireworks sparkle
the darkened sky of my memory,
sparkling through my soul in a pleasant wave,
uncovering a walk in the jungle of my heartland
and a guava tree.
I’m in my kitchen, filling my nose
with the delicate scent of ripening guavas from Mexico,
palmed in the chalice of my hands,
feeling my way to that jungle walk with my family when I was three
or maybe two, in Hawai’i
and the guava tree.
as I bite through the fragile skin of the yellow globe,
the seeds, like BBs, take me further into my remembrance,
my family around me sharing
the excitement and joy I felt when I saw and climbed
the guava tree.
after we moved back to the Mainland
to a desert paradise I also loved,
each Spring I came down with what I called my Island Virus:
a deep yearning and homesickness
for my heartland
and the guava tree.
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
All day long
saying the same five sentences
over and over again
hustling satellite t.v. customers
for more money
getting them to take more premium movie channels.
But most everybody was broke
out of work
down & out
like half the ******* country.
I'd get an old lady from Compton, California
"No, no, honey. I can't do no mo. I just called in
last week to remove some channels. Can't do nothin. I'm
legally blind now, can't even watch no t.v. They gonna
cut my legs off this Sunday...cause of my diabeetus. And
my son was just murdered yesterday. I can't do no mo.
No sir. God bless you. Bye bye."
And onto the next call I went.
Yes ma'am
that job made me feel like
a real ******* piece of ****
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
O, how my heart lifts
when songs echo from my core
in pathways little used or known
it leaves its footprint locked in stone
for me to follow when I may.......
c. 2014
Roberta Compton Rainwater
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
She claims he moves the trees
every time he cuts the field,
expanding and changing the view from
the living room window.
The laws of Nature and
the roots of trees being what they are,
I know she really means
he's her Magic Man
and this farm is his crystal cave.
His familiar, a spark of a dog
they've named Missy,
roams in and out of
the magic of this place at will,
appearing and disappearing from one breath to the next.
The laws of Nature and
the nature of dogs being what they are,
I know that some dogs, and things,
are like that:
magical to the bone.
c. Roberta Compton Rainwater 2014
to my sister
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
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Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
the recycled song
that repeats in the throats of the lovers that came so many times
they were invisible on death's radar for just one night. Is it possible
for the same two people
to live in that kind of
perpetual amazing-ness?
A white flag of surrender in the nose of scolding lips--her lips--those wonderful lies.
The best beard no one will forget. That last sentence makes no sense
without the breakfast it went down with. My eggs over well, the bacon still moist with grease, the toast over golden, the grits sloppy, the hashbrowns like a fried sandwich. I need a fantastic cup of coffee. with her perfume. I'm not sure
if I am what she wants, but the alcohol in the
wine I had for New Years still lingers in my throat.
I still feel the burn of loss in my esophagus. The white banner starboard,
blood in my teeth and an opera on my fingers--
what a beautiful world for this day to begin on and this night to end on. I am a man
and woman
My feet are hairy--my heart is bruised and young, like crossed lovers in heels and breeches.
The faith of a white flag--a serpentine
coast in my suitcase. The world awaits,
death can wait--and thanks to Hemingway,
I begin, end, and live my life around the word
'and'.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
myths say
the stars lactated from her *******
but I think
she wears a scarf of stars until nightfall
then
she pulls it from about her in voluptuous motion
and lets it fall
to puddle as it may
the stars in its net doubled on themselves
the way a chiffon scarf
looks, melted on the floor
or a river
turned back on itself
O Voluptuary!
make me the sky -
wind your cloth of stars about me now -
let me feel their antique heat on my back
let me feel their electric path
as they shoot across this human sky
let the hammock of your scarf cradle this solitary
in the nightness of your lights
c. Roberta Compton Rainwater 2014
*Nuith (noot): Egyptian goddess of the night sky
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC