A gentle breeze,so slight as it winds its weave,between the sounds of the city.Birds chirp and singwhile cars and trucks let their metal ring.A deep green pervades this luscious land,beneath cyan hue,brushed with white by an unknown hand.This city is not tall, but it is vast.Stretching from a deep blue seato a green ocean of sawgrass.
If one were to sit before a flowerwaiting for it to bloom,most would meet with inner furor.For patience is measured in stages: epochs and eons.Perception of truth releases the space,expelling the expanse,to be saturated with silence and intention,multiplied by function and intuition,the sum of the product and equation of awareness and individuation.
The man from Kongo told me that long ago his mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s Mother was taken. Ripped away, to be sailed away, and sold away to Ayiti. The pride in his eyes in saying, in stating, that HE KNOWS. I said HE KNOWS. Mwen di w li konnen! That he has fanmi in Ayiti. That pride, matched the tears welling up in mine eyes. For bondage and time, distance
I’ve got a silver truck, rusted the driver’s side window, busted Parked under a coconut tree in a frigid Florida breeze. Cigarette butts in the bed weeds growing through the engine block. Four by four never climbed a mountain, dead headlights staring at the foot hills. The coconuts never grow, untouched by warm summer sun. In the driveway two Mercedes, white one with cracked windshield, the SUV creaking with age
Reccuring thoughts of glory when the reality is much more mundane, ordinary Mondays of songs unsung, poems unwritten. A light shines for many, that cannot or will not place the gem to the beam and share the stream of one moment in a river of eternity. Lost in the visions of others, we cannot face the mirror. For the gleam in our eyes betrays the terror of our lives, fear
Roots brew, bones, and blues. Black Queen in white dress, Six-strings in a leather jacket. Four strings layin’ it down, right by the four beat settin’ the count. Murphy arranged the law, a twilight lockstep. Murphy’s son interpreted the law, revisiting implications of different vantage points. Musically structural thoughts leading to private manifestos of intention, retention, of self. Civil disobedience to social entanglements, internal conflictions with external contraptions. Circles of
Neon green t-shirt and relaxed hair, She leads three beautiful Black girls, All hands linked as she sets them in seats On the metro. Face neutral, her task serious, caring for them. Matching black leotard dresses, Braids with clear beads, Dance class perhaps? She leans over, pinches a nose, smiles And my whole world lights up, Lightens, my soul momentarily floating, Free of the weight of my thoughts. Coconut Grove.
Saw young white hispano not quite anglo, Wu-tang tank top in The Fresh Market, Lookin’ for organic pork chops. My visceral reaction to oppositional visual feedback Had me taken aback, shifting to righteous frequency At flagrant audacity and shameless apropriation Of counter-culturally rebellious Afro-Activity. Yet, I was there to see him in his part While purchasing tea, turmeric, and coconut oil For balance, knees, and dreadlocs At the same white
I watched two women, Blond and brunette, Converse. Through scratched and beaten plastic I watched them weave magic with their hands, Waving words into being, Pulling them from the air silently While the bus jostled them noisily. Phalangic dissertations, Stylisticly lexical differences Marked by sharp fingers, Syntactical personality shifts With flowing wrists. Blonde reached out, Stamping her words with emotion. Brunette leaned, Casually carving logos from ether. Filled with smiles,
In the space between the Sun and the Moon, we swing in circles of games. Human colors of sound, shifting the veil in ritual. Treading the ground in spirals, to reach beneath and above, a tattoo of emotion and reason.
All the clarity applied, implied, on the minds of many, through the lenses of frosted eyes so blue spawns nothing but pain. Nothing but sorrow, tears, and blood. Take your clairvoyance and apply it to life in the physical, visions through the blizzard and into the heat of sun-drenched lands now blood-soaked, seeping through minerals of Apples and Androids. Presumptuous half-hearted homunculus self-destruction is the power without knowing what the
I see colors, A spectrum of wonder, Blending into sound. I hear sounds, Dulcet din, Fading into my sight. I feel the wind, Carrying the voices of the many, Tinted with the Sun. A flowing energy, Sight and sounds And touch and senses Whirling! Twirling! Spiralling! A stream, From the cosmic source, Flowing through me, A prism, Spiralling out in light and sound. Reverberating.
A clear sound rings through the air. Chiming from translucent walls, To and through the barriers of thought. Conjuring images of an ethereal smiles, Manifesting a song from a frequency of harmony. Content within a crystalline cocoon, She will burst forth an image of womanhood, Transforming with the magic of birth.
She wears pearls, Reflecting the lustre of the deep. The depths that cannot be fathomed, The currents and secrets of the ocean, From whence wells the loves of the Mother. All this I see, hypnotized by her pearls.
Long, dark hair Burned black by the fire in her soul. She lights a conflagration of desire in the emotions of men. Smoke lingers in her wake, Cinders cover her shoulders. Granddaughter to Prometheus, she brings light. But beware, for her anger brings disaster, Complex and untamed like the flames that cast out darkness from humanity.