...the...

Dear head,
I have broken your heart.

now the wind
that courses the mountain hollow,
first courses my soul.

and it is cold
the way it embraces me.

now you tried ripping a heart
where there was none.

u thought it hurt at the worst time,
when the swirling eddies of passion
teased me to the edge of a whirlpool
center of current
on a sure path forward.

so you thought you chose to stop an unstoppable object
thought you cut a tree from its root
thought you had no heart

you thought you were being bitter,
you thought of yourself as a dark reminder
that the world is a bad place...

my fairy tales were that it was real,
your reality was composed of fairy tales i imagined.

and your blood runs in me.

and you are close,
not in a way that makes me cry or feel my heart ripped out,
but in a way that makes you close anyway,
in a way that doesnt require a conversation;

the silent friend who boils in my coursing blood...

collect 1

i wont wait till i dont write any more,
till the over stimulation of media and internet have sapped my muses
i wont wait until i become a quiet poet
sitting in a mountain waitin on the world to change.

memorable writers expose the most intimidating topics
and wont be steered by the blinkers of society
along the corridors of its flaking civilization...

instead machete and flashlight into the bushes,
seeking the truths
where they long became overgrown.

dont try this at home.

they asked me to write about this a long time ago
i avoided the topic
watching tv campaigns
listening to the new updates of the virus they were spreading across the people...

thought i stayed away
thought my choices were sound
thought my knowledge was clear
thought i coud judge

typing in angst
keypoard in pain beneath thunder
i can not write this in in light steps

for i am laden with worry and wondering why did i do this
when i had a 7th sense...

a feeling like i never did really want her
but instead i resist...
pulled by escapism to the easiest
now i stand to visit a medical practitioner

i make a call to a friend
asking him to take me to a clinic
he says not today because he is on the job...

he says for sure on monday...

till monday
the middle passage spans the width of my stomach
its walls are a crashing atlantic....

they asked me to write this poem for a campaign on aids
a long time ago
but i couldnt connect
i asked questions of people who were close to the victims

i heard they were biding their time to die.

i heard after the first night of contact, a rastafarian woman washed herself in bleach
to rid her skin of the potential of contagion.

She could not sleep in her bed
the making of her sheet
become steel wool....


and here i am... facing Sat 12 55 and 25 seconds.

the first clinic probably opens Mon morning 9-10:00.
i hope.

i think of who to call.

i no longer want to touch anything

i break the poem to run to the bathroom
in a daze whip out my dick...
start just randomly washing it...
with foamy aloe vera...


missing not an inch.

and about touching things...
the towels..
she told me i could bathe...
told me i could have my own toothbrush..
took it from the package in front of my eyes...

how do i know that germs left from a season of contagion
dont live and climb and move among the inanimate creatures of this house...

they stare at me...
they never blink.

this is 1:02

in 7 minutes i feel drained
i think whats the worry anyhow...
nothing looks or feels wrong
and this seems a perfect time to examine paranoia
how sometimes i close my eyes and suddenly snap back open
due an image in my mind of someone attacking me....

why didnt she say something...
is not a question i will ask...

for if people said things....
the thing that sells... sex
would not take place...

and that would be such a heart crusher to a carrier wouldnt it.
to not get to infect another young lad with dreams to change the world
by getting more youths to learn how to read
visions of those youths recruited to schools, to teach kids just like them
to lead the way with literacy....
a program where youth would be fed, nutured, understood, and incorporated.
where children would redesign their environments to teach themselves.

will i ever risk sex unprotected again,
or even sex...

without a solid structure...
why enter them
when you dont yet know them...

for me to enter in is entering a realm of knowing that i am responsible...
now it is easy to court fear.
it is also easy to keep writing this poem as it is acting as a form of releasee...
i have cold sweat on my face that i have not wiped...
because it is not important enough to get my attention...

i am focused on finding a portal
a way to release myself from all the mistakes i could have made
so many times in my defiance...

writing in my times of comfort a little tune that said...

plastic was never made to come between us
its sins of adam and eve that come between us
and the memories of our lovers that come between us
is there any love left between us....

and whats love got to do with it
when cliches make absolute sense
hence the reason to need to repeat them
in this world where audio passes by the ear like busy pedestrians
they often get a look get a glare
but are not in touch with the reality of the message
which hammers home to me
in this place unlike my home.

i havent been home since i was 19
and now i'm 26 years
and the route isnt my thing
but the vision is clear in my mind
i want more youths to learn to read...

that is the determinant of the crime rate
that is the determinant of abuse rate
of the rape rate
of the car accident rate
of the murder rate

it is also the determinant
of the red tape
....

how do i know how to hold a thing like this to question...
i am wondering what did i fail to mention to myself
as i attempt to comfort myself on this journey i am sure no one wants to follow me on.

if only i listened to nesson.
and learned to play poker.

home

the eye saw God
and the brain said dog

the trees continue to be the only ones of us that live off the sun.
they never grow away from it.

what greater lesson did we need

so us geniuses knowing our weakness
use animals to carry us deeper into new territories...

agriculture was our first great revolution.
the first surpluses
great cities and civilizations

grain made the yeast of life
in each soil, in each climate.

like every other animal we mortally feed ourselves
the sacred offering of terracing and irrigation

half of human kind tills the soil
over three quarters of them by hand.

generations of sweat,
pre-requisite for survival.

after muscle toiled for years and grew annoyed,
man kind found energy deep in the earth

coal from ancient trees... buried deep in the earth
the energy of the sun captured in plants millions of years ago
gas... oil...
with oil began the era of laziness
in 50 years the earth has been more radically changed than any other period in humanity.
humans free from toil on the land...

america was the first to harness black gold
1 litre doing in an hour what 100 pairs of hands could do in 24 hrs.

expansion of land farming
encouraged the growth of parasites
pesticides were developed to seep into the air rivers seas
and penetrated the heart of cells shared by all forms of life

then came fertilizers
they produced results on land prior unsuitable

in the last centuries three quarters of the varieties developed by farmers have been wiped out
a city of vegetable greenhouses of Spain

manufacturing meat faster than the animal
not a blade of grass grows for cows...
it takes 100 liters of water to produce 1 kilogram of potatoes
4000 kilos to produce 1 kilo of rice
13000 kilos to produce one kilo of beef...

oil is the new measure of time
world beating to the rhythm of machines dipping into the reservoir
the end of cheap oil is imminent but we refuse to believe it

Los Angeles... the number of cars equals the number of inhabitants.
energy on stellar show every night
distances counted in minutes instead of miles
houses huddled around dead end streets

the automobile a symbol of progress
900 million vehicles
faster and faster
the demand for oil
the machines dig and rip from the earth the pieces of stars
buried in it since its creation

as a privelege of power
80 percent of mineral wealth is consumed by 20 percent of the worlds population
mining will exhaust all the planets reserves by the end of this century

faster and faster
shipyards turn out containers
from production to consumption ports
the volume of trade increases
90 percent of trade goes by sea
500 million containers every year
for Dubai first and then others

Dubai has no farmland
but imports food
no water
but desalinates sea water with immense energy use
loads of sun
but no solar panels

the new beacon for all the worlds money

nothing seems further removed from nature than dubai though nothing depends on nature like dubai

we deplete what nature provides

from 18 to 100 million metric tonnes per year,
the oceans are being emptied
most large fish fished out of existence

fish is the staple diet of one in 5 humans

we have forgotten resources are scarce
500 million humans live in the worlds deserts and know waters value.

they depend on rain that accumulated 25 thousand years ago
when rain fell in the desert.

there is a heavy price to pay when irrigating with fossil water
a non renewable resource

in Saudi Arabia, the dream of farming in the desert has faded,
the equipment and energy are there to pump it but the water has depleted.

Israel turned the desert into arable line
Irrigation now measured drop by drop,
water consumption increases

the river jordan has reduced to a trickle,
water sent to supermarkets in crates of fruits and vegetables...
1 major river in ten no longer flows into the sea for several months of the year.

the level of the dead sea goes down 1 meter per year in the river jordans absence

india lives from massive irrigation
21 million wells have been dug
the drills sink deeper
while 30 percent of wells are abandoned
the underground aquifers are drying out

8000 liters consumed per person per day in LA
Palm Springs lush golf courses in mirage against sun cracked miles of sand

the colorado river no longer reaches the sea.
catchment declines
before 2025
2 billion people will lose access to water.

wet lands is 6 percent of the planet
marshes digest pollution
absorbing in the wet
releasing in the dry

water

trees breath water into a mist
the forest provides the humidity needed for life
the cornerstone of the climactic balance.

trees provide a habitat for three quarters of life on earth
forests provide the things that cure us
our cells are composed of the things trees secrete.

but in 40 years the amazon has been reduced by 20 percent.
a forest turned into meat.

sleep

The rain drowns
the music of thought,
drowns action…

And I want to stay awake long enough
To get tired enough
To sleep past hunger pangs
Past responsibility, past time
Past life… past forever.

...

Who else is up thinking similar thoughts to mine
Does another live who muses Makeda instead of sleeping or randomly fucking on the pinnacle of 1:27 am

Am I alone in my desire
Or am I the leader of an army,
Ranks hidden behind the span of my shoulders…

Can I find in her the original thought…
Can she lead me to a spring where newness comes forth.

We search the pages of African Civilization for memories of who we are
We don’t search to find slavery, it is packaged in baby bottles
It is a component of the modern black man’s comfort
To find his American dream,
Even though he born and grow in Jamaica with trees, water and sun as a watchman.


But at most we search.
And keep searching for that which has never been found.
If we find it, we might not know.

But we would have found it none the less.

We search for the stories and the names that justify our beauty
For the dreams that lifted our pyramids
For the anchor that held us moored to middle passage memories.

too late

Only people who have not fucked you already
pursue you.

They boil your worth.
Evaporating changed its form,
Despite becoming invisible vapour,
it is still your worth.

You forgot.
I didn’t.

As 30 years condense inside you,
Vagina walls collapse on themselves...

When no kegel can save you,

When insecurity becomes your closest companion
And infidelity walks in your shadow,

When you visit church for the first time in 12 adventurous years
and make very effort to sit near the pointing finger of blame
in a hope it becomes a flower.

Only then you realize that I have always been seeing you.

You are now ready, when there is no more fashion left in your lateness.

Thoughts and Meditations

she spat amber onto ludi's box cover rules
governed by the balance of the Miles Drug Store...
loved the flowers of the realest Gardens
the way they commanded their world
through the probability of double six gunfire...

and how they flowed...
in sweet succession a history
each game began a calm became a fury and came to dam against some wall of her creation
water slams the wall in that duration
a crack begun but crammed with a copper ring of distended proportion...
below ground, foundation running its successful program
media interviewing the ring that saved a town.

a boat... in a pot...
for a family of ten in a room of one.
saved to subsist on the calm riverside...
where heavy rains alone could conjure fury from the rivers intestine...

everything in excess can kill...
so too with games...
so we played many for short fuses
conspired to command a trailer-line in the bold open air...
contracted to design a future line of success through ink and paper...

the river never came with a fountain.
the pen did.
controlling the world through simple but minute detail
one intersection at a time.








