Between

I linger in the space
Between now and later
Stumbling down the island
Between two highways
One going forward
The other stuck in the past
The edge of life crunches beneath my feet
The future of my unborn children
Has already been decided
Though I still have no idea where I am going
It's easier to stand still
And wait for fantasy to fall from the sky
Just hope it happens before the sky falls on our heads and pigs fly

Twinkle toed
Blue souls
Tickle my fancy
Body snatchers
Live inbetween laughter
And hatred
I am stuck

Poetry too can have ad breaks
Spaces where we flee through fancy
Pushing product, selling flimsy false fantasies
Tying the ideal with yet to be discovered inadequacies

Tongue slides across the page
Eyes look skywards
Heart slows ever so slightly
Feet drag in tune to the throbbing in my head

This is a journey
As schizophrenic as reality
Find what you will between the lines
Between
Between
Between.......

Insolence

I only see her when I close my eyes

Engraved on the inside of my lids
She carves my future with her silence

Angels are mothers cleaved out of spirit
They do not give answers
Their hints are abstract
Vague suggestions that leave you with the residues of independence
When I cry, she blurs
But I feel her caress my heart
Her essence following used blood through my veins
Back to the heart

I choke on her substance
And vomit out my fears

When I laugh
She reaches for the sun
And pulls it a little closer to me

I have been to the planet K-Pax
And every other unknown planet, star and galaxy

She takes me on trips of enlightenment monthly

Humans can be so near-sighted

My best friends tend to be illegal aliens
Somehow we seem to share love
for introspection and observation

She often says I need to participate more in life
I say I'm living and breathing
Isn't that participation enough?
I find more comfort in the anticipation of nothing
Death comes to us all
Why not prepare myself for its heralded arrival

I am at home in the invisible
And she is my companion

Whisperer of truth

The muse has been dethroned

I have sought the right words
In a lifetime of folly
I have looked to the stars
For the semblance of inspiration
I have lived and loved
Laughed and cried
All in search of ample fodder
To satiate my writing hand
I have observed the world
As it floats by me

And, above all, I have worshiped at the feet of the muse
Offered my soul to her
Lavished her with gifts
Danced at her whim
Made a fool of myself at her bidding
All for the right words

I have done all this and more
And drowned in a writer's block
That has gnawed at my being
Left its teeth marks on my spirit
Rendered my words impotent

I have pursued turmoil
Succumbed to pain and suffering
I have starved myself
Denied myself pleasure
All for the right words

I have done all this and more
I shall do it no more
For he has arrived
He was come to claim his space in his world that once was mine

The muse has been dethroned

My life is no longer my own
I give it to him willingly

slaughtered sheep = lamb

in my next life
i plan to lay out statues
of icons
and take pot-shots
at their ideology

we are sheep
led by man-made madness
we are zombies
on a celebrity-driven feeding frenzy
we are fools
blinded by bling

who defines our fabricated truth?
who decides what's hot & what's not
who is the puppetmaster
controlling the strings
that make us hopping marionettes
chasing dreams within hell's kitchen
never making it into heaven's lounge

pound for pound
we hold the power
in the beating of our hearts
thought for thought
we hang on the illuminati's coat-tails
nibbling on the scraps
thrown our way
in return for our blind loyalty

we all saw the matrix
believe it fiction
live in non-fiction
follow hollow meaning
wallow in shallow living
it is the shadows that truly live
we
we will continue to dream

A Saturday Afternoon

One day I shall leave home with nothing but a notebook and a pen

I shall find an irrelevant backward dive
And occupy a seat in the darkest of corners
Where my presence is forgotten

I shall order cup after cup of hideous, re-heated coffee
And watch the world happen from this, safest of corners

And when the caffeine has ignited my inspiration
And the muse has me within his grip
I shall write, and write, and write
I shall write about everything, anything and nothing
No-one and no thing shall be left untouched by my pen

I shall sit and write beats
And melodies
And broken lives
And distorted souls
I shall write it all

One day I shall do this but today
On this dreary Saturday afternoon
All I have is intention
I am running without purpose
Afraid to stop and pick up a pen
Because I know that I am still lost
And shall only be found
When I find that nook in the wall
Where my greatness shall finally be realized
Where I shall write enough to last me a lifetime
Where I shall end these days with words
And a few drops of arsenic
Where they shall find me
In pinero's image
Collapsed in a cold, dank, dirty corner

A corner where I finally found myself
And realized my reason for dying
I had written it all
There was nothing worth living for

