"mamas" poems
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
People say that I'm not the average black girl...
And I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment
Am I not the average black girl because I am so well-spoken?
The fact that I am able to articulate my words...
Or that if a person misuses a word that I simply correct them?
Am I not the average black girl because I don't wear a weave in my hair with noticeable tracks?
Or that instead of me shaking my *** for the world to see...
I choose to make something of myself without diminishing myself?
Am I not the average black girl because I chose a path different from the other black girls...
The path of the dropouts, and being baby mamas at the age of 16...
What is the average black girl?
To me, there is no such thing as the average black girl...
The word "average" is what society has pegged a black girl as being the norm of what black girls are seen as or are supposed to be.
But me, I'm just a black girl
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂
Fatherless broods, whose mothers hoped for change
Fight the law, abort their restoration;
Attack, burn, riot… consider nothing strange
Extorting payout from their host nation.
Fatherhood, dark elephant in the room,
Denigrated, dissed by baby-mamas
In his absence, speaks potently of doom
(Apparently blessed by both Obamas…)
***** donation, filling the wombs with child,
Disorganized communities, off-course
Guarantee police work when thugs run wild.
With marriage faltering in the race: lame horse.
Inhuman nature being what it is
Be careful who you shoot—and hold your ****
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
electromagnetically
feelings occur,
responsive to going ons,
pineal gland awakens the senses.
and almost every woman has heard it
"you're so emotional."
so electromagnetically aware
and we don't remember this,
now,
the womb,
the beat maker,
she tunes the
energy of the babe.
mothers wave of
waves fractionally
lay a deep foundation
of the babes waves.
I tell my children
if they can't find me
to look in their hearts
I reside there…
my rhythm, my beat, my heat
lives on.
my womb
charged that spark
that started the parting
of molecules
fractionally
creating its imagine
time and time again, (as we do)
until, begin again,
a new life.
rest your head upon my chest
child
for a recharge.
in our civilized world
we send mothers to work
in a make believe cycle of need.
babes heart searches
for mamas tone
she only cries short
cautious of overspent energy
first dose of sickness.
and EVERY woman has heard it…
"you're so emotional"
notably more so
during some part of her
moon cycle.
so obviously the moon
is more electromagnetic
than we guess.
and women are more emotional
because we are the heart
of the species.
we co-create the heart
of the species.
we require the emotional
antenna
to summon the essence of the heart.
we didn't come from a rib…
our ribs vibrate the
harmony of life through our time!
our hearts beat
the pulse of the
sun
and the dark side of the moon
and infinity.
we are electromagnetically
inclined to emotions.
systematically processing
the energy of existence.
perhaps the first title I will accept
a claim upon my being,
the feminine sensitive.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.
What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.
What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.
Shooting across the screen.
The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.
Sitting all day staring out the window.
Mother in hospice.
A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.
It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.
The after school sessions of comfort sped up.
Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.
Teacher student affair.
15 year old student found with 42 year old man.
When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.
Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.
Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.
Where's the specialty training for those who care.
The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.
The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.
Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.
The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.
Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.
Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.
The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.
Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.
The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Walked through a field full of llamas
Wooly babies, papas, and mamas
But these llamas were purists
And spat on this tourist
Turning excitement to trauma
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
This is my haiku
Listening to mamas gun
Erykah badu
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Peculiar
Agreed?
How ******** clad lassies
Get the pass to show their ***
Long as nobody touches
Jiving gyrations
In counter-clockwise rotation
Seldom unescorted by damnation
By God, sense the relation
She's losing her patience
Can't afford to be a patient
So being patient...
That **** is ancient
Swanging ******* before eyes
Eyes that can't see
Eyes blind by the fuckery
***** get hickory
And the tic tickory of the clock
Stops
Drop drop
Shake that body for the coin
Make those men yearn to join
Their meat to your groin
Blind men throw out the presidents
Nixon Jackson Benjamin
Facts is
That these hoes stay cashing in
More than ****** busting traps
And toting gats to make stacks
Peculiar
Agreed?
