she worries

she worries…

about the weather

the day

the years

and how long it will take to get from point A to point B and all points in between…

and how to get there

if she will get there

what to do when she gets there

what she will do when it’s time to leave there

and if she will live to see it all.

she worries

all the time

for nothing

for all things

waking and sleeping

and the vicious cycle continues…

untitled

i grieved
as my life passed before me
my world turning into the deluge of Katrina’s torrents
imagining myself floating perilously away by disaster down Canal street
overtaken by the waters of death
never to be seen again

i grieved
as i passed through overturned graves
deceased dreams
decaying remains
and disintegrated souls

i grieved
as i stepped over broken hearts
shattered bodies
devastated minds
moving towards annihilation
mutilated and scarred beyond recognition…

but i survived

 

grounded

i am a poet deep in thought

waiting for the next line

the next rhyme

the next time i write something it will be from wisdom’s gate

and not what you expect

random thoughts ready to take flight

even though I am grounded

my soul can still travel

RED ZONE REVOLUTION

in honor of those who paint, write and sing
in RED, BLACK and GREEN
standing for the uprising
... insurrection and rebellion
against the atrocities of injustice committed by those who will escape unseen
putting pen to paper
and living dangerously in Real Evolutionary Determination
with weapons of ink
spilling literary bloodshed
spitting truth to the masses
the freedom fighters
willing to ride or die for what they believe
The Red Zone Revolution
is here to stay
showing the colors of life
and the order of the day

lost

he used ink as currency

posting bail as collateral

to free him from the prison gates

inside his mind

a broke poet

with nothing to lose

but words

a hot commodity on an open market

sold to the highest bidder

he now survives

on writing to appease

to see and be seen

caught up in the mainstream

and swept away…

chasing the paper

while losing himself in the limelight

listen...

listen…

originality breeds contempt

and the honest reality of my words doesn’t always sit well with those who hear

it makes them feel uncomfortable

but that is the whole purpose of poetry

so listen

and free

your minds…

give these lines the chance to penetrate beneath the hard surface of your opinions

and hear what’s in my heart.

you might find out that it’s not too different to what’s in yours

and we will find a common ground

beyond that cup of coffee

and anonymous snaps

originality could become a new way of life

and maybe end some wars

feed some children

and save some souls...

you never know

so listen...

if

If you do
because you have to
but don't want to...
give
because it's expected
but you can't afford it...
go
even though you would rather be
someplace else...
then, don't.
Forced behavior that's not from the heart
is like violence
and rape of the soul
that gives rise to bastard children of resentment
from the seeds of iniquity
planted in the womb of hatred
spreading like a disease that pollutes the land
and carries death to its residents like the waters of Katrina.
So if you have to...
don't want to...
can't...
or won't...
please don't.