Saturday, July 26, 2014

Fear The Reaper

Fear The Reaper.
For he will take your hand.
And lead you into darkness instead of light.
Showing you the ruin he
has created on your behalf.
Forcing you to look, unable
to cringe away.
He has one goal, to make you
uncomfortable, awkward and ill at ease.
Right before he takes your life.
The chill suddenly creeps upon you at
its sudden arrival. He is barely seen,
face and hands hidden.
The robe stiff and heavy with dirt and age in
Time’s lost layers. The scythe lean yet strong.
The blade gleaming. He is the random moment
when you awake in the middle of the night for
no logical reason. His presence the reason you can’t
return to slumber after a nightmare. He has
claimed so many already.
And many more yet to come.

Color Reflections of the Past and Present

Color Reflections of The Past and Present

When I begin to think I’ve convinced myself that life couldn’t possibly get any more frustrating, it does. My skin, or rather the brownness of it, shows me otherwise. Many are the stories untold through the sea of souls that were once draped in black skin. Stories of life, love, pain and ultimately, joy. For in Heaven the bad things that happen on Earth are no longer worth mentioning. I accept the concept that more has happened in our history than I could ever possibly know. The song “Strange Fruit” only a fraction of the injustices African Americans have endured. Which leads me to wonder, how did they do it? How did they live a life seemingly void of hope? What gave them the will to survive?
I can only think of one answer – God. He gave them the will to keep going, there is no other possible answer. I know that I could never comprehend what my ancestors went through. And whatever fabrications I may have had in comparison are nothing against what was actually the Negro reality in America. Prior generation remembers bits and pieces.
My mother was born in 1954; a time when segregation and blatant racism were prevalent in the South. The “Whites Only” and “Colored Only” signs seem downright surreal to me, like the clock in Salvadore Dali’s paintings because I’ve only seen them in media but those before me seen them in real life. I believe I have the life I have today, immersed in freedom, to become whatever I desire because of the lives lived before me. And not just those in my family but the lives of all people of color throughout history. We owe them a debt we can never fully repay.
Why? Because we live a life that they only dreamed of. Today there is hope, possibilities and opportunities as vast as the depths of our imagination. And so we owe them, ourselves and God. To exempliate, radiate and educate. To be not only the best African Americans, but also the best human beings possible.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The Kiss

The three
Hours drive left my mind
As I stood
Next to them.
Knowing bliss.

Yielding to stop time,
One sentence altered my joy.
Unraveling the dream.

Knock of my heart grew louder,
Inside the chest of my wounded pride.
Moment erased when you provided a

Of thoughtfulness
And kindness. For me
To save face. And
Evermore your deed
Shall stay with me.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Haight - Ashbury Bound

Take the wild road west,

to where the streets are paved in peace and love.

A multi-state passage.

Through tormented climates,

and rebel truck stops.

Burning diesel through the dawn,

former life left behind in fragments along the highway.

Dreams riddled in petals and shy hues,

yearning to feel that San Fran breeze.

The road flying under my feet.

Each night, its arms open wider, beckoning.

Normalcy and Routine are hitchhiking, I pass them by.

I see the Haight, it's colors looming in the distance.

Folks helping each other.

Loving each other.

The world as it should be.

Upon first step, the energy runs through me.

Catching my breath, I know I am home.

In Darkest Hour

I am a friend of the night.
Waiting for it.
Gladdening my soul when dusk approaches.
In night, my breathing is gladder,
my stride carrying a bit more swag.

I am a friend of the night. 
Dreams lay in waiting, taking
a number right after fantasies.
Activities are better, more devious
and fun.
Used to the sun's brilliance,
reality hides, waiting for the dawn.

I am a friend of the night. 
With its soft breezes and whispers 
of possibility, it helps me put one foot
in front of the other.
As they walk me toward whatever it 
is I call Joy in that moment.

I am a friend of the night.


Leaves on the trees never hoped
to fall to the ground, they'd hoped 
the wind would cradle them to flight.
Above the rooftops, past chimneys of 
smoke and pipes of exhaust fumes
to the careless drifting of clouds, 
to the glory of the sun.


As dusk was sitting in the street of my run, a
car passed, going west as I was heading east. A Latino
with long hair tied back. That didn't get me.
But what did was his eyes. 
In the seconds that ground to a halt,
our eyes met. 
For the briefest of moments,
electricity shocked its way through.
And I could feel his gaze roam over me as
though the eyes were hands. 
And the skin could feel the things 
that'd transpire between us. 
Wicked things, tinged in streaks of
danger and sin. 
Then the light turned green
and he was gone.