Believe it or not I’m already thinking of ideas for another poetry collection that will have obviously new poems in it and related to specific subject matter. When it is ready, they will be able to to purchased for a small price in e-book and print on demand that will cost a little more. I don’t know when it will be released, but I’m learning to go with the flow. It’s all in a day’s progress to remain calm while knowing I want to complete many writing ideas and rejoice a little bit when it is finally published. Until more later, keep writing writers, keep dreaming dreamers, and keep creating creators.
ANOTHER MURDER HORNET DIES (September 2021)
You’re the ornamental insect causing havoc.
They call you a space invader.
The Vespa mandarinia many times over.
My eyes don’t get tired because of you.
I’ve spent a lifetime with people calling me a rug.
My mouth doesn’t open at the right time.
They cause organ failure and shock.
The Asian hornet queen has become my nemesis.
Her workers equally recognized by American eyes.
All of them must die for the greater good.
The honeybees understand this dilemma.
I don’t want this weight on me.
Depriving a relative is cruel.
Dying of exhaustion by another makes one a murderer.
They never saw you as equal.
What does it matter when another Vespa hornet dies?
IN A QUESTION (September 2021)
his stomach was near empty
the very hunger that goes against
rebelling and ignoring the obvious
nothing fills the void like the small
keep the light covered
do not change the order unnecessarily
he has gone to the other side
truth must continue
FALLING DOWN (September 2021)
When I think the words inside my head,
“Hurry up, my dear, hurry up,”
I land in a space between longing and chilliness,
as if I will not be able to stand my own criticism.
The fire will turn to coals, cooling at the
right time and the pudding eventually
becomes room temperature.
Feeling warm is not an option, that I spread
myself in many directions, hoping something shall appear
before my strained eyes.
Where shall I end up on a night like this?
“I have not captured my time well,” I say to myself.
Searching seems useless, and I want an answer in return
but nothing comes my way.
Patience can be digested and removed.
All the same, its replacement multiplies again.
That man has not done his proper job,
has left others unaware.
The clock has struck midnight and what follows?
When I hear the voices around me,
a collection of symbols, and emotions,
massive in weight, failing in meaning, sounds
falling down with a thud.
Don’t Ask Me Why (September 2021)
Don’t ask me why the birds have stopped singing.
I don’t know why they have have gone silent on a beautiful day like today.
Somewhere else, the day is not so beautiful, in fact, it is nighttime.
The owls are hooting and not letting those around sleep a good night’s sleep.
Don’t ask me why it has not rained in over a month.
I don’t know why the tears of the Earth make us suffer so much.
Halfway around the world, exactly, in a different city, it is raining every day.
There are floods, families with lost homes and possessions.
They only carry memories in their tragic minds.
Don’t as me why the children are not paying attention.
I don’t know why their mental faculties have slowed down year after year.
The classrooms are not like they used to be, neither are the teachers.
Some students have no desks to sit on or pencils to sharpen.
Don’t ask me why the same areas get bombarded with rudeness.
I don’t know why the people revolve through the same door.
It does not seem okay for this to happen and yet, it continues.
There are times these same people need to interject, not surmise.
Some attempt to break away but it is not enough.
Don’t ask me why.
I beg of you.
Don’t ask me.
I do not have the answer.
You must be tired as I am.
FROM WHOM SHALL I RELY (September 2021)
Unlock the gate and let me in.
From whom shall I catch a glimpse in between the metal rods?
I don’t recognize that person. He doesn’t look familiar.
It seems he’s lost the way and doesn’t care.
I know I certainly have, on the outside, where I reside.
There’s a few dollars in my pocket.
Yesterday, there was only one.
I was too busy counting my pennies when the door closed.
Keep praying. Down on your knees. Keep hoping.
Respect the journey, the way it is, the way it is going.
This is what everyone tells.
It feels hopeless. I don’t want to keep the faith.
I don’t want to play this game anymore.
All that is left is trying harder, somehow, prying the gate open.
Knowing it will be closed for another year.
THE CURSE (July 2021)
Because you could
Because you had
Because you must
Because you are
Because you can’t
STAIRS (August 2021)
The second time I woke up,
I heard him call my name from above.
He asked me,
“what the hell you doin’ down there?”
I yelled undecipherable sounds and nothing else.
He shouted back,
“spit the marbles out.”
There were many times I wished I had marbles to throw.
I grabbed my yo-yo and chucked it down the stairs.
Maybe it would hit him in the temple,
give him that terrible headache instead of me.
Make him wish. Make him dead.
I will gladly bury him.
Getting louder, getting closer, he moved like a
stampede of rhinos.
I find no comfort when he asked me,
“what’s wrong now?”
THE DICHOTOMY OF LIVING (August 2021)
I’ve seen the wind blow the tall grasses, the cornstalks too.
It’s peaceful there with the sun setting, but soon I grow antsy.
I want to see tall buildings and see the faces of different people.
I’ve heard the train whistle at anyone nearby, telling them to not come close.
The reality is hardly anyone is around and those that are, it’s way too loud.
I wonder what’s being stored in those containers.
Nobody could survive for that long in milk.
This isn’t The Handmaid’s Tale, but I want assurances even if it’s not real.
I’ve seen most everyone, observant and pleasant, holding the door open.
I want peace and quiet but not too much.
I’m not supposed to be thinking these thoughts.
It’s not the same thing as the car that has the imitation train whistle.
The train had a reason to be so loud. The car does not.
He thinks he wrote the check for the road he’s driving so he honks.
If you’re not going fast enough, he honks even louder.
I’ve smelled rain and seen lightning with no thunder.
I wonder if there’s a middle in between skyscrapers and barns.
If small town isn’t right for me, neither is overpopulated city at times.
It’s peaceful here with the clacking of the keys, but soon it won’t be.
BLURRY (July 2021)
Close your eyes and shut them tight.
Don’t ever peek. Danger is close.
From the moment you speak, to the last breath you take,
don’t ask for more and don’t question.
Hold the memories and grip them with strength.
They may soon be gone and never return.
Circumstances aren’t what they used to be.
Your voice may disappear, but the words are heard.
The sun is there when power has left.
It warms your body but not your heart, for you have none.
The hotter it becomes, the chillier you grow.
From the moment your head hurts, to the pain morphing into something else,
not able to control it between the decreasing gaps.
Along the path and among the people.
Don’t ever stare. Danger is still close.
HOP ALONG (July 2021)
I will not compare you to any four-legged animal.
Nor will I compare you to any two-legged human.
It isn’t right to compare you to someone better.
It isn’t nice of me to contradict what you say.
I will remain close-mouthed, tiptoeing as a mouse.
Space is what you need from me, and nothing else.
The problem is you haven’t realized your legs are gone.
You still think you can walk without any help.
I did not place the crutches beside your bed for nothing.
Nor did I climb all those stairs for my health.
This bitterness within me remains steady.
Strong as ever before, as stubborn by tomorrow.
It isn’t right to be open to this hatred for you.
I wish it would go away, as a short burst of rain.
Mirror, Mirror (July 2021)
Mirror, mirror, not on the wall,
but behind the door, who is the ugliest of them all?
It can't be me, not him, not her,
not my friend, not my enemy.
Mirror, mirror, hidden by a covering,
full of five inches of dust, why are you so cruel?
It mustn't be me, be him, be her,
be my friend, be my enemy.
Mirror, mirror, broken in a heap,
slivers of glass, what is beautiful to those unseen?
It doesn't see me, see him, see her,
see my friend, see my enemy.
missing (July 2021)
one hour in a time of need,
the one i most rely on is gone,
i am alone without an objective,
the time is almost near.
who shall i turn to now?
two more hours until my strength offers up,
to the resistant violent winds and waves,
no one stands straight anymore,
slouching toward the intricate carving.
was my nature only in my head?
i don’t remember the words,
the purpose and meaning gone,
floating away at fast speeds,
knowing the chance has been lost.
what will i be next?
Pick up the phone, no one answers.
I miss you already, and search for a dial tone.
On a cold night, the heat rises too high.
Quell the sadness by any means.
Unnecessary to state the obvious.
There is no headstone and no etched name.
Only a dying city.
Looking in the tall mirror, your vision short.
