Ode to William Carlos Williams (1997)

I couldn't escape
the mexican food
from the refrigerator
and I ate
and thought of you
fingering my forks
playing with my spoons
and I could smell you
as your scent danced on my shirt
and spewed forth from my breath
and I could taste you
in the directionless direction of our days
of idle play
and simply being
for the evening
as the sun is setting
and the rain is making love
to the streets of man
I thought of you.

Breathe (1998)

I need to organize
the thoughts within my head
have them touch to my tongue
the answers
that revel in my eyes
as I take in forty thousand snapshots
in three seconds
and my brain is left
rearranged
unable to circumnavigate
my fingers back to this page

I rise and I am blinded
by life's surprise of sight
how the moon wakes up the sun
and the stars shuffle their gaze
to a westward sun
westbound one
as colonies grew
underneath the vision of the sun
worlds won
then destroyed
however everything ceases to exist
until we fumble over our lips
the gift of breath

now breathe
and see what I've seen
take in my suggestion
of the lessons
never lost in vision
though some are blind
they can still tiptoe through ambition
go on their quest to find
the pulses in silence
that plays in moonlight
as you sleep and dream
never losing vision
only gaining perception
in spontaneous waves subconscious with suggestion
now breathe
and back again.

In Light of Faulkner (1999)

the south was a mule
a mulatto mixture in time
and brown earth
bound together by shackles
shackles that separated
the history from the overseer

I saw those lost souls
in the light of my night
tilling the soil
brown and hard
their spirits worn
their bodies torn

worn as if the dust of the Mississippi
had risen then settled
softly on their bones
gently on my clothes
burrowing beneath my fingernails
scratching at the past
running down endless streets
where corners cease
and straight is the walk
the run into the past
as if I could get closer
to the Christmas I already am.

Sleep Pecola Breedlove (1999)

the light is out
I can still see its reflection
beating and pulsating
on the backs of my lashes

the moon is full
I can hear the whisper of white angels
descending the night
hovering over and parting
the fullness with their touch

the crickets have come
come to accompany me in my dance
of sheltered sleep
a stolen glance
asleep asleep
in the romance of my day

my body is warm
warm to the touch
the chill has heated itself away
and soon I will sleep
but I dare not to open
opening my eyes
would awaken my feet
my hands
my life in the dream is shaken
my body in this world broken
my youth taken
while my misery is reflecting
among the falling of autumn leaves
under the black moonless sky
that never turns blue.

The Father Gone (For Toni Morrison 1999)

they said that he had robbed me
I did not understand
they said he placed the seed
the seed that only hate could reap
but I never shook his hand
never looked into his eyes
fleeting dumbfounded
awestruck in the light
the light of his true faith
the fate that he was a man

now I push against these bars
of this body
looking for the keys
and I pray that there are locks left
because I can't escape
I just can't escape
lord I keep trying
but I can't stop
blaming her bruising her
for him and them
and their thoughts of praise that scatter my self
my conscience
they dance whirlwinds on my eyelids
and seep into my dreams
as if they were the keys
to those locks I never knew
from a man
I never met
from a future I could only see
through eyes that could never
be my own.

Mantra (1998)

fear not
to open your eyes
for life is unknown
and uncertain
the days shall pass like rivers
across the sanded earth
and you shall see your life's amazement
fear your worst
and best creativity
take refuge in the solid of self
for self will set you free
in an action of becoming
what you have always been
a human stranger
meeting yourself
among the castles of time.

Prisms (2000)

I venture into this world
divine with the intention of knowing
these clouded cataracts of time
that cloud my eyes
divide worlds into thoughts
and ideas
jailed and barred
among prisons of prisms
blocking the road less travelled by man in search of self
when self nature is to nurture
the mundane
not to throw loopholes
among the definition of sane
but are you in?
in between understanding and accepting
the art of knowing
not all of those who know think
those thinking do not always know
the lessons of love and leisure
time spent during holiday seasons
when seasons greetings are said
then done
like the passing of strangers
among the crowded corners
of a thousand cities
the waves of the forgotten
from future spouses
and past life siblings

and yet
she dances with the wind at her back
the flapping of autumn birds who dared to come back
in three seasons told
by my winters of thoughts
spring ideas unknown

to bend the bars of the prisms
casting shadows of light
red and yellow to the dancers
who eclipse the moon
giving birth to the sun
in rays of the oblique
and unseen
forgotten forest floors of the city

and as the skyscrapers send smoke signals
to the sea in their past
I wait patiently
my ear pressed cold to the glass of another day
do I hear the birds returning?
will I see the sidewalks breeding
green grass in cracks of concrete
laid to rest among the remembrance
of forgotten things
I have spent lifetimes on bended knee
praying in moonshines
for glimpses of sunshine
to waken the dead
rebirth of man
conscious and cold
is this who I am?
a scribe born to scribble down the facts of the forgotten
laid to rest among the building plans
six feet beneath
the forgotten forest floor of the city.