Ramblings

my thirst is quenched by the blood of my ancestors
i am descendant of you & you & you
champion of your broken tomorrows
each step i take is a step further than you ever took
but the planet's surface constantly brings me back to where i begun

this is my manifesto
detailed account of what i plan not to achieve
it is all a dream and when i wake up
i shall begin at the end and return to the beginning
i am the only son of Jupiter
contra-gender manifestation of Venus
she has a .......
and i have a penis

baby, will you be my Yoko Ono
when i die publish every word i ever wrote
even the grocery list
someone has to get paid off this madness
my insanity is electric
it makes my hair stand
and my throat choke

scattered thoughts are the pillars of this society
mentally i embrace chaos
but expect order and control in my home

mommy i hear voices
they say they represent you
and i must do as they do
not as they say
but i can't see them

i wipe my feet on the moon
before stepping onto the dust of mars
pluto is great for skiing but nothing else
prefer to holiday on mercury
nice, a tad bit warm, but great for sandboarding

am i rambling
my theory is chaotic
in the random there is order
in nonsense there is sense
i feel like the n
marooned in a distant planet
between se and se
cute?

this is the product of an orgy
with decadent angels bored with the stiffness of heaven
did i say 'stiffness'?
juvenile humor has a way of bringing out the child in me

am i the only one who thinks hell is about decadence
and heaven is like living at home with your parents
ALL THE TIME
the sins of the father never visited on this son
babies come from heaven
shouldn't we return there in death
or is it a natural progression to fall down

the words reflect nothing but themselves
i am nothing but a mouthpiece
fingering keyboard because i am bored

mommy i hear voices
please tell them to STOP

The End

I died in a dream last night
And found myself in purgatory
With the poets, and writers, and rappers
Got caught in a conversation
With Tupac and Shakespeare
On the power of rhyme & reason
Old Will found American English treason
And Pac thought the rhyming couplet thing
Was totally overplayed
I left them sharing a pipe of heavenly weed
And moved on in search of Pinero
Who was chatting up a transvestite
For a line
Still seeking a cause
He reminisced about the nuyorican
Still waiting for his soul mate, miguel algarin,
To come join him for the next chapter
Of the hereafter
Seems I had ended up in the place where writers go
Between heaven and hell
Lorca, Wilde, Themba, Wright, Hughes, Baldwin were all there
Kerouac, Williams, Biggie & Ginsberg too
The list was long
And I had no time
Coz morning was coming
And then I awoke

Greed...

I sit and stare at what we've become
What is society doing what has it become
Can we blame our government
Or should we blame ourselves
Constantly buying everything we see on the shelves
We as people get so greedy
Do you need your fancy car?
Do you need your big house?
But do you know children are dying?
Its because the lack of money that were supplying
Am i lying?
No now im crying!
Brothers and sisters come and speak
Greed is whats making our country week
The hardships we face
Those gratuitous events
When will it end?
What will it cost?
Will my tears suffice? !
People we can be one
share what we can
For when you look at history
Greed has done no good
Greed will end your tides
Greed is the shine in your eyes
Greed is what separates me between you!

Little Black box called Television...

                                          I watch it
                                          Morning, day and night
                                          The plasma screens are quite a sight
                                          Soap Operas, Reality Shows, Movies
                                          I watch anything there is to see
                                          But the little black box called Television
                                          Gets on my nerves

                                          Images of other people’s life it serves
                                          As a daily dish to my vision
                                          Even my own ideas about studying
                                          Are ruthlessly destroyed in its mission
                                          To impose on me of how to live

                                          But I love Television
                                          I am addicted to Television
                                          Like glue is to paper
                                          Or love making is to a beginner
                                          I am its concubine with my permission
                                          Please at me, don't point a finger

                                          When I am lonely
                                          It is easier to pretend
                                          The images presented by TV
                                          Are my friends

                                          When I am horny
                                          Without sounding funny
                                          I can make love in my bed
                                          After breakfast in bed
                                          To anyone from the TVs images
                                          Now endorsed into my head

                                          That little black box
                                          Sucks, it really sucks
                                          It is just a vicious circle
                                          Bed, Work, Television and Bed
                                          Bed, Work, Television and Bed
                                          Bed, Work, Television and Bed

Angel Of Death.

                                          In darkness of the night
                                          I spied him in a tree
                                          Sat I froze by the sight
                                          He was looking at me
                                          The summer's heat became a chill
                                          The angel of death at his kill

                                          My heart skipped with the fright
                                          Blinked my eyes to better see
                                          Glanced back with all my might
                                          Parted he my compaany
                                          My chest was quickly pounding still
                                          The angel of death at his kill

                                           I did rise and take flight
                                           The fear made me to flee
                                           From darkness into light
                                           To free captivity
                                           Unbinding my soul from his will
                                           The angel of death at his kill
                                           Many years since that night
                                           Gazed I on that brazen be
                                           Memories of still incite
                                           Fears of my slavery
                                           Existence of him makes me ill
                                           The angel of death at his kill

These Beaches....

These Beaches is too shallow. I need a tornado kind of tide to wave on in and clear the deeply printed footsteps that She's left sketched in my warm sand. And then I need the Sea to catch wind and show me that there's a great, big, huge ocean out there with a mermaid who's not too afraid to stick Her chest out and be confidently naked with emotion.

