Thursday, April 27, 2017

kismet

those intimidated because you're too striking 

are not fit to butter your attention / 

those alarmed because your beauty overwhelms 

should not earn your long sleeve love / 

they are the ones who dip a finger at the edge of the lake 

and think the shimmy travels to the other end in a nod / 

to them it is unthinkable one of your kind carries crux 

so sophisticated, 

so simple 

Mother, how far?

Mother of the borderless skies 

where diverse gourd shapes 

of clouds do not wall off their enclaves / 

Even when a few partake in the shedding when it rains, 

we proclaim they all poured / 

Womb of the see-through sun 

and committed moon / 

Source of the over 3000 tribes 

from Afar, Amhara, Berber to Asanteman / 

Root that keeps the gyils of Ouaga in sync 

with the pirouette behind pregnant Dogon masks / 

How near are we from home? How far? 


counting stars or blessings

dusk with charcoal hot eyes 

tells stories of decay / 

it's there in the silhouette shabbily worn 

on the king's doorway / 

two feint rivers course down your cheeks 

and meet in your heart 

springing forth an incredible fountain / 

we hail one God in multiple forms / 

you put food in more stomachs than yours / 

why would we count stars or our blessings, 

and forget you make the tally? 


godsend

a handful of cracked globe but you've been nothing less than green / 
unscathed /
a jewel-stuffed oyster is what your palate keeps?
/ a safe broken into and robbed 

is how most people in your box have their smiles breached / 

lopsided luck but how you fit it clean 

over a pair of canoes stranded in rain shoes 

says you're not up to just blend / 

how you stand by the pillar of your mark / 

even over your scars 

a mother's heart

the pints of pronounced love 

in a mother's heart overwhelms 

each square unit of her children's understanding / 

the compassion simmers and bubbles over, 

the wisdom soup vaporizes, condenses, precipitates 

and rains in purity / 

there's more passed on to us 

ushered into the bathe of breath 

than just genes

fisherfolk of luck

die-hard fisherfolk of luck learn 

from the flow of time, 

that the scales of 'becoming' mounted in the end 

only happens in the making 

and the drive that births substance 

is not found in sterile waiting, 

the easy or rocky hard way 

writing the journey

a book needs to carve itself from the unease / 

a chapter needs to unleash itself from the dynamics /
a paragraph clots in your shin 

and the world needs to know the golden story that 

makes their globe glow and your spine lean / 

the magic is in each milestone 

turned at your feet




sunlight, sometimes

as spaces we're not used to 
stir sensations we're new to
spirits tune through cloud roofs / secrets slip from source 
sunlight sometimes breaks from whispers 
and you almost hear the colours that summarize your universe 
you stay awake


refuge is seldom felt

refuge is seldom felt in the breath 

of those with excess 

..the extent of packing a roof 

in the conscience to bubble through 

the swollen contours thickens the burden 

..bending beings pull through watered-down bread 

and stones in pockets and drag 

under panic outside titanium steady doors 

with fear swallowed overnight from the lone watch of a midnight moon 

..where there's elbow room there's pain alleviation 

and there's a tear of hope ripping through the blurring screens  



Thursday, April 13, 2017

Do Not Share The Panic

Do not create if the statement is not a prayer
Or the rage is not a swollen mouthful of morning
Do not embark on the march if the banner is burnt love
Or the mission is to turn out bowels with stolen deserts of ashes 

We looked forward to modern till we hit the bay of repetition
And worked our paddles to go back and not redo the hemorrhage
Do not share the panic when the folder is bursting of clamping clots
When the open vein junket of de-spirited spurts soil the mood

Do not pass around fliers to markets of mirages
Do not sacrifice eternity for 'close at hand'
Do not die to the music of dirty interludes
Do not exchange breathing space for belief in the maze 


Expedition

writing takes us somewhere new

between wrists and rays that strike through

dreams find the heart before the doors batten down

the waters that course through our thoughts

we sail stories and skylines move

through unconfined paths and paths know passages 

- here lies the truth