Who
          wh          wh          who
     What
          When
Where
          wh          wh          where­
     Why
          How

if life was a sentence it would end in a question mark
no judge setting bail
just animals caged in the medulla
stuck in query
                    asking
WHO am I
     WHAT is my purpose
          ...WHEN is my deadline...
                  WHERE am I going
                         WHY am I asking all these questions
and HOW, HOW the **** do I do this right

10,001 steps beyond exhaustion
the body crumples into a heap
trash or treasure ~ depends on the observer
not everything with value is valued
a crescent moon of hope in the lungs
what will the next breath produce
when still chasing completion
in cycles unending
another step? perhaps for show?
the will is waning
the destination reached
time and time again
new goal- another step
remove the oxygen this time
breath only expectations
hinge on the exhale of results

Here we go!     <step>
into yesterday's half effort
competing for the highest version of happiness
WhaT iS HaPPiNesS
   a buffering rainbow spiraling amidst rainclouds
the feet trudge through mud
tracking desire along an otherwise peaceful path
why can't the mind   and   body
just be still
HERE
10,002 steps beyond exhaustion
sit, and be whole
the treasure has always been here

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

Do not fret for the future

you'll never get any further into it

          than right now

                                             or now

                              or now

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

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!

the most valiant of giants
   walks without a care
steps without looking
          or wondering
where feet will land

head in the clouds
     thunder is but a whisper

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)

They say if you want to keep a secret hide it in a book, so I'm writing these words between solemn pages with the hope that they die quietly, as I am
I saw something I wasn't supposed to today
It was tucked into the margins
All of me says it wasn't supposed to happen, but it did
And I saw it and heard it and even felt it
I didn't do anything though, just kept writing ...

Peace.                 Peace- short lived
Boredom.                Boredom- soon come


A hum.     A chirp.     A shattering of glass.
Questions. Questions. More questions.
Rampant questions. Barraging questions.
Stillness       stirs muddy
Strained mixing of unknown content
Syrupy. Thick. Sticky and difficult to wade through.
Questions.     Answer. More questions.
Distressed confusion.


Silence- uncomfortable.
Stillness- uncomfortable.
A thrashing of drums. A clashing of symbols.     A chirp.
Noise for noise’s sake.

Say something! It’s too quiet in here
Talk to me. Talk at me. Say something
A conversation about everything.
A conversation about nothing.
A chirp.




A chirp.



Aren’t you glad I didn’t just stand here in silence for a minute?

An archeology of silence.
Peace.                 Peace- short lived
Boredom.                Boredom- soon come

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

What's the proper way to fill awkward silence?
Is it with background noise?
Maybe music?
Tourette- like twitching to distract the senses?

Did you know that empty buildings randomly creak as if open space requires sound?

I stand in a room full of strangers
avoiding eye contact
but I know my presence is noticed
Is it still felt if I say nothing?
my feet are tapping in Morse code that I do not belong
but I'm unsure if anyone is receptive
who knows
maybe body language speaks louder than my closed mouth
there is elevator music on the tip of my tongue
but I can't tell if it's rising or falling
at all levels there seems to be nothing to say

Nice weather huh...
my brain is a storm cloud on full blast
yet only small thoughts rain down

Are you from here...
yea, me either

What do you do...
I'm not really sure anymore

Are you happy...
the air stills
and it follows that even sound can be awkward
     if allowed

the other night a stranger walked up to me at a bar
and asked
What's the craziest place you've ever had ***...
   like that was the intro, no names, no how are you
I have never been so bold
but the clouds cleared and the elevator rose
jarring
I couldn't help but answer
and for something so personal
I actually didn't feel awkward at all

Since, I have compiled a list of "non-awkward" questions to disrupt quiet:

Do you love yourself more than your mom does?

Would you survive a zombie apocalypse? What if the zombies are a fungus?

Would you rather have a rewind or pause button for your life?

What's your favorite cereal?
I got 5 on Cinnamon Toast Crunch!

Are you happy?
and here comes the silence again
but we are not empty buildings
and inside of you and me
there is too much to just creak
even if your tongue must fall before rising
there is a thunder inside you that echoes
and it demands escape
do not let the illusion of awkwardness steal your voice

so now I ask
what's the craziest place you've ever had ***
it's only awkward if you make it that way...

I see myself best at night
in broken mirrors
sharp edged memories
that bathe in liquor

I find myself in a bar bathroom
   with soap and water
scrubbing harder than ever before
but my hands are bleeding now
and they were already *****

I think I ****** up again
at least, that's what this guy keeps saying,
and he won't shut up
I'm bleeding now and he won't shut up
   shouting so loud I can't hear my thoughts

but I swear
   I see myself best at night
   bathed in broken memories

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

paper floods 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

the classroom has no doors or windows
  no walls or boards

in the 13th grade there was an unboxing
to unlearn
tossed the rubric and curriculum aside
to make way for words unwritten
     have you ever found clarity in the unknown
     discovered validation in the void
darkness has taught me insight
way better than any book or person
amidst trembling and shaking limbs
there was a steady hand
guiding
    with more wrinkles than time
         winding
  with more curves than straight lines

I have talked to my ancestors
listened to the texture of wisdom
through their frequency
528 Hz   -   that's love
      outside of checked boxes
      and conditionals
if you surrender to feeling fully
then you will know   -   that's love
and the heart can hold
just as much memory as the brain
  if you're open to receiving

body,   every body
will tell you of the risk
of running toward freedom
spirit,   every spirit
will tell you of the reward
of not staying stuck
   a universal student
I have a couple answers now
           but still no definitive statements
I am in the timeline I'm creating
and yet
             I am so much more than a point
the finite is a container for the infinite

this classroom has no walls or windows
no doors or boards
this teacher                no face

the buddha is in everything
    and that's love

sitting at a bar,
Christmas Eve,
solitary.
one bartender.
an overflow of drinks.
no conversation.

at the bottom of each glass
is the question
can I be happy
at the top of my mind
are flash images
-of women
-of ****
-of endless money
...and out of the void comes an answer

Straight, no chaser
NO!

