"myron" poems
By: Myron Penwell
Beliefs mentor his perception,
Which by principle he pursues blindly,
Leading to the detention of logic and comprehension,
Dimming into a venue of hell and damnation.
A word of god's resignation
Death's cold bliss embraces him,
drawing him in with a empty black kiss,
then dragging him into the eternal abyss,
taken off heaven's list.
Writhing and screaming,
A whimpering echo,
Dissipate into this careless void,
Nourishing the father of deception,
He unknowingly avoids.
Thoughts of insanity barely make a noise.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
early saturday morning i woke
to a smell lost over winters breath,
that of barbeque and meat
stepping outside i could see the
smoke down the street so i walked
down
black man by the name of Myron
was sitting on his steps watching
as these rabbits jumped over top
of one another
he noticed me and motioned me
over
jumping off the steps like a old
man turning young again he
grabbed a white paper plate
and opened the grill
what is it about black men and
bbq, how do they cook it so well?
thanking him, i said i should go,
there was a ton of meat cooking
and i didn’t want to interrupt his
family function
Myron mentioned he lived alone,
that his wife Glenda had passed
away three springs ago and the kids
have all moved away
staring at him closer i realized how similar
Myron was to my own father, only a different
color
my dad sits on the porch during the day sometimes
and i wonder what it is he’s thinking about
when he sits out there
i imagine it’s the same thing we all think about,
death … when is it gonna happen
but before we die we worry about other things, too
like is this our last meal?
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Poison Porcelain
By: Myron Penwell
Over this velvet draped window.
Where constant oppression strives,
Cries from unstrung heavens,
Rarely touch the skies,
Whispers of valiant dreams,
Curses of gallant lies.
Now is the time to release your spirit,
then justice may thrive.
Voice!
That vast free rhythm.
Dance!
To the music of hell's delight.
Open your mind to a diverse plane,
Let knowledge melt those frozen chains,
You will begin to realize these are brittle pains,
and only contain the vain.
This prisoner of poison porcelain,
Whom you shall celebrate,
for you will see,
Evil.
Using the young,
to dictate your reality.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
We had all just got back from eating in the city. Jamie was driving. He was the smartest kid in our school yet he has a gpa of 1.5. That always seemed to amuse me for some reason. Jamie loved to do drugs ,and since his parents were rich he always had someways to pay for his addiction. Lynn and Myron were quiet as Some nirvana song served as background music. We were heading over to the park. It's where everybody comes to have sex,do drugs, or let their children play. We all got into the back of Jamie's truck when we arrived. Myron stood watch for people even though nobody was gonna be here,at a park, when it was almost 1 am. He was built like a true athlete. Everytime we went somewhere people always thought he was in his 20's. So he could buy me cigarettes and such whenever I needed them.
Jamie started to pack a bowl for us and Lynn sat next to him eager to partake in something new . She brought the cheap apple juice bottle to her lips , and inhaled. Her eyes were closed as smoke came from her mouth. It looked so peaceful and fun.
Why couldn't it be like that forever .
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC