survival subroutines…

those human actions
evolved over a lifetime
as a response to
those who have had white privilege
developed to sustain dreams

 

small seeds of life’s fortune…

penny found on street
a lost soul without a home
deemed worthless by most
no one bends to pick it up
life’s true fortune cast aside

 

old friends…

sounds
of
night traffic
pulsing along
urban roads
have replaced
warm laughter over
dinner debates
debates
on
everything
but
not on
what
defines friendship
that
was
known
and
required
no
amendments
to
what constituted
why
we
loved
one another
but now
an
emptiness
a
fading out
into
the arid landscape
of
time
where
a grave stands
unattended
for
all those
who
cared
are
gone
so this
grave
bearing
my
name
will be
drought-stricken
no
tears
from
those
i
loved

 

justice system…

race based procedures
to maintain poor’s oppression
and white’s privileges

 

yard sale…

found among
the archeological items
ceremonial clothing
as well as
personal adornments
adjacent to these artifacts
were
cooking utensils
and
an assortment
of
decorative statues
some
obviously used
in
religious rituals
below
a strata
of
old news papers
collections
of
leather bound
images
sorted by stages
of
life
other images
were
string tied bundles
that were
incongruent
with
the bound images
often
portraying events
which seemed
to predate
this particular tribal unit
perhaps
the forefathers
regardless
none were
remarkable
in determining
the tribe’s past life
or
culture
however
the assemblage
was
quite amazing
but
there was one
diagnostic artifact
that
captured my attention
leaving me
spellbound
and

speechless
a photograph
of
you

 

 

president courts black votes…

the brown bag prophet
had just
finished
seeing
a new political ad
when
i ran into him
outside
my favorite
coffee shop
he said
now ain’t this a bitch
the orange glow president
is touting
his
accomplishments
for
the black community
this
is
the same man
who sent
his
abominable albino hounds
of
hell
to confront
peaceful demonstrators
over
government
sanctioned
murders
of
black brothers and sisters
around
this nation
and
now
that
he needs our votes
he’s
suddenly
our best friend
offering
cash for votes
and
a new federal holiday
celebrating a day
that
he
was going
to
memorialize
whiteness
in
tulsa
until
the virus
came along
and
ain’t this the same man
who removed
mailboxes
from
our neighborhoods
so
we
couldn’t vote
and
sent goon squads
when
we
held up
demonstration signs
and
showed up to vote
hell
i’m pretty certain
he’s gonna claim
to be
a relative
of
kunta kinte
as
soon
as
he
gets
his white sheet off

time lost…

unrecoverable hours
collections
of
minutes
suspended in memory
submerged like frogs
in formaldehyde jars
lifeless
lifelike forms
suitable
only
for
dissection
nothing more
no way
to
reanimate
those carefully preserved
moments
those specimens
of
life
that are void
of
what defines
life
but are
all
too often
examined
and
re-examined
as if
what was
can become
what
will be

 

sympathetic resonance…

words
and
wine
both flowing
ink
fills the pages
as
wine
fills the minds
two young poets
listening
to
miles
kind of blue
free form verses
swaying
on the page
to
changing tempos
rocking
back and forth
then
soaring
in
solos
incongruent
syllables
exposing
hidden emotions
from
deep within
their souls
pain
anger
and
moments
of
love
all revealed
in
a few stanzas
before
life interrupts

 

nyctophobia…

count
the heartbeats
passing
before you
as if
each
beat
is the sound
of
their footsteps
feel
their pulse
in
the blinks
of
their eyes
the
flow of their existence
in
their facial
postures
and
their demise
in
the silence
of
night
that darkness
where
you’re
unable
to
sleep
for
fear
of
your own death
now i lay me
down
to sleep