hypocrites

rubbing salt in the wounds of  bleeding hearts

laws enforced at our convenience

we are the self-righteous ones who moralize and demonize

acts of desperation

never to once offer a ray of hope

a word of guidance

or an investment in a weaker one’s future

our prideful arrogance fuels the fires of indifference

as iniquity locks the doors to freedom

living in the twilight zone of a terrorist mindset

neo-nazi syndrome

what will happen when the pendulum swings back

the light is turned on

our sins are written in the sand

and we walk away

with rocks still poised to throw the first stone

our poison tongues ready to paralyze the latest prey

we salivate like rabid dogs

waiting for the opportunity to strike at our next meal

when will we learn

to choose mercy over judgment

life over madness

dreams over despair

hearts are bleeding

but who will see

who will stop the issue

the hemorrhage

the death

from within...

Thank You

in the morning
i awaken to the beat of my own heart
thankful that i’m not homeless
hungry or hustling on the street
begging by the parkway onramp for spare change
because my cup runs over
i have a roof over my head and my own blanket that i don’t have to share with an unwelcome stranger
looking for more than warmth
i have health and strength
and no need for assistance to get up and face the challenges of the day
my chaos has been transformed into peace by the Spirit of the Most High
i have rivers of living water flowing through my soul
and the floodgates of goodness and mercy are opened to me daily
my haters are stepping-stones to greatness
all they can do is watch me rise
mesmerized by the wonders of Your power
they marvel at your faithfulness
Your favor
and love
Thank You

~from "Hairstory"
(c) 2010 PoetryofMotion!
All Rights Reserved

rising...

rising...

lyrically inclined

to sing a new song

each purposeful line of joy

dynamically moves the heart

rhythmically enlightening the soul

taking away heartache and replacing it with laughter

no more sadness fills the space

a happy soul rejoicing in God’s glory with the dawning of a new day

healing waters cleansing

redeeming

gaining strength

eyes open to  beginning again

a flower opening in the sunlight

old things truly passing away

making way for the new thing

that’s just beginning on the horizon

destiny awaits

as the tide rolls in

carrying burdens out to sea

and bringing blessings…

lyrically

no justice

we grieve...
the demise of justice in a world where no one matters
where reasonable doubt means nothing
and truth is hidden from eyes blind to reasoning
we grieve...

a thousand times more than a thousand
for the thousands who have lost their lives at the hands of justice
perverted for the few
with liberty for all who can afford to pay
death to those who can’t
and we grieve today
for the many more who will die
without justice

I write

I write

when it makes no sense...

when I have something to say

or nothing to say

not to keep up

compete

or contend for the highest honor

but to be heard by that one whose life will change

because of some random  thoughts that I had the audacity to put on paper

while sitting on a rock on a Sunday afternoon

watching the sailboats passing by

never knowing what my words will mean to someone else

so I write every chance I get

because her life may depend upon my ink.

Remote…

IF I could control my life with a remote…

I would turn back the time and erase all of the haunting memories that worry my soul

and turn on all of the colors of the world that would shine brightly throughout the day

lighting the stars at night in tune with the music of the moon.

If I could control my life with a remote…I would turn off every voice of indifference,

every act of violence,

and all hypocrisy, sickness, pollution and greed.

If i could control my life with a remote…there would be only You and me.

waiting…

she keeps waiting for him to change

his ways

his heart

his mind…

do an about face and turn his desire towards her

but he won’t

so she keeps waiting and hoping

even praying a prayer that cannot be answered

because she can’t see

that he

is

not

the

one…

poetry

poetry is love

like a summer rain watering my soul

in a dry land

making metaphors grow and caress the mountaintops with laughter

inner beauty coming to light on the printed page

lighting the dark places of my life with revelation

changing rhythms with peaks of distinction

carrying away all of my worries

one

word

at

a

time…

R.S.V.P.

after 20 years away from you  i find that i have missed...

absolutely nothing

should i be surprised that the world i left still revolves around

the same meaningless mindless activity

but let’s get past all of that

since we last walked out of those iron gates never to look back

with big plans of becoming the next leaders of the modern world

a revolutionary takeover

or to at least have a street named after our firstborn in winter

i wonder what would have happened if the plans we made really came to fruition

and were more than just talk to impress whomever we thought was passing by listening to us rant and rave

when all they were really doing was taking the short cut to the water fountain... 

now hear this  

20 years later it’s all starting to look the same

time has passed although much has changed

with life slightly balding and turning gray around the edges

things didn’t exactly turn out the way any of us expected

and so after 20 years of absentia

i am certain that i have missed absolutely nothing

Hairstory...is Published!

      During the 16th Century, Chapbooks were a very popular way for European writers to introduce their short stories, ballads and poems to the community inexpensively.  I am happy to introduce my first publication to you in this way. Hairstory is a 14-page chapbook selection of 10 poems from my Images Emerging I & II Collection, and includes a specially chosen artwork for the theme. For a limited time, I will also include a specially chosen poem with artwork that is suitable for framing with your order. 

     Each chapbook sells for $5.00 + $2.00 S/H within the continental US, but if you are outside of the US, please don't let that stop you. Please contact me for overseas S/H pricing at: urbanartz212@gmail.com. I'm looking forward to sharing my work with the world! If you're local (within the area) e-mail or call me @ (347) 841-6790 ... no shipping charges will be incurred.

