My AaBb Poem
As dusk emerge
as black is on verge.
Book of love opens
believing,you are still there in my pages.
Hour 8: Life as a Sheep
You make rude gestures, like a sheep.
It’s a sign.
My family and their family are
unhappy about blonde people explaining things
More happy about boredom
I will give water to this sheep because
it’s a sign black holes are coming
and black holes are for you,
Mr. Sheep.
Hour 8: Burning Spirit
She roars and burns the forest
And in a blazing torrent,
Smoldering branches that held her down
Give way to smoke that lets her drown
The spirit of her rage
That blinded her to her chains,
Finally it rains, and
She soars.
Hair-Hour 8
My hair came back
No longer bald, or stubbled
My hair grew in
New and exciting
Gray, curly
Out of control
Cowlicks
Sways this way
Swirls that way
I have eyelashes again
Eyebrows
Nose hair
and a bushy brilliant
Out of control
Crazy hairdo
Bald spots gone
Replaced with
a tangled web
A mess of hair
Shampoo is back
Hair brushes
Hair conditioner
No tossing beanies and hats
No throwing out scarves tho
My hair is back
But it needs hidden
Until it decides to behave
Hour 8: Alive
I am tired
of fighting my emotions
of discarding, suppressing
what makes a part of me
I am tired
of you telling me
my feelings are not right
Angry at you, at myself
for invalidating something
so true to me, to my story
But not anymore!
I am not the same as you
of incapable of speaking up
of voicing out what I feel
So listen now when I say
loud and clear
My emotions, my feelings
are not for you or anybody to judge
Good, bad, positive, negative
they are a part of me
Of my story
Of my heart
The proof that I am
Alive.
The Urchins
They knew their stuff and clutched the soft spots
of the ocean floor for that was their job, and they were blind.
But in the weirdest sense, they did see: the solitary sea floor
and the larger fish-stealing food through murky fog-water, swimming faster,
pushing with mouths wide open. The shark-like fish
swallowed hard, desultory, robot-like.
Far away from the seashore, the urchins saw much more:
a small teakwood sewing machine with ornate legs,
Dutch-made, lying on a Harlem Street
as November-slanted rain fast-warped the soft wood
and rusted the bobbins and motor.
The urchins closed their eyes.
It didn’t matter that Frank, a homeless man, was slinking
along again in a valley of tears, desolate and drunk.
Looking into a puddle by the sewer,
he saw his sad reflection, wiped his hand ad stuck it into his pocket.
The urchins felt his presence though they were invisible to him.
There, the locket rubbed against his thumb.
So he took it out, cried as he saw the face of an angel
looking back at him. “It’ll be okay,” it seemed to whisper,
as he closed the clasp and let out sobs from the back
of his throat, in a man way, until he was able to choke them down.
He looked again at the puddle and saw a trapped pigeon stuck
in the sewer slots. With a quick maneuver, he pulled its broken wing
out of the grate and it hobbled away.
And now the urchins could rest and bless Frank.
Our purpose
[avatar /]
We all were born for a reason to accomplish a certain thing, to be acknowledged for a particular thing but hard work is what differentiates us all
We all want to be praised, we all want to be seen as the head or be praised in accordance with the good we have done but how many of us have the discipline not to lose sight of our goals
Distraction will always knock at our doors but how many of us have the willpower to chase it away or flee when it comes near thee
We were all born for a specific purpose and If we are dedicated to only that purpose there is no way we won’t achieve what our purpose on earth is
But we end up chasing trivial things, losing sights of our goals a wise man once when chasing fish if you see crayfish do not be distracted for that isn’t your goal but a distraction to accomplishing your goal
Be patience and prepare for when opportunity meets good preparation there is success and so ye not be dismayed but be steadfast and you shall accomplish your purpose on earth
#6 (2pm) Write about your ideal day
wake up 7am is good
stretch
shower- cause I need to tame my mane
get dressed
breakast… no, let’s go out to eat.
I miss this since mid March2020 quarantine time.
Yes, 2 pancakes, 2 eggs over medium,
and bacon, oh yeah and coffee, coffee, coffee.
My tummy is full, now
I want to read and write
before my brain becomes too active.
Hour 8: Tiger Ghost
Tiger Ghost
Tiger! I shout! Tiger! I shout!
Like a fire in the sky.
Amid the trees and starshine
I see you go slinking by.
I ask the ghosts of my ancestors
If they could see a tiger in the land
I clap in surprise
Go back and forth with my eyes
With graceful symmetry I stand.
Bang
It all began with a whimper,
a bang never came into it
Together out of a bad habit,
like smoking behind the bike sheds.
The committee of their mutual friends,
had decried describing the entire relationship
as a waste of vitriol.
There was excitement,
in between the arms of the bony couch
now and again.
The rest of the time the dragged out pauses and silences,
neither comfortable nor itchy
they were just something that left a taste in their mouths.
The only thing that made it feel anywhere right,
was in the fact it was all so wrong.
he looked at her over some cold toast
She spied him from inside a hungover head,
the kitchen radio did its best
to distract itself from the empty hearted goings on.
He thought it would be cold funny
If their song suddenly came on.
The odd bit of sex they still had
did nothing but remind them how rare it was.
He had a drawer half full of Dear Johns’ he never got up the nerve to send
because to be in a relationship at all, well that beats the loneliness to bed.
She sometimes practiced speeches to herself,
she hadn’t the self to deliver
but kept running laps round her head.
Maybe next year would be better.
Maybe next year we’d do it right.