Hasta La Vista

Hasta la vista September.
I am happy to welcome
October... yes, you may come
Before her, but she's better by
Far. What with her blustery ways
And confident, crisp air - why
Wouldn't I welcome October with
Such aplomb? September you were
Flippant and rude with your indecisive
Weather pattern and hurricanes that
You couldn't let go of in August.
It's clear why you two were together and
How jealous you are of October.
She is a picture of beauty.
Not too hot and not too cold and if
She does turn the thermostat on to
Freezing she's allowed because of her
Close relationship with November who
Coaxes her frequently into following
His suit of chilliness because he's so
Beguiling with his freeze fallen leaves smell
And crunchy when walking on the leaves
He's felled ways...

Welcome October... well, come on in!

Hasta la vista baby September!

Observations

Observationally observe how the observer
Observes... Their observations observed
Serve as insights on what they've seen and
Yet we use them as our own... hmmmm,
How observant.

Maybe I Got It All Wrong

Perception perceives what are preconceptions
Over time the lines are drawn and are not
Really there - it's all an illusion - delusionally
Speaking - it's elusive this thing we all call
Life - it's a female dog and then we die?

Marching Orders

It doesn't matter what we do
But do it we must... it doesn't
Matter what we say, but something
Must be said - to lie about the way
We see, or view what is around us is
To ignore the very fabric core of
Who we are collectively and individually and
Do a dis-service to the humanity of honesty,
Creativity, and believability that are our ancestors.

History will repeat it self - it has told us that many a time.
Do not ignore its ever faithful mantra and mind
Your Ps and Qs - get up; get out; do something true to
and for you!

The Facades

I am like Chicago
Beautiful but just barely
Holding it together -
Row upon row, side by side,
Each of my facades
Slightly crumbling after
So much abuse from
The elements of time,
Extreme temperatures of
Attitude flung at my face
The cracks all in the right places...
Awaiting a restoration...
Who will purchase me to
Renovate me to my former
Days of glory?

Page Turner

Everyday is a new page
That needs to be turned

Sometimes the winds of
Change do the turning to
The pages of your life
Without permission
Without as much as a question
To how you'd feel about it
The page is just flipped after
You fall off to sleep and
Awake on a new page at
The top of the day...

The main character is the same
Dramatic structure doesn't change so
The exposition is exposing you
To the world again and again...

The topography of this page ends
Another chapter you hadn't intended to
Begin... and then the blank page begins to
Beckon whilst you lay your head down
On the dirty pillow case covering your
Clean from tears cleaning it pillow

It's all too much... the quickness with
Which the pages of your life keep turning
You try to jump off the page and turn back
A few chapters - but alas, poor lass -
This can never be - you are not free to turn
The pages back... just scribble upon them
The dreams and nightmares that can't be
Controlled either.

Sept. 24th

Sept. 24th, what happened?

Sept. 23rd

Sept. 23rd, what happened?

Sept. 22nd

Sept. 22nd! What happened?

Skin

I, too, can be you -
Doesn't matter what
Color the skin we're in.

Here I Go... Again

I read that if I have faith
This too shall pass -
Pass away? What?
The clouds of depression
That blanch out the
Light of hope? Well,
Here I go... again,
Down that tunnel where
There is no light at the
End of it - I hear the
Very real lies of the Enemy
Telling me the truth about
Myself: too dumb to know
That I should not keep
Going - but too lazy and
Lame to do anything about it.

Sadness is an all too familiar
Scratchy shroud that envelopes
Me in its folds and is set ablaze -
Unfortunately it is anti-retardant and
I can't get unwrapped - untouched by the
Fiercely burning licking tongues of
Flames that leave scars - reminders that
Bring me back to this scenario
Over and over again - trapped in my
Mind where nothing can seem to
Penetrate or help in abating the pain
Of a f**ked up mind that is trying to
Kill its host.

Mystical Love

Eyes half open
Heart half closed
She sat in a corner
With a bloody nose.
Tears stained her shirt.
Blood splashed the floor.
It seemed that it was over
Before it could start.

Love is a mystery
Shrouded in the dark of
Cruelty.

Placeholder #5

Too exhausted to

Keep typppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppping

OH, crap, fell asleep on the

Keyboard

Placeholder #4

After these messages
I will be...

Not necessarily RIGHT
BACK...

BUT back just the same.

Placeholder #3

I am pissed off.

AGAIN?

Can't change until
You're so sick of yourself
It's impossible NOT
To change...

This is what Hamlet
May have felt.

Wanting

I have come up wanting again -
I just want to be great at something
And NOT exhausted - I want
Brilliance to exude from my pores
And NOT burn out - ever.
I want ideas to brim and gurgle forth like
A color changing fountain without
Being interrupted by the ugly voices
In my head that are just plain rude.

Even penning this I wanted to be
Eloquent and precise without being
Pretentious or morose and yet the
Step off the curb into the street of
Life, just right now, is far from the
Bottom of my footing and gravity's
Push and pull has flung me down into
A grimy gutter filled with trash from
My dirty mind - not in a sexy way -
A filthy, angry, mean to self way that
Arrests my personal development
Without even slapping any handcuffs on.

I'm so tired of this prison. I want out.

Let Me Quote You

"In the end, everyone becomes who they said they'd never be."
"You can not leave this life alive."
"You reap what you sow... so don't be a doosh!"
"Make no mistake..." That's a little hard for some of us to do!
"Is The Catcher in the Rye a book about bread?"

Losing Steam

I will get back into the
Swing of things and get
This going again - this
Waxing poetically stuff -
Right soon... once I have
Picked myself up and
Dusted myself off from the
Dousing of exhaustion powder
That's all over me!

Placeholder #2 Blues

Super silly that I would be called
"Placeholder #2."

9/11 Remembered

9/11 remembered?
How can it ever be forgotten?

Bulges

There's nothing like rejection to make
One feel fat and ugly... oh, wait
That occurs when I sit in a particularly
Plastic folding chair where the seat
Cuts into the fat and cellulite of my
Thighs whilst I cross my legs at
My ankles, like a lady, where I
Feel the blubber around my bulbous
Knees protrude to hitting each other
Vying for my attention - shouting,
"It's time to hit the gym not that
Bag of Krispy Kreme Donuts,"
"Take off your Spanx because you
Need to be spanked for disobeying
Your conscience!"
My chubby knees high-five each other
After they think they've done some-
Thing noble like getting my attention.
Then the Spanx body shaper takes a
Roll down my core that's ripply and
I abhor - saying something about,
"Who does she think she is having me
Hold her in place all day like this...
That's it I'm done with her - I'm headed
South." And that's where Ms. Spanx went -
Right down to the fold at my bellybutton.
My bellybutton kept her mouth buttoned up,
Thank God! Oh, nevermind Ms. Spanx was
Acting as a gag so Bellybutton couldn't say
A thing even if she wanted to!
So I pried Ms. Spanx off and chucked her
In the corner where she spitefully spat,
"Nobody puts Baby in the corner -
You'll come back!"

And she was right - after the roll on my back
Talked back to me I went waddling to her for
Moral support.

Valet Service

Sometimes you must drive through Hell
In order to park your hoopty in Heaven.

Cregier street jogs my memory into a state of
Self pity - it seems everything I want, that
I think I need, is that much harder to achieve...
Same goes for those folks on Cregier -
Peddle to the metal, no - clutch put in gear
For fear of not getting what others place
A value on - me and my abilities...

I pull up to that drive through window and
Am handed a cold order of french fries.
I could take them and drive off, but I get
Outta my jalopy and go inside and try
To be real nice and all, but my evil side
Gets the better of me sometimes and I say,
"Look here! These french fries are cold and
The only reason they should be is if you went to
France to make them and had to walk back,
NOW I want a fresh pack or my money back!"

"Well, uh, m'am, why don't you take a seat
While that young man goes and valet parks
Your car while we get you a piping hot, fresh,
New pack of french fries straight from our fryer
NOT at all from France."

"Valet parks my car?"

Sometimes when you park in Hell
Someone else sees it as an opportunity for
A joy ride to Heaven.

100 Strong

100 was not something I wanted to
Weigh as an 8 year old, but it's something
I wanted to stay as a 15 year old...

100 is an age of antiquity but even
Antiquity is older than that and perhaps
100 times greater are the artifacts that have
Stood the test of time, past the lines that
Line the halls to stare at the objects now
Worth more than 100 dollars and then some -
Behind plexiglass or stanchions.

100 is an age I don't want to see, but
Something I want to be in soul and wisdom
Knowing that what I know was needed
At the time it was gleaned and given away
With a gleam in my eye for the future who
Inherited it unsolicited...

100 times 100 times 100 is how many times
I want to feel alive in the moment and know
That I have been exponentially blessed
Regardless of my circumstances - especially
When I'm down on my luck or down in the
Corners of my mouth.

