Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
     because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
     and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
     and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
     took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
     with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
     Valentine signed with a row of X's
     and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
     because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
     and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
     because of its new paint
And the kids told him
     that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
     with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
     when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
     his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
     when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
     because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
     and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
     because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
     of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
     making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
     or even talked
And the girl around the corner
     wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
     but he kissed her anyway
     because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
     his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
     he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
     because this time he didn't think
     he could reach the kitchen

beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
     and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
     and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames          like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
     fringed in anger
          runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
  
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
     blasting from blacked out tints
          weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
     or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds

beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
   where bar tenders play therapists
        and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes

beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels

That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
   yourself
        your friends
             your country
she challenges you to
**STOP DRUNK DRIVING

*** for me!* I shout
She flashes her pearly whites
the brightest smile I've ever seen
(She likes it when I talk *****)
gets wet off it     ...     soaking
                                               the streets
                                      flooded in every nook
rivers gorging car tires
     thunderstorms are our communion

*** for me! I shout
and She moans like a god   ...   boisterous
my legs pump faster now
Her cries are electric
   I can't help but feel the jolt

louder baby
She indulges
and I come
                    full stop at the corner of Broadway & Covert


one day...
              She will tire of my obscenities
  all my ~*******'s~
in a final flash She will smite me
and when I reach home
  He will be at the gate
crooked finger a compass pointing to hell
*** for me I will cry
reverent in nostalgia
I will have played the game past the final quarter
still taunting His existence

but I'll smile
content in knowing
that every action has a consequence
content in knowing
  that I learned that pre-god
   pre-conservation of energy
content in knowing
    that life taught me to run in thunderstorms
and the first time I shouted back
I felt enough energy to risk hell for it

Woman birthed. Woman raised.
I am no biproduct
donating ***** does not make one a factor
back strained, she supported me like Atlas
sheltered me with wingspan like Daedalus
her love stronger than the Greek gods
Aphrodite was her apprentice
agape her creation
her love for me surpassed my love of self

moist moist  moist  moist MoiSt mOisT moIsT MOIST
now stop reading it, say it
                                                           moist
it's a weird word
------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------

a storm is coming
  and I can smell it, feel it
     MOIST
on my skin- slick
it wisps into my mouth
  dirt patches aren't meant to be stoic

the storm approaches from the north, northwest
I am headed that way- north, northwest- approaching it
we have not yet converged but I can feel it
    moist
it tastes of dry dirt
not local
       nomadic

the clouds are foreshadowing --- foreboding
  parting only to show more grey
we have yet to converge but I can feel it
the grey
           the parting
                          the moistness
I am not yet there but I can feel it
  wisping through me
     I am not meant to be stoic
       nomadic

the first d
                r
              o
                 p

                     refreshing
I can feel it. really feel it.
moist on my skin. weird.
the clouds are parting
lightening [effect]       thunder [effect]       convergence [effect]
I am the storm; its core
  moist
            grey
                    parting
       ­                          wisping
can you feel me
                            approaching...

Train Sets were always the coolest gift
I mean, I never got one
but that's what the movies say

now I ride trains daily
monotonous jumble of
commute.work.commute. sleep.

a ******
   brains get swallowed whole without my morning Joe
but there was a time...

...there was a time when
I rode that Polar Express to bliss
        crazed off hot chocolate
   golden ticket in hand

then
I slipped on ice caps
instead of sleeping on beaches
dreaming up Mad Hatter candy mogels

then
Tom Hank's voice was the patter of reindeer
and magic was cast by wizards
   not scientists

A White Beard
wise as Gandolf & Dumbledore
   specked with canyons of God
would laugh jolly into a nation
        into a season
   into that dusting galaxy of a child's eye

that beard
   holy and revered
would laugh humanity into a rattled world

slipping down chimneys
it would leave propaganda of hope
in the form of trainsets

No, I never got one
     but I loved that beard
        and the silver bells on its sleigh

they are voiceless now
but I keep them for their shine
I miss those days
                 ...sometimes...
I think about them on my train rides
wishing I had a different destination

Insanity

I-N-S-A-N-I-T-Y

Insanity- doing the same thing over and over and over again and expecting different results


The First Time...ended in downpour
a shower of sorts
self-inflicted and long
she rolled off my body like water
her name rolled from my mouth
actually, her name was never in my mouth
I did not swallow it
   or rinse with it
it was not exchanged
it just dropped
   ...like the water


The First Time...started with a call
with nerves
she was all conservative sweater
her clothing did not betray her
sunken in couch
I was all of 16
my words betrayed me
No, maybe I betrayed my words
or maybe my mind betrayed us both
or maybe all betrayed all
   each of my personalities lost within another
I was all of 16, pre-downpour

