our days are inches
hand spun gold freed from the jaws
of civilized beasts
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
haiku for impalas off the block
our days are inches
hand spun gold freed from the jaws
of civilized beasts
Sunday, March 24, 2013
seed on a windowsill
she will sit
in the eggshell white halo
of the morning
and find the number of scars on her
greater than her bills
but still
she'll complain
about her middle
thinking her weight gain
is just the refrain of bad luck
found after good times at happy hours
but still
she will cover mirrors
with her mind and mourn her past frames
but i wish she knew
part of my resurrection
began when my mouth uttered her name with honey
but still
the love i have for her
waits on her windowsill.
Friday, March 15, 2013
tried by seven and a blue line
young man Kimani
tried by seven bullets
life choked short by that thin blue line
and muzzle flash
do archangels of justice
see your blood on the streets
this morning as they pass over?
Remsen Avenue
becomes the heart of Ramallah
barricades on Snyder
as East Flatbush becomes frozen
by cops and a mayor with ears deafened to all
but soda fizz
music for the beasts who occupy blocks
tried by seven
Kimani Gray, murdered he was
on streets Giuliani once called home
and the people rise and shout
knowing that the struggle made real
is bigger than TV sets and news desks
and that the heat always melts oppressive frost
after all,
the archangels of justice see the lamb's blood
and will pass over East Flatbush
the fire in their pots reserved for pigs.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
reclaiming expression(or, how i regained strength to cross-post.)
this past week, i was in an emotional dust-up with
myself. and it got settled the best way possible.
more on that later. i was feeling that way because,
i hit a spot where i doubted the effect of my writing
voice. i re-post from time to time on Facebook and
Twitter from here. there's some responses, and i
know people read my work here. but i started to get
caught up on not seeing visible responses. and i
asked myself, 'am i reaching people?' because as
much as i dig that some people read and enjoy my
work, there is a trap that lies in sharing on social
media. there's a fine balance to it. a line that is
like that dividing line in the middle of any road you
drive down. i started to ask myself if i needed to
start tagging people on FB like others have done
just to get people to notice their stuff, and that
idea got tossed out the moment i thought of it.
i've realized a long time ago, that i am expressive.
that while i don't always i speak loud, i roar and
holler with my shit on the page. i slap the plaque
off of hearts and rub all of the grime from third
eyes with what i write. over and over and over again.
because, i write how i live. i used to be reserved,
to the point of being timid sometimes. and leaving
that behind has enriched my life and my craft so
much. and in the process, i realize that there is
appreciation, spoken and unspoken. and the unspoken
can be for a bunch of different reasons. i wondered
if i should stop sharing my writing aloud on Facebook.
i didn't pose that question out of hurt pride, or
feeling slighted. i truly wondered if it was a bit
much. the response i got, and the resulting discussion
i had was rejuvenating. and then, to top it off, a
dear friend of mine asked me to write a haiku for
her that she will then proceed to have tattooed on
her. to have your words affect somebody so much that
they would honor you that way...the only way to
truly depict how i felt is to think about how it feels
to raise your head out of cool ocean water sharply
while at the beach and feel the sun on your brow.
so yes, i'm expressive. my words are me, and vice
versa. and though i may have these moments again, i'm
letting my voice ring out. because there those that
listen, even in a whirlwind of memes, status updates
and other stuff. to those that do, i thank you truly
for showing me that love, even in silence.
until the next time, walk good.
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