How a ***** sell and smoke ****
High off they own supply
Baby mamas multiply
Covered all the **** by a lie
Making these young girls cry
And the innocent have to die
For this boy to strive
When you mad at the *** clap
Fat *** on a mans lap
Slow wine then fast
Slow grinding for cash
But no harm is caused
No obstruction of laws
But men be a "Boss"
& a woman... A loss
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
Not like the rest feels like I dont belong
Walking this quest not settling for less
Always been different so hard to be the same
Girls claim to want me but with someone else
I like to read treated like if im doing something wrong
I aim for success while others keep telling me I dont belong.
Not wasting my time trying to be accepted
Ill just be kept out on another
Im a nerd dont care what you hear
Man child living life not going out acting while
Sober living never giving it up feels so good living it up
Started dating havent found anyone worth my time
Take care of myself doesnt make me gay
I dont like how I lower my standards to belong
Always been me not giving that up
Never thought drugs were cool
I mind my mouth it doesnt make me stuck up
No time for baby mamas drama
Im single making myself happy I dont need anyone to do that for me
Im not having kids I cant afford being responsible for myself
Always seen as someone im not get to know me
Instead of assume not letting bs or the past influence my mood
So much space
Out of my face
That special place to call home
And feel like I belong for once
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
Most people think I'm crazy
My flow can't be called lazy
My soul in my words
From my heart spills nouns and verbs
My mind is quite explicit
18 or over to buy a ticket
A mamas boy I am
My mother raised me wicked
I also have a father
Was selfish didn't bother
Was thirsty for guidance
I found my own water
No one really knows me
I am the one and only
Trust my dedication
Watch me while I'm showing
Life can be gamble
Test the latest sample
Take your shot while your hot
Make your effort ample
I know not why I say this
Not in this to be famous
As a poet I grow..flexing my freestyle flow..for that I am shameless
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
Even if
nightmares, cats, leaders, *** beauty, hugs, feelings, melodies, technology, communication, life, abandonment, longings, mornings, electronics, kingdoms, followers, humiliation, darlings, hyperventilation, depression, Alonedom, ghosts, trundles, Hell, gravity, tickling, hearts, unicorns, twins, education, lost ones, ink, medications, pavements, thoughts, souls, suicide, walls, hatred, alcohol, oceans, soles, music, misspellings, transportation, buses, guts, Heaven, time, attractions, ***** hands, blindness, organs, dreams, bodies, distances, understanding, currency, energy, love, spaghetti, contentment, happiness, tears, fire, people, oxygen, tongues, children, peace, death, papas, zombies, homicide, blood, kisses, drugs, families, caffeine, mamas, space, parchments, baked goods, economy.
didn't exist,
I would still wish you would
But you don't anymore
so nothing matters.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
What's wrong with the world, mama
People livin' like they ain't got no mamas
I think the whole world addicted to the drama
Only attracted to things that'll bring you trauma
Overseas, yeah, we try to stop terrorism
But we still got terrorists here livin'
In the USA, the big CIA
The Bloods and The Crips and the KKK
But if you only have love for your own race
Then you only leave space to discriminate
And to discriminate only generates hate
And when you hate then you're bound to get irate
............