↓↓↓↓↓↓↓


Healers

a new note calls for a why
an understanding as to where a one is
a knowing how one got here.
a truth.

in the truth of life at its deepest moments
where the curve kisses the flat line
carnival no longer broken into too many colours
everything understood through the primary three

everything basic.
everything simple.
everything already mine.

nothing to gain, only balance to keep.

what they called the dragon
came forth as a beautiful lion

the fire that scathed the fringes of mans fabric
was only the fire of freedom
begging humanity to awaken.

The thunder of monstrous wings in nights dark blue
was only a clue of a soon day.

and sun only been but a beautiful lion
pouring immovably and silent upon the world it sees

horizon forever slipping in and out of lights rays
spinning planet while we in miracles of balance walk upright on two feet...
and still complain of defeat

from the spacecraft balcony all we can see are effects en masse
large patches of brown where trees turned into paper
holy ozone cathedral
rivers on slim fast.

just less blue on land.

and less land;

ocean fingers greedy for more
consequence
sea responds to the karma we brought into existence...

us smiling at the morning we made
no more mourning remade in our minds a sifting place for peace.

healers broke mountains for bread
with broad-backs and terraces wheat is imperative
smorgasbord of cherishing
nature so raging with desire to feed us
nature that needs us
but read our newspaper headlining
into the spiral of toilet water diving into the pit where the community shit sits in bubble.

healers were the own people
healers were the examples who never needed to scold their children;
whose contracts were clear, whose negotiations were sure,
whose flirtations were the tested guillotine of public spectacle.
whose silence commanded all voices...

healers soothed the unmade skin of clay pots
wet tracks into a jouvert of fingers
that was enough to take from the earth,

now though its minerals are extracted in determined effort
in specific desires. It oils, its bauxite, its shale, its trees for coal, its trees for papers, its aluminium,

laptops discard paper.
give one laptop to each child in the world. OLPC.

open the window to an internet designed to open our consciousness of our own minds
to how we impact the world around us
let us make change digitally and then call in the workcrew.

……………………………………….








LATIKA

years the always missing colours of Latika
showing up in a marketplace inside me,
calling round the corners
where doubt sold sky juice to ground beggars

In self awareness
opened to the wonder of who we are, you? me? Latika?
we, the once flower.
we, the first reversal of extinction,
see capillary veins delicately interconnected to the vast infinity of time.

underside of leaves holds the design of any map i need find to your heart...
the meaning is love
never mind the words; their camel backs of meaning bearing varied nutrients

forget the fact that you can predict my next rhyme will end with something matching nutrients
with absolutely no influential additions intervening
for get that you are standing or that you are sitting.

remember you are with me...
and that you always have been,
in this end,
of new beginnings.
……………….
















PROCESS

cashews in the teeth
nutrients address the muscles of the mind
in me do i find the lessons for the heart,
the balance from the start of all things
first of all sits within.

no pain no blow no piss no hurt you could fling
no buckets of Fort Augusta period water you could throw
to change the ebb of my internal energy pushing into overdrive
tipping two wheeled across the flat bridge undeercoursed by a river of your wildest hot tea intended for me
me pushing straight through it.
me bubbling chest
hospital dressed
but so blessed

meeting you on the other side...

standing in power
and knowing forgiveness
we are one.

our motto has been telling us for years
but we havent listened.

Out of many
One people.

Discard people as a concept outside of yourself.
You exist.
And so too does everything in accord.
blaming no-one other yourself and getting through it
to the other-side where i meet you
and hug you open








Wake Up

by Samuel J. Gordon


…soldiers of the quiet
revolution unfolding on landscape like foliage...

…weak controllers of the loud revolution
sebum landscape of concrete and capital…

…soldiers of the quiet
…soldiers of the green-brown limbs and leaves…
…nature is all nature sees.

↓orchestra in complete pause
awaiting the kidnapped conductress in silence
trapped in a lamp made of fireflys, caught in bottle made for a cousin

radio echoes a traitor into the web of vines

society trips,

the bottle cracks against a stone
1
2
3 minutes later the conductress is in three four waltz tempo

the forest is breathing
and the darkness has been allowed back home

for the rising of the quiet song
tuned out of the decibel of the human ear
a stand for peace in the intestines of war
a stand for learning...

a quiet circuitry
a net worth of networks
an invisible electric
cat footsteps below sound
an open gaze into a quiet present that is calm.

gratitude for the breath entering lung 1
lung 2
contours of passage while e↓xhaling mind...

radio crashes static
upon a Knutsford Boulevard of sleepers and street sweepers
power fails upon the United Arab Emirates
and all left

are the quiet wind knowing bend of the trees
soldiers blend with impending ease

frozen in fire, heated in igloo
temperature is from within.
and the walls are too thin to contain an unplugged human.

plugged in people sleeping through half way trees busiest intersection
walking the programs of their lives
to school, work, other
believing in the programs of their lives
to school, work, other

Cold-Blooded Murder learns the value of life when he has a bouncing baby boy

Rape is screaming for his own ass, Shebada is kept alive as a spectacle when once he would be openly butchered as an example, sickness is loved and degenerates are adored.

ugly is in plugged in people sleeping off the edge of Mt Rosser
sleeping in the program of the boss sir mr emissary sir massa
sleeping in the streams of the schools
sleeping in Gordon Towns polluted cobwebbed river pools
sleeping in Parliament sleeping in corruption sleeping in too fucking late.

Sleeping when it matters most. Sleeping with ghosts.
Sleeping on Lovers Leap. Sleeping on Blue Mountain Peak.
















Excerpt from an Online Conversation

By Samuel J. Gordon


Internet

a destroy interact.

The world kind of fucked up now cause we have no reverence for distance

or absence

the heart has no time to grow fonder these days

too many ways to communicate…




…gyal dem need fi a miss wi and vice-versa

we need fi a write all some snail mail letter

and wait all a three month fi a answer

from a woman whose every moment is your dedication.




nature never mek wid no internet,

but a universe,

you cant cram a universe onto a man-made network.

You can try, but it only detonate in haute atomic fashion.

this is not a poem. this is a rant.”


One Verse


Much more diverse
could a universe get...
than a morning breath?
than a heaving chest...?
than an evening resting light onto harbor's Arawak cheek…?

…the more mankind silence
the more nature speaks...

Reddening evening soul almost completely slipped behind the hurdle of body...

darkness blues.

there the bitter hues of stereotype daddy who beat and abused...
of stereotype mommy;
lost with a kitchen sponge for a backbone...

cause what else could keep her at home
if her own bedroom was a battleground
lines drawn in visible traces...
cracked mirrors edged with crusted blood
the rapid turnover rate of ceramics, flower pots, sheets…

stories hold her attached to the life that led her here.
she lost the power of every single moment in pursuit of happiness,
which she thought came at the end of a journey...

alas...
happiness was a tour guide she rejected
at the foot of the mountains hardest climb...

her peak always seems to be further than mine
happy in my next generation...
observing the tides of crime come in...
go out…

remembering the only piece of mind
is now.

reading this line is a conscious realization that this moment of reading it has been lost at the end of this line.

You are lost.

Find this next moment,
with thoughts of prosperous unending,
have vision.

the direction of the hourglass will never change
so fall in stance as each grain of sand

changing the future every time you make impact in the present pile of shifters.




































Invisible Friend



i never had invisible friends...
mind was enough for my mind and still is

but i forgot through media and facade building
that lies only get fatter and deeper beneath beauty...
the censorship of the what you should say to convey news to the people...
the politic of evil

for too many days i awoke sickened
then i called in sick.
and handed in my resignation.

health... became me...


Father even if akin to anger itself
could only teach you patience

Mother could only hold you because men have abused my sisters for jest and tabulation...
abused them like.. i feel for some pussy tonight...
or i feel for a spliff.... intersperse the two... whats the difference...
both bring endorphin release...


i am my invisible best friend
when you see me sitting silent...
eyes away from all others...
i am in my me holding my medz.
.............













Say your Peace

let people say their piece.
listen. reply maybe...
stay in peace.

mediate.
be the solution.

the answer for years has been the most asked question.

the question is a joke i laugh at in my power.

i am the answer
but only if i take the time, to ask myself.

......................




























Happy New Now.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009 at 11:59am |

happy new
now is my first zero
my first sunshine is gratification for life.

last year preserved in the memories of tired minds
new year refreshed by fireworks and trickery...
how bout we control the moments...

us who take from society
are mandated to give it back...

in the happy new now is the only time to live.
death is the past i wont remember...

the devil shed scales, grew feathers, colours and wings

crime shed criminals and left wet newborn men...

S.E.T. the way... cut the umbilical...

happy new right now.
.................................

















Doubles

Wednesday, December 24, 2008 at 9:08pm |

Victory and Defeat
the bitter sweet edges of the same sword
take life completely in discord
make life completely in discovery mode of self

where else to find true wealth
where else to find your peace
where else can violence cease,
but in this here, in my moment now.

in my hand the hilt
my sword the victor,
knows how to accept an attacking blade
and sidestep...

an attacking blade is myself
and the future is a canefield
i reap in gentle slices
though future stands green and waving

all i need is right here
natures sucrose never fails me...

sun feeds me
postive energy is all i need to attract a polar bear to this tropical climate
no dream is aversed to my mental environment
i sit in silence making things happen before they do
in this moment is my future new.

stop me are two words i havent heard
since i woke up
.........................








Closed Sesame

lying on my back on a grave
in the middle of a banana grove...
and stars are my closest...
friends are what i leave behind when i grow deaths wings
and i begin to fly

Why,
is a question asked when you living in the past
now is a statement of the moment...
no pain no history no excuse
now is the time for me to come to my own rescue
put my self in my own test tube...
arrest you, and let me be free.

So i let me be the me i wanted.
My father scolded
My mother told me before she passed...
about the grass on the other side
and that you still have to cut it

evil channeled to good
its a maze but i am at center.

No mother fucker allowed to enter....

I closed my open sesame street
and i wont ever let you know how to get there.
............
















Brink

a garbage heap grew arms and legs
inside me
is no space for more
i wonder why i have no windows
and why dreams dont pass through this room while i sleep


unsure of nervous feeling
this night feels full of darkness
and i am but a heat signal in a uv lens
where are friends when a cup of love scotch bonnet intoxicated soup
can cut the phlegm.

are friends a place, or a distraction from what is now?
is my denial like a cock crowing

will i have to defend a truth
will i have to figure out the level i have encountered
will i have to wonder why
i am here for the rest of my life...