The First Time...was the worst time
sunken in couch to sunken in bed
I was all of 16, I was all of betrayal
She...was all LIBERAL
They say,
in the weakest of moments, the spirit is loosened from the body - a detachment of sorts
in my most sensual of moments, my body was loosened from my spirit
     a weakness I guess

the first time ended with me
   in a ******
       in a trashcan
            in a bathroom that was not mine
the first time ended in downpour

~6 years~

The Second Time
#post downpour/ pre-tempest

The Second Time...started with nerves
   with a call
       with an itch that needed scratching
I already knew the ending
-happy
...then downpour
I was all of grown boy
sunken in couch was a different chapter
sunken in bed was a different chapter
this time, I was the author

...the rest is still unwritten...

You don't take the spice out you take the spice out put the **** in
and put the spice back in

I caught myself head bobbing to ******
leaking red ink on vinyl
keep the track spinning
doing rounds of H-bomb clouds
all white got my head on tight
got my nose off right
check the center
if I could see it
muddled beats lead to reaps
Jack's a busy man
death a grave business
all trades
he deals diamonds for profits
sick the Hound
he's got no time for games
thrones be melted down
set the mold for a caravan
desert eagles circle corpses
warm body, not for long
heat brings in the winter
tore snow through his soul
****, I thought blacks ain't like cold
they nod to that **** you give it a hook though
caught up in the bait
cheap and shiny
rock their life away
as it drums in the ear
keep the bass bumpin
mama'll keep pumping the tears
gassed up with super diesel
you gotta peep the subliminal
laced up in the air
inecessant bumble of the bees
got a sting like no chaser
wait to explode, to exhale, to bust
oozie laid to rest
patient is revenge
but always with a righteous fist
BOOM!

a sober rooftop and the city skyline**

I hope to never feel this view again
twilight drifting overhead inevitable
still not enough space to hold this heartache
   not enough space to capture this silence
I saw the city collapse in mere seconds
bulldozed by a swift five words
then the silence...

                              ...the silence was an eternity
by the time I responded
  you were gone
  along with everything we ever built
only the stars and I remained
but there was nothing left to wish for
nothing
     but a stiff drink

you talk to me as if suicide isn't an option
as if I haven't cut myself six million and one times
      there are only so many ways to count to death
dreams
   can only be ****** for so long

I felt the first crack
                             the day
                                       you called me
                                                              a mistake
to think
   I mistook you for a parent
but you never learned to bare your heart
just gnashing fists and clenched teeth
love
      has always had gaps to escape through
   you just didn't let it

but before I get to note's end
I want you to know
            that I love you
            that I speak it every night into the
                                                   s                           n         e
                                                            l  ­           e
                                                      i        ­                    c
like a prayer
            that I pray that someday it will be enough
   to put cracks in this reality

depression is not the only thing I drown in
under all the blue
I am gushing with red
it's just sometimes I forget I'm breathing

I guess what I'm saying is
   **Eventually...
                             I will flood
but I'm holding off as long as I can
~it would be nice if you at least tried to help~

And on the third day he rose
eyes red from creation
a sativa-induced resurrection

And though many searched for him
he was not there
he was already philosophy and smoke

Now, centuries later
millions roll themselves in his dogma
with hopes of getting high

Born…
   with flesh that contradicts nervous system
        that contradicts skeletal system
                                                          ­             I am body
torn by its very nature
                                                          ­             I am lost
with troubled soul
   swirling in the cesspool that is life
        only hope of firm ground
                                                          ­             I am teen
with limited past                                                             ­                                          yet promising future
the result of an overbearing mother
   and a negligent father
                                                          ­             I am young black man
who has acted as a dumping ground
for words of wisdom
   and honorable ethics
                                                          ­             I am tamed chameleon
                                                       ­                I am weary traveler
yet to begin his journey
   nothing more than a loner searching for a rock
                                                            ­           I am questioning dreamer
a blind eye
   trapped on the inside looking out
                                                             ­          I am double-edged book
bound at the hems
   by veins interwoven into a heart of passionless calm
                                                            ­           I am heart
that beats once a year
   and on occasion of a pulse through my ear
                                                             ­          I am sound wave
waiting for my group
   a team of gears
        interlocking and shifting
             interlocking and shifting
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                      in constant pattern
too scared to slip outside the mold
                                                            ­           I am puppeteer’s puppet
my strings stay taut even in moments of rebellion
                                                       ­                I am slave to those who lead
because I
   am
innate follower
                                                        ­               I am pawn to those who will me
and doormat to those who seek refuge
                                                          ­             I am the lethargic day
that drags into eternity
   the deplorable boredom that hinders life
                                                            ­           I am the sad sap
that rolls down a crying tree
                                                            ­           I am the lack
that fills the vacuum
   the fluff
        that merely attracts the eye while providing nothing
                                                         ­              I am intricate façade
for bland building
                                                        ­               I am sky-filled bottle
with unscrewed cap
   an underman
        with self-contained potential
                                                       ­                I am statistic
a variable trying to escape definition
                                                      ­                 I am athlete
natural as the earth
at heart
   a quitter trained to persevere