The Black eyed peas FT. The world
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
It was a Saturday night in the park
his trees were singing
out of tune
his clay pigeons needed to come out
of his closet
for he was parked
on a stool
at his favorite watering hole
amongst a full house
where pairs beat singles
and there he was
shooting blanks
drowning in his sorrows
on his nine lives of lowlife
hoping for a sitting duck in despair
the kind that waddles right up to the Romeo's
with suspense in their hearts
and spontaneity in their wings
a cackle
that he can tackle
to take home
to his garden bed
for him to be fed
but what he got
was for not, naught, knot
wistful thinking
sitting in a bar sinking
for the jukebox played a broken record
finding love in the wrong places
and the joke squarely was on him
for thinking, he could round the bases
looking no further than the escape of his glows
or a crutch of decoys
and sitting ducks
for he was no Romeo
yet
there he was still, like steel,
a stole away in society
forlorn, preserved
like mamas mothballs tucked away
in basement storage
squandering the forage
for there were no triple treats
tonight for him
or forever sounds grim
for his reality check gone dim
or
no eye candy
for his heart beats
no picnic
for his ****
and all the bottled whiskey
could not drown out his pain
as his eyes were slain
as the sitting ducks turned
from his fantasy corner
phantomlike
and though
he's sitting at the bar, a loner
reminded that in cards of life
pairs beat singles
and in his worn hand
familiarly holds a lonely joker
for it's like he tries
and its
like his sitting ducks
are like hoofed deer
and his little sweets,
are spooked
hoofing
away from his
now darken forest
like red ants at his picnic
and the gleam in his eyes turned
to the poorest
its
its
as if his life and watering hole
was condemned
his garden bed cut at the stem
it is as if he has a red vest on
and a rifle don
and all the hoofed deer
panic
looking at him in fear
like he's manic
or maybe it's his eyes
that hold dark skies
he orders another double
trouble
for what else is there to do
on his Saturday night
than to sit in a bubble
forever sounds grim
but sing him a sweet hymn
he says please
to wit as he steals peeks
at the bartenders triple treats
like a bee to a hive
his joker still strikes a beat
if only he can find a bolster
for his gun needs a holster
and a deer in the headlights
would be hard to find
the confession now told, tolled, towed
through tears
the guy in the bar window
is me, sitting
resigned
Logan Robertson
10/18/2018
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
Mozart had twenty kids but he stayed with his wife
For most of his life
You get with these girls and forever change their lives
By inseminating them and running away when you find out the news
Not cool dude
Too many baby mamas
I'm going to need a whole lot more commas
If you can't protect yourself and her, stay off of her
If India and China are telling you stop, you really need to listen.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 5:18 AM UTC
Little girl
Chocolate brown
Living in a
***** town
Mama’s weak
So she lies down
And men come by
And lift her gown.
Tin roof clatter
Rain above
Drowning out
The sounds of love
And when the sounds
Die away
Her mamas doctors
Dress and pay.
Little girl
Spanish town
Turistas always
On the prowl
Her playground is
This neighborhood
Of peeling stucco
Splashed with mud
Mama hides her
In the closet
This is no place
For her small poppet
But times are hard
Closed legs don’t earn
And she must feed
Her little girl.
Little girl
Has an Abuela
She does not live
In this bordello
A sibyl -
She has mantic powers
She reads the future
In her cards.
Bee stings in her throat
At night
She prays to god
With all her might
- Ayudar a este niño
And help her mother
Si usted oye me dios
Don’t let them suffer.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
Yo its two thousand fifteen
And i still aint seen
No fuckin' progress
I wonda why i gotta keep a gat
And a vest
Fools aint playin' no more
I see the govs ready to score
They say pain is temporary
But how? When its so many in the cemetery
Loved ones and fallen ones
Im still eatin' bread crumbs
Off the floor tryna find the key to unlock the door
To my mind but im blind
Ask the Lord for sunshine
MY moms aint feelin' me
But i got my homies
N a pistol with me
I see visions at night
Im dead at least thats what my undertake said
******* homie?? Im feelin' lonely
My mind playin' tricks on meeeee
Next day i feel under the weather
Hopin' it'll get alittle better
Day dreamin' about last night
Still thinkin' its the reaper in my sight
Shake my head stand tall but i aint scared
So my family sends the preacher through
And tells me to tell him what im goin through
He said i need to go to church
But thats ********
Im havin' a spiritual fit
Cuz i just cant cope all that biblical ****
He says im wrong
I say **** him
And i grab the ****
Playin' ol gangsta *** songs
NWA ICe cube n Eazy E
Its soo sweet
Turn it up check the bass in the beat
As i fall asleep damnnb homie
My mind playin' tricks on meeee
Yo now im sleepin'
Here he comes the demon peepin'
Is it me?