Lagging behind, not ready to move.
Hold the bar tight like super glue.
Twirl around more than once.
Now stop, I'm getting dizzy.
It's amazing you have survived.
Open up wide, deeper.
Here I come, ready or not.
Grab me with your fingers.
Spin me in circles on your palm.
Easy now, so I don't fall.
It's a wonder you are alive.
Lights (May 2021)
I see them.
One riding next to the other,
or one sitting beside the other.
Don’t look at them for they might
It’s not safe to ride alone,
for them or me but I do.
They never are interested in me.
I must be doing something right.
disappearing out of view to the next speeder.
By the time I approach,
red and blue lights are flashing,
the driver’s window down.
I know the driver is pissed,
cursing them under his breath.
Speeding on the freeway is bad.
Souped up Sedan or not,
I dare not look in the rearview mirror.
I don’t want to crash.
I won’t ever be the next one.
I slow down.
I leave distance.
The road is
Toaster (May 2021)
My need for cleanliness broke the toaster.
I could not have done it all by myself.
My neurosis jabbed deeper into my brain.
I had to get out the crumbs.
My need to get that last piece of toast.
I was stuck in the four corners too.
My psychosis whispered into my ear.
I hear the sound but it is not there.
My shaking hands couldn’t have broken it.
I pulled out the sliding contraption.
My fingers dug into the grooves.
I was no longer dirty.
My body became alive next to it.
I plugged in the cord.
The toaster never turned off.
My bread was really burnt.
At Long Last (May 2021)
I leaned and put my finger to my temple,
all my energies gathered in one place,
overwhelmed by the definite departure,
my brain has slowed.
How much control is left for me?
My death might bring greater reward,
but I won’t know until it happens,
and then it will be too late to go back
to the beginning.
Will this thought be my last?
This fracture has cracked wider,
spilling out secrets and I could ignore,
the repair is somewhere,
waiting for more action.
Should I chose the wrong answer?
Eyonte (May 2021)
When I took the first step,
it did not feel right.
The moon had not appeared,
the stars were not guiding me.
Her name was Eyonte,
I remember it clearly.
Hair that was golden brown.
The way she wrote e in her name.
Eyont-e! Oh, Eyont-e!
How much I miss hearing it too.
Why did you have to leave?
without a whisper or a kiss.
The Aftermath (April 2021)
Living takes courage. Yes, it does. A little bit of humor too.
There was never less of me and more of you.
Living to the fullest can’t be seen from far away.
Only close up. Definitely closer is better.
We taste the bitter pills doctors give us to be strong.
What is strength? What is her strength? What is his strength?
What strength are you speaking of? I want to see now. Show me.
There is little pupil movement in your eyes.
They remain still. I’m clearly not important to you.
Don’t pretend I don’t care as you did the others.
Who gave you the right to be powerless? The right to be hidden?
Survival takes skill. Yes, it does. A little bit of faith too.
There is not more of you and less of me.
Survival of the fittest doesn’t belong in our space.
Not anymore. Definitely, not anymore.
We hear of the physically fit species dying before their time.
What is time? What is his time? What is her time?
What time are you referring to? I want to know. Tell me now.
There is no answer coming from your mouth.
Your lips don’t move. I’m uncertain if you hear me.
Don’t shut me out like the ones before me.
Who gave you the motivation to be silent? The motivation to be insignificant?
Death takes all. Yes, it does. A little bit of reality too.
There was neither more or less of them around us.
Dying to the end isn’t the plan.
Only known to a few. Definitely later than sooner.
We feel the remedy no longer working.
What is fear? What is our fear? What is their fear?
What fear hides behind our bodies? I want to invest. Heal me.
There is saturation in our shadows.
They remain dark. I’m wondering if you are truly gone.
Don’t act as the truth is pointless.
Who gave you the expectation to be invisible? The expectation to be no one.
Broken Book (April 2021)
The book arrived and beyond excited to smell the cover,
To open the book to the middle and gloss over the page.
Those masterful written words by a masterful writer.
His name was Ernest Hemingway. He was a jerk too.
Mental illness ran in his family including suicidal thoughts.
I can put his negative traits out of mind, out of sight.