                                                      ­                 I am carbon footprint
being slowly blown away by the sands of time

All these things I am
   yet all at once I am not
I am not what you see
   nor what you know
        for I cannot be known
I am not philosopher
   but then again
        if we count what I am not
                                                             ­                                                                 ­         then I do not even exist

                                                          ­             I am not written word
                                                            ­     because paper is constricting

Death from her life on my shoulders
resurrect me in the wind
     -a weightless vagabond
whispering breaths of prophecy

Blessed is he who lives life to the fullest

Tamed to breath filtered oxygen
we do not know the taste of exhileration
conceptualized, packaged and shipped objective
realize that society holds no ground
life is yours to miss

open your eyes to the fact that you are blind
*and no one sees you

after my first true betrayal
I found myself mumbling
                                           snitches get stitches
shredding the dignity of my conscience
I left a paper trail of trust
   a reminder for those to come
sprinkled the strands over my scars
and let them settle into the backdrop of my pain
I learn from my mistakes
(even kept the hilt as a memento)

but Tre...
                Tre is different

This gun to the temple of my dome
I am faced with a single question
Should I shoot?
Or let fly the words just uttered?
The mouth of the devil’s minion lies open
nagging
     and picking
picking
     and nagging
          at a lost cause - a deaf cause
And Yet
     it feels
          it angers
               it rages
no longer containable
     it erupts
no clip for a gun
only bullets of air
air of truth
                                                           ­                  and so
                                                              ­             I choose
                                                          ­        and before I think
                                                      TR­IGGER
a crescendo of cacophony

HATE

A tear falls. The truth escapes. A jaw drops.
she did it to herself
all those years of nonstop badgering
she did it to herself
all those years of hypocrisy and disrespect
she did it to herself
blood flows from her eyes for my pleasure
a stream of emotion dammed by emptiness

she did it to herself

If you take a microscope and zoom in, you will find millions of tiny bacteria, reproducing through fission and struggling to survive. If you take a telescope and zoom out you would see the universe ever-expanding. Between those two, bacteria and the universe, there is us- humans. And we reproduce and struggle and grow. Sometimes in life you will feel small like bacteria; sometimes you will feel as big as the universe but no matter where you go or what you do make sure you are always growing. It doesn't matter where you were planted; ALWAYS GROW!

She lays there a pregnant woman
the future a burden
kicking from the inside
    begging for its time
        pleading for fruition

hush now
                     I lullaby
you will come just like I came and my dad came and my grandfather came

                                   loud and after two minutes

she lays there a pregnant woman
and I swear
                      I can feel the future kicking
I am coming it echoes
...and so it was
    ...and so it did

behind what digit does greatness hide
for surely it is seen in mass
though mark it bold if self-proclaimed
a self-called victory is oft for last

and on what pedestal is greatness praised
enshrined and head bestowed with gold
or is it meek and humbly bred
unrecognized beneath the fold

in the sea's unwavering crash
in the sky's expanse unspared
in the ant's resilient march
all things great when uncompared

and can it be that we are great
perhaps in just one other's eyes
I know that I am full of it
why do you hide in plain disguise

I'm writing off short poems

how much joy can be contained in 10 words
what kind of grief accepts a Chrysanthemum

the day pain graces this flesh and is reprimanded in 5 concise words, I will tweet my autobiography

Oh how the Mockingjays will echo

you play God
  manipulating variables
     eliminating constants
   making a mess of simple equations

papers flood with ink
  -mistakes that will eventually lead to a solution
but it's the journey that matters,
                                                        ­ right?
the reminder of why you hate math...
*it makes too much sense to comprehend

Did you know that if you mix seaweed, almond milk and honey, it's a cure for the common cold?

Did you know that when elephants mate, the male squirts from his trunk?

Did you know that "global warming was created by and for the Chinese, in order to make US manufacturing non-competitive..."