100 - it's a milestone - one I have reached
100 times in writing these poems -
100 days; 100 poems; 100 strong will become
100 stronger soon enough - in 100 more days.

Crickets in Englewood*

The crickets crick in the
Bright of day in Englewood, IL.
Englewood - Southside of Chicago,
Not even the insects are safe to
Sing their songs at night without fear there -
Fear of a drive-by... maybe of
Pesticides or suicides in the
Ramshackle condemned high rise
Where hopes were high and raised
Just like the wrecking ball that blew
A hole through the whole community
Wreaking a black hole that has
Sucked out the good times of black life on
The blocks between 63rd and 70th,
East and West of the Dan Ryan -
Who keeps cryin' to keep his babies
Safe - well, keep them off the streets and
Away from the crickets before they
Crick and chirp their tales of woe to
Another forlorn soul on the corner
Waiting for the black hole to close
But not another shop, house or school
Just the budget deficit in the 'hood
Where blight is the only sight that
The children see and know and play
With and amongst as their only precious
Prize possessions and toys - they know
No difference... that crickets are
Supposed to crick at night not in the
Light of day that has exposed a lot of
What's not and never will be on
The Southside of Chicago.

Crashing

This is what I do when I don't
Get enough sleep
Crash into everything -
I need to show you and
Not tell you - but it's time to
Crash into the warmth of my
Frayed, always ready to embrace me,
Blankets.

Good night.

Myles To Go*

Happy birthday was all that was
Given through a song on a cello
Solo for a gift from a poor
White trash little girl excluded
From the festivities of the
Wealthy black girl on the block -
That's all this trashy child could afford.
The gift was received awkwardly -
The mother ushered the gift-giver
Away into obscurity so no one could
See how ugly her racism could be to
The only child not invited to celebrate
In the birth of her child not having to
Deal with the ignorance her mother
Was dispensing to a young lady who
Was only concerned with bringing a
Gift since she could not afford anything
Material to give except the song from
Her heart played out on the strings that
Were rented so she could appear
Cultured in this otherwise savage
Environment where adults hate the
Color of the skin that hurt them that later was
Only trying to love what they birthed...
Black hating white - none of it's right.

Gut Wretching

The story goes...
Once upon a time there
Was a princess and a pea
Or was it, Once upon a
Time there was a fairyland
All twinkly and magical?
No - no, princesses showed;
none were hire-able because all
Had turned in their "damsel in
Distress" cards for a more
Independent path - a path of
Let-me-do-it-on-my-own,
Thank you very much!
And then the day came to
Walk down the aisle and there
Was no one there - to walk with
Or meet at the altar - which
Alters the course of so many
Princesses all dressed in white...
'Cause here comes the bride
Without a groom by her side.

What's Next

I haven't turned my cheek
In quite a while because my
Back was broken by a kick
In the butt - rejection is not
Bad it's God's protection.
What's next is a secret - a
Surprise that I may not be
Present to win or experience.
Must not expect anything
Because it's when you least
Expect it that it will turn up.
What? That's what's not to be
Known - next.

Sliding Into Darkness

Like vegetable oil poured over a
Cutting board lifted at a 45 degree angle
The summer is sliding into the grooves
Of the quickly approaching night...
This slips everything closer to
Darkness, sadness in the thought that
Soon the sunlight will be slumbering
Before everyone is off work for the
Evening - missing out on more of the
Stuff that shimmers in the light of
The heated orb that sweats gold to
Uncover an indigo blanket of cool
Cover in shadows of what once was
Easily seen before the day started to
Retract for an earlier bedtime.

Ivory in Obsidian*

His swag is hypnotic,
Alluring, dripping with the
Drug that knocks you out
With one whiff - and then
His smile - perfect ivory
Keys set in an Adonis chiseled
Obsidian face beckoning me to play
Each one with a kiss -

My ivory skin is the same color
As his teeth - his smooth black
Features are only found in my
Eyelashes that I bat in disbelief at
His unreal beauty - a statue brought to
Life - walking the streets to guard and
Guide the children I teach on to safe
Passage - if only he could do that
With my heart...

He is a dangerous fox.
I am a wide-eyed bunny.
If he was ever hungry he would not
Have to chase me. I would willingly
Sacrifice my heart as a meal on the
Altar of his swift appetite- if only
I could trap his attention I would
Play upon the keys he unknowingly
Uses to paralyze my being and
Devour my hope in finding
A replica of him for my own
In the safe haven of familiars.