Tuesday, November 29, 2011

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...




Wednesday, November 23, 2011

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

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

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




Wednesday, September 21, 2011

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

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

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.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

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.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

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…

Thursday, July 14, 2011

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…



Thursday, June 30, 2011

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

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

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!

Monday, June 20, 2011

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.

Friday, June 17, 2011

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…

Saturday, May 21, 2011

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

Monday, April 25, 2011

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"

Saturday, April 23, 2011

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"

Thursday, April 21, 2011

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.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

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"

Saturday, April 16, 2011

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 fa├žade 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"