Irie, Mon (Haiku)

Clean

was once a poet

then survived the rinse cycle

writer of poems

Don't Get The Wrong Idea

don’t get the wrong idea
when you read the words I write
and listen with attentive ears
to the words I speak

just because you saw me dancing in the street
and celebrating for days on end
when I heard that afros
black panther tee shirts
and berets are back in style
I have no plans to burn down your houses
your cathedrals
your temples
your mosques

if I happen to ask your daughter to a movie
or find the house at the end of your block
quite attractive
there’s no need to call in the national guard
sign petitions
or rush to the pharmacy for an immediate refill of tranquilizers

I am celebrating who I am
where I came from
thanking my God every day
that He chose me to be
black
and you
whatever you happen to be

in fact
I invite you to celebrate with me

and if you teach m...

Next Of Kin

I
did not 
could not prevail against the gates of hell
knew I wasn't flying the friendly skies
arriving at the heavenly gates
had no defense for it
a tormenting
slow
painful death I suffered in the early hours of the morning
too early 
for them to come and take me away
to early
for someone to pen a decent obituary
story of my life
the roads less travelled
and the broad highways I was told to stay away from
the good
the bad
the indifferent
I saw the lights on the side of the road
stopped in to many an establishment I shouldn't have
sat myself down a spell
and overstayed many welcomes

when they write my obituary
watch for pieces of parchment succumbing to flaming embers
a broken black pen
with black ink
dripping 
staining the wooden parquet floor below

J...

Message In A Bottle

these words might find you
or you may find these words
one hundred years from now
or maybe more

it might find you somewhere inside my house
a silver box in the basement
or under a loose board in the attic
there will be no lock on it

it might find you as you weave through cobwebs
inside my unused garage
in the back seat of a car covered in layers of dust
manila folder in between the seat cushions

it might find you somewhere in the backyard
on a spring day in the future
as you plant flowers or flower seeds
the soil will be quite fertile

it might find you on some internet site
if such a thing exists in the future
a casual search of writers from my today 
subject for a school class project 

and if these words find you
or you happen upon these words
one hundred years from now
or maybe more

th...

People, Places, Thangs

poem
tucked neatly and discretely away
underneath three upside down walnut shells

people
places
thangs

carnival sounds and tasty Caribbean ware
colorful
festive costumes surround us
contemplating

it is about you?

watching me shift the shells
slowly
accelerated

be patient
in a minute I will give you the chance to overturn one
uncovering the truth

was it about you?
somewhere with you?
something we did
somewhere over the rainbow
far
far
away?

it made me incapable of sleep last night
until it found its way on my note pad
and underneath
one of these empty walnut shells

a game of chance
for sure
and even if you pick the right one
I am not obligated to tell you the truth
a writer of poems
has that privilege

so

step right up
take ...

Short Order Poem

they came in
famished
this place either highly recommended
five start positive reviews
or the first thing they saw at 2 a.m.
open
with bright flashing neon lights seen from off the main road

the aroma was quite pleasant
settling into the red vinyl cushion seats
met with a smile by the waitress
discretely checking her watch
shift ending in another thirty minutes
and then
she would exchange the warmth of room
pleasant aromas inhaled for the past seven hours
for the chill of the early November evening

menus placed before them 
paper placemats
freshly cleaned utensils 

famished, they were
could have ordered the entirety of 
all the appetizers on page one
half the entrees on page two
washing them down with something cold
carbonated
still saving room for the deserts on the back page

House Money

if I were a betting man
and I ain't

desperate in my addictions
gambling hotline number on speed dial
counselors know me on a first name basis
we’re all mutual friends on Facebook
TikTok
or whatever

if I were a betting man
and I ain't

midnight forays into my daughter's bedroom
breaking and entering
unarmed robbery
forcible abduction and rape of her precious piggy bank
defenseless on the nightstand
appendectomy by sledgehammer
its contents strewn across the garage floor

if I were a betting man
and I ain't

my phone storage struggles to manage
all of the betting apps installed on my android
direct deposit
equally distributed
equally funneled
the rent
the car note
Christmas toys and birthdays
food on the table can wait

if I were a betting man
and I...

Touche

I was not really unfaithful
or having a cheating moment
a relapse of the days
or more like
uneven
gloriously blissful
intoxicating and
unapologetic nights
when I approached her shores
to sow my wild oats

and you were up and about
doing this and
doing that
no telling expression on your face 
as I sat here
ashamedly unapologetic about my 
unintentional moments of unfaithfulness

and I am not sure what lit the fuse
something I saw on TV
Something out of the blue 
made me think of her and that moment 
or
moments we had so long ago
rising early
to make the donuts with 
extra oats in the ingredients

her smell
her touch
the aroma of the aftermaths 
it came over me
I wasn’t looking both ways 
before I crossed the street
...

Love Poem I

you are 
so close to my heart
as each beat pounds metronomic rhythms of love
coinciding with my motions and movements

you are
the center of my every thought
the author of my passions
my pains
the inspiration for words of poetry
beautiful
and complex in its messages

you are
silent
as morning silence seduces darkness into light
soft
as April rain showers
fall lightly upon my front steps
beautiful
light-skinned beauty
dark-skinned majestic

at times
stubborn
in your attitudes
ugly
in your indifference and ignorance
sickening
in your selfishness
but I do love you
because you created me
and I
am of you

ain’t it a wonderful thing
to be you
to be me
to be
a people?

Arrival

poems for her wedding
three-tiered
decorated with sweet words and flowers
sliced into small pieces for the tuxedoed and gowned masses

poems for his funeral
emotional
sprinkle in a little 
‘Jesus’
a little
‘when we all get to heaven
we all gonna stomp all over the devil’s ass…’

poems for her birthday
Valentine’s Day
her anniversary
poems for contests
words written to appease ticklish ears
to entertain
careful not to stir up emotions
causing cerebral traffic jams
and multi-thought pile-ups

poems

a writer of poems
I am
but did not become a poet
until someone read my poem
understood its words
shedding tears
because 
the poem traveled through gates of indifference
and insignificance
finding the heart
unatten...