Greedy, ***** little body

Hungrily swallowing down

every touch, every kiss.

Still always asking for more.



Addled brain

Flooded with the syrup of arousal.

Logic giving up the ghost

to pleasure and gluttony.



Reasoning tries to speak.

Gags and silences on

Spoonfuls of dopamine -

Made an addict.



Such a **** for trust and words

Easily retraining from one man to the next

Soon enough these hands

craving to hold this new interest

remembering fondly the previous ones.

I have been grumbling
And complaining
I haven't thanked
The One sustaining
All my needs
The One restraining
Worse events
Than I'm retaining
I'm in need of
Some retraining

He is waiting
He is listening
For grateful heartstrings
Moist and glistening
For something He
Has seldom heard
A chord of thanks
In spoken word

Let us poets, as a crowd
Speak our thanks
Right out loud!
Of course, my friends,
You have a choice,
But read this poem
With your voice!

I'm grateful God
That You're there
I'm grateful I can
Breathe the air...

I'm grateful that
You made a tree
I'm grateful for
Our poetry
I'm grateful i have
Eyes to read
The inspiration
That i need...

I'm grateful i can
Take a drink
No muck and mire
For to sink
No sewage that
Brings death
And stink

That I have a
Mind to think...

I'm grateful that
There's food to eat
No mud cookies
For my meat
I have a roof
I have a seat
I have shoes
Upon my feet...

I'm grateful,
Though there's
Pain and strife
I have this chance...
... for a good life!

There! You've READ IT!
All the while
Jesus listened...

*... and He smiled!

the boy could sing
even took professional instruction
was told he had a beautiful voice
by singers he respected and admired
and he knew how to use it
he loved singing out load
choir or solo
songs or vocal exercises
emotional range and dynamics
full voice, in character
transporting him to joyful
but he seems to be losing it
progressive hearing loss
makes him unsure

gave away his guitar
chords smelled garbage-like
gave away his cello
he couldn’t hear her voice
but he kept the flutes
beautiful bamboo flutes
and shakuhachis
handcrafted by a magic man

he picked it up quickly
people thought he’d been paying for years
they would stop to listen
complimenting his clear tones
one professional flute player
heard him playin’ from ‘round the corner
came across the street to see
told him he played “whole heart and soul”

he only sings to himself now
voice is a body part
talent plays role
but body just knows how
to listen with ears
and repeat with voice or fingers
his ears no longer hit
on all cylinders
his hammer and anvil out of tune
he understands now
why Lucy couldn’t find her notes
they’re hiding somewhere
behind a brain cloud

the last one to hear him said
“you used to play so beautifully”
if it were just a matter
of fingers on holes
anyone could do it
but it’s something inexplicable
a mind/body gestalt
more spiritual then physical

he plays now to remember
go like this and that’s a ‘G’
go like this, that’s a ‘C’
reminding the body
retraining the brain
rebuilding the memory
refinding the fun
reclaiming the heart

August Twenty Fifth

Avenue.
The sky with your family.
If we had more information.
More lies.

Without a vocal why.
I ask.
Words dying silent.
These minutes define a life sentence.

I stop.
Examine shoes.
Reveal to you.
Grave spectacle.
Tar soaked heel and sole.

Cities swallow.

Lies and *****.

Dyes of the month.

Years later, alleyways  beckons.
Skirts slid towards Hell.
Dull knife.
Reminding her to dive deep into royal gene pools.

Reminding her to avoid boys with boots.

Retraining my exhalation sacrifice.

Difference of four hundred thousand dollars.

It is this effort is too much.

Exhale.

I am fixing the racetrack
where all the thoughts there
have turned black,

reclaiming my isolated dignity
retraining every part of thoughts
connecting every incomplete dots

which will lead me to the adjacent poles
that are satisfied with their own nature
science taught me nothing but
selective decision and sense of entrapment
whisper to your pillow before
every intentional breath

“am I just a vehicle to every unidentifiable selfishness or am I just living up to my own means?”

Race retraining.
We won't admit it.
Hard for many to accept it.

During segregation one group felt strictly in charged.
With the rules in placed to make others races at their will.

Then the ruling of the Supreme Court came.
Then we start the events of society change.
With one beginning to run away.

In present news, we see white officers blazing negative through the news.
Then we saw hostility of them in the years of past decades too.
And none wants to admit the honest truth.

White male officers DON'T know how to handle conflicts with black males.
Which soon must be addressed sooner or later.
Truth lies here.
Even if those with blinders wants to deny it.

How many minority officers?
Do you see involved in conflicts of abuse or killings?
Then again, it's easier to avoid truth than to deal with it.

The white male feels their strength of power slipping away.
And with a weapon on their side they react in simple situation to quick sometimes.

Which you see on the news many of times.
And the story is the same.

Black male shot by an officer.
Then the race game begins to emerge.
And we say, here we go away.

Yes, some are at fault.
Then some aren't at all.
But truth be told many white males are weak when they don't have a gun.
Truth be told many are aware of this.

Many realize this even when a kid.
Then give anyone a weapon of power they begin to get brave.
Thinking they Clint Eastwood or maybe John Wayne.

Still the story is the same.

They throw you straight into the deep end,
thank god it's almost the weekend.

retraining all my muscles to do what they used to do
but the ones in my legs are tattered and
torn
it feels like they're almost worn out,
a bit like me on Friday.