His penchant to never stop until his mind could go no further,
The stories he created is something to aspire to.
Even though my body does not look like his and I am of the opposite sex,
I too have great visions of success although on a smaller scale.
The book must be returned and brings me annoyance and sadness.
How much my fingers wanted to turn the pages.
My eyes waited patiently to swallow the words whole.
I wanted to get to know Ernest Hemingway in another way,
Not as a maladjusted grown child who treated women poorly.
Although it seems he truly could not help it, for he loved women too much.
This does not excuse his actions, but clearly he did not abide by the standards
Of living most able bodied men achieve.
Sometimes I see him as a hurt child, not able to get past the nightmares.
Other times I see him as a stubborn man not able to get past his pride.
If he was so affected in his youth, why did he not try harder to overcome it.
This question will probably never be answered.
He is now dead as many writers before him. Most go peacefully into silence.
Ernest Hemingway took his own life and is not surprising.
Most roads lead back to your childhood. It is a reality adults can’t escape.
I identity with him in some ways, in others not so much.
My body does not crave liquor or being in the thick of battle and war.
If you glimpse into my brain, crack it open a little, the right scientist will see
parts of our brains are not so different.
Writers love the struggle, even if they tell you otherwise.
It's What I Got (April 2021) If that day ever arrives, I will not thank you, even if you beg. You will not be able to use my name. That will be for sure. That will be for sure. One year of learning turned into twenty-five years of payback. And no, I have not seen a better life. I have not gained more. I actually have lost something within me. After all these years, I still question. Did I do the right thing? Did I make the right choice? Is my dream dead? I could be twenty years closer to the end. There is only forgiving myself and yet, as I feel this bitterness within me, I know it isn't right. You did not drag me across state lines. But, there was the temptation on your fishing line. A half-eaten worm I saw as whole. This was the lie you gave me, and I swallowed it, no objections whatsoever. I should have spit the worm out sooner. Another twenty years, I wonder if my irritation will be gone. Will this be the situation I have not resolved? Some only have six, others have one-hundred and counting, more have fifteen, and most under thirty. The cravings, the urgings, and the visions are there. For either the meaning has changed, or I have not changed at all.
Finger Snap (April 2021)
If I snap my fingers, will all my mistakes be undone?
Will all the years I have kicked myself for doing this and doing that be erased?
No, I don’t think so. No, it’s not possible. No, it can’t be done.
This isn’t a pop in a VHS tape and rewind as far you I need.
If I go too far, I can play it back to see where I am now.
But what if I don’t want to see that part of my life again?
It was too painful. It was too embarrassing. It was too long ago.
Someone asked me if I’d like to be invisible.
I said yes, I would. Why?, he asked me.
Because why not?
I could sneak into rooms and hear how people truly felt about me.
I could see how many enemies I have and so few friends.
It might give me the power I need to get ahead.
Be that ass kisser I saw all the time, be that person I never wanted to be,
The one where if you act worthy and busy, you are okay to them.
The unwelcome wagon came and kicked me off in the middle of nowhere.
People giving unsolicited advice.
You don’t know what we need or how we feel.
Your time was long ago and your opinion doesn’t matter.
Keep your mouth shut.
Mistakes were made that can’t be undone.
I know this and so do countless others.
Once the energy rebounds in my fingers, I will snap them again.
Where will you be? Will you hear it?
I Once Knew You (March 2021)
I stand before you not as a friend or enemy.
You once regarded me worthy to hold your hand,
as you puked alongside the toilet after a night’s drinking.
Who do you think got rid of the foul smell?
It was I who pulled the yellow gloves up my scrawny arms.
The material scratching my delicate flesh.
My allergy ridden bumps I’m embarrassed to show.
You never once thanked me for resting your head on a pillow.
Without my attention, your neck would’ve been stiff,
you stubborn minded princess wearing your broken crown.
When you woke up, I didn’t expect anything, although
a cup of coffee from Starbucks would’ve been a nice gesture.
You knew the height of my commitment.
I don’t know how far I should stand away from you now.
I would’ve done anything for you, anything had you called.
My name doesn’t seem to matter.
Do you remember what we called each other?
You once understood my calling.
