Head Full of Doubt

There is a darkness upon me that is flooded in light.  In the fine print they tell me what is wrong and what is right.

And, it comes in black.

And, it comes in white.

And…I am frightened by those who do not see it.

When nothing is owed or deserved or expected.  And, you’re life does not change by that man who is elected.  If you’re loved by someone, you are never rejected.  Decide what to be and go be it!

There was a dream…and, one day I could see it.  Like a bird in a cage I broke in and demanded that somebody free it.  And there was a kid with a head full of doubt.  So  I will scream til I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out.

There is a darkness upon me that is flooded in light.  In the fine print they tell me what is wrong.  And what is right.

There is a darkness upon me that is flooded in light.  And, I am frightened by those who do not see it!

Avett Brothers

 

 

 

 

My Jaundiced Sin

My jaundiced from seasoned sin.

imageedit_5_2761080462Could I pull the tattered paper down?

A hound dog, a dove of peace and a quail hustled by.

And, all I could do had been relieving my grief with a sigh.

An influx of vigils there in one self-determined space.

With a stretched out, battled scared, hand.

Pigment a bit red, more brown than white.

Black has been my favorite color…but something I know I would never fully understand.

imageedit_102_4742592811Slipping on mounded snow…a not gracious slip.

Just inches from the ground…strange but not a stranger…a friendly grip.

Another vigilante grounding my sorrows with a lift up.

I need not understand the gesture…no longer had the stranger been so strange.

Still I Rise

Still I Rise  

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/maya-angelou

the Imperfect Weight of Color

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Caught the eye of a stray color…

passing by!

Had to hold down the thought.

Put a handle to the feel.

Why?

What of this homeless rainbow fray?

Is it the recurring nightmare that calls to be heard?

To be written down frantically?
As thou, it were a spy?
imageedit_57_9676410857
Free expression?
A matter of…
do or die!
 ⇔
What of?
Those drawn to flowery phases?
It is,
after all,
Some of the
tastiest samples…
to ever taste.
 ⇔
Defining the art of humans
and
their waste.
A restless fisherman
and
his pole…
both dangling out in the cold.
Relocated visions that have no home.
Welfare of many out in the woods.
Each of which…
rummaging around under mother nature’s hood.
 ⇔
I wonder how a colorless weight must feel?
Lost in hectic, translation.
It must lose some conformed appeal.
imageedit_60_3171113025

The Making of Ends, Meet

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The effect of our affect is now.

For when are children grow up….

Desolation the landscape.

Malice and hypocrisy the environment.

Little toy gods.

Iconic rock.

Plastic human drones.

Scraps of foreign lands in our dirty hands.

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In the depths of my reclusive forest…the honesty shines through…

‘nothing can stop the time.’

While, in the bowels of my vacant downtown,

the faces have no name.

The children of hate…conceived for money and fame.imageedit_31_9981631129