Or my conscious speakin' to me?
Evil thoughts conflictin' war
All my enemies i see them in gore
Then of a sudden i ask the lord
What the **** am i hear for??
Tears running down mamas cheek
I wake up but i cant speak
Peep through the fuckin' window
Take another hit of the indo
I see myself lookin' at myself
Layin' in a casket
I drop the blunt then a flew
Try to rush and look for my crew
But they dead too
Walk througj the shadow of death
Take a deep breath
As my consciousness left
Suddenly I woke up in a scream
Touch myself n seen my cream
On the dresser i fill refresh sa
Im in a cold sweat
Called up my homies?
They right by me
And i said got **** homie
I had a bad dream
But all this time my mind
Was playin' tricks on meeeee
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
Come on let’s cry,
Come on let’s mourn,
For yet another kid
Who in the ghetto died.
Come on,
What are you doing?
Get on your knees.
We will cry for that kid
Who in the ghetto died.
Isn’t it sad?
Gosh, he was just a baby.
Isn’t it sad?
The drugs,
The gangs.
Isn’t it sad?
Their clothes,
Their sag.
Isn’t it sad?
Timmy, come here
Press your nose to the glass.
Come on let’s see
That kid who in the ghetto died.
You see Timmy,
Their kind
Is one followed by suffering.
One plagued by sad.
Isn’t it sad?
It is indeed, Timmy.
And you shall learn
To pity them.
Their struggle,
Their existence,
Is one that’s unfair.
Do you see that one over there?
Stealing that horrid car?
It’s not ‘cause he wants to.
They’re simply deprived.
Do you see the poverty?
The death?
The bad?
They even **** each other.
Isn’t that sad?
Stop what you’re doing.
You will sympathize.
You will cry for that kid
Who in the ghetto died.
The ghetto is no place
To raise a child, Timmy.
Hell is no place
To ice-skate, Timmy.
Do you see their ***** houses?
Do you see their mamas crying?
That sure makes for a good movie.
The feeling.
The rawness.
Should we watch one tonight?
Should we put on matching pajamas,
Get some sodas,
Pizza, perhaps?
Oh yes, I feel like crying tonight.
Come on
Let’s watch
Yet another movie
About a kid who in the ghetto dies.
I will cry,
And I will mourn.
While I laugh and dance,
To yet another song
About a kid
Who in the ghetto dies.
Oh yes,
I will complain.
And I will lament,
About something that’s sad,
Something I don’t understand.
Oh yes.
I am different,
I really do care,
I say as I drink my wine,
As I mindlessly tug at the silver necklace around my neck.
They, they do have it hard.
But good material comes out of it,
Can it really be that bad?
Sure, sure
They do seem to try.
But can they try less though?
I want to feel sad.
I want to pity them.
Feel high and right,
As I complain about the unfairness
That is their lives.
As I sing and write,
As I watch and dance,
As I cry and starve
For the pain
In the eyes of the kid
Who in the ghetto dies.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 9:03 AM UTC
With all these girls I'm looking for something but I don't know what it is.....
Maybe just maybe it's a love from a Woman I use to get when I was a kid....
My mother was there but she was always to busy
So my sister stood up and took the job show me the love she couldn't give me....
But when it was me and her our world was always perfect
I was a bad *** kid but mamas baby Boi and I deserved it....
But things change when we move south and I just got older..
More attitude more arguments and more verbal disagreement....
I hate you you was the reason why my sister wasn't here...
And step father after step father you been threw broke your heart and it wasn't fair....
But my brother did his part in shown me how to be a man...
And you were away more now more then we both ever plan...