Why did they let me in the secret garden
sometimes i dont want to see the world for what it is
sometimes reality cannot sooth me...

for at the end of the day, there is a summer holiday in an unknown vacation destination.
not of this universe.
not of this one verse but another

till then
make mischief from gravity

a weight and an appropriate target
most times the target started it
the finishing defined by Sir Newton as a standard rate

mass affects both the force
and the resistance to accelerate,
so all end up falling at the same pace.

all kings crawling to the pauper for blessing
all things in cycle and i'm breaking
laws men made thinking they were God and their women slaves

pastor teaching wisdom from the edge of a grave
only the dead can truly listen
the alive hidden behind dark shades of clothing...

what better place for Lestat to seize the wandering child
heavy metal breaks the construct
wild is everyones what i want to do
and so many want to do it...

when will the holy pages be undusted
or be seen as holy again
..........................................































Tired

expression grows tired of how i feel

tired of my same old message
of how i use the word really twice
to mean the more i am afraid to say
or would love to say but fear her response...

my verses thus are divisible by tact
hers divisible by context

imagine this as one unpunctuated paragraph
each phrase in agreement with the former statement
of really really... that which is taboo

i sitting stretching my strength
seeking to find how far my grope could grip you even in your lunch date

could i sit in your heart while you chew and talk

could i listen

i wonder what your heart sounds like today
if it beats on balance

i want to hear it beat till i cant feel or hear mine

i am tired of what i still want

of what we both have always wanted.
...........................













Obama in You

hold up
is that the president?
or is it just another black guy walking by
funny how the other day he was a criminal
and now he's on our side...

tell me what the world is learning
barack is no superstar
just an earthling in touch with his potential.

will you touch yours

is a matter of will...

will you touch your who you are...

who you know you are is who you will be.

.............
























Love Mafia

so if at 3:14am
i am kept awake by the desire to write words
i then am a lover of words.
that, or my words have found themselves a lover.

both are true.
the latter most recent,
the former eternal rule of rhyme first
is no justifiable excuse to deny the real reason

i choke on over flooding compliments that somehow never got out...
dressed like a gift...

rub shoulders with love
mafia and love it.

a stolen cigarette gives me a smile
unknowing the lighter she stole is a spy.
an agent sent to start a fire.

so if at 3:31
she remains my topic

and if the taste of another's lips do not suffice

then a fire is lit.

bed rest and accurate dosage...
drip just enough of her enter me into my heart...

need me no steroid tonic smoke
if all my fixations could be her...

not too far out not too closeness
just enough nest to tuck us both in at once.

wide the power of her circle
strength in her leader vein...

through her smile.
still planning.

never stop the unstopping

let Gomorrah burn.

walk away.

use my eyes as an excuse to not look back
sleep in my pupils cave
the dark of your journey
is the ninja tour guide...

a touch though subtle...
never released when found...
feeling the anatomy
stance on circle

circle her stance
imperfection is her distant cousin that i haven't met yet

a firm foundation...
a leader
a valued human.
not just a woman.
and yet, completely.
...................























tr

I never knew I longed to play footsy
Till the right legs were beneath the table with me...
as dinner slows to a close...
Heart slowly stops beating

To have lost a leg
Nestled in mine beneath a tablecloth..
To have lived free
in the face of eyes.

To have wanted more.
to have known that more would come.

Kidnap comes to mind
never mind threats about ransom
she is the ransom and the hostage in one
and she loves it.

No denying what i feel to be so true
no way it could be a complete lie for her
hope has me hoping that she is wishing for a kidnapping
a reason to not have to explain her absence

A reason to realize how wide her life could get.
so... friends advise against heart...
I say without heart I want nothing else.
call me crazy... I’ll call me crazy too...

that wont stop me from being me...
and you from being you...

so the ransom remains
the threat is still the same
we can do this the easy way
or the hard way could please you probably more...









“Mother I’ll be right with you, busy avoiding clichés”

If she had known
she wouldn't have let it go so far

and never knew her limitations kept us here...
or that energy meant motion...

and that ocean was a pool of her ancestors breathing water in rebellion to mankind's air...

maybe in surfing
at the end of a wave I will find my mother

and for a lesson
girlfriend will see what a real woman looks like
see the joys of fidelity till death
learn the grace of no arguments ever

forever audience concerned with lines
concerned with poets in dramatic faces and displacement of self
for where no word stands in power
arms and eyes do, voice raking multi pronged into annoyance…

but i concerned with words I heard kiss each other before...
concerned with the smell of my adjectives...
the tattered hole in my description
concerned with clichés that make me normal,
or in absence, make me new.
......................















Wolves

In the lands of sleeping suns
rays bent through atmospheres prism cannot find the darkness
it is a blanket
tugged over ghetto

of ignorance
tugged over ghetto

sheet size too small
to cover toe...
bed too small for you friend selling herbs down the road

so...
str8 family 6 inna sleeping,

personal space grows no definition.

man grows from boyishness to stubbornness.
woman grows from imaginative to obedient.

Here,
shadow monsters sometimes are not banana leaves in moonlights grip
but could be real killers of father,...

and sometimes the strange man with no face
that visited mom in place of your father last night...

you wondered why she didnt fight...
you stood ready at the door
armed with your most intelligent crowbar...

not far was a glock
beneath the clearing
stored there for generations
sudden pin point flashes of light as it barked a wolf into the lonely

night...








Crickets Filling Silence

so where does conversation go
when post kiss you retrace every verse that led to that first
kiss become a fullness within
and a buzz without
which i shall know separation.
i will learn that distance is a sword...

the unfinished feeling bottled in aorta for storage
distance cut it
who can stop it
a rule?
when death is a mirror
that you only realise when u get close to it...
when a new day could not have brought me this much new energy,

no other source could funnel the suns rays through cool lips in a

December night
effective immediately
a private holiday in my department of heart
where i sit
hiding from the general manager
but i have a personality
that loves to resign
loves to leave the 9-5 behind so
rules discarded

is called misguided

but thats because they want to enslave you

i am a free man
but must respect the rules of this beautiful woman's slave master
so where is freedom if you show me boundaries...
i see none ever
i cannot lie to you
all i see is never ending grass.
and none of it, is on the other side of the fence.
.............................................................................





Hope Gardens

It would be too easy
to mention the HOPE
from the GARDEN,

so instead
i grieve for Sammy the monkey
torn to shreds on the MONA dam.

i mourn for the lion i came to see
how its caged sadness still inspired me,
caught in my one room apartment.

but then i live through a seat
beneath an overlooking tree.

phone off
no voice messages to irritate
the conscience into answering

my next call is from fresh air
and foliage complete with the Oasis of Ashanti...

what more could a man want but to restore life...

what more could a man want than oxygen
to plant a tree.
.......................................

*awarded Red Bones Writers Award for best poem of the year 2008.


Poor Santa

...help to me to see how beautiful you are
and to remember the same beauty lies in me to express
help me to smile at blank pages
knowing the Tasmanian devil is on a tsunamis lip 16 knots off the shore of my heart
waiting to touch this page inglorious fire start

when water converter to fire
desire unwired
unplug liquor from sensi- (bility),

attach skill to sword, then sharpen.


unsheathe the tongue where guns cease to drum eardrums dim the slamming of hammer on shoulder in aim
look-strafe now through education see future 50 miles away, judge wind velocity and direction.
test humidity and fire with humility and assurance you will never fail


for myself to produce
a lightning bolt
from a volcano’s mouth
fuck a rabbit in a hat

u prefer a longer trick
slower magic
distended illusions
pretended mirages
entire communities
polished spectacles
show projectables
hide collectibles
alphabetavegetables
diet intake,

release syllables...

how could I not write this force
that sits in words
and some say sound and someday power
and how could this 2:08 forced into submission writing session
make me a stronger man
when I wake tomorrow

the motto of movement
an easing of living
on the ball of the feet
in roll is your fullest momentum complete
sign the deceit, keep the receipt
till this final day...
where i shed all debts i came to pay

now writing from freedom that time can not stop
I fracture the ribs of a morning sky
in pulse from my rebel dreaming...
Santa won’t visit me
ever
much less December.

cuz though I am not a bad boy,
Santa is so corrupt himself he doesn’t know what good looks like.

......................


Leap

leap into the invisible net
spidered by your own desire
droplets caught like you
in a morning dew on a web stronger than steel
will appear how you truly feel about life
and the way it spreads like wings for you to sleep on

abundance for your feet and meals to share
showered rains after baths of sun
abundance in thy bosom
awaiting firm press and rub of a tongued finger
from a firm master whom you master in turn

seasons from your choosing
pepper in your sweetening
legumes with your chicken
tender lickin inner thighs
gravy drippin grill steaming


…………………………………………..






Crickets

We were our own crickets
chirping our own energized silence
we were no longer male or female
just amazed by each other...
she longed to be in a place where she could have a conversation with no malintent
she had one, with me...

but I
long ago
with her had a moment
frozen still even now
for me...
and then a few tortured moments more
all frozen...
aligning my ice caps with her polarity

from years and distances rooms became intimate kisses
no touching
ignoring was our only caressing

interesting is a statement under-deserving of mention
she is the one that got away...

but
maybe away isn’t such a bad place at all..
and maybe my destination...

but my mind
is no longer mine alone for mental interplay
11:06 for me = 12:06 in thought of you

11:26 has me wondering
what your 12:26 is doing

can I call again...
can I call this a poem when its only how I’m feeling...

or is it a crutch to bear me up
when she my feet were kicked away

her energy to me
her unending punch
maybe I cannot stand the pressure.

and the crickets still haven’t chirped yet.
.....................................









































... (lava chronicles)

en route to oasis
i hear mirage

rain caught clothing

wring the drips free turned vinegar to torment me...


the bags beneath eyes dropped in sand
storm-covered footsteps

the last children
are alcoholic smoking lesbians.
the first are us.
relativity made us such.

aligned with planetary design they say
who also said they gave us choice?

across these map-less sand dunes
birthed from waves of wind...

the place where lot's wife sinned
and of salt.

Above a buried Sodom we face another

where I am
one family
left with sanity
the rest lost to immorality in the mirror

Alice fell into wonderland when we were kids
but in wonderland, they got a thing called American cable

networks
poor Alice never made it home again.

herself and the little red riding hood.

now,
the big bad wolf
is the small soft puppy in a prison cell
for petting.











































Interpretation of the Smile on my Face

I gave her my number in case of fire.

She never knew I fire-walked
across the phone dials of a first conversation...

Till ended,
feet found grass again,
rest the outer edge of my sole by walking flat.

a day passages without messages
till evening brings a possession of heart...

an instrumental beginning..
words are to come....
and their power.
.................................




























Selah

awaiting the return of a muse

the interim become a black hole
of re-knowing life without the prior...

she took away the choice for love
said an oracle held it in a mountain place

but when after years of distance

we still find the unstopping...,

an irresist
shall canoe our every move...

inventor would envy
our symbiosis...

try to replicate it with machine..

but we the dwellers in art...

re-makers of creation story

telling it twice for company

thrice for comfort...

or not at all dependent on fate...

and I can never be too late for what’s mine.
.......................












Jack in the Box

a gift
jack in the box
inside,
a son tells his mother she is beautiful...
an oil spill of smiles

the gift,
the son grown
with size 13 feet
and a firm understanding
due a height to stand
6 ft 3 inches above all conspiracy...

her gift
slowly,
carefully unwrapped...
till...