I wake up Christmas morning at the bottom of a cup of coffee. All I can think of is opening gifts.

*** 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

I caught the sun with my hand
and ate it like a blood orange
pulp bursting through my seams
it seems imagination has lost its shine

this night already happened before
  don't say the words
that's like conjuring Beetlejuice or Candyman
but it is already written
that when you turn right
there will be a black cat

Snap!

and the ground is sinking now
can you feel the sand swallowing you whole
begging for your crown to return home

a pile of rocks perfectly balances on a needle
the record scratches
who is playing DJ to all these botched transitions
lost in another groove
reverse melody meltdown
more sinking
beyond the lyrics
subversive subtext subtly soothing
it would feel so goo to just let go

a black cat is balancing on a pile of rocks that's balancing on a needle
one tectonic plate shifts
everything is off
the PH of your saliva tastes like copper
blood drips from the nose, the brain is dry

this night already happened before
it is already written
that a shooting star will streak your consciousness
but only for a second
are you sure you saw it
you drool in pennies and loose change
it melts into the sand
which now covers your shoulders

what if you're drowning so slow that help isn't even a thought

the brain is dry
balancing on a black cat that's balancing on a pile of rocks that's balancing on a needle
at this point everything is toppling down
so slow that time envies its grace
wait for the drop
It. Is. Legendary
like synth trap house jazz infused with rock
a metal rod replaces the spine
balances chakras lifeless
the ending is copied and pasted

another crown returns home
and the sound is silent
and oh-so-purrrrrrrrrfect

how does the uncolonized mind count
is it a system of 2's to honor duality
are there still 12 months in a ear
how does it rank and prioritize
are there different equalizers below the equator

how does the uncolonized mind exchange
does it tally net value on an unending score sheet
cost analyze each relationship without roman numerals
  X over O but the real pro is unity
were a classroom to lose its walls
  would the mind expand    beyond preconceptions
  or barricade imaginary

how does the uncolonized mind build
and is destruction first or always
can formations curve outside of parallel lines
he lost his number beyond borders
and stopped counting
now he  i n t e g r a t e s

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

I want to part your lips and slip you a secret

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!

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...

One must be invariably brilliant to tag a bathroom stall
   the throne room of sages

And so it was
   that middle school ***** were shrouded in ******* wisdom

And in college
   some Platonic rebel, a self proclaimed tyrant
enlightened the blind
versed solely in idealism- Freshmen

Post hoc
an underground caffeine ****** relabeled toilet paper college diplomas
accepting the cheapest education afforded me
irony quizzically probed~
               will you ever join the ranks of legend?
                                  somewhere...
                                                        ...some faded wall awaits your signature

And so
   in some near distant future
   I did respond
   to porcelain tiles
   idley surrounding a porcelain judge
               for a ****** time
               call 864-5387 (toilets)
               available for complaints 24/7

I don't think the judge caught my humor
probably too disposed with degrees

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

have you ever looked into the eye of a storm ,, embraced the calm as turbulence engulfs everything around ,, this is how we are taught to live

we need some clouds up in this piece*

   ~the dying wish of a sunny day

I could care less what you think of me. You are a small person in an ever-expanding universe. My reality is bigger than you, and your tiny world!

maggots transmute flesh to humus
make soil of living organism
reduce legacy to new origin
   leaving translucent threads
a baby's heartbeat resets
as spirit sits in waiting room
pitch black     soaking

under an ancestral dome of dementia
stars have forgotten their shine
   fallen out of place
shattered the illusion of enlightenment

good enough thunder laughs
its echo ripples through darkness
good enough               good enough
lightening strikes the same place twice
leaves scorched birthmark of miracle
and the cosmos joins in on the laughter

the baby cries
naked and afraid
vulnerable to all the fears of this world
failure, rejection, unfulfilled potential
danger lurking in every unknown

yet before depression or anxiety
there was love
four chambers murmering of invisible strands
and moist nothingness
of faint lights that felt familiar
shimmering fractals of reflection

past-life breakthroughs
are now present-life obstacles
purged of perspective
maggots dance the funky noodle
attempting a perfect circle
-this is integration
   post-waiting room
a glimpse into the cosmic joke

and the baby laughs
a thunderous chorus of stardust
  surrendering fear to the maggots
fiber twines its way
from heart to heart to heart
flashing a golden web of interconnectedness

the baby is you
   and I
and even before we learn to crawl
we are walking blessings
we should stop more often
and appreciate this birthmark of truth

in this present moment
I gift you- peace     love     and     understanding
that from flesh to humus
you are
    More Than Enough

And as the figs dried
   so did everything around them
a smaller harvest for the fall
a fall from grace since the spring

the roots did not know of destructive winds
  nor burning rays
   yet they shriveled all the same

how vain
  to expect one to know all
  to expect all to acquiesce to one

The perception of a thing is not necessarily it’s reality