Souled Out...

What A Wonderful World This Would Be (An MLK Day Thing...)

watch out, baby!

be sure to lock your doors and draw your curtains
when you see us strut down your street
with our heads held high
and the morning sun
warmly shining down upon our beautiful black skins
 
hurry!

grab the arms of your young ones
and shove them into the back seats of your luxury SUV's
when you see us out of the corner of your eyes
 
quick!

roll up your windows
slam your feet down upon your accelerators
and don't worry if you happen to run a few red lights
as you flee from our presence
 
here we are!

run, baby, run!
 
we are clean
sober
educated
intelligent
enlightened
able to choose what is best for us
our families
our communities
our world
without any more assistance from you
 
we are dedicated
...

Souled Out...

blasting from DC
number one on the playlist
ice, ice, ice, baby

A Conversation With Somebody I Know

this poem is mine

I don't have a receipt for it 
because I didn't buy it on sale at the mall

it wasn't advertised on TV 
and no salesman called my house 
offering differed payments and low interest
if I bought more than one

this poem is mine

it was given to me
and I personally attended to its alterations
fitting me 
snug
now like my own skin

I approve of its style
its color
the material is so comfortable
I don't know why I didn't get one earlier

this poem sees what I see
feels everything I feel
and you can't understand it
because this poem don't belong to you

gotta get your own
try it on
and see if it is really 
"you"

can't copy my poem
because its facsimile 
thereof
...

This Cup

so I write
never asked for this cup to be passed to me
it's my turn to drink it's bitterness
its sweet nectar
depending on what day it is
or
who reads my poem
or
whose poem I read
and I will not criticize
critique
your pain
your death 
your happiness
your ecstasy
same in verbiage
but
a different climax 
pain and/or pleasure

will your poem hold me in the wrinkled aftermaths
leave me
with loose change on the nightstand
sounds of your words
departing the front door
tires screeching from the driveway
down the road
never to be seen again
or is my poem
thumbs up from a poetic Caesar
or death in the dust 
last gasps of a poetic gladiator
or will your poem
leave me prostrate 
desert dazed
seeking the nearest oasis of pen an...

Obedient

it smacked me upside my head
stinging
like a Muhammad Ali bee
and I turned around
about to open that can of
whuppass
on whomever was in my immediate vicinity

I rubbed it
my eyes saw stars like
youthful summer camp nights
dancing
like endless Soul Train forms
a shot of lightning
like the right hand of fellowship to my noggin
offered by daddy
when I nodded off during long ago
in Sunday morning church services

I looked above me
dull grey ceiling tiles
looking down at my confused frame
stoic countenance
shrugged shoulders in unison
"nah, bruh...
that wasn't me.."

and there I sat
dazed and confused like Led Zeppelin
loud
uneven guitar riffs rumbling through my brain
sounds of steel wheels
like the city subway I will board in about thirty minutes

You, On My Mind...

white snow falling on black streets
you, on my mind...
 
the arrival of spring
awakens the earth with every shade of green
you, on my mind...
 
summer
melting the senses
hypnotizing the body into submission
you on my mind...
 
autumn
caressing
inviting
enticing the soul into a myriad of unspeakable pleasures
you on my mind...
 
I lay in bed and wonder in the darkness
...am I on your mind?

I Won't Complain

wished upon a star
unseen in the blackness of the night
clouds present 
yet unseen
the wind rattles the shutters outside my window
and the stubborn part of me wished anyway
just get through to the morning
everything will be better
and brighter
in the morning

crossed my fingers
destination needing to reach
the pathway I need to walk to get there is unsafe
littered with caution signs
flashing lights  
cracks in the sidewalks
closing my eyes for a moment
just move the mountain a little
if I ain't asking too much

rolling the dice
no snake eyes, please
and James
papa don't want a brand new bag
just a small cheeseburger and a small fry
a small coke
only if it comes with it
my daily manna from heaven
as my mind imagines a choir singing in the background
no
I ...

Chapter 9

yesterdays ago
long haired hippies on black and white TV
religious groupies squatting everywhere
tell your fortunes with a sharma dance
just drop a bit of change into the center of the tambourine
and watch them twirl like marionettes on the corners of
Mister Rogers make-believe neighborhood

winter shopping at the mall
a Nostradamus on every corner
Salvation Army Santas ring their bells like
Lionel Hampton
as grandpa use to tell me he did back in his day 
and I didn't know who to believe in
and I didn't really care
because my toys were under the tree every Christmas morning

if I were bold enough to ask
and I wasn't
told to just look it up in chapter 9
it's in there somewhere
look it up for yourself
chapter
not sure
but it's in there somewhere
a needle in a haystack of verses

the thi...

You Can Approach Me Now

my intent
was for this to be squeaky clean
content acceptable for any poetry contest
or submission to any literary magazine
edible
palatable
safe to enjoy like cotton candy
make your foot tap to Miles Davis
snap your fingers to Cab Calloway
or WC Handy

this 
was supposed to make you nod your head 
and blankly agree to any wrong doings in the world
your neighborhood
your country

I tried to make this politically correct a
middle of the aisle
place a token in your hand
ready to insert
as you glide through subway turnstiles

this
was supposed to make the cashiers happy
when you get to front of the checkout line
with correct change
as you blindly observe insurrections
injustices
and never once think it strange

the intent of this thing
listening to you speak
and tak...

Now, I Am A Black Poet

because I am black
and a writer of poems
my semi-automatic pen should be loaded with fatal words 
trained at temples
blonde-haired
blue-eyed
those made of glass and stone

I am to blindly follow those whom I never voted for
and shout

“right on!!!”

and

“that’s right, brother! speak the truth!!!...”

when the words I hear ain’t necessarily the truth
and the bruhs who speak them
I respect
but sometimes I gotta respectfully disagree

(sometimes, my truth may be different from yours...)

because I am black
and a writer of poems
I should target my message to those who 
live where I live
loving only those things readily accessible
hating those
blaming those 
responsible for why I live where I live
and can only love what I am allowed to love