BANG!!
jack left box for Jill
she was his first love
letters were too slow for him
so from the moment
he popped in her heart
all she could do was drink water,
that’s how they got up the damn hill in the first place
through the dehydration of their ecstasy...

a pail between us both!
they thought...

their hearts spinning like disco balls

jack the box jack the outside
jack the Jill
jack the Jill
jack the Jill

jack was jacking the Jill when the hill became the wall of

China...

jack fell into her silhouette in back-shot against the leaving sun.

she left the realm of the physic
till they were both falling
and the hill was real again

......................




































Rajasthan

love sucks
your every emotion dry
the journey across your lip become a desert...
oasis only in anothers kiss...
that you last tasted, 5 sandstorms ago
in a little village called Udaipur
in the desert state Rajasthan...

where will the next city of lakes rise separate from mirage
the next rip of green from sandscape
a sign that roots
have found their truest kiss.

when will the rain fall
like a clumsy clown
to a ground needing laughter
a heart needing water...
..............................


























Candles

lighting as many internal candles as possible
beware the surface area of wax circles on hearts mantle
beware the muted light beneath rose and lavender cloaking
the ash within the center

i prefer candle
guided to burn
preserving sides
till candle like sea shell curls across a dining table...

selah
bringer of light
ax in the head
but not quite dead
reality born as split skull heals
months in perpetuate coma
will reveal your every change you need to make.

people in thinking take a step back
coma took a life back
and created another...

i, light, am best found in darkness.

..........................................



















Shinobi

white lost
black found
back ground
lack sound.


vor text death sentence
unchained wrists long for the art of the empty hand

noise for morning cereal
flakes idle soaking milky into sugar
the morning double-bus easing accordion belly round corners is a nougat
the neighbour starting the too old car a lucky charm

pull enemy over the ball of his footstop
footstep lure his energy into collapse

attacks are then a matter of mercy.
or a never ending map to further destruction of an already dead corpse.

work against the rhythms of the body
till it breaks

on the horns of dilemma
gore wherever it turns

do not go past the mark you aimed for;
In victory, learn when to stop

assume
no form.
....................................









Friction

she thought sex never came from her eyes
she thought it never came from her risk free mind
but why not where a fire rages
why not where there is un-control collapsed
beneath bamboo scaffold popping
shelter beneath my fire skin
feel molten me
in magma you...
without touching..
the sheet of your mind an emperors size
tangent to angles of sweetness we realize
can come from not even touching...

your distance
is every inch worth it
no matter how many miles...
but for how long...
long is a matter of time.
or size...

how i love a resistance
the sex in its anger
the grip of its lure...
how wet slight friction brings
orgasm pure...
........................................

















El Dorado

Lets journey to El Dorado
where Midas touched land,
and i could finally understand my gift...

for you I rebuilt the concept
of the crustacean's exoskeleton

before you knew you had a bridge to break...
you readied a packed bag with the things to take...

but time cut the bridge to join the two by soul

so when you left the bone I built
outside myself to keep you warm...

emptiness was contagious within me
none of my molecules were happy.

and I could hear the ocean in myself
a hollow man...

on a beach
where an abandoned conch
misses a soul

and man shall not live by whole wheat bread alone

but beside his woman.
.....................................














Gustav

------------------
No hurricane could pass
without her watching window...

without her years of understanding
for the feelings of the earth...

a dam burst
the people's tears
crashed across and through the harbour view...

years ago
the foot of god
stomped the edge of Caribbean terrace into sea

she saw
mental survival for some was only fantasy

no hands though held her at the throat
the way Gilbert gripped the jugular of midnight till it burst...

trees of tradition become lowly rope for whipping
stubborn roots of generations upsided

flotsam is a wave into universe's living room...

stallman spread tarpaulin and scram
so anodda ghetto gyal get fuck widout boots and...

Gustav dont give a fuck
nor do we...
this white man name hurricane no fool we...
original white rum brain no rain no cool we...
sign and sealed all night fuck fi white liver coolie...

hurricane overs
wonders come to pass...
hold cold meditation
while jah grow the mountain grass
in the pasture stands the wind
in assasins cloak

bitter home sweet home sign
lodged beneath the toilet

outdoor is commotion
in true cycle

tears returned to us...
refilling the dams..

we take it happy we made it
but those who are flooded are drowned.

and fear bred new children
sipping adult swim
sucking the media's sagging breasts...

encircling wind
surround sounds the new litter
a whimper ripples through the puppy pack

the subliminal nipples of tv & radio
multi-peats of your dilemma
say it can only get worse...

in between,
general insurance takes advantage
advertising for the devils keep...

undertaker long lost her sadness...
before Braeton 7
before the 1980's...
spends her days awaiting final gates in tabulation...

elsewhere
Skyline breaks away

spliffs compromise contracts with grabba
and settle for craven a...

but,
just down the uptown street
inside the ghetto heart
it takes more than media
to break Blacks old dog back

the things Blacks shop for,
Super Valu cant supply...

Blacks Shop for ways to get high

fear meter on the rise
renegade tripod runs on two feet

and gun couldn’t select faster
than the round the corner PD-250

panoramic wide shot
tight zoomed wastes none
of his gran dmothers oversized shoulders
of his sisters eyes
of the features he couldn’t hide with Nadinola...

but she uncaring, sitting in a window
wishing too for a risky solitude
where she could fuck then hunt for food...

ignored Blacks on his quest for chaos
for in her heart, it already was a stickup
hands in the air

face to the floor...

whenever she got LOVED
they made her feel like a whore
she never knew that hands were made to know her contours
always defending...

but to my irreversible sling-
-shot doesn’t know surrender...
no pretending...
that there is another dam breaking
across and through another lonely Harborview
where lovers sit
when love is new...

.





















Culdesac

what direction does the traffic run
when one end is dead,
and the other is culdesac...

both meet beyond the river Jordan
now bountifully
polluted with plastic bottles...

what injection should we apply
to dim the nerves
to pierce the underside of gum three times to anaesth-ease the pain
and drill the plaque from this situation...

who could carry the song it lost for screams
of drunken drivers
careening from the safety lines
to swallow steering in the ribs
& air bags ferocious snaking snap

who would know that the craters of the moon
could share the road with Jamrocks taxi men

borne to bad drive till the pastor chip two claat
within the priestly four wheel drive
that will never know the path of skies...

and even his daughter
Doesn’t know a man alive that she can trust...
for if father as pastor couldn’t control his lust...
then everyone is on the same bus headed to the same saloon
to sip chilled fire with the devil from the moon...

but since is not the devil from the earth...
it seems ok...
and since there is no gravity it feels ok
and because devils invocation came from the drums of Martians
otherwise mistaken for thunder...
we call it nature


what direction does the traffic run
when one end is dead,
and the other is cul-de-sac...

both meet beyond the river Jordan
now bountifully
polluted with plastic bottles...

Obama, the son of the moons devil
leading the tribe of earths anti Babylon

the tribe that never had one name...
and always claimed to point a finger

the finger is the beginning of Babylon
whose walls are built with the arms of those who resist it...
limbs in resin... cast in plaster...

no degree of 360 is saved from infinite fingers pointing
blaming the universe for the depletion of mans ozone...

as clock ticks itself faster
relativity substitutes for master...

and passersby the wall shudder
wishing themselves deader

than this barricade reddened by only blood
and how it molts people from their skins
for less than the price of their souls...

ask the pyramids
within its tunnels are many questions
within its age are the answers
to the life you squander.

the release of sarcophagus diseases...
will teach you to save bitterness within
for timely releases...

what direction must the traffic flow
how many ways are there left to go
am band playing devils advocate
no craven A to light the way to hell
just beyond the river Jordan
now bountifully
polluted with plastic bottles...

......................................









Cryer

the town caller
giving Tivoli, half way tree and manor park all the lyric it needs to sit on edge of seat
with no intent of deceit in their heart...
Manor Park might be hard
but Tivoli, land of late night curry chunks and heavy guns
blessed the words as purposed to a cause...

mother of all garrisons
is the wife of a politician
so she don’t have to run
when police run come...

sometimes she play dead
20 feet ahead of a roadside bomb

water house flooded with gunfire
in swooping swarms
the fireworks of the devil popping McGregor gully zinc warm

zinc wall is no place to sleep
at night,
day is a fantasy...
by day,
hunger is a walking stick
while night is curfew

except for the few above that reside
somewhere above the tide that rose from Kingston Harbor
at the same time Port Royal sank
only for the lies they told to stay on the greener grass side of the fence,
that you still have to cut...
……………………………………
















relax the lines u write...

let them ease your meaning forward

no word placed for no reason

no punctuation mark without scrutiny


high inspection dogs to smell where cliches lie

stiched in poets packages

en route to stage....

no way to pass the customs hall of page
with nothing to declare,

as poet you lie...

return
to the land in which you write...

relearn
that the message when received
to anothers ear...is your guide to flip
the script into a sword

and only if you are chosen
to remove it
can you shake the hilt from the heart of the reader
make a vacuum for blood to fill
an apt patch of ceramic for blood to spill
like ice cream scoop from kid...

imagine the carry back of football beneath a leg
trained for combining fluid with strength...
trained for disguise
wily as your pen
and then take a phone call from a friend...
listen to harsh criticism...

then sip your tea
in a morning you never wanted to wake up into
and make words awaken
in a new skin to frighten people...
in a jonkunnu of words
where pitchy patchy is the master
............................

english teacher had a thing for me
a way to say sa mu el
every syllable she tasted before release
i imaged her hungry...
tasting me for sustenance
then bell rings... i remember she is teacher.. this is examination room...
not bedroom complete with grand orchestra accompanying us fucking...
the orchestra are students working
the scented candles are the smell of rain hitting the fresh earth of the play field outside...

this deep red roman bed is a place for

TIME UP
PENCILS DOWN

i still cant get my pencil down...
she thinks i am cheating.
i know i am being honest....
to the end...
and from its beginning...
and i know it seems long...
but i am sincere...
from a distance.
and she likes it
the distance of my disappearance act
inserted to hilt...
..................................................

tomorrow morning i will wake
with the creases of your pillow in my mind on my cheek
and placement of the wrong foot to the boardwood floors
to the right side of the wrong bed
superstition never cured bad judgement
and remember that eventually the floods went
but they shall return
...................................

and now we sleep
to the junction of our thoughts
where our poems cross
where logic and timing turn a sentence inside out of boxes

break the cages of orphan foxes with fire on their tails
send them raging into city
burn the howling mutts into the minds of these sleeping
thinking themselves fellow bedmates

and now we sleep
set the mint beneath the bedroom window
intruders shuffle will alarm with a smell
and not a sound...

nature defends itself
and me in the process.
.45 caliber for good company and drinks
Kalashnikova for business

no cards
no business cards
no debit credit ribbit ribbit
geico lizard is a frog
that will never be a prince
not in our dream
where we control
us puppeteers
engineers of even the string that binds our captives

































Ode to Her

in my ode to her
she asked me to change the lines where i said i would fuck her sillynilly from a balcony
hair in the wind of sir isaac newtons theory or just plain fact
she asked me to keep it pg
so professional people wouldnt see how i have her clamber backward defiant of isaac
defiant of theory...
clamber onto hard fact...














