Poems
Tears
I saw your tears falling
and I tried to catch them
and they exploded
into nothingness
like the faded memories of us
To Lovers Who Dance
Dancing mankind’s gift to the creator
Universal language of movements that vibrate rhythms of life
Transcending flourishing establishing a rhythmic flood in all cultures
It is non-discriminating permeating us with self induced movements to begin the quest for the source of all that is rhythm
With rhythm into rhythms being the base of life it calls us with great expectations
From the dance of birth to the dance of death It is something we all do
It is the sound of movements of these rhythms that motivate pushing us to share these rhythms this feel good with someone who loves to dance
With someone who lives to dance
And when lovers of dance become lovers who dance
the rhythms of creative movements It becomes much more than dance
A complexity that becomes simply physical manifestations expressing movement seeking the source of rhythm
You see, you see lovers, they know they are simply clay shells of earth and water that define the dance
by becoming fluid movements of elastic electricity as they seek a path to the source of the prime vibe
You see dancers who are lovers understand that rhythm and dance much like themselves are life mates and that neither can exist without the other
With uninhibited freeness they move to rhythm that is blind to all but rhythm
Rhythm that exposes the raw nature of existing
But to dance the dance of rhythms there must be a rhythm if only the rhythm of the heart pushing feet to dance the rhythm into rhythms of dance
Becoming an infectious whirlwind that sweeps lovers off their feet moving them trancelike feeling its hypnotic rhythms
Dancing as if only, the quest of rhythm is all that matters
Bursting forth astounding cataclysmic fleet of foot
movements dancing as if air were an ally
Failing arms, twisting torso, expanding, pushing twisting muscles into flights of primal explosion
As if gravity tells them do it cause baby I got your back
With daring boldness they move they strut until they start to become the dance
Until independence of movements fuse evolving into unison of movement
In which they become each other, becoming one
And when lovers become one with each they move to bond to become one with the prime rhythm that was induced into rhythms that become creation
This is their life’s quest becoming one with the rhythms of creation
To become orgasmic celebrating the spurting rhythms of the heartbeat of creation
So they dance and they dance and they dance as they strive to become movement that is one with creation
MERRY CHRISTMAS
MERRY CHRISTMAS This most festive of seasons, Will someone please tell me its reasons?
For 11 months we go about our daily routine And on the 12th month we got the nerve to dream.
Of peace on earth and good will towards men. We scuffle bustling hustling about. As we commit our daily sins.
We make December a month of joyous celebration. We struggle daily to achieve human liberation.
With super nova renewed intensity, we give with the sincerest of sympathy.
We get involved with the homeless, the helpless, and the hopeless. Those stuck in the mire of depravation.
Will this one month of giving change their situation? Is this the only time we give with an abundance of charity.
We know their needs are not a once a year rarity.
With hyper enthusiasm I mean we jam celebrating the birth of Christ.
Even those we dislike we treat nice.
We grin, we pretend with hugs, kisses and showers of gifts.
While true love for humanity, for liberation remains Far, far adrift.
We sing songs the most beautiful of carols and ballads all that is Christmas shaking chimes ringing bells.
And in January to those we opened our hearts we will tell to go straight to hell.
And through the years of changing truths and shifting dates.
Celebration of his birth is no longer an act of faith.
Some scholars of theology say his birth was in winter some say spring.
But we need not involve religion for its beliefs are simply blind faith decisions.
A point of view which may or may not be true.
Christmas is mass media marketing manipulation. Guise for financial libations.
The crowing heights of capitalism. The last quarterly incentive of commercialism.
So whatever ideology you embrace this Christmas shit is a slap in the face.
I hope I pray that this wave of humanity lasts for more than one day.
And as Christ has said it is better to give than to receive.
So Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to us fools
INVISIBLE MAN
I am the Invisible Man. Not science fiction,
nor of H. G. Wells imagination, but fact.
Transparent blacknuss in white abstractions of reality.
A vibrant live meaningful energy, with hopeless aspirations.
I am the Invisible Man.
Surviving centuries of indifference and denial of humanity.
Stairways into live exploding nightmares.
Visible repercussions of white kind’s scheme dream for supremacy.
As I attack attempting to rearrange a deranged mentality I am the Invisible Man.
Trapped in a deadly drain game of mental gymnastics.
An expendable, useable, reusable, statistical test tube soul of the 20th century search for man to surpass God.
And all for the visible benefit, improvement and propagation of white kind.
I am the Invisible Man.
Scholar, athlete supreme, with visible expectations of reaching for more than invisible dreams For whatever towering heights I soar to attain.
To white kind they are simply invisible gains of my visible pain.
Yes I am the Invisible Man.
From the womb to the tomb, saturated with gloom and doom.
Rumbling with clever ideologies for the destruction of this black invisibility
Designed for the destruction of Black self esteem.
To keep us out of the visible scheme of things Heading us into annihilation or assimilation.
Siphoning this invisible power to the white nation.
I am, I am, the Invisible Man
This jet blue black invisibility that now threatens white folk visible reality.
I am I am I am the Invisible Man.
And I am mad as hell cause you see I am the root from which human life has sprung.
Yet as a people I remain firmly entrenched on the bottom rung Understand this
my invisibility confirms my right to be.
You see even his history hails and proclaims. This black skinned, nappy headed, big nose, big lipped man from the womb of mother Africa
as the father
of all that is human
EARTH BOUND
Sailing on wings.
Birds gliding with ease of freedom
I enjoy those visions of flight.
To fly and be among the clouds.
Melting wings of wax and feathers.
Drowned visions of free flight.
I can only dream, never to soar.
Looking up, with great envy.
Forever to be earth bound.