Sorry I've Been Gone So Long

I'm sorry that I haven't posted in such a long time...guess I've been mad busy lately.  But forever writing and forever sharing.  Just finished this piece not too long ago (literally a few minutes...lol).  I'm liking it, although I'd love some feedback.  Enjoy.

the Rare Poet



A.M. Coffee (A Revolution Piece)

Cue the bass, belting a jazzy rhythm
stereotypical of all we thought we knew....

"I need some coffffeee...
coffee to pick me up and move
get my day going, my juices flowing
got to be rich and got to be smoooth...
coffffeeee
sweet, like traces from heaven
to motivate my methods, get 'em right
by seven...ooooh
coffeeeee, mix in the cream
thick like my affection, satisfaction rises with steam
baby I mean coffee
mmmm....got to get that
just one sip, and there's no turning back
cofffffeeee...."

then I scream fuck that
fade the