Us Hired.

poets assembling lines
from factory to publication
managing power from creative crankshaft
in our area 51
where we fight to free words
that entered our stratosphere by alien technology

us hired by the universe to take word higher
english is my bitch grabbed by the hair

i needed you to pull my muse to play
needed your natural injection
needed your road to find a way

so today i found in your poem the line
"War Fair... get your tickets here..."
and i pondered its potential,
its tributaries of thought


every now and then amazed is what i am
when your lines stand
evidence of perpetual energy.
two powers will never die,
that of the word, and the magnet...

the sleighted hand in my mouth pushing you cards across a long table
you cannot see the other end
email me your confirmation
the mafia of darkness will never reveal my fingertips
nor lips
only reveal a computer regenerated sound
eyes only, is too much for you to know...

the poeples chinese telephone and bad mind combined
to distort me when i was in the light
now from cloak you'll never know what hit you.

Thoughts and

a.games night.

she spat amber onto ludi's box cover rules
governed by the balance of the Miles Drug Store...
loved the flowers of the realest Gardens
the way they commanded their world
through the probability of double six gunfire...

and how they flowed...
in sweet succession a history
each game began a calm became a fury and came to dam against some wall of her creation
water slams the wall in that duration
a crack begun but crammed with a copper ring of distended proportion...
below ground, foundation running its successful program
media interviewing the ring that saved a town.

a boat... in a pot...
for a family of ten in a room of one.
saved to subsist on the calm riverside...
where heavy rains alone could conjure fury from the rivers intestine...

everything in excess can kill...
so too with games...
so we played many for short fuses
conspired to command a trailer-line in the bold open air...
contracted to design a future line of success through ink and paper...

the river never came with a fountain.
the pen did.
controlling the world through simple but minute detail
one intersection at a time.








↓↓↓↓↓↓↓


Healers

a new note calls for a why
an understanding as to where a one is
a knowing how one got here.
a truth.

in the truth of life at its deepest moments
where the curve kisses the flat line
carnival no longer broken into too many colours
everything understood through the primary three

everything basic.
everything simple.
everything already mine.

nothing to gain, only balance to keep.

what they called the dragon
came forth as a beautiful lion

the fire that scathed the fringes of mans fabric
was only the fire of freedom
begging humanity to awaken.

The thunder of monstrous wings in nights dark blue
was only a clue of a soon day.

and sun only been but a beautiful lion
pouring immovably and silent upon the world it sees

horizon forever slipping in and out of lights rays
spinning planet while we in miracles of balance walk upright on two feet...
and still complain of defeat

from the spacecraft balcony all we can see are effects en masse
large patches of brown where trees turned into paper
holy ozone cathedral
rivers on slim fast.

just less blue on land.

and less land;

ocean fingers greedy for more
consequence
sea responds to the karma we brought into existence...

us smiling at the morning we made
no more mourning remade in our minds a sifting place for peace.

healers broke mountains for bread
with broad-backs and terraces wheat is imperative
smorgasbord of cherishing
nature so raging with desire to feed us
nature that needs us
but read our newspaper headlining
into the spiral of toilet water diving into the pit where the community shit sits in bubble.

healers were the own people
healers were the examples who never needed to scold their children;
whose contracts were clear, whose negotiations were sure,
whose flirtations were the tested guillotine of public spectacle.
whose silence commanded all voices...

healers soothed the unmade skin of clay pots
wet tracks into a jouvert of fingers
that was enough to take from the earth,

now though its minerals are extracted in determined effort
in specific desires. It oils, its bauxite, its shale, its trees for coal, its trees for papers, its aluminium,

laptops discard paper.
give one laptop to each child in the world. OLPC.

open the window to an internet designed to open our consciousness of our own minds
to how we impact the world around us
let us make change digitally and then call in the workcrew.

……………………………………….








LATIKA

years the always missing colours of Latika
showing up in a marketplace inside me,
calling round the corners
where doubt sold sky juice to ground beggars

In self awareness
opened to the wonder of who we are, you? me? Latika?
we, the once flower.
we, the first reversal of extinction,
see capillary veins delicately interconnected to the vast infinity of time.

underside of leaves holds the design of any map i need find to your heart...
the meaning is love
never mind the words; their camel backs of meaning bearing varied nutrients

forget the fact that you can predict my next rhyme will end with something matching nutrients
with absolutely no influential additions intervening
for get that you are standing or that you are sitting.

remember you are with me...
and that you always have been,
in this end,
of new beginnings.
……………….
















PROCESS

cashews in the teeth
nutrients address the muscles of the mind
in me do i find the lessons for the heart,
the balance from the start of all things
first of all sits within.

no pain no blow no piss no hurt you could fling
no buckets of Fort Augusta period water you could throw
to change the ebb of my internal energy pushing into overdrive
tipping two wheeled across the flat bridge undeercoursed by a river of your wildest hot tea intended for me
me pushing straight through it.
me bubbling chest
hospital dressed
but so blessed

meeting you on the other side...

standing in power
and knowing forgiveness
we are one.

our motto has been telling us for years
but we havent listened.

Out of many
One people.

Discard people as a concept outside of yourself.
You exist.
And so too does everything in accord.
blaming no-one other yourself and getting through it
to the other-side where i meet you
and hug you open








Wake Up

by Samuel J. Gordon


…soldiers of the quiet
revolution unfolding on landscape like foliage...

…weak controllers of the loud revolution
sebum landscape of concrete and capital…

…soldiers of the quiet
…soldiers of the green-brown limbs and leaves…
…nature is all nature sees.

↓orchestra in complete pause
awaiting the kidnapped conductress in silence
trapped in a lamp made of fireflys, caught in bottle made for a cousin

radio echoes a traitor into the web of vines

society trips,

the bottle cracks against a stone
1
2
3 minutes later the conductress is in three four waltz tempo

the forest is breathing
and the darkness has been allowed back home

for the rising of the quiet song
tuned out of the decibel of the human ear
a stand for peace in the intestines of war
a stand for learning...

a quiet circuitry
a net worth of networks
an invisible electric
cat footsteps below sound
an open gaze into a quiet present that is calm.

gratitude for the breath entering lung 1
lung 2
contours of passage while e↓xhaling mind...

radio crashes static
upon a Knutsford Boulevard of sleepers and street sweepers
power fails upon the United Arab Emirates
and all left

are the quiet wind knowing bend of the trees
soldiers blend with impending ease

frozen in fire, heated in igloo
temperature is from within.
and the walls are too thin to contain an unplugged human.

plugged in people sleeping through half way trees busiest intersection
walking the programs of their lives
to school, work, other
believing in the programs of their lives
to school, work, other

Cold-Blooded Murder learns the value of life when he has a bouncing baby boy

Rape is screaming for his own ass, Shebada is kept alive as a spectacle when once he would be openly butchered as an example, sickness is loved and degenerates are adored.

ugly is in plugged in people sleeping off the edge of Mt Rosser
sleeping in the program of the boss sir mr emissary sir massa
sleeping in the streams of the schools
sleeping in Gordon Towns polluted cobwebbed river pools
sleeping in Parliament sleeping in corruption sleeping in too fucking late.

Sleeping when it matters most. Sleeping with ghosts.
Sleeping on Lovers Leap. Sleeping on Blue Mountain Peak.
















Excerpt from an Online Conversation

By Samuel J. Gordon


Internet

a destroy interact.

The world kind of fucked up now cause we have no reverence for distance

or absence

the heart has no time to grow fonder these days

too many ways to communicate…




…gyal dem need fi a miss wi and vice-versa

we need fi a write all some snail mail letter

and wait all a three month fi a answer

from a woman whose every moment is your dedication.




nature never mek wid no internet,

but a universe,

you cant cram a universe onto a man-made network.

You can try, but it only detonate in haute atomic fashion.

this is not a poem. this is a rant.”


One Verse


Much more diverse
could a universe get...
than a morning breath?
than a heaving chest...?
than an evening resting light onto harbor's Arawak cheek…?

…the more mankind silence
the more nature speaks...

Reddening evening soul almost completely slipped behind the hurdle of body...

darkness blues.

there the bitter hues of stereotype daddy who beat and abused...
of stereotype mommy;
lost with a kitchen sponge for a backbone...

cause what else could keep her at home
if her own bedroom was a battleground
lines drawn in visible traces...
cracked mirrors edged with crusted blood
the rapid turnover rate of ceramics, flower pots, sheets…

stories hold her attached to the life that led her here.
she lost the power of every single moment in pursuit of happiness,
which she thought came at the end of a journey...

alas...
happiness was a tour guide she rejected
at the foot of the mountains hardest climb...

her peak always seems to be further than mine
happy in my next generation...
observing the tides of crime come in...
go out…

remembering the only piece of mind
is now.

reading this line is a conscious realization that this moment of reading it has been lost at the end of this line.

You are lost.

Find this next moment,
with thoughts of prosperous unending,
have vision.

the direction of the hourglass will never change
so fall in stance as each grain of sand

changing the future every time you make impact in the present pile of shifters.




































Invisible Friend



i never had invisible friends...
mind was enough for my mind and still is

but i forgot through media and facade building
that lies only get fatter and deeper beneath beauty...
the censorship of the what you should say to convey news to the people...
the politic of evil

for too many days i awoke sickened
then i called in sick.
and handed in my resignation.

health... became me...


Father even if akin to anger itself
could only teach you patience

Mother could only hold you because men have abused my sisters for jest and tabulation...
abused them like.. i feel for some pussy tonight...
or i feel for a spliff.... intersperse the two... whats the difference...
both bring endorphin release...


i am my invisible best friend
when you see me sitting silent...
eyes away from all others...
i am in my me holding my medz.
.............













Say your Peace

let people say their piece.
listen. reply maybe...
stay in peace.

mediate.
be the solution.

the answer for years has been the most asked question.

the question is a joke i laugh at in my power.

i am the answer
but only if i take the time, to ask myself.

......................




























Happy New Now.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009 at 11:59am |

happy new
now is my first zero
my first sunshine is gratification for life.

last year preserved in the memories of tired minds
new year refreshed by fireworks and trickery...
how bout we control the moments...

us who take from society
are mandated to give it back...

in the happy new now is the only time to live.
death is the past i wont remember...

the devil shed scales, grew feathers, colours and wings

crime shed criminals and left wet newborn men...

S.E.T. the way... cut the umbilical...

happy new right now.
.................................

