     Please scroll down to the Pay-Pal button at the bottom of the screen...and Hairstory will be on its way to you!

passing thoughts

sometimes I let poems pass me by
they just seem to slip away
the words float across the atmosphere
and I fail to catch them before they’re gone
they just vanish into thin air
disappearing like snowflakes
or morning dew...
maybe they go to someone else's soul to live
or they sleep for a thousand years
waiting to be resurrected in another lifetime
but that's OK
as long as they don't die.

meditation

the artfulness of the moment

creating the scenery of mental landscapes in faraway places

captured in words and phrases written in the sand

held in time and sacred space by moments of simplicity

serenity

and inspiration

Selah…

legacies… colored mosaic of a woman, unplugged

This is an excerpt from a collaboration with Cali, an amazing poet from Boston...enjoy!

she has survived the worst of many things

that have killed many others…

and through her sufferings she has learned

not to complain

but to give thanks and praise

for her existence.

if the walls could cry out in her behalf

they would tell stories of sleepless nights

and endless days of grief

that no one knows

but she…

every morning she looks toward the sunrise

wonders how she made it through to this day

and continues on her journey

with gratefulness…

YEARNING FOR SUCH INTIMACY,
HELD AND LISTEN DEEPLY,
HER PRESENCE LISTENING IN HER HEART SPIRITUAL,
TO BE PRESENT WITH MINDFUL AWARENESS,
EACH ACT OF HER LIFE HAS POSSIBILITY IN
THE MYSTERY OF HER OWN BREATH........

never wanting to be labeled as a survivor

in the eyes of others

she holds her peace while wading through the remnants

of what others have left behind

keeping her emotions at bay

remembering that she could have been one of them...

~from: legacies...colored mosaic of a woman, unplugged

(c 2011 Poetry Dancer/ Cali-isms Collaboration 2  WH/JAS

All rights Reserved

poets

she prefers

    to hang out with poets

because they speak her language

  hear her thoughts

and understand her ways

without knowing or having to ask

          why

she prefers

    to hang out with aging beatniks

    prodigal prophets

   and other marginal people

that most have disregarded and thrown away

without discerning the buried treasure

              that lies within...

~ from "Hairstory"

can I be your muse?

can I be your muse...

invisibly overlooking your shoulder and watching you create

inspiring your thoughts and words out of nowhere

changing and challenging you to dig deeper into the realms of

     your   subconscious

and write from your heart?

can I be your muse...

~ from "Hairstory"

Get Out

if he hits

with words…actions…or fists

      Get out.

let the law deal with his problems...

   his problem is not you.

and just in case you didn’t know

assault with those deadly weapons

is a crime against God, nature & the universe

and finding 1,000 ways

to stay in a relationship

            that might kill somebody

especially when that somebody might be you

is a death-wish that will come true.

don’t believe the hype…          

no matter what anyone says

it’s not your fault.

                abusers always blame others

       and can’t see themselves

excuses are their reasons to live

no matter who dies in the end.        

 so get out while you can

               save yourself and your life

 home is where the heart lives

   but the heart needs a safe place to abide...

 and if you have to run

  Get out

call for help

 look for shelter in the dark

an outstretched hand…

a willing confidante…

 or an anchor in the storm.

you keep holding on

hoping things will change

and afraid that he won’t

not knowing what to do

if you don’t Get out…before it’s too late

it’s OK to be afraid

   but it’s not OK to hurt

           to kill

           or be killed

the law of the jungle

doesn’t apply at home

living like a trapped animal

because you’re too afraid to be alone…

Get out.

where is my poem?

waiting for me
in the inner recesses of my mind
where no one sees
...not even me
screaming to come out of obscurity
mystery
hidden identity
and tell its own story
no longer sworn to secrecy
and bound by metaphors
but revealing the naked truth for all to see...

~ from "Hairstory"

Phoenix Rising...

I am Phoenix Rising ...
never falling,
indistructable strength
undeniable beauty blazing brightly from the heavenly realm.
I am Phoenix Rising...
never falling,
clothed in majestic garments that only give off light
fueled by my imagination
and traveling at the speed of thought through the galaxy
with a trail of fire behind me
never looking back
rising
never falling,
I am Phoenix.
watch me fly
into the future
out of the ashes and shadows
into the brightness of God's glory
sending shockwaves through the universe
Phoenix Rising...
never falling
without the possibility of failure
as an option
the universe is my destination
a unique being in flight
a beautiful sight to behold
rising, never falling
I am Phoenix.

April 14...

it’s so hard to understand
     how motherhood could ever drive her own soul into the Hudson river
                     while carrying the innocent ones who ask why...
there are no answers
only questions
and the world is a much emptier place
because motherhood gave birth to her own demise
and we grieve…

(c) 2011 PoetryofMotion!

for them...and for me

just another afternoon of random thoughts
  and musings about nothing in particular
while passing by a group of angry young ladies of nine or ten whose femininity has been ripped away
until they are no longer themselves
     their speech is broken
      as well as their hearts
i wonder where the little girls are
 underneath all of the façade of roughness...

~from "Hairstory"

i wish...once...now...

I wish... that i knew back then what i knew now, without the lessons...that i could write in 7 languages...that chocolate was the universal currency...that there was no such thing as hypocrisy...that tomorrow was promised...that people would only make promises they could really keep...that life didn't hurt so much sometimes...that no child would ever have to cry...

~ from "Images Emerging III"