Critical Mass
I see a critical mass,
and I am put to task
by the political hounds...
...their always lost and found...
...And they swear
by their thought
like it's all
that they got!..
I see a critical mass
between our working class,
and the trust fund elite...
...their all white as a sheet...
...And they swear
by their thought
like it's all
that they got!...
I see a critical mass
where the spending of cash
is compared to God's will
with a damnable skill...
...And they swear
by their thought
like it's all
that they got!...
I see a crit-ical, crit-ical,
crit-ical mass...
I see a crit-ical, crit-ical,
crit-ical mass...
I see a critical mass...
I see a critical mass...
I see a crit-ical, crit-ical,
crit-ical mass...
01-19-20
Slack Selassie
The Scarecrow
Forever stood, in the field, just standing.
The scarecrows life is not so demanding.
Baking away in the heat of the sun,
Never is his days’ work done.
He guards the crops, stops the birds from feeding.
The smallest breeze is enough to send them screaming.
Up, up and away they urgently fly,
From where they came, back into the sky.
In the rain he sags with soaking.
In the wind he coughs with chocking.
But always with a smile upon his face,
The scarecrow stands tall and holds his place.
Publish
Publish your thoughts and or desires
Give them to an audience to read and or admire
Publish your hopes and or your dreams
Just so that you can show them that not everything is as it seems
Publish your emotions and or fears
Show them that nothing can bring you to tears
Publish your strengths and or weaknesses
Careful not to forget that society is full of leeches
Publish anything and everything
Weather it’s about rocky horror’s or sandy beaches
Publish your heart and it’s speeches
Tell the world everything you have to teach us
In the end it’s just you and me
Two souls swimming in a fish bowl
Parting ways only to let each-other dream..
to the very last verse.
my hands were shaking
I could barely stand still
my heart went wild
I looked up and stared at them
I was about to open my mouth
to let those words bathe in my voice
I cleared my throat
and hoped I'd make it
to the very end
to the very last verse
I put voice to that poem
my hands could barely hold that script
my voice broke halfway
the audience thought that was it
so did I
but I stood still
put voice to that woman's pain
just for her
and when I looked up
everyone in that room
broke down and would not stop crying
my voice made them cry
and I burst into tears;
all of us were a mess
just for her,
just for her pain.
Brokehearted
A simple goodbye might have sufficed
Bitter tears from her cheeks flowed down
Can a broken heart ever hope to mend?
Dreamt though the heart of a clown
Everyone knows their breaking point
From the depths of deep despair
"Goodbye forever" was all that was said
Hearts broken... without a care
Inside that broken heart
Just when all hope is gone
Keeping time like an ancient clock
Love lives but not for long
Never is a very long time
Only those with broken-hearts know
Who place their hopes in unfulfilled dreams
Quietly pacing too and fro
Reality quickly shatters those dreams
Shut out by hearts that are scarred
This pattern is too often repeated
Undone by broken hearts now marred
Verily I say to you
Whatever a heart might tell
When love has gone forever
Only then does a heart know hell
(c) BAM
Mirror Kingdom
Dark was the night, it was as if
the whole world had been swallowed
by darkness. With only the shining stars
in the night sky punching holes of light
upon the otherwise pitch black world
As if they were raging
against the dying of the light
The prince
wearing a heavy purple silver crown
and blue delphiniums colored
royal British garments
throws a hand-sized metamorphic rock
across the water and watches as it
skips seven times across the shallow lake
forming distorted ripples
Easily bored he climbs a tree
and quickly falls asleep
while sitting on its branches
leaning against the thick oak tree
There he dreamed of events
That had taken place seven years earlier
It was in the throne room where
Father literally had his ironclad boots
on the neck of a common
“Bow your head and fall in line
because I'm the king
And you’re the peasant
Don't you know you should
always bow your head to power?
Now shut up and kiss my ring”
When Father’s boot was taken off of his neck
The commoner got on his feet
Kissed Father’s ring
And cowardly bowed, to the crown
Egyptian style
The King turned and saw his son
Hiding in a dark corner of the throne room
His son reminded him of himself at that age
Innocent, weak, malleable, & power hungry.
He had hid in that same dark corner,
when a similar scene had unfolded
with his father decades earlier
The king said to his son
“A good king knows not to be a
King George the third
And crush the rebellion before it starts”
Poetry
How ironic would it be,
Thought he,
To write a poem titled ‘poetry’?
Why not write a story
And title it ‘A Book’?
It would indeed be boring,
Despite the time it took.
What would it even be about?
The rustic smell of pages?
Or writer's block and writer's doubt
Or writing through the ages?
A poem about poetry:
Many poets have written
They wanted the fun in profundity
To bite back what has bitten.
But what on Earth gives you the right,
To write about words?
What could you say, to bring light
To the sun itself? Absurd.