Doubles

Wednesday, December 24, 2008 at 9:08pm |

Victory and Defeat
the bitter sweet edges of the same sword
take life completely in discord
make life completely in discovery mode of self

where else to find true wealth
where else to find your peace
where else can violence cease,
but in this here, in my moment now.

in my hand the hilt
my sword the victor,
knows how to accept an attacking blade
and sidestep...

an attacking blade is myself
and the future is a canefield
i reap in gentle slices
though future stands green and waving

all i need is right here
natures sucrose never fails me...

sun feeds me
postive energy is all i need to attract a polar bear to this tropical climate
no dream is aversed to my mental environment
i sit in silence making things happen before they do
in this moment is my future new.

stop me are two words i havent heard
since i woke up
.........................








Closed Sesame

lying on my back on a grave
in the middle of a banana grove...
and stars are my closest...
friends are what i leave behind when i grow deaths wings
and i begin to fly

Why,
is a question asked when you living in the past
now is a statement of the moment...
no pain no history no excuse
now is the time for me to come to my own rescue
put my self in my own test tube...
arrest you, and let me be free.

So i let me be the me i wanted.
My father scolded
My mother told me before she passed...
about the grass on the other side
and that you still have to cut it

evil channeled to good
its a maze but i am at center.

No mother fucker allowed to enter....

I closed my open sesame street
and i wont ever let you know how to get there.
............
















Brink

a garbage heap grew arms and legs
inside me
is no space for more
i wonder why i have no windows
and why dreams dont pass through this room while i sleep


unsure of nervous feeling
this night feels full of darkness
and i am but a heat signal in a uv lens
where are friends when a cup of love scotch bonnet intoxicated soup
can cut the phlegm.

are friends a place, or a distraction from what is now?
is my denial like a cock crowing

will i have to defend a truth
will i have to figure out the level i have encountered
will i have to wonder why
i am here for the rest of my life...

Why did they let me in the secret garden
sometimes i dont want to see the world for what it is
sometimes reality cannot sooth me...

for at the end of the day, there is a summer holiday in an unknown vacation destination.
not of this universe.
not of this one verse but another

till then
make mischief from gravity

a weight and an appropriate target
most times the target started it
the finishing defined by Sir Newton as a standard rate

mass affects both the force
and the resistance to accelerate,
so all end up falling at the same pace.

all kings crawling to the pauper for blessing
all things in cycle and i'm breaking
laws men made thinking they were God and their women slaves

pastor teaching wisdom from the edge of a grave
only the dead can truly listen
the alive hidden behind dark shades of clothing...

what better place for Lestat to seize the wandering child
heavy metal breaks the construct
wild is everyones what i want to do
and so many want to do it...

when will the holy pages be undusted
or be seen as holy again
..........................................































Tired

expression grows tired of how i feel

tired of my same old message
of how i use the word really twice
to mean the more i am afraid to say
or would love to say but fear her response...

my verses thus are divisible by tact
hers divisible by context

imagine this as one unpunctuated paragraph
each phrase in agreement with the former statement
of really really... that which is taboo

i sitting stretching my strength
seeking to find how far my grope could grip you even in your lunch date

could i sit in your heart while you chew and talk

could i listen

i wonder what your heart sounds like today
if it beats on balance

i want to hear it beat till i cant feel or hear mine

i am tired of what i still want

of what we both have always wanted.
...........................













Obama in You

hold up
is that the president?
or is it just another black guy walking by
funny how the other day he was a criminal
and now he's on our side...

tell me what the world is learning
barack is no superstar
just an earthling in touch with his potential.

will you touch yours

is a matter of will...

will you touch your who you are...

who you know you are is who you will be.

.............
























Love Mafia

so if at 3:14am
i am kept awake by the desire to write words
i then am a lover of words.
that, or my words have found themselves a lover.

both are true.
the latter most recent,
the former eternal rule of rhyme first
is no justifiable excuse to deny the real reason

i choke on over flooding compliments that somehow never got out...
dressed like a gift...

rub shoulders with love
mafia and love it.

a stolen cigarette gives me a smile
unknowing the lighter she stole is a spy.
an agent sent to start a fire.

so if at 3:31
she remains my topic

and if the taste of another's lips do not suffice

then a fire is lit.

bed rest and accurate dosage...
drip just enough of her enter me into my heart...

need me no steroid tonic smoke
if all my fixations could be her...

not too far out not too closeness
just enough nest to tuck us both in at once.

wide the power of her circle
strength in her leader vein...

through her smile.
still planning.

never stop the unstopping

let Gomorrah burn.

walk away.

use my eyes as an excuse to not look back
sleep in my pupils cave
the dark of your journey
is the ninja tour guide...

a touch though subtle...
never released when found...
feeling the anatomy
stance on circle

circle her stance
imperfection is her distant cousin that i haven't met yet

a firm foundation...
a leader
a valued human.
not just a woman.
and yet, completely.
...................























tr

I never knew I longed to play footsy
Till the right legs were beneath the table with me...
as dinner slows to a close...
Heart slowly stops beating

To have lost a leg
Nestled in mine beneath a tablecloth..
To have lived free
in the face of eyes.

To have wanted more.
to have known that more would come.

Kidnap comes to mind
never mind threats about ransom
she is the ransom and the hostage in one
and she loves it.

No denying what i feel to be so true
no way it could be a complete lie for her
hope has me hoping that she is wishing for a kidnapping
a reason to not have to explain her absence

A reason to realize how wide her life could get.
so... friends advise against heart...
I say without heart I want nothing else.
call me crazy... I’ll call me crazy too...

that wont stop me from being me...
and you from being you...

so the ransom remains
the threat is still the same
we can do this the easy way
or the hard way could please you probably more...









“Mother I’ll be right with you, busy avoiding clichés”

If she had known
she wouldn't have let it go so far

and never knew her limitations kept us here...
or that energy meant motion...

and that ocean was a pool of her ancestors breathing water in rebellion to mankind's air...

maybe in surfing
at the end of a wave I will find my mother

and for a lesson
girlfriend will see what a real woman looks like
see the joys of fidelity till death
learn the grace of no arguments ever

forever audience concerned with lines
concerned with poets in dramatic faces and displacement of self
for where no word stands in power
arms and eyes do, voice raking multi pronged into annoyance…

but i concerned with words I heard kiss each other before...
concerned with the smell of my adjectives...
the tattered hole in my description
concerned with clichés that make me normal,
or in absence, make me new.
......................















Wolves

In the lands of sleeping suns
rays bent through atmospheres prism cannot find the darkness
it is a blanket
tugged over ghetto

of ignorance
tugged over ghetto

sheet size too small
to cover toe...
bed too small for you friend selling herbs down the road

so...
str8 family 6 inna sleeping,

personal space grows no definition.

man grows from boyishness to stubbornness.
woman grows from imaginative to obedient.

Here,
shadow monsters sometimes are not banana leaves in moonlights grip
but could be real killers of father,...

and sometimes the strange man with no face
that visited mom in place of your father last night...

you wondered why she didnt fight...
you stood ready at the door
armed with your most intelligent crowbar...

not far was a glock
beneath the clearing
stored there for generations
sudden pin point flashes of light as it barked a wolf into the lonely

night...








Crickets Filling Silence

so where does conversation go
when post kiss you retrace every verse that led to that first
kiss become a fullness within
and a buzz without
which i shall know separation.
i will learn that distance is a sword...

the unfinished feeling bottled in aorta for storage
distance cut it
who can stop it
a rule?
when death is a mirror
that you only realise when u get close to it...
when a new day could not have brought me this much new energy,

no other source could funnel the suns rays through cool lips in a

December night
effective immediately
a private holiday in my department of heart
where i sit
hiding from the general manager
but i have a personality
that loves to resign
loves to leave the 9-5 behind so
rules discarded

is called misguided

but thats because they want to enslave you

i am a free man
but must respect the rules of this beautiful woman's slave master
so where is freedom if you show me boundaries...
i see none ever
i cannot lie to you
all i see is never ending grass.
and none of it, is on the other side of the fence.
.............................................................................





Hope Gardens

It would be too easy
to mention the HOPE
from the GARDEN,

so instead
i grieve for Sammy the monkey
torn to shreds on the MONA dam.

i mourn for the lion i came to see
how its caged sadness still inspired me,
caught in my one room apartment.

but then i live through a seat
beneath an overlooking tree.

phone off
no voice messages to irritate
the conscience into answering

my next call is from fresh air
and foliage complete with the Oasis of Ashanti...

what more could a man want but to restore life...

what more could a man want than oxygen
to plant a tree.
.......................................

*awarded Red Bones Writers Award for best poem of the year 2008.


Poor Santa

...help to me to see how beautiful you are
and to remember the same beauty lies in me to express
help me to smile at blank pages
knowing the Tasmanian devil is on a tsunamis lip 16 knots off the shore of my heart
waiting to touch this page inglorious fire start

when water converter to fire
desire unwired
unplug liquor from sensi- (bility),

attach skill to sword, then sharpen.


unsheathe the tongue where guns cease to drum eardrums dim the slamming of hammer on shoulder in aim
look-strafe now through education see future 50 miles away, judge wind velocity and direction.
test humidity and fire with humility and assurance you will never fail


for myself to produce
a lightning bolt
from a volcano’s mouth
fuck a rabbit in a hat

u prefer a longer trick
slower magic
distended illusions
pretended mirages
entire communities
polished spectacles
show projectables
hide collectibles
alphabetavegetables
diet intake,

release syllables...

how could I not write this force
that sits in words
and some say sound and someday power
and how could this 2:08 forced into submission writing session
make me a stronger man
when I wake tomorrow

the motto of movement
an easing of living
on the ball of the feet
in roll is your fullest momentum complete
sign the deceit, keep the receipt
till this final day...
where i shed all debts i came to pay

now writing from freedom that time can not stop
I fracture the ribs of a morning sky
in pulse from my rebel dreaming...
Santa won’t visit me
ever
much less December.

cuz though I am not a bad boy,
Santa is so corrupt himself he doesn’t know what good looks like.

......................


Leap

leap into the invisible net
spidered by your own desire
droplets caught like you
in a morning dew on a web stronger than steel
will appear how you truly feel about life
and the way it spreads like wings for you to sleep on

abundance for your feet and meals to share
showered rains after baths of sun
abundance in thy bosom
awaiting firm press and rub of a tongued finger
from a firm master whom you master in turn

seasons from your choosing
pepper in your sweetening
legumes with your chicken
tender lickin inner thighs
gravy drippin grill steaming


…………………………………………..






Crickets

We were our own crickets
chirping our own energized silence
we were no longer male or female
just amazed by each other...
she longed to be in a place where she could have a conversation with no malintent
she had one, with me...

but I
long ago
with her had a moment
frozen still even now
for me...
and then a few tortured moments more
all frozen...
aligning my ice caps with her polarity

from years and distances rooms became intimate kisses
no touching
ignoring was our only caressing

interesting is a statement under-deserving of mention
she is the one that got away...

but
maybe away isn’t such a bad place at all..
and maybe my destination...

but my mind
is no longer mine alone for mental interplay
11:06 for me = 12:06 in thought of you

11:26 has me wondering
what your 12:26 is doing

can I call again...
can I call this a poem when its only how I’m feeling...

or is it a crutch to bear me up
when she my feet were kicked away

her energy to me
her unending punch
maybe I cannot stand the pressure.

and the crickets still haven’t chirped yet.
.....................................









































... (lava chronicles)

en route to oasis
i hear mirage

rain caught clothing

wring the drips free turned vinegar to torment me...


the bags beneath eyes dropped in sand
storm-covered footsteps

the last children
are alcoholic smoking lesbians.
the first are us.
relativity made us such.

aligned with planetary design they say
who also said they gave us choice?

across these map-less sand dunes
birthed from waves of wind...

the place where lot's wife sinned
and of salt.