It wasn’t to chase you after lengthy condemnations and pinching.
My wanting was disguised in your need of me.
There is nothing I can do, not even wait, not even ask
for a more suitable alternative.
Mystical Mood (March 2021)
You affect something within me, not in a twisted way.
One could describe it as the kind of wonder, wanting more.
I could fly as the mythical phoenix restoring its power.
The voice transporting me into a new wonderful.
I will swim in the warm waters and take comfort in the sand.
Do not come around me in the state you are, they ask impolitely.
You are not ready to comfort the others.
The Sepulchre takes forever to find once the sun sets.
One could describe it as getting too close to the truth.
Seven Haiku Poems (March 2021)
A Crooked Mouth
Pearly whites appear,
Mouth upturned at the corners,
The smile wide again.
A Winter Hibernation
Gather hairs and rocks,
Stuff them into hibernation.
Close eyes to the light.
The Lotus Disappears
Sacred roots deep down,
The Sight of a Rainbow
Scent of the freshness –
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet,
Allow it to reveal.
A Quick Hailstorm
Small orbs of pure white!
Pinging on the cars delight,
Not strong for a kite.
In the desert heat,
Feeling the coolness at night –
Still not as before.
Killing the Ants
March in a straight line,
Face forward, legs underneath,
They want to live too.
Filling the Jar (March 2021)
Fill the jar with red cinnamon bears.
Eat them until your mouth burns.
Fill the jar with black sunflower seeds.
Suck the salt before you crack the shells.
Fill the jar with green jellybeans.
Eat them until your stomach hurts.
Fill the jar with tinfoil wrapped chocolates.
Peel each one as you bite it with your front teeth.
Fill the jar with yellow Lemonheads.
Eat them until your face puckers.
Fill the jar with white lilacs
Bring them to your nose and breath deeply.
Big Dipper (March 2021)
This is called for what it is, between the third and fourth hour, and it is called man.
It hums and sings louder with every beat.
It draws into itself, tall with fingers as willowy as his body.
It is kindness that people enjoy when the man comes knocking on all kinds of doors.
Lightly at first, then with each successive knock, more irresistible.
Woman should have been asleep, but the earlier shocks had not subsided.
With dry mouth, awakened women open their minds to a thousand de-evolutions of their bodies.
It is not birthdays that the souls remember.
Woman does not spend equal time on concrete as she does on dirt and sand and rocks.
This did not go well for her. She is damaged with odd sensations.
Her friends and family are miles away as the stars she prays to in the sky.
They are the seven stars everyone knows.
The man points with his long fingers at the Big Dipper. He claims it as his own.
The woman wants direction, which way to navigate her fifth hour.
She does it by finding another constellation.
Shakespeare vs. Poe (March 2021)
Tis not I who holds tight onto the past, looking in glass bottles for salvation of the heart.
Thou come here, wagging fingers at me, spewing words of superiority.
Tis not I possessing inferior words but thee with unkempt hair and foul breath.
How dare thou show your unshaven face in a time such as this!
Before thou open your mouth and show me yellow teeth, remember this.
Thou sound like a chained man.
Thee are the intolerable and ghastly man disguised as a writer.
Readers might admire the hairs on your head, but I know better to be fooled.
Immortality does not last for a man like me and neither does it for you.
Women are only ghosts haunting during the night.
Tis not some woman with flowing hair at thee door.
Shameless man, how far does thee well go down into hell?
Do not disguise thee self with guilt in your heart.
Tis the fountain dried already? Must the loneliness overtake the moon in the sky?
Long, drawn out explanations of sadness has cut everything in half.
The raven means nothing while napping.
Absurd man with the Elizabethan ruff. Time for me to ask questions.
Thou come into my domain. I have owned it since my birth.
Proclaiming my inferiority of the words I write.
If tis was not viciously repugnant, I might find thee a little bit admirable.
Go near a perfumed woman called the wife and leave me be.
I hath no need for further condemnation, but to find favor in the mystery.
Cancel Culture (February 2021)
Grab it all up in your arms and put it in a black bag.
This is what we don’t need anymore.
All of it needs to be forgotten and dumped in the landfill.
