Desires of erotic
experimentation with multiple partners
fade
away
as I look into her eyes
love.
Archive for the 'Poems' Category
Ode to the Beat
I never felt patriotic until I discovered the beat —
My hips possessed, gyrating to its rhythm
The melody could have birthed in my spirit
Fireworks and tired independence celebrations fail to move me —
Nauseated by insincere flag waving and shallow ribbons
Traditions of the past feel awkward
But the beat —
Driving my mind into the center of Miles’ trumpet
Climbing out at the end of the ‘I have a dream’ speech
With enough time to hitchhike with Kerouac to a road of perceived freedom
Speeding on countless highways with jazz and intermissions of crappy rock n’ roll blaring
Finding beauty in the grime
Discovering truth in the overlooked crevices of existence
Revealing —
An American spirit; raw and unique in form
Recent Poem
Nature –
I’m sick of seeking inspiration in nature
I want to seek inspiration in my own nature
Find the valley’s within me
Climb the mountains in my chest
Dig out truth from the corners
Of a being less known
239th Chorus
Charlie Parker looked like Buddha
Charlie Parker, who recently died…
“Wail, Wop” Charlie burst
His lungs to reach the speed
Of what the speedsters wanted
And what they wanted
Was his eternal Slowdown.
Jack Kerouac from Mexico City Blues
211th Chorus
The wheel of the quivering meat conception
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the jungle,
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills –
All the endless conception of living beings
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind –
Poor! I wish I was free
Of that slaving meat wheel
And safe in heaven dead
i must re member
my hands have been tied
behind the back of another day
if only i could have them long enough
to dig up my feet
which have been planted
in the soiled sheets of a harvest
that only hate could reap
i keep trying to forget
but i must re member
and gather the scattered continents
of a self once whole
before they plant flags
and boundary my destiny
push down the warted mountains
that blemish this soiled soul
before the valleys of my conscience
get the best of me
i’ll need a passport
just to simply reach the rest of me
a vaccination
for a lesser god’s bleak history
– from Saul Williams book of poems entitled “She”
” Master Painter”
A master painter once clutched his brush —
Creativity sprinting fludily throughout his being
Tearing into the empty canvas, he attacked with insatiable passion
Pausing ever so often to reflect and steer the masterpiece
Focused delicately, carefully planting livelihood
Brushes dipped in every color imagineable
Breathing life —
Colors mixed, creating unfathomable hues
Past taboos of art thrown amidst other false realities
Unprecedented beauty soaked into the canvas
A radical, a visionary, a man of exceeding wisdom!
Tranfusing truth into each movement of the wrist
Creating depth effortlessly
Devouring each moment and each second of each stroke
He painted culture —
Placed his brush on the floor and stood in awe of his masterpiece
“The Box”
I’ve tried to fit in this box time and time again –
My shoulders pressed tightly against its inner walls
Breaths forced in and out of scarred lungs
Legs riddled with cramps, neck trumpet bent
My wings unable to extend –
My heart beating irregularly, conforming to the beat and tempo of others—
My mind synchronized to the thoughts of another day
Puzzled by the comfort others discover in the box
Trespassing the borders of my mind to understand
Exploring the cavities of truth and finding emptiness
The thought of the box haunting my dreams, mocking my future
Why must I conform?
Men sculpting their idea of divine manhood
Scoffing at the notion of individuality—
Guilt compelled placed hair
Polished voices leaking insincerity
Sucking passion from the spirit’s electricity
Do I sin in my wish?
Must I be consigned to the box and spend listless days in its confines?
Right or Wrong
Good or Bad
Right or Left
Surrounded by a society who understand only basic mathematics—
I fly out the box with courage and sip passion through a thick straw
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