The Poetic Mind & Other Thoughts: Poetry

The Poetic Mind
lives in riddles.

~

I woke up to a
syndicated life
lived in blaring
up-to-the-minute
segments,
produced by
roughshod executives
smoking old cigars
and rumbling
about the Negro spirit
And I bite my nails,
always waiting to hear
that I've been canceled...

~

The outside world
was awash with white,
these walls shielding
the blue of the sky
I wondered then
if these things we
cherish were just
as substantial as the wind
pushing us here and there
without ever truly
being seen

~

I had a nightmare
of the Last Days,
and the ground trembled
in anticipation
of the chaos to come
the news kept forewarning
yet there was
all this denial
shouting over the screams

~

It doesn't help me
that I am not Christian
but I hear the message
or that I'm not atheist
but I understand the creed
I walk between the doors
of religion with each breath
And while my heart
resides in sacred science
within Egypt,
my mind stretches out
to every philosophy
ever known

~

Once I stood in
the hallway
of the Gods
I asked if I could be
returned home,
they said I was not ready
to return to them
and so I woke
from dreaming,
hearing only
their shout
of admonishment
ringing in my ears
My amethyst
had shattered
in my sleep,
broken like
porcelain china,
and the necklace
from my first love
had a clasp
broken by a single
shard of wood
to ensure the
doorway I'd
discovered
remained closed
to me until
it was time
again

~

There was a day
when I walked
into a house
and told the occupant
about the man
who'd lived there
before
down to his eye color
I'd never met
this man
but I could feel
him in the walls

~

The verse flows
as rain,
down deep with
tangled vines
into an earth
concerned with
only The Eons
And with their
knowledge
we lubricate
the stiff wheels
of the brain
But then
we preen and prance,
thinking ourselves
so much wiser
than the fool
But I ask you:
What fool has
insomnia?

~

Have I spoke
too freely when
I say that wild men
excel because
our culture is savage,
that civilzation
breeds a violence
within men that
burns ever cold
We produce
spiritual nitrogen
each day
and call it good.

It is a judgement
on influence, on culture,
on upbringing
to say
that I have spent
so much of my adult life
detoxing from my childhood.

~

THere are dark
things in the world,
places that we peek
into but cannot
confront during the day
How we would
shudder to
be a part of those
nightmares
we view readily
on the screen:
So great the lure
of being scared
when there is
no real danger.

~

We go on
as if these
things matter,
which they do not:
Our unadulterated
alienation
stems from
living in a
world too far removed
from us to even
mourn our passing.

~

And he drank
my lips like water,
dines on my skin
with crimson kisses
My immortal,
My beloved...
Forever damning
and dooming us
to the dark.

~

Sometimes it
is possible to be
overwrought
and
over-emotional
to the point
of redundancy.

~

He was a child,
in his manner
and his sexuality,
passing himself
off as a man grown
And I'd seen so
little of the world
that I was dazzled
by Boy Wonder.

~

If the risk
were their own lives
rather than stocks,
I think the powerful
would have a care
for what they
squandered our hard
earned dollars on.

~

Our lives were
crystal balls
that told the story
of the leaves
on a plant
we smoked
with lightning

~

Have you no time
for the gentle life,
the uncarved way?
Must you always
wear yourself out
until you are
callous thin?

~

There are entire
universes between
the covers of books
But how we discard
these miraculous
creations as if they
were only so much dust.

~

I grow weary of living
on the edges
of everyone else's dreams

~

Deviate,
accept,
then levitate
to where
you know
you belong

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