I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
......
Reason says, “ I will beguile him with the tongue.”; Love says,
“Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul.”
The soul says to the heart, “Go, do not laugh at me and yourself.
What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him
thereby?”
He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion that I
may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure.
The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should beguile
the shaft of his gaze with a bow.
He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world of earth,
......
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
......
She was a perfectionist gal
a adored gal.
A rainbow moment after another.
She had true color, true grit, and a true heart.
She ran through a meadow, like a angel in the sky.
She had colorful questions to ask, like a colorful heart so lovely
She adored magic all her life, she loved magical fairy tales.
She loved walking around rainbows, she loved clowns,
Her heart was a clown.
She is and always was, a Alice walking through the looking glass.
......
What you have heard is true. I was in his house.
His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His
daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the
night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol
on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on
its black cord over the house. On the television
was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles
were embedded in the walls around the house to
scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his
hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings
......
SIMPLY YEATS
My verse under Yeats’ carved door
he merrily chuckled at white
envelope, sketched butterfly
said he preferred to receive
verses this way rather
than reading them across
post-modern websites
......
Oh, to remember such
unspoiled kinship with the divine,
where even the wind was a companion
and silence spoke in full sentences.
Perhaps this poem isn’t just
a backward glance but a gentle invitation—
to return, not in time, but in spirit,
to that meadow of soulfulness
where love was once our native tongue.
......
Apologia in Free Verse (After Too Much Metre)
I meant to speak plainly. To let the thought go unbuttoned,
leaned against a kitchen chair, talking about traffic
or the way light hits the linoleum.
But then—I rhymed.
By accident or reflex or loneliness.
It was you that made me do it—
......
Words collect like morning dew on leaves—
offered, absorbed, refracted—
a quiet exchange in the rhythms of being.
Voices scatter across a vast terrain
gently meeting with fierce exclamations,
each one feeding, each one fed.
Community thrives beneath unseen threads
binding both fragile and the bold,
......
Seventy-seven. Cursed
to some
in turn you'll seek
variables dispersed
What's rendered
for verse?
Cheapest meaning,
patterns worst,
immerse;
......