untitled poem number 1

So recently I had an old love with whom I had a lot of feelings for suddenly in my life appear again...well we never had any bad feelings or anything but "3 second high speed - space/time" travel haven't become affordable yet for the common man so we drifted apart..but regardless even though now I can talk to him and not feel mixed emotions from the past when I would try to hold onto something I wanted to happen so bad while knowing it had already gone away.....I find myself writing poems....





Greedy

Let me be your irregular lover,
as the urge to be yours
forever more got us
caught up in a deep mix,
we'll initiate the need to imitate
jumbled wave patterns more abnormal than
stilt-less houses in the Amazon.
And when we light fires of lust
between friction of moist bodies.
I want you to watch me
attempt to become your skin
treat myself like your second
set of limbs.
And you should wait patiently as
I figure out calculations
attempting to reveal hidden
solutions to your soul.
As I wait for you to indulge to me
all the unimportant things you forgot
to tell the others.
I want to awake from death
reincarnated as your birthmark
or perhaps the mole below
your left shoulder,
while obsession towards you
got me memorizing each
fingerprinted pattern.
I need you to calm my intrusive
invasions with stories where
you've implement me in your
past memories.
As I wait for you to indulge to me
all the important things you forgot
to tell the others.
I don't want to be that quick hit drug
but instead an altertative to your fix
Let me be the book that holds your history.
til the end of time,
til others find us kissing
behind moss, between pictures
upon stones, as we sneak around
dark caves secretly.

old poetry

The Yin, The Yang, & everything in between


Eternity seems impossible to reach,
dreamed the imperfect speech,
a loop hole in how to say
I love you
secretly,
without giving any fear of the knowing,
my skin glowing,
tells the tale of a farewell heart
re-birth for new beginnings
inside strong arms.
pre-warnings
inner voices speaks of
some soul to keep,
the yin of everything
pulls the force a little more deep.
good reinforcement, conditioned thru sleep,
Pavlov’s laws
greets positive ness
in the sound of breath
closed eyes, unseen is
the yang in between
we must come softly fused
puzzled pieces fitted with ease.
plan b put into action,
we move on to step two.
and I wonder if its noticed
how I hold air in for a sec.
listen quietly to catch
the rhythm of breathing patterns.
begin to initiate the process of science
remembering the rules,
for every action is a opposite re-action.
so I exhale when you inhale
I inhale, you exhale
our hands must lock,
body fits snug,
you wrap perfect around hips
better than cushion imprints,
left cold inside favorite chairs.
sitting entwined, co-dependant
as stick shifts
break and clutch
each touch, we gear up another speed,
shifts into
the perfect union of two.
So I exhale yin when you inhale yang
I inhale yang, you exhale yin
practices of balance
makes the possible reality
infinity
& everything in between.



_______________________________________________


Love like Foreign Lands

We are Castaways
on an island made for two.
With time the customs become familiar.
Your body I study like a map.
There is a lake under your right eye,
mountains near your ear.
We must be lost living in or near the rainforest
at the base of your neck.
(my favorite place to rest.)
We've journeyed here months ago,
since wandering around searching for oasis
in the desert at your lower back.
Who knew that we'd find peace near your chest.
I've become pretty acquainted with this land of yours,
the rich brown finely texture soil, I could travel
with my eyes closed at night
and still find my way home.
Now I've learn to love this place,
Even if the area and the language of the natives is new.
Maybe within years I can obtain citizenship.
Our childeren will be born. We'll be side by side.
wanting and sitting.
Like how the tree and stone sit together.
waiting to do to each other
what the stone does for the tree
and the tree for the stone.

Us Girls

Here is a recent poem I wrote.

Us Girls


We so fly. Our groupies have groupies,
Those Girls that wanna be like Us Girls.
Us Girls who talk fast, and switch hips
face made up, and caked up with makeup
at fifteen, they say our heel game look mean.
Meaner than those videos vixens,
as we got bigger fish to fry,
why waste days in class when
older hustla' be checkin out
our asses so Phat.
Us girl rock Baby Phat,
and fake Louie purses
memorize Lil Kim verses
otha' than humming
Nina Simone melodies.
we gonna be one of those
four women we will never
hear about, nor care to know about.
while most will call us
her name, wisphers and moans
of, "oh Sweet Thang,
I love you so...."
Us Girls is for daddies of all kind.
as long as they the type
of daddies that be Buyin
Us Girls like Girls like Us
to touch and let our
sexy Yung Thug Hustla watch,
and join us, as long as it gets us a
lil mo' of what Those Girls
who ain't us got.
Us Girls can't understand whats wrong with
those silly ones who don't
want what we got but search for
something otha' than green or
things that are So Icey,
to Us Girls, Them Girls don't exists.
Us Girls got dreams
to be in King magazine
cause we was told smart
women have goals,
and We smart enuff to
know that we mature at
fifteen years old,
cause some older boy said so.
and Our bodies is looking so Whoa!,
just like dem chicks that are models.
And they say we Thick in all
the right places, enuff to be models.
as Us Girls got dreams, cause they
say women needs her dreams
and we women enuff to know
that aint nothing wrong with sliding
down glitter poles, as
some boy said we could,
cause We more mature than most
of the older women they know.
Us Girls are Independant and do whatever
we please, as we know everything
as some man pretendin boy say we can
and we believe everything he gon say to us.
cause Us Girls is fifteen,
and stuck inside a Video World
all we want to be is just another one of them
Money takin, Money makin, Pimpin Dollars, Freak in the Bed,
Down Ass Chick, that every guy wants on his team as his
number One, we gon be that type of Us Girls
cause Us Girls smart enough to know we gonna need to
have us a realistic Dream that can fit inside a T.V. Screen.

for J. Dilla

The Perfect Beat

that's what masterminds do,

get caught up with addictions
to creating masterpieces.

and soon find themselves falling
in love with something beautiful.
in search of a balance between
the pure raw, and the harmony.
rhythms classicals enough to
outlast the lifetimes.

so it's no suprises that constantly
I seem to find myself in loops.
re-surfaced deja vu's,
while listening to a hot piece.

as that's what genius's crave,

the type of work that becomes
the scores people grow their lives to.
soundtracks produce fresh
with the smell of everyday grind,
sound so remarkable they
evolve into lifelines.

songs fossilized into my mind
strong enough to stir up memories
as I choose to play them
continous on repeat.

eternity comes forever through
the spirit of the melodies
as with the play of
each hook, riff, and loop
caught up in positive harmony

we listen closely as
you soul shines,
hoping to catch a feeling of
your sunshine,
grabbing handfuls of your memory
as it slip through the
reflection of each flawless piece

I alway catch myself wondering,
"damn, who perfected the beat?"




(p.s...
to Dilla with luv.)
r.i.p