"I am a Champion, but sometimes only Olympic Pools knows who's Gold."

Future Of the Country

                                           Tears in the eyes,
                                            Fear on the face,
                                     I often see children working,
                                    Roads being there workplace.

                                        Unwillingly doing work,
                                      By the fear of being scolded
                                     Or beaten by their employers 
                                   I see children working for bread.

                      
                                         Messy hair, torn clothes,
                                       Children walking bare feet
                                         And working really hard
                                  Not caring about the rain or heat.

                                     Children doing all sorts of jobs
                                       Including selling and begging.
                                         I have also seen children
                                       Cleaning cars for an earning.

                                             I feel sorry for them.
                                             I feel it is very unfair,
                                     That people make children work
                                     When they should take their care.

                                             Children are delicate,
                                           We must care for them.
                                         For every child in the world
                                            Is as precious as a gem.

                                     At least thinking about the country,
                                            We must stop child labor.
                                     We must stop burdening the children
                                         As they are the country's future.

Goliath Who?

Flying high in the middle of a low season, but ain't no low low enough to keep the looming lion below the medium of mediocre, migrating toward that golden tower of redemption. Grandstanding amongst men of matter who have truly never ever mattered, is a vision of victory that plays over and over in a head already full of dreamy scenes. I am Spartacus, and every other medal of honor gladiator fighting rat faced weasels in the shady arena of cutthroat where the Heartless bleed dry and the soulless perish, lost, aimlessly roaming with no life, like horror flick zombies. I am a dagger with concrete courage and my sword shall swing swiftly, cutting off the heads of coonish thieves who steal from the mouths that feed them. It's a war against betrayal and deception. 

 Load the catapult of payback with raging fire and deep desire to win, then aim for that historical place high up in the top ranks of human hierarchy and just let go. Child of a drop out, but I myself refuse to be left out. Cross reference the lessons of life learned against the lessons of life taught to find a place in that center circle of earned success. And I shall always teach myself whenever the substitutes with no class, impersonating teachers, fear 
 the student and whose lesson plan is only to hold them back.

Mission is to fly space high, even when the plan made has been meant to keep things grounded. Father of fearless emotions, but the inner junior still feels around fragile and timid sometimes, too afraid of becoming a senior who still not knoweths how to feel like a grown up. I don't wanna grow up, but I can't always be a Toy's R Us Kid, so I'll hold my nose and eat my wisdom even when the taste of it is hard to swallow, like NyQuil. Every breath spent is a brawling bout with life. And at the moment I am at a crossroad fighting for "Right." Across a stained oak conference table, dividing good verses evil, before me sits a three headed serpent with plastic fangs, but there's no poison in its bite, it's just a poison of life. So with fate tightly clutched in the palms of my fist I will reach across the fort of pressed wood and with my talented hands snap its fake light. Chin up, hand on my hip and foot on its back, gold colored doves will sound the horns, cuing the applause and I shall then humbly rejoice in the sweet victory of its slaying.  

Miss Count Dracula: "That's Not Lipstick On Her Fangs"

....Well puncture him with your fangs then, because for once he would like to feel the thrill of what She feels when She sucks the Love out of one's life, pumping thru his veins, so that he too could be just as cold as Her. He lust to be the bad guy. Maybe then in the end, he wouldn't always have to end up as Her victim.

"She....Or not?"

She trust me, She trust me not? She respects me, She respects me not? She's loyal, She's loyal not? She'll fight for us, She'll fight for us not? She likes the man that I am, She likes the man that I am not? She supports dream, She supports dream not? She sees the future, She sees the future not? She has patience for growth, She has patience for growth not? She will Love to Love, She will Love to Love...not?

"Where You'll Be..."

There is no crystal ball to look in and see where you'll one day be. You can have all the plans and ideas you like, but life is about moments and how you live in the moment when the moment is placed upon you. How stable you are will determine how stable you'll be.

She's Not A Riddle, But Is Her Love?

Upon Her emotions is where he wants to sit, resting heavy, like bullion bricks on paper fences. Blessed with a knack for attracting a bunch of Hungry Jacks because of how fluffy Her cakes are stacked, he reacts and attacks the opposite of Mack's. Always pressed with being his own kind of chef, uniquely weird, but with an old fashioned, compassionate taste for the sweeter things in life, and judging by Her flavor he knows that there's more to Her dish than just being hot. She has a Heart as big as that London clock and it chimes Love loud when Her little hand strikes twelve with his big hand. Rotating an earth size of feelings, strummed between their strings sing a pretty tune, like a ballerina music box. A sweet harmony that's candy to his ears, tasty, so he keeps craving for more. There's something in the cards so he wants to play the hand. Wedding band, boyfriend or bestfriend? Or could all three be in the plans?   
     Questions and answers are soulmates, so together he hopes they guide him the right way.