Trevor Noah told me, "We live in a post fact world now"
but on my morning commute I see plumes of smoke
forecasting the end of this earth
and somewhere over in China
mother nature is crying so hard bodies are floating
when opinion becomes reality
we are all doomed
cast away to the whims of the unimaginable
like how do you know hell isn't a winter wonderland
and each snowflake isn't a soldier claiming territory
I get chills just thinking of Greenland
swooning so much over CO2
it's melting its heart out
this planet has loved us since before we were thoughts
but we will be its destruction
not now, not tomorrow
but with the gradual passing of time
slowly, earth will forget us
as we have forgotten it
delete us from its archive
from Rio to Kyoto to Paris
we will be reduced to ash
-and oxygen
-and carbon
-and hydrogen
we will return to mother's womb in a plume of smoke
for all the future to see
we can only hope that the next generation can read the signs

*hell: a couple degrees north; keep driving

you wanna live life but it's not in your hands
the school systems ruthless it's making demands
you're scoping success but no victory dance
without a college degree

* I'll dibble in this and I'll dabble in that
but with no major you'll have to go back
you're on the wrong train because it's not on a track
Go! and get that degree!

education- the system, not education for free
for 30 long years you'll be paying the fee
knowledge is debt; that's what it looks like to me
* America, **** your degree!

when you're on your last drink:
   find a crowded bar
   with a dark corner
   on the upper level
          and seep into the wood
          like the spirits
          you swear are consoling you

I was born to weigh heavy on your mind
my umbilical was lyrical live feed
inception was the spark
I been latent for too long
cruisin like Noah's ark
but I never chucked the deuces
just been patiently waiting to find my muses
next generation wake up
I heard they raised the stakes up
you feel the pressure
benchmarks been set
barometers there to measure
your progress
ingress
degression
can you feel it
expectations by the pound
you're drowning but is it real yet
concealed tech
he's got death at his hands
the sad part
lil' homie don't even understand
that a bullet's finality
teen homicide has become a normality
I'm on this verse tryna defy a mentality
I hope you heard
tryna defy a mentality

Home**
                                            heart
        ­  city
                                                          ­                               apple
                                                           ­        core
           burn
                                                            ­                      hellfire
fall
                           garden
                                                          ­                                                 well
                                             water
                                                           sky
          bottle
                                            ­                                  whiskey & ***
                                            drunk
           ­                                                                 ­                                             lost
            Found
staircase
                                ­                                   tears
                         relief
                                                          ­                           flood
                                               God
                                 ark
                                                             ­                                 promise
               broken
                                                          ­                glass
                                           ­    catastrophe
                                                     ­                                         connectedness
ONE

starlit domes have never been so down to earth
wishful dreams
     so close to home
fresh sight gives life meaning anew
     but with new perspective
         comes new appreciation

cradled in the roots of chromosomes
I branch out to new wombs
in hopes of escaping old wounds,
finding refuge in distant planets

that's why when I lift my head
I always imagine the sky a bit closer

then I awake to realize
I should really learn to dream with eyes open

I awake to realize
maybe I shouldn't take comfort in dying every night

I awake to realize
planets are so removed, I should just create my own

Hell---
     if Pluto ain't a planet---
          I can decide these things

Truly inspired by Joe Cole's recent writing prompt

(http://hellopoetry.com/poem/818411/young-poets-write-for-mei-would-ask-that-one-of-the-more-computer­-literate-among-you-set-up-a-collection-for-me-for-all-the-wonder­ful-contributions/)

and the positive responses thereafter, I think there should be an optional writing prompt daily. I am in no way volunteering for any responsibility BUT I did hear a very interesting prompt just last night at an open mic so.....


what does today taste like?


Have at it!! and if you respond please copy the link into your reply AND hashtag it #todaytasteslike (no spaces)

Sniffing magic from a Pokemon cartridge can be so fun

hours wasted in idle threat
I said I would do something
I said I would wring these words
   until they pooped a diamond
and instead of selling it
I would share it with the world

but the past 207 minutes have been nothing but brain farts

I hate my job. All I do is destroy things - words, hopes, dreams. I used to love life. Watching people make mistakes,  I always felt like I was their second chance, their saving grace. I could help them forget the past, eradicate their errs; sometimes even move on having learned something.  But now, now I think I cause more anxiety than joy. The other day Mr. Thompson asked a student to work out a problem on the board, but they wanted to know if they were right first. No one likes to slip up but they dont realize my purpose is to erase those slip ups. Now days I only get to erase things that are right.  I think the world would be a better place if all the right things were permanent.  I think the world would be a better place if I could create...