Above a buried Sodom we face another

where I am
one family
left with sanity
the rest lost to immorality in the mirror

Alice fell into wonderland when we were kids
but in wonderland, they got a thing called American cable

networks
poor Alice never made it home again.

herself and the little red riding hood.

now,
the big bad wolf
is the small soft puppy in a prison cell
for petting.











































Interpretation of the Smile on my Face

I gave her my number in case of fire.

She never knew I fire-walked
across the phone dials of a first conversation...

Till ended,
feet found grass again,
rest the outer edge of my sole by walking flat.

a day passages without messages
till evening brings a possession of heart...

an instrumental beginning..
words are to come....
and their power.
.................................




























Selah

awaiting the return of a muse

the interim become a black hole
of re-knowing life without the prior...

she took away the choice for love
said an oracle held it in a mountain place

but when after years of distance

we still find the unstopping...,

an irresist
shall canoe our every move...

inventor would envy
our symbiosis...

try to replicate it with machine..

but we the dwellers in art...

re-makers of creation story

telling it twice for company

thrice for comfort...

or not at all dependent on fate...

and I can never be too late for what’s mine.
.......................












Jack in the Box

a gift
jack in the box
inside,
a son tells his mother she is beautiful...
an oil spill of smiles

the gift,
the son grown
with size 13 feet
and a firm understanding
due a height to stand
6 ft 3 inches above all conspiracy...

her gift
slowly,
carefully unwrapped...
till...

BANG!!
jack left box for Jill
she was his first love
letters were too slow for him
so from the moment
he popped in her heart
all she could do was drink water,
that’s how they got up the damn hill in the first place
through the dehydration of their ecstasy...

a pail between us both!
they thought...

their hearts spinning like disco balls

jack the box jack the outside
jack the Jill
jack the Jill
jack the Jill

jack was jacking the Jill when the hill became the wall of

China...

jack fell into her silhouette in back-shot against the leaving sun.

she left the realm of the physic
till they were both falling
and the hill was real again

......................




































Rajasthan

love sucks
your every emotion dry
the journey across your lip become a desert...
oasis only in anothers kiss...
that you last tasted, 5 sandstorms ago
in a little village called Udaipur
in the desert state Rajasthan...

where will the next city of lakes rise separate from mirage
the next rip of green from sandscape
a sign that roots
have found their truest kiss.

when will the rain fall
like a clumsy clown
to a ground needing laughter
a heart needing water...
..............................


























Candles

lighting as many internal candles as possible
beware the surface area of wax circles on hearts mantle
beware the muted light beneath rose and lavender cloaking
the ash within the center

i prefer candle
guided to burn
preserving sides
till candle like sea shell curls across a dining table...

selah
bringer of light
ax in the head
but not quite dead
reality born as split skull heals
months in perpetuate coma
will reveal your every change you need to make.

people in thinking take a step back
coma took a life back
and created another...

i, light, am best found in darkness.

..........................................



















Shinobi

white lost
black found
back ground
lack sound.


vor text death sentence
unchained wrists long for the art of the empty hand

noise for morning cereal
flakes idle soaking milky into sugar
the morning double-bus easing accordion belly round corners is a nougat
the neighbour starting the too old car a lucky charm

pull enemy over the ball of his footstop
footstep lure his energy into collapse

attacks are then a matter of mercy.
or a never ending map to further destruction of an already dead corpse.

work against the rhythms of the body
till it breaks

on the horns of dilemma
gore wherever it turns

do not go past the mark you aimed for;
In victory, learn when to stop

assume
no form.
....................................









Friction

she thought sex never came from her eyes
she thought it never came from her risk free mind
but why not where a fire rages
why not where there is un-control collapsed
beneath bamboo scaffold popping
shelter beneath my fire skin
feel molten me
in magma you...
without touching..
the sheet of your mind an emperors size
tangent to angles of sweetness we realize
can come from not even touching...

your distance
is every inch worth it
no matter how many miles...
but for how long...
long is a matter of time.
or size...

how i love a resistance
the sex in its anger
the grip of its lure...
how wet slight friction brings
orgasm pure...
........................................

















El Dorado

Lets journey to El Dorado
where Midas touched land,
and i could finally understand my gift...

for you I rebuilt the concept
of the crustacean's exoskeleton

before you knew you had a bridge to break...
you readied a packed bag with the things to take...

but time cut the bridge to join the two by soul

so when you left the bone I built
outside myself to keep you warm...

emptiness was contagious within me
none of my molecules were happy.

and I could hear the ocean in myself
a hollow man...

on a beach
where an abandoned conch
misses a soul

and man shall not live by whole wheat bread alone

but beside his woman.
.....................................














Gustav

------------------
No hurricane could pass
without her watching window...

without her years of understanding
for the feelings of the earth...

a dam burst
the people's tears
crashed across and through the harbour view...

years ago
the foot of god
stomped the edge of Caribbean terrace into sea

she saw
mental survival for some was only fantasy

no hands though held her at the throat
the way Gilbert gripped the jugular of midnight till it burst...

trees of tradition become lowly rope for whipping
stubborn roots of generations upsided

flotsam is a wave into universe's living room...

stallman spread tarpaulin and scram
so anodda ghetto gyal get fuck widout boots and...

Gustav dont give a fuck
nor do we...
this white man name hurricane no fool we...
original white rum brain no rain no cool we...
sign and sealed all night fuck fi white liver coolie...

hurricane overs
wonders come to pass...
hold cold meditation
while jah grow the mountain grass
in the pasture stands the wind
in assasins cloak

bitter home sweet home sign
lodged beneath the toilet

outdoor is commotion
in true cycle

tears returned to us...
refilling the dams..

we take it happy we made it
but those who are flooded are drowned.

and fear bred new children
sipping adult swim
sucking the media's sagging breasts...

encircling wind
surround sounds the new litter
a whimper ripples through the puppy pack

the subliminal nipples of tv & radio
multi-peats of your dilemma
say it can only get worse...

in between,
general insurance takes advantage
advertising for the devils keep...

undertaker long lost her sadness...
before Braeton 7
before the 1980's...
spends her days awaiting final gates in tabulation...

elsewhere
Skyline breaks away

spliffs compromise contracts with grabba
and settle for craven a...

but,
just down the uptown street
inside the ghetto heart
it takes more than media
to break Blacks old dog back

the things Blacks shop for,
Super Valu cant supply...

Blacks Shop for ways to get high

fear meter on the rise
renegade tripod runs on two feet

and gun couldn’t select faster
than the round the corner PD-250

panoramic wide shot
tight zoomed wastes none
of his gran dmothers oversized shoulders
of his sisters eyes
of the features he couldn’t hide with Nadinola...

but she uncaring, sitting in a window
wishing too for a risky solitude
where she could fuck then hunt for food...

ignored Blacks on his quest for chaos
for in her heart, it already was a stickup
hands in the air

face to the floor...

whenever she got LOVED
they made her feel like a whore
she never knew that hands were made to know her contours
always defending...

but to my irreversible sling-
-shot doesn’t know surrender...
no pretending...
that there is another dam breaking
across and through another lonely Harborview
where lovers sit
when love is new...

.





















Culdesac

what direction does the traffic run
when one end is dead,
and the other is culdesac...

both meet beyond the river Jordan
now bountifully
polluted with plastic bottles...

what injection should we apply
to dim the nerves
to pierce the underside of gum three times to anaesth-ease the pain
and drill the plaque from this situation...

who could carry the song it lost for screams
of drunken drivers
careening from the safety lines
to swallow steering in the ribs
& air bags ferocious snaking snap

who would know that the craters of the moon
could share the road with Jamrocks taxi men

borne to bad drive till the pastor chip two claat
within the priestly four wheel drive
that will never know the path of skies...

and even his daughter
Doesn’t know a man alive that she can trust...
for if father as pastor couldn’t control his lust...
then everyone is on the same bus headed to the same saloon
to sip chilled fire with the devil from the moon...

but since is not the devil from the earth...
it seems ok...
and since there is no gravity it feels ok
and because devils invocation came from the drums of Martians
otherwise mistaken for thunder...
we call it nature


what direction does the traffic run
when one end is dead,
and the other is cul-de-sac...

both meet beyond the river Jordan
now bountifully
polluted with plastic bottles...

Obama, the son of the moons devil
leading the tribe of earths anti Babylon

the tribe that never had one name...
and always claimed to point a finger

the finger is the beginning of Babylon
whose walls are built with the arms of those who resist it...
limbs in resin... cast in plaster...

no degree of 360 is saved from infinite fingers pointing
blaming the universe for the depletion of mans ozone...

as clock ticks itself faster
relativity substitutes for master...

and passersby the wall shudder
wishing themselves deader

than this barricade reddened by only blood
and how it molts people from their skins
for less than the price of their souls...

ask the pyramids
within its tunnels are many questions
within its age are the answers
to the life you squander.

the release of sarcophagus diseases...
will teach you to save bitterness within
for timely releases...

what direction must the traffic flow
how many ways are there left to go
am band playing devils advocate
no craven A to light the way to hell
just beyond the river Jordan
now bountifully
polluted with plastic bottles...

......................................









