La Morena and her... Negroe

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by Jerome Hambrick

I could have used your company last night
Could have talked or had a tongue and kitty fight
And no, I'm not all right
Until you come over and fix my plight
Had a most stressing day
And was looking towards some one on one word play
Your presence is enough for me
I drink you in and perspire glee
I remove you from your pedestal
And return you back... your love gently bruised
No matter the path I find beneath my feet
I sense you just over my shoulder hovering, lovingly
I enclosed you in our love knowing your fear of small places
That defenseless look... could almost taste it
And I know it's sick but seeing you that way turns me on
But understand my illness will do you no harm
My nature rages to overwhelm and break right through
But I would turn tide on myself before it turned on you
Because you loved me and you knew I wasn't right
And for that I'd kiss your feet or risk my life
You see the world needs more people like you...
That can separate between Black and Evil
And know that one is an adjective and one is a people

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Love I What Bring I

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by Derek Clark


I bring what I love

Stop, reverse that!

Love I What Bring I

Loving I, me, the essence of all that has been created while embracing the world through eyes that gained empathy, and guided tutelage from a deaf mother

Love I What Bring I, 150% of these six senses since she lacked one
Endless valued lesson in, "do unto others, as you would do unto yourself."
Though it may not be reciprocated, Karma keeps record of efforts I Bring

Love I What Bring I: great or small, fat and thin, female and male, adult or child, gay, straight, bi-sexual, bi-curious, or tri-sexual too right winged, left winged, even the independent

Love I What Bring I, this multifaceted craft of dance and song as a Pied Piper stirring emotions in the audience, tugging heart strings aroused their infectious applause

Love I What Bring I, and this palate laps the succulent flavors of varied nationalities, textured complexions, their cultured habits and traditions

I Bring, "le freak," "le strange:" in adoration and love to her soft sultry curves, sassy seductive feminine wilds; too erotic euphoria as cock-held boyhood foolishness, is masked by falsified rough exterior seeped deep into his thick bravado

Love I What Bring I, entering a city block, room, or conversation: my "joie de vivre," or jovial humorous disposition, charmingly handsome, self-assured-reassurance, bravery, pride, intellectual intelligence, spiritually grounded, and religious by nature bravado. Ignites intimidation of these: envious, jealous oh so ignorant, self doubting and self absorbed, simple minded babbling buffoons; as their hostel polluted whispers spewed from uneducated and gawked jawed lips fumbling for a retort in during their tantrum.

Love I What Bring I, as the life of the party and common sense in turbulence
Love has no choice nestled and imprisoned to my core
What I Bring is me, and what I Bring is Love
Come sample the nectar of my "I" in full bloom

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At the Appointed Hour

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by Daniel Njoroge

Upon each man’s
Appointed hour,
Destiny unveils
its face, And to
the man shall it
softly whisper
Upon which path
he will prevail on.
Then and only then,
Will the man see
What he was cut to be.

Yet to a foolish man,
His eyes rest bolted,
For busy is he chasing
After the wind, that
he sees not the time rise,
Nor does he give ear
To the gentle whisper
That destiny should wind.

Then upon the setting
Of time and the parting
Of destiny to a foreign
Land, does the man weep
And teeth nails in fear.
He is but only a man who
gathers not water
While intermittent brooks
Snakes through his land,
And only when they dry,
Does he move and cry
About until the setting
Of his days upon the earth.

It is best this man was
Never born, for a man
With no destiny is as
The wind he was chasing-
And forever more shall he
Wheeze upon the earth
with no purpose, Awaiting
His wings to molt off
And free him.

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Image: Caspar David Friedrich, Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, 1818

HAITI: Every Drop Counts

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Carvens Lissaint, who I saw perform live on the La Casita stage at Lincoln Center yesterday for their tenth anniversary. It's hard to describe the power and passion he imbued into the reading...

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My Lonely Path

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these seeds I sow
on this fertile humanity's fallow
and as my master taught,
my hope on humanity should be forever taut

my achievements never come easy
I toil a thousand times more for just a measly
they do not find value in me,
judging me not even worth a dime

in my silence, alone
I trudge the path forlorn
my search for parity a blank slate
I start to think in this life I shall be late

the seedlings wither young
my ambition dwindles; reality has rung
this life's marathon I still run,
never knowing when my toils will be done

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Image: David Grayson, Great Possessions, Drawing of a Road from public-domain.zorger.com

Beyond Redemption

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they both stand and sit in judgement against me,
poised upon the spare arms of Lady Justice,
with all the earthly grace circumstance—
and more often than not choice—denied them;
full grown perhaps, so that their chords might function
to form wellsprings of intelligent disparagements,
speech which they will use to engage at large
the court of Hosts, the veracity that shall damn me.

I can hardly deny their claims,
all I've ever wanted is to sell my pain to the world—
that I may know my suffering was never made in vain—,
but in embracing my changeling humanity,
a steadfast acquaintance escaped me.
that knowledge is mine now, however,
and though you may know it, I shall not speak it;
instead, might I inject this bit of inanity,
like what the title Frost/Nixon brings to mind,
(it leads me to wonder if winter never graced the White House lawn at any other time,
and if not, what blankets it in lieu of snow
when blackbird cold flaps its merry wings?
is it shreds of classified "for eyes other than mine only" documents,
which then like the Red Queen's inattentive landscapers,
Secret Service agents have to paint green in the dead of night
when the spring season threatens so that none might be the wiser...)
but I'm rambling,
and besides, envy of State secrets is a wasted pursuit—
I have my own arcane truths, equally admissible,
which shall tip the scales
to more than allow hellfire to lick deliciously,
to flay me to skin to bone to bare teeth...
come full circle haven't i?

o, and William, speaking of wasted pursuits,
might i just say, "love is not Time's wasted fool
who loves thineself for all the unkempt living of wasted pursuit."
"and what of harbringers," you ask,
"of self-destruction who tempt love into sin
and leave love to sin?"
in perfect cynicism, I reply,
"lust, and not love, is she who is Time's weary companion.
love is that which hath borne its marks indelibly into my skin,
marks which delineate nurture's worn casing,
a cask housed beneath concave literature
that nestled the sweetly ignorant in nurture's same weary sac.
no, lust is she who hath forged
those who shall stand and sit in judgement,
who roamed the vale of my dreams, a warning of their coming,
and most assuredly, their eyes will bear into me,
and in that observance... they will find me lacking."

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Image: Giovanni Segantini, Le Cattive Madri, 1894

"Love Has No Desire..."

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"Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving." ~ Kahlil Gibran

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"The Hours I Spend..."

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"The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough." ~ George Moore

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