We Three (2009)

The snow has covered the driveway
and soon the plow will pack it to ice
and we will dream how in 3 years
the plow will be re-routed for sleds
and ice skates
as we construct the perfect jump
with the solitary goal of a laugh
we three

The yard will change
we will dream of this too
as we make room for tricycles and jungle gyms
swing sets and castles
where I will inevitably play the prince

The sound of the house will change
as the hallway from the living room to the bedroom
will become a track where dogs are chased
and finger prints out number fresh paint

The bathroom will change
and will now resemble a meeting place for all things that float
from old shampoo bottles now newly christened as small ships
to large yellow ducks whose sole purpose in life
is to kiss the ships on the lips

The bedrooms will change
pictures will mark landmarks in time
from first smiles to first teeth
photos of family vacations
with South American palm trees
to snow capped mountains
that peak the Rockies

The dogs will change
Piper’s chin will now have turned completely white
and will have grown patient and tolerable to the constant
pulling of her tail and tugging of her ears
and Stella will have traded her exploring for sleeping
as Lola will have quieted all of her past nervous years

You and I will change
although our love will have grown stronger
we will now have built the life and lived the life
that I had spent the last decade scribbling down in poems
and I will have loved you
and laughed with you
all along
we three

Trust Fund Hippies (1998)

You stood there as I
silently hollered curses of contempt
in higher education
have you surpassed your own genius?
time spent laying the foundation
for others to follow
does your raw talent no longer
rest in the heart of your emotion?
switch-backing
hitch-hiking
horse-riding itself
through a mountain of comparisons
when all comparisons are odious
and knowledge remains our two way street
I pass
you pass by
never smiling
never satisfied

I know what I want
someone to understand
to accept the art of difficulty
trying to find a reason behind
all the shit talking
ass watching
beer drinking
that goes on here

do we all just sit and watch our lives go by?
you sit there on that corner
guitar in hand
asking me for a quarter
fill your tank
your fix
your toyota land cruiser

we trust fund hippies who’ve cut our hair
trying to get a piece of that real job
real world
time share
hide our pot smoking from the man
who hides from him
who hides from her
who hides from me
in this never ending cyclone
of seesaw humility

These Days (2002)

these days
I feel like I am stone’s throw
from ground zero
where god got up and buried herself
deep within the crust of the earth
the reflection too bright
from the melting steel and battle fields
of the east river
and I could swim myself to salvation
in television waves
if I only had a radio
two wave
and a hole to climb into
god knows I would give her a holler
and begin to dig myself deep within the crust
that could be the east river

how far would I have to dig?
deep beneath the Brooklyn ferry
where life saw
two brothers fall
and we buried the dead with the heat and the wind
new york’s smell of a perennial funeral
when the weather was warm and the breeze hit you right
mourners coming out of the cracks of a shattered city
from south houston and brooklyn
broadway to the bowery

and I begin to type out my frustration
from being a human who feels a void
for the living

can’t someone just give me an advil and maybe some sleeping pills
and make this pain go away
but it is never that simple
as I writer I look for inspiration
and history has taught me
good writing comes out of bad times
and bad times are dead times
and the dead are lying
in five stories of steel
from the battlefield of brooklyn’s witness
to the caves of tora bora
where caves cliff rocks to heroes and cowards
and a country fed up

war writers are born from the sweat of presidents
and the blood of patriots
as decisions are made for our mothers and fathers
to leave us
to live for country
die for dignity

mothers becoming fathers

I would teach you how to play catch
but my mom taught me how to bake
not pitch
and told me not to marry a man
that married his country
and although I feel proud
I have this loss of self-esteem
knowing mothers become fathers
and children become soldiers
on the front lines of tomorrow
and our brothers become just memories
like a fading manhattan skyline forever changed
seen solely through the eyes of brooklyn.

Nineteen Years of Schooling (1998)

nineteen years of schooling
of cross-fires of the cool and the hip
that changed constantly
from the mouth voted least likely to succeed
a popular world
full of popular people
thinking popular thoughts

at eight it’s the hair
twelve it’s the eyes
eighteen it’s the boy with the biggest surprise
too bad that he’s black
by popular demand
no yacht club or political party
will ever trust you with command
looks like you have failed the test
of being comfortably conformed
by that punch in the face
of societal love

he says stay in the routing
that lacks all energy
honor thy mother and father
forget about him
can’t you see?
he rocks the boat
your only boat
last left sail
for who knows where

nineteen years of schooling
still to work for the man
who wants to be a woman
who needs to be a man
change your fate
for that ghost in the street
drink in your lap
joint in your mouth
earth in your feet
saving and spreading
that time until death
waiting and wondering
how many years you have left
all of the time
you are out of the moment
running the race
your mind and your body forever trapped
in societal grace.

Movement (2001)

let there be light
in the still of the moon
when the night air crows its feathered head
and rejoices in dappled spectacle

let there be a way in movement
the way you blow grass to bow beneath your feet
as your breeze uncovers the sand
where sleepless time shows in rocks

let there be sunlight
on every inch of your soul

let it exude the warmth
and nature of your being
may it let you always to walk in freedom
when destiny lays its head
and gives you the breath to believe again

let there be spaces in your steps
to remind you of your journey
as moments pass in years
and centuries become footprints
on the raindrop of the world

let you forever see that there is seeing
and feel that there is feeling
never to compromise your believing
that your feet carry the dreams of your eyes.