But at what result? At what cost?
Cities should be more pure and cleaner now.
People from small and large countries have torn down statues.
Flags are no longer powerful than their symbolic gesture.
We gave them the middle finger.
We are one step closer to the ultimate goal.
The dumb have nothing to hide behind.
But is it misleading? Will it make people wiser?
Nothing remains except the best and brightest.
This is what perfect societies desire.
It it not an accurate reflection in crowded streets celebrating their victories.
We can fall one step behind.
We might forget the history of our parents.
The reason we are here in the first place.
But do they care? Who will help them?
Suppress all the facts and swallow only the good.
The bad never existed for us.
Our differences need not be written ever again.
But why? Who are you protecting?
The Six Cupcakes (February 2021)
In the elementary school carnival, I had my eyes on the cupcakes.
The white frosting on some and green on others.
They all had sprinkles to entice me to pay good money.
They were regarded as the big prize as did every other student.
I won small plastic prizes or tiny rubber monsters I put on my fingers.
I wasn’t able to eat them.
When I became a bookworm in middle school, I focused on a boy.
He would never look at me the way he looked at her.
The gym beauty with non-permed hair like myself and a crooked smile.
There was no one to blame but my lack of popularity.
When I roamed the halls of high school, I no longer thought of the cupcakes.
The chance of winning anything had passed me by.
I learned how to ignore the mental assaults from deep within.
I turned it outward and felt sorry for those who tried too hard.
In the college and university learning freak show, I wanted to fit in.
Most people took it in stride but some did not and it hurt.
There was no chance of biting into any normal looking cupcake.
I had the one with the melted frosting.
Since the beginning to the end of all school years, I had a different reality.
One where I needed restraint and didn’t always have it.
I excelled in the areas with little promise.
Winning those six cupcakes wouldn’t have changed my trajectory.
In the elementary school carnival, those six cupcakes never had power I once thought.
Years of experiencing reality taught me to accept loss, both of the mouth and hands.
I would’ve given anything to have those cupcakes long ago.
It would’ve made my life sweeter for sure but at what cost.
Unity (February 2021)
Rubberband and rubberband, stretched out and worn.
Holding together too wide of opinions.
Asking too much of the rubberband and rubberband.
Writing letters of disappointment, how could you?
and how dare you? and God won't forgive!
The words repeated still ringing in my ears.
Tension, tension, spreading like a virus.
Powerful as corona and invisible until it is seen.
Unable to contain it and not taking responsibility.
Reading the aftermath of disapproval of decision making.
How dare you have your own voice!
How dare you have your independence!
Rubberband, grab two to replace the old and broken.
Hold together what is leftover.
Still asking too much of the rubberband and rubberband.
Tread on Me (February 2021)
It’s okay to tread on yourself. I don’t care. I don’t mind.
It’s what I thought it’d be. It’s what I knew you’d be.
The flag is raised and flows free in the wind. It never stops moving.
You made certain that flag never belonged to me.
I’m not from your city. I’m not part of your plan.
You made this clear. It's what you didn’t say.
You only see the snake in the grass for what it represents.
It strikes enemies close and far away.
Steer your eyes down. Your enemy looks like you too.
It slithers below and the flag is only fabric in your hand.
It’s not all powerful. It’s not the true answer.
The Song I Never Heard (February 2021)
The song I heard from the car radio.
I had no idea who sung it but that voice carried me
to the next stop sign and I waited.
I thought about one million recycled things I had lost
interest in, struggling to find a way to personal victory.
A new song started and I knew this one reminded me
of a time when there was more to capture.
When dreams were not dyed the ugly colors they are now.
The moment when I did not fully realize.
My turn to drive and now my hands are purple.
The song I want to hear has been overplayed.
This singer has many secrets. He does.
It's a connection we have. He does not know me but I know him.
I know about his struggles. I read about it in a book.
It could have been called "Life Sucks." Or maybe, "My Bad."
I need a new song. One that increases my energy flow.
It makes things alright again.
I have not been to a music store for years.
Virgin is gone. Best Buy carries Taylor Swift.
Amoeba is relocating and closed for a long lasting reason.
I suffer the unforeseen consequences.
