At Fifteen

At Fifteen

it was in this year
clouds of innocence were slowly removed 
from my freshly minted fifteen-year-old eyes

windshield wipers 
in the spring rain storms
yet
clearly seeing
experiencing 
the wonders
the frustrations
the cruelty
the humanity
the reality 
of my world

it was in this year
discovering words 
written
spoken 
could be steamed
fried
prepared to order
and sometimes microwaved

remembering
digesting them
after being served 
thoroughly minced 
diced
sprinkled with a little brown sugar
washed down with a cold soda

it was in this year
preparing
serving 
words for others to digest

interesting to note 
words 
taste differently to each tongue
onion flavored
bi...

Love Poem V (1976)

if I could
I would cover the world with your love
blanketing it all with the warmth of
you
like a fireplace amidst the winter's cold
wisely 
yet sparingly sprinkling your love to the world
me
the sole user of the control panel

if I could
I would replace the sky with you
your radiance would illuminate the darkest of nights
wishing upon the stars 
if you will 
if you must
but access to you is limited 
to me

if I could
I would wrap up your smile
in pretty Sunday morning blessings
after showing it off to the world 
all conflict ceasing 
absence of rebellion
of war

and only after the completion 
of the perfect world your love has created
would I take you back
protecting you from all danger

the sky
back where it belongs

your s...

The Music Maker

sometimes I wonder if I am really me
or a just compilation of the greatest hits from Hughes and Baldwin
or a re-released recording of
"Amiri Baraka
Live from the Apollo"
bits and pieces of Brooks
Angelou
The Last Poets
or a collection of unknown writers thrown together 
in some far flung attempt to feed the hungry kids with leftovers from the night before

am I to shop my demo around
as a merchant in some Caribbean marketplace
or on the street from the trunk of my used car
hoping that it makes it into someone's top Spotify
Pandora
or Apple Play list?
 
sometimes I wonder if I am really me
a poet
or just an artist doing live shows today
touring the oldies circuit tomorrow
bloated
in a sparkly used tuxedo
and later reduced to a footnote in literary history

Her Tomb Was Empty

it happened to me
and so
it happened to her

she had to crawl along the uneven cobblestone road
this heavy thing tied to her weary back
bloody knees
bruises 
beaten for her beliefs
her convictions
visions 
the masses could not comprehend
they did not want to comprehend
no pebbles tossed into the placid pond to disturb the status quo
midday sun
searing down upon her wounds
and
she uttered not a word 

reaching the summit
hands nailed into the wood
it was His will
that she should drink from this bitter cup
remembrances of dark days
betrayals
loneliness

how did she get to this moment
to this place
to suffer this fate

then
the clouds parted
the skies cleared
and down came from heaven
a pen
a piece of parchment
a poem
a missio...

You Could Look It Up

make this thing great again
go back in time when folks were happy
safe
confidence in choices made
the very definition of what they are seeking
but can’t 
won’t answer when I ask them
the time 
the people
places
thangs
when they thought it was great
in the very definition of
what they are seeking themselves
maybe it was the time when
what was outlined and written and promised
was never fulfilled

you could look it up

I did
because I just wasn’t curious
I was downright being nosey
and the definition of when this thing became great
the time and place it finally became great
the promise fulfilled
the contract finally signed
sealed
delivered
legal and proper-like
all over the nation
that night when it finally became great
the night when everyone danced in the st...

We Took To The Streets (Another MLK Day thing...)

then
we wore afros and dashikis
and took to the streets with poetic words for our women
militant words for our people
revolutionary words for the establishment
 
incarcerations and interments would soon follow
as sure as Willie’s dice would roll up
7-11
every Saturday night in the back room of Grady’s bar-be-que shack
 
we took to the streets
with the fire of the sun in our eyes
blazing through our black shades
black berets
partially covering our black afros
a sea of black fists in the air
 
God
it was a beautiful sight…
 
then
we took to the streets
burning our neighborhood stores
our homes
our businesses
our lives

that was then…
 
each year thereafter
we took to churches and auditoriums in suits and ties
neatly ...

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...