But you hated that he did so cuz I grow up way to fast
And To quickly for you to ever stop me.... (No)
Now ******* calling the house wondering if I can come out
You smile and think it's cute your baby boy got girls falling like parachutes ......
Here I go with all the girls I'v been threw my heart broken is setting in
And one time you try to comfort me but I just would let you in....
It felt awkward for you to even try and touch my skin
And then I thought to myself I just commit gods greatest an biggest sin......
Honor thy parents but where have our love gone I think we left it in Brooklyn
What happen to gift on the weekdays and party's every weekends....
Now you have Gotten older and my emotions more colder
But some where way deep down I'm still your son
But your going to have to reteach me love cuz you haven't see what you have done.......
Look what you've done
Look what you've done !!
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
I see ****** around me that just want the fame,
Want the attention doing **** but who am i to blame
****** fall in love with the pictures flashing possession they think makes them richer
You hear ****** rapping about the hood knowing when they lived there they tried their hardest to get out
Doing **** not thinking without a doubt
Now all they doing is spitting irresponsible **** out their mouth.
****** in the streets ready to shoot you just so they can write about you
Flashing weapons yelling bang bang when they were the same ones running away from the pistols from the **** they do
I'm putting all these fufu ****** on the spot acting brand new with their baby mamas crying because the rent due
You ****** so contradictory getting these females pregnant and leaving knowing its your responsibility making you look like a humility
But yal don't care
Money is the motivation but you ****** talk about violence
But the same ones in silence
Following ****** because you need someone riding with you when you get jump
Same ****** you ridin with are the same ones that jump
I swear you ****** so lame and act like yal aint got a brain
But just know i'm the realest in the game , i'm my own motherfckin team
I may be a girl but i spit real ****
Because you ****** know yall lines don't be ****
-dpk
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
Old chair sitting broken in the corner
Dusty mirror hanging on the wall
Mamas in the kitchen making a cup of coffee
Daddy he’s just sleeping down the hall
Sisters in the back yard picking flowers
Brothers in the treehouse with a gun
I am watching all but they cant see me
And no one else around know what they’ve done
Old man shopping cart down by the river
Banker drives his Cadillac back home
His highrise overlooks a lifeless city
That which in his eyes does not seem lifeless at all
Twigs and sticks are gathered to build a heart of fire
Twigs and sticks or maybe sticks and stones
Give and take or crush and break the time that you fear after
You realize it was never there at all
Some of them will live and die without ever even knowing
And I have lived and died among them all
Bones will break and dust will make the pathways we walk after
And you will hear my voice after it all
(c) 2010 CJG
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
hoochie ******* man, Bruh Rabbit
a trickster be def....
takes a dif form on dif days
on the 7th day of the 7th month with 700 dolla's
don't ever mess around
taking the form of Pops he stole the fire
from Prometheous, who
stole it too
a coyote
Raven
like Jacob from the Bible,
Questions of is he messenger or Messiah
teaching wisdom or teasing
stories
'bout mojo black cat bones
or hoochie ******* mamas
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Wutsa matter wit you?
Whirr you frumm?
You from summ furren country?
Cain’t you tawk better den at?
Murruhkunz doan tawk Inglush lie cat.
We talk good Inglush. We tawk da bess Inglush.
Ain’t nobody tawk better den us.
Irregardless of whut kine uh furriner you are
You could not tawk so ignernt.
It’s a insult tah good Murrukuhns tawkin lie cat.
You should be imburrst to tawk ataway in public.
Should be ashaymt uh yerself.
Yenno, peepo c’n perject thur ignernce
’N thur lack intelluhgunce so easy.
They jess open up thur mouths
’N let the dumbness fall out
’N thur it is, fer alll to see.
Yude thank they’d realize what dumshits they are
’N not let thur mouths write checks
Thur butts cain’t cover.
But, no. They’s flappin’ thur yaps an babblin’
‘Bout nothin’ at all, ’n actin’ the pure fool
Lack thur mamas din teach them nuthin.
