I am a poetic companion and a companion poetic, for not only do I encourage, inspire, and embrace creativity, I also have lived a life of poetry. Indispensable experiences perfectly imperfect to culminate into this monolith of worth who stands in place to brace you and yours, in your poetic life on these unforgiving shores. For no one should forever be alone, whether in the light or the dark, we all will find a home and in those times of joy or pain, a story is written, it just doesn’t always make it to the page. So this monolith will watch and pick you up when you’re unsure, And help you find your poetry so you may share it with the world. For poetry is not just words on a page it’s a statue, A sonnet, A moving dance on the stage, it’s the tears on your face and the smile in your heart in these times when you are alone seeking comfort in the dark and as a companion I will watch over you to say that I am proud and no one can stand in front of you. Just know that you must stand on your own one day not alone, but at our side for when one of us gives way, to that inevitable verse at the end of our song, so there will still be someone there to brace against, and be strong for the next poet unknown whom life been unfair, then your story you pass along so they know you’ve been there, as I will share mine with you when you need me to for I am a poetic companion and as a companion poetic I am here with you.
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Segregated and disillusioned, I stand alone in a crowd, secluded, unplugged by an uproar of mental backlash caused from the world Before time was recorded by the victors of wars who chose what the truth is for you. In too deep of a thought, I drowned, till I grass at a truth that pulled me down, deeper, through the layers of ether, and landed me on a lonely sure where only few have stood before, And there, from a lonely tree now all but withered and deceased, I plucked a morsel, that opened my eyes and ears and more, so now, back on the street, I see lies and listen to people talk in their sleep. Forever dreaming a dream of conquest to achieve a higher state of worth to a state that decides they’re worth based on how well they fit into its schemes, and to this I no longer dream. I am awakened, into you who run this carnal dimension, I say that your plans to mire me In your unwashed masses has failed. I am free, and no longer a cog in your machine, and although I am alone, I promise when I find a monkey bone Big enough to wrench up your plans, I will. Then you can sit alone counting all of your bits till it’s time to collect and you find that your cup just won’t fill, and you’re left with a mouth full of sand, that pours and pours til it surrounds you like land, And your body shrivels then from your outstretched hand is born a fruit that bears all you had planned so when another in need of clarity discovers your pittance of an island, they can take your plans from you and open their eyes and years to what your successor is trying to do. Then the cycle repeats till one after another the population of these released stand to war against the lies and deceit. Tied together by our isolation and ready to face a nation bound and determined to keep it that way using words like swords to cut the cords of nooses And borderlines to desegregate and wake up all those lost in the lies, to the truth, that most were tricked in their youth, into believing what their history book says is true without questioning and that it’s a chain reaction that goes back through the annals of religious and government practice. There’s no one left to blame for this sordid and twisted twisted game, started long ago by a name, lost in the first war over a belief that to this world there was nothing more than what one can hold. Searching for a precious gold and in the process of losing the gold worth saving, that being their soul. That is the sad and lonely truth that history will rarely teach, because acquisition and oppression is how they practice what they preach.
Haikus
You can speak clearly But if you do not think well Your words will fall short All words have power Excessive use is not more Just say what you must When times were better We did not see an end to What now rests in ash In this moment is All that can ever be and All that never will While laying on a bed of steel, one must seriously question if life is real,
Or merely a thought from a twisted child, whose life’s enjoyment is the deforming of smiles, Into garish forms of beauty’s past, amf life’s endless dreams are callously dashed Across waves of grief and torment and spite, but still we look for that glimmer of light, In the faces of friends and family stills, we grab what we can to reinforce our wills, For the battle with the child is never won, but merely something to create a song, That is the life we question in doubt, but live nonetheless to away the mount, Of turmoil this child has heaped en mass, quantities of sorrow and so we cash In our chips and lay them out for all to see and all to count The value of one against the other, rather than just accepting your brother Or sister who fights as much as you, but you don’t care for they are who Left you alone when you were in need of help and all that you could see, Was you were in pain so you closed your eyes to the need of them who also have tied To win the war with the child undefeated, when with your help they just may have beat it, Who laughs and consoles in glee, for you have become what it needed you to be, And so the child was again and again, because you can’t figure out what it means to be friend The warmth of the kitchen carried the delicious smells through the house
The chilled night air stifled the unwelcome scent that we carried, Of turkey, and pasta, steamed carrots, green beans, cream corn and cranberry sauce. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t choose it over anchovy and sardine gravy. It’s a family dinner, most were there, except for a few cousins, who were out elsewhere “We’re in this together, now it’s a family affair,” spoke by one in the darkness to any who would hear. Soon, we all gathered at the table, and one after another, as usual, everyone started their own prayer Our little congregation soon reached the backyard tree, in which sat two crows whose eyes shone like mirrors This created an argument, since no three played the same, and each refused to acknowledge another god’s name. Like two rulers or kings, it seemed they passed judgement on us with the beat of their wings “Personally, I do not care if we agree on Allahu Akbar, in Jesus’ name, or by Yahweh we pray, cause it’s all just the same.” As they flew down and away, so silent it seemed, that they now seemed like ghosts, if you know what I mean At least that’s what I tried to say, before it got so loud I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Now came the task at hand, having to dig a grave for this poor young man. As tempers flared from anger and intolerance, so I started to make my way to the back door that leads outside. With the task done we lowered him down, all the while spilling down fragrant oils over his body and our hands I heard a crashing noise just as I crossed the threshold, and then everything went dark, and felt so cold With a prayer to the universe, a matchbook was dropped, then a perfumed fire brought warmth to our lot His mother screamed first, then the arguing stopped, my cousin was dead in a doorway, killed by a shard of a smashed bowl. Then tears held by shock and emotions froze by need are released by the understanding of what has been wrought It was an accident, on this we all agreed, he didn’t have many ties in life, so we decided to bury him by the backyard tree And so, sad and distraught, we all still give thanks for the blessing he brought to the family We collected his body and grabbed the needed tools, this whole ordeal, though, is really just too much for me. For with his death, our divisions ceased, and now our bonds are stronger, it’s just messed up that his death accomplished that need. Let the madness of humanity succumb to its own solutions
To the problem that is not yet understood as the tyranny of its own delusions Live above the mortal coil,
Lest the mind be left to spoil. All is lost, my mind is gone, no lines, no music, no plans, no songs
No thoughts remain, washed out by the rain, in a torrential downpour of bleak and grey All is lost, no goodbyes or so longs, all that’s left is today, because tomorrow is gone Nobody knows a thing about me. They say that they do, but how can this be?
They ask me no questions, they just walk on by, with an occasional smile, or maybe a “Hi.” They watch how I move and listen to me speak, but when they look at me, is “Who is he really?” What they think? I’ve a face and a style, sometimes I smile, but what really lies beneath? A killer, a friend, an individual with no end, or perhaps a beginning waiting to be seen? The question then becomes, what is “me”? Is a person ever able to know? Is it an entity that does or does not grow? “Who am I?!” is the question we seek, For the answer lies just out of reach. We can define our likes and dislikes and friends, But who I am truly knows no friend, for others have likes and dislikes the same, But all these can be defined by a name. An expressions of thought that mirrors my own I cannot find, for I know not what is my own mind. This “me” of sorts is elusive and sly, not to be pinned down or made to say “Hi.” It does what it wants and lives without fault, for many a flaunt and many a taunt, Until one day when its luck runs through, or it just gets tired being part of two. Then “me” becomes a part of “I,” and a whole new life can be seen far and wide. |
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