I wanted it all back in the day.
What I would not do to give it all away but keep the
parts that brought me happiness.
I would wait forever but no thanks, not anymore.
Hiding Behind His Sentences (February 2021)
If you hide behind your words, I will hide behind mine.
It’s plain and simple.
It’s called tit for tat.
If you want to compare wrongdoings, I will cite my sources well.
It’s not difficult to read.
I’ll hold it closer to your glasses if you need help.
If you want to claim authority, I will do you one better.
It’s called I hold the big key.
It’s called you hold nothing but air.
If you want to use trickery, I will treat you with my antidote.
It’s called remember four years ago.
It’s called remember that time when.
If you hide behind your lies, I will hide behind mine.
It’s fair and rational.
It’s called tat for tit.
C is for Culture (February 2021)
I saw that flag being held. I’ve seen it on trucks. I’ve seen it on T-shirts.
I know what it stands for and what it means.
I know all of those things because I have to know.
I’m on the other side. The good side to most. The bad side to more than a few.
I wish I could say this was the end. We are opening a new door.
We are not. It’s only the beginning.
A century long war over power beat into the minds of one day.
The day everyone will remember.
The day that will take years to quell the disturbance and noise.
The day I saw that Confederate flag in the Capitol.
The rioter holding it proudly. He had something to say and say he did.
He talked himself right into the grips of three hots and a cot.
Flags like that need to stay at home.
Someone should’ve alerted him about its consequences.
He’s a grown man. He knows what the flag represents.
It means the “good ol’ days” where “men were men” and “women were women.”
I have another flag in my arsenal. I haven’t seen it on any car.
I haven’t even seen it on T-shirts.
I created it within me and I know what it doesn’t mean.
I know all the things it represents. I can be on all sides.
I can see all sides. I am all sides and recognize them.
I’d never say the door is closing. It isn’t.
It is open somewhere and I am also somewhere.
We have more days to remember. The collective we. The you and me.
The days that don’t care who changed the direction.
We can say your culture was never my culture to embrace,
But I see it. I know it. I hear it. I feel it.
It means the grown-ups will challenge but at what human cost.
Bromance (February 2021)
I said to myself those words.
It’s the same phrase I repeated.
“What a dumbass.”
It reminds me how it changed me.
How low they have become and immersed in self-pity.
These people I didn’t care about a year ago, I pay
attention to these mannequins.
“Are they really saying that?”
No, they can’t be. They wouldn’t be so stupid.
I have to say again. I use a different word with the same meaning.
“They wouldn’t be so moronic.”
He became a man who kissed the dirty hand.
Within the last month, he rejected the ground they shared in common.
Within the last week, I saw he was worthless.
The rest of them,
No backbone, no pride, no pool too shallow.
I have the same words to say.
It’s not much different than what I thought before.
Maybe it is and I’m too chickenshit to share it.
Insurgency (January 2021)
Count to ten. Let’s begin again.
Never mind, we can’t, the time has already passed.
The march was clear as the day began.
Breeding violence with words and action.
Clamping down on all kinds of numbers.
Those who breach can’t reverse the high.
The impact was severe. The damage was done.
Count to one, let’s not do this again.
Remember, we don’t have to, a choice not realized.
The break was evident as night fell.
Pointing fingers with bullhorns and crutches.
Refusing to believe this was a lie.
Those who return can’t produce an apology.
The sentence was swift. The death was historical.
Mensa Men (January 2021)
You’re proud of yourself. Holding your head high.
The space underneath you invisible to your shoes.
The next step you take. Ask yourself when the image fades.
The same song will repeat the next hour.
You’re holding onto the day too tight.
When the shapes dissolve, never to come back, you will hear that sound.
It’s the one that keeps you up at night.
It raises a glass to your blood pressure. Getting closer to the pounding edge.
You used to know what it felt like to be tired and low.
Sentences said under my breath now I say out loud.
You aren’t who I thought you’d be. High up in the loft.
Time to shut your mouth and open your ears.
No matter how many classes you took and drinks you made, it’s time to stop.
It isn’t nice to speak from the ass for too long.
Come to my level and call me average. It’s okay.
You don’t have to wait for the sign.