Well, nuthin’ good, at lease.
Me, muhseff, I thank sumbuddy
Shoulda kicked thur butts
From here ta Sundee.
But, thass jess me.
I know thurs a buncha bleedin’ heart libralls out thur
That wanna let peepo get by with crap jess ‘cause
Sumbuddy is a Niger er ‘cause they’s Messcun
Er sum kinda ******* heathen er ‘sump’n,
But I thank thass jess wrong.
Peepo gotta talk good jess to respeck the flag
’N God n’ country. Or go home.
Yeah, go on back to whatever Godless place
You ’n your race ’n yer ideas is okay.
We rilly doan need ‘em here.
We’s good, God fearing’ peepo and hard working too.
So, if that ain’t you, *** on yer camel ’n ride
Back tah whurever you cumm frumm
Till you c’n tawk good Iinglush lack decent fokes.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
11: 41 My step father yells at my mother, she yells back
11:46 They do not catch me on the bottom step listening like a child, ear to the wall
11: 52 The floor creaks and my hands find themselves in the top drawer, third to the right, mamas dresser
11: 55 The game begins and two fierce blades are extracted
11: 58 Peach, silver, crimson. Peach, silver, crimson. Peach, silver, crimson.
12: 06 I am still not asleep and I will not sleep not now or ever again.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
I am sitting by a fire with a cup of chai,
in Africa somewhere, thinking
of twenty dead children.
The Turkana women keen in the dark.
‘Woitokoi,’ they say, ‘Woitokoi,’
a call of lament.
Oh, mom.
It’s your babies
It’s your babies
I rarely turn on the radio, but do tonight.
14th of December. Cooking coconut curry.
I watch the last red and gold fall behind skeleton trees
and step out into the cold with my guitar and Willie Nelson’s
‘Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.’
Is anyone watching the sparrows falling?
You mothers who have lost a child,
you fathers who have lost a child,
have gone where none can follow
but One who loves you, loves me,
even school shooters, maybe;
One who hates evil
for what it destroys,
One who
(for this love
and hatred)
listens to His son say:
Father
Father
Why have you forsaken me.
One who says to you now:
though father and mother forsake you
yet I will not forsake you--
I am sitting by a fire in Shelton, Connecticut,
thinking of twenty dead babies.
Oh mom. Mom.
It’s your babies.
It’s your babies.
It’s your babies
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
I am a cube in a dark chocolate bar
seasoned with a milky white
continent of courses
collision of cultures
chili and chill wind season
in overcoats of global ambitions.
Born in the barracks of colonial masters
who took their women from tribal backwaters
of empire. These beauties succeeded
in conquering their Masters
in the art of warfare in bed and beyond.
say what you will
I carry the cost of all completion
and show the combination of colours
on my skin
burnt in the sun of these wars and conquests
all six of us soldiers.
we took his language and her complete
abandonment to beauty grew in the night
of knowing the white ruled the rainbow
and hard liquor while the dark bred the boldness
or so. (Mama said)
we, as children of different cultures
in a potpourri of pertinence
got licked, kicked, bruised and burped
cooked and laid as chocolates always do.
But we grew in mamas wonder of the world
at large, while Dad knew all the blends of single malt
maidens from the highlands of his birth.
as happy children, aware of hard work and toil
we rose faster than the fumes of spirits
and set about travelling the shores of net profits
and university empires instead.
Mama laughed when we told her
of the worlds and wonders we had conquered
and how the colour of our skin spoke for us.
Dad knew all about peg measures
and pork chops, fork, spoon and gunpowder conquests
as hollow as his casks of wine
and maturing as slow as his wisdom.
Mama only knew the meaning of knowledge
with no degrees.
God bless them both
as they sit around a table
in that great place in the beyond
and discuss chocolate bars
skin and colourful wrapping
of all six cubes!
I am Anglo-Indian.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC