I cannot stomp it out
Hate Crimes
Is hating yourself a hate crime?
Killing yourself slowly
Manslaughter or Murder 1
Because you actually have to kill yourself a little everyday
To die slowly
Now, is that premeditation?
I think I am a murderer by omission
I see other people dying
But I do nothing
Some days I push the knife in, hoping to put them out of their misery
Euthanasia
God, Dear God, is that hate crime?
Do I hate them or do I hate me?
God is that one in the same?
Waste not. Want not.
Am I wasting away?
Am I wanting to be something I am not?
Is hating yourself a hate crime?
Haiku #2
Who am I to you?
Where do I fit in this world?
I am not with you.
Haiku #3
Very slowly live
you will see it all pass by
hastily you will
Haiku #4
storms are coming
raining pouring raging pow!
Flashes, crashes, light....
Haiku #5
through your eyes I die
I do not flourish in the Spring
I am frozen, cold
Haiku #6
there are words coming
out, to kill you swiftly-harsh
words to hurt you–swoosh!
Dark Skin
Dark skin girl I am
Chocolate, mocha, cocoa
Coffee, sweet flavored
Keep Going
Look around the horizon
The future lies ahead
The past a distant memory
Push onward full-fledged
Obstacles are sure
No journey worth traveling
Is smooth
Stay true to the mission
Autumn
Leaves fall golden brown
Wine colors speckle the ground
Earth tones rustling ‘round
Walk the District
Here is the life
That is dressed up
Fancied with bows
Demands
And credentials
Here are the players
Matchmakers
Movers and shakers
Suits, ties, networks,
And lies
Here are the people
Urban, at-risk, minorities
Diversity
Condos, projects, row homes
Gold coast
And everyone else
Write on
There are so many poems to write
That my pen
Swells with excitement
People keep living
In beauty
In filth
In love
And in squalor
There are more poems
To write
Some with names
And others with sounds
To be recited
And remembered
And relayed and even
Forgotten
Like people
There are poems
Not songs or ditties
Odes and elegies
Words in rhyme or rhythm
Or not
Waiting to be written down
Waiting to live
Got it
Say it
Like you mean it
As if you’ve never seen it
Blind by faith and Venus
Believe it
Like you know it
As if you’ve had to show it
Strong with roots below it
Think it
Like you feel it
As if officials sealed it
Sturdy like God’s carpenter
Would build it
Stand up
Raise up
Be up
Wander
Wander this world
For there are so many journeys
For those who are willing to travel
See with your mind
Best done with your real eyes closed
Autumn in Maryland
See autumn
Slowly winds and creeps
Then bursts onto the scene
And the rain comes
Slow dripping, fast plopping
Dot dot dot
Then mist and fog and coolness
Leaves take their cue
To change their hue
Red.yellow.orange.brown.
Fall moon swells
Large and round
Skies calm down
Sun goes to bed early
Not a Glass House
I wish I lived
A bulletproof life
Far from injustice and misfortune
Safe and secure
Like diamonds in a velvet case
Yes, if there was a quiet
Restful, sacred space
I would be there
Write again
I write rhymes or sometimes
Rhymes write me
By leaving messages in my memory
I try to capture the
Letters—the words
Sprinkled on message boards
In my brain
You see ideas sometimes can be
All over the place
Ellison—2 years old
She is joy itself
Voice
New, fresh, special
Kind, sweet, wonderful
Eyes—splendidly bright
She jumps—she bounces
She laughs
Giggles
Laughs
She explores
Not just this world
But her own
More vast and grand
She delights in bubbles
Blown and in the bathtub
She looks in my books
Most peculiarly at the pages
She demands to lay down
With a nice warm ba-ba
Undisturbed
She is in constant fascination
With her piggies
She is love itself
All kisses, tears, squeals,
And fun
I walk, but I am not a Pedestrian
Genius lives
Whispers speaks screams
Begs to get out
Be unleashed
Wants more. Needs more. Dreams more.
I am not a pedestrian
But I feel I have been walking
And my feet hurt
Genius says create
Screams
Dreams can’t sleep
Genius whispers more
Genius wonders
Wanders
Lusts
Desires
Screams to build
Screams to make
To think to be
I am not a pedestrian
Last Day of July
Can we begin again?
In this world with wounds still healing?
Are we meant to be incomplete?
Impossible.
Once we have been hurt, will we ever forget?
Or do we release the feeling when a stronger one arrives?
People are made for people
Just a little bit lost
Where are we going?
Don’t quite know
Can’t quite see
Or think
I agree and disagree
Simultaneously
Guess that’s just the DC in me
Got to get a handle
On this thing
Figuring out is never
As easy as
Fucking it up
Because you don’t know that’s happened
Until it’s done
Still Writing
I have been
writing the same poem
For fifteen years
Wondering where the beat goes
Rhyme at a time
Rhyme at time
Change my name
Change the game
Some things, most things
Still the same
I have been writing the same poem
For fifteen years
Wondering how it started
Love now for the present
And the dearly departed
Two rhymes at a time
Three rhymes in my mind
Changes back my name
Play the game
Some things
Many things
Still the same
Last poem before bed
Am I weak for wanting him?
Or is it his familiar-ness?
I hate him. I love him/
Not right and never was
Tried to be
He inserts himself
Doesn’t really want we per se
But wants to keep me
In his possession
I don’t think I want him
I think I want the dream
The memory
Of what was, what could have been
And what will never be again
Am I weak for walking away from a story that definitely has
No closure?
Yet, I cannot afford to write another chapter in a book
That’s overdue
Melancholy, I think
Ain’t no drums to beat no more
English majors ain’t not a one
I heard we don’t study history or philosophy
Anymore
We are illiterate business-minded folk now
The CEOs of nothing and nothing special
College grad fad ain’t half bad
Can’t send an email though
Or count or write well
I look good, but my soul ain’t got no drums
Auto-tunes, not really singing
Or living or thinking
Trying
I am at a place
Where there are no roads
Streets that are really paths
Some covered in rocks
Some just dirt
No signs to direct me
But people claim they know
The way to the place
We are trying to go
A better way to walk
But they do not know
They say they say
I follow because they have the water
And they determine who gets some
Standing at the corner at night
Meet me here
Under the skies
Where controversy
And contradiction
Collide
Where success and excess
Reside
An Ampersand for the City
and the city screams
for grass so green
for clear, blue water so clean
not crimson, not lead, not iron or steel
and the city cries out
for joy and jubilee—for dreams
not boarded or abandoned or shackled
but set free
here among the wonder, the curiosity
the anticipations
lies the buds, and the blooms
and the blossoms
ready to thrive
and blanket the jungle in natural
beauty
Love.Speak.Easy. Page 4