Cryer

the town caller
giving Tivoli, half way tree and manor park all the lyric it needs to sit on edge of seat
with no intent of deceit in their heart...
Manor Park might be hard
but Tivoli, land of late night curry chunks and heavy guns
blessed the words as purposed to a cause...

mother of all garrisons
is the wife of a politician
so she don’t have to run
when police run come...

sometimes she play dead
20 feet ahead of a roadside bomb

water house flooded with gunfire
in swooping swarms
the fireworks of the devil popping McGregor gully zinc warm

zinc wall is no place to sleep
at night,
day is a fantasy...
by day,
hunger is a walking stick
while night is curfew

except for the few above that reside
somewhere above the tide that rose from Kingston Harbor
at the same time Port Royal sank
only for the lies they told to stay on the greener grass side of the fence,
that you still have to cut...
……………………………………
















relax the lines u write...

let them ease your meaning forward

no word placed for no reason

no punctuation mark without scrutiny


high inspection dogs to smell where cliches lie

stiched in poets packages

en route to stage....

no way to pass the customs hall of page
with nothing to declare,

as poet you lie...

return
to the land in which you write...

relearn
that the message when received
to anothers ear...is your guide to flip
the script into a sword

and only if you are chosen
to remove it
can you shake the hilt from the heart of the reader
make a vacuum for blood to fill
an apt patch of ceramic for blood to spill
like ice cream scoop from kid...

imagine the carry back of football beneath a leg
trained for combining fluid with strength...
trained for disguise
wily as your pen
and then take a phone call from a friend...
listen to harsh criticism...

then sip your tea
in a morning you never wanted to wake up into
and make words awaken
in a new skin to frighten people...
in a jonkunnu of words
where pitchy patchy is the master
............................

english teacher had a thing for me
a way to say sa mu el
every syllable she tasted before release
i imaged her hungry...
tasting me for sustenance
then bell rings... i remember she is teacher.. this is examination room...
not bedroom complete with grand orchestra accompanying us fucking...
the orchestra are students working
the scented candles are the smell of rain hitting the fresh earth of the play field outside...

this deep red roman bed is a place for

TIME UP
PENCILS DOWN

i still cant get my pencil down...
she thinks i am cheating.
i know i am being honest....
to the end...
and from its beginning...
and i know it seems long...
but i am sincere...
from a distance.
and she likes it
the distance of my disappearance act
inserted to hilt...
..................................................

tomorrow morning i will wake
with the creases of your pillow in my mind on my cheek
and placement of the wrong foot to the boardwood floors
to the right side of the wrong bed
superstition never cured bad judgement
and remember that eventually the floods went
but they shall return
...................................

and now we sleep
to the junction of our thoughts
where our poems cross
where logic and timing turn a sentence inside out of boxes

break the cages of orphan foxes with fire on their tails
send them raging into city
burn the howling mutts into the minds of these sleeping
thinking themselves fellow bedmates

and now we sleep
set the mint beneath the bedroom window
intruders shuffle will alarm with a smell
and not a sound...

nature defends itself
and me in the process.
.45 caliber for good company and drinks
Kalashnikova for business

no cards
no business cards
no debit credit ribbit ribbit
geico lizard is a frog
that will never be a prince
not in our dream
where we control
us puppeteers
engineers of even the string that binds our captives

































Ode to Her

in my ode to her
she asked me to change the lines where i said i would fuck her sillynilly from a balcony
hair in the wind of sir isaac newtons theory or just plain fact
she asked me to keep it pg
so professional people wouldnt see how i have her clamber backward defiant of isaac
defiant of theory...
clamber onto hard fact...














Us Hired.

poets assembling lines
from factory to publication
managing power from creative crankshaft
in our area 51
where we fight to free words
that entered our stratosphere by alien technology

us hired by the universe to take word higher
english is my bitch grabbed by the hair

i needed you to pull my muse to play
needed your natural injection
needed your road to find a way

so today i found in your poem the line
"War Fair... get your tickets here..."
and i pondered its potential,
its tributaries of thought


every now and then amazed is what i am
when your lines stand
evidence of perpetual energy.
two powers will never die,
that of the word, and the magnet...

the sleighted hand in my mouth pushing you cards across a long table
you cannot see the other end
email me your confirmation
the mafia of darkness will never reveal my fingertips
nor lips
only reveal a computer regenerated sound
eyes only, is too much for you to know...

the poeples chinese telephone and bad mind combined
to distort me when i was in the light
now from cloak you'll never know what hit you.

straitjacket

Straight-Jacket


how insensitive you are
You see me all tied up
And you still expect bricks without straw…

A so comes dem firs have need fi obeah man
Ave mi a build dem pyramid offa necromance…

Everyday I put on this straightjacket
And I walk tall proud strong
Just like any other professional man.
And you still expect a poem

How long will you sit power-less
Using the only thing I now can like toilet paper.

For: did you knows and if dat was me’s and watch her nuhs, she gwaan like she hots.
And we don’t want our nation to learn how to read
Say it with as much style and panache as the last lines
When so many youths never have a beginning.

So we culture criminals on laboratory racks
Put them in the maze for the rat race where the winners are still rats…

Our most valued specimens of the endangered kind
Politicians rear them in closets designed like zoos
Where Monkey run d’ hothead work and the big man snooze…

woman

woman workin to keep her pocket full
her mind is never empty
woman is interpreter of dreams
makes them manifest through a hand,waistline, or face
woman is my evening thought after a hard day worried...

Hope Road

Rain falls bleary across
the eyelid of open windows
stirring soup lifts steam through the houses
the puddles fatten
tires surf down hope road

at this level of downpour
pedestrians no longer dodge the spewing plumes of water
from under cars

all is lost

and regained in the hope river
asphalt tricking itself that it has conquered

trickles from umbrella ends

the torrent brings the grime of unwashed hands to pray for ringworms

your feet are a perfect place for corruption

especially on Hope Road.

surfing on flat

the burn in the eyes of a sniffling child
runs wild across the furniture
my eyes alight in varied torches
the lone role of a wondering, freshly pulled toilet paper roll
fluttering in the flat wind of a dusty fan...

the recipe compiles like files of dust
like mr gabber words at his best or hers.

and they wait for an answer
index tapping,

the night comes...
impatiently waiting for day to arrive

i ask the rising light what stubborn lifts the sun
my only answers are green
and give me oxygen

i ask them: hold down the sun
like Joshua's prayers held it up...

let some stars become the guardians
of the dayness.

let
Ra and Horus take a Swedish in Galaxy Abell 1835 IR1916,

let
women hanging
on to the edge of beautiful

rejecting lusters
yet needing them to fill their worth

men pretending they know themselves
pretending to show themselves to others
peeling their flesh in private, digging with a knife for their souls,

let them remember when we were herds
experiencing together the tumult of hurtling seasons
the circus of jungle where we made our danger

let them forget today
where the neighbors we keep
only know that someone sleeps next door without a name.

let them remember the vision
covered in ash
but smoking.

back door

can i will her awake
when all her faculties sleep except for dreams
in
through the back door of her mind
and wake her by opening her eyes...
or will she sleep deeper


maybe 12 57 is a better time to pour my soul
than in the moments of the sun
maybe then my liquids would not congeal in an instant....


or now perhaps on 1:34
i make my answer prepared
ancient scroll for a new scenario

can i understand the pyramids
in your mind...
how they were built....

nile of bloom
replacing the nile of blood
horsemen coursing

the people flank their fears with armor
and Nelious the buried saline rift lakes in Sudan
know nothing other than their flow

1 47 brings the edge of fatigue
while i try to find live sentences
no deadaz for the diet of ears that listen with a purpose...


in her presence
privileged alliance

2:11
and this is definately the start of day
the sun hasnt yet shown
but he is making up his mind about getting up...

curled naked bowling ball
makes laziness understandable...

if i were to wake on her skin like light does
darkness would glow with even more beauty

relaxing in the hammock
tied between my fingers

may i be let go at 2 18 am
2 29 and i still can not find the end of this poem...
so i leave
back door open
to come again...

makeda

u starve me

i thirst

for one drop that will have to do

to surround alcatraz in an obeah ring....

How could you sleep while feelings form a tsunami,

slumber while foundation quakes...

do you not hear the thunder of their approach above your snores?


If i could see you now,
declothed, curled,
dozing alongside my onslaught of incoming messages

then perhaps you wouldnt be sleeping...

and then perhaps the messages i so willingly send would be conveyed without a word.

readers

the type which learn the fastest on this planet
are the refugees, who have known fire.

after them, lovers are next, a New Zealander perhaps married to a Japanese man.

every child can must will under my watch learn these basic 25 alphabetic usefuls
i shall make them from fire into refugees,
i will make them from love into leaders.

let Yeats rise his power quotes
they all contend that
education does not fill the bucket with water
but lights the mind afire.

distance

How far can you walk into the woods
on the half margin you walk out of the woods...


see this thicket of problems recede
to straggling trees,

the here and there of a wild root grown across the path...

but light at last

canopy open to the sun
filtering through dancing dust
a dance in gravitational must
a please
a complete and intended lack of looking

and complete intended rhythm shaking in soft bending curves of leaves...
wooded road mardi gras'd beads on hippies with mushroomed impressions of party-pooping me..
those who thought they were wild on the forests exit steps...
as i walk my feet into their distance...

away from their entrance to the forest...

everything smells dirty
and i miss the rivers head
over mine under water breathing thought and composure
in the wrist of the rivers pull

into the beautiful darkness (Makeda)

into the beautiful darkness
the rivers quake on their banks
enter the beautiful darkness

enter the substance of things hoped for
faith found in that moment on the cool forest
into the evidence of things not seen

completely in the beautiful darkness
each half of my molecules drawn to opposite poles
not even horses tied to the appendages
could rip the soul open like this beautiful darkness

the voices of the nether
waken in the froth of continuing nightmares
when roused from sleep
the arms of the deep sit waiting for the forgetful eyelid
to sink again...

in the suns time,
wading in the beautiful darkness
diving deep to its natural caves
spending time there speaking with frogs and eels.

an entire day
i spent watching the sun chase the moon
into the beautiful darkness
where i already was...
waiting for a message or a call.

kegel

the pillars are shaking,

crowds push through each other
sweat gathers in public bus seats...
evaporates onto the things we hold...

a bus ride alone
taken in company of many years of clinging drops
each poured from a different sieve of skin.

the fingerprinted poles that hold the bus and people together

despite the varying weather

the bus is a bottomless pit.
where there is a traveler, it will screech up door open and swallow him into its midst.

in the pit, traffic could turn 15 minutes into 50,
stiff odors could turn a brisk highway wind into cheesy shoes and pistol underarms stretched across the heads of the seated to a window
where the wind tickles the filth into our noses

and the plea of an old lady will be heard despite the right aching shin pressed into the hard latitudinal plastic of a seat
and the left foot
slowly deadened sandwiched between the indomitable thigh of a market woman and the inconsiderate wildness of playing schoolboys with T-squares.

the pillars are shaking
and everywhere at the same time
everyone looks up
and wonders what just happened...

was it a flash of light
or did the eyes blink without instruction
is everyone else wondering the same thing...

the pillars are shaking
and locals grow tired of tourist slave plots
but fed through the holes in their heads with enough cable signals
they remain hopeful and obedient.

the pillars are shaking while the worlds most powerful women push money
into the thongs of their daughters
the mouths they feed through debauchery
and the smiling girl with a kegel of locks on the second to last row
who would love for a man to call her empress...
she feels like a wheel a come again, like a haul and pull up,
but whats she seeks to be is a brand new track.

while the world,
tired with itself,
finds freedom in rebelling from its norms,
but never finds freedom in free space.

a first night of Gibran

and to think you rule the world.

looking at yourself in social mirrors...

Imagine without conscience

your independent will to swim upstream on demand.

But instead, stimulus response for years sat in traditions chair.

Gibran said everything of Lebanon that i thought of writing about my own country.

aside,

i heard it seemed i was mad when she first heard my poems performed through me.

then she read of the poison of Gibran's words appropriately for those who reject them as poison.

and she found we might both be mad.

slipping toward each others pausing

and to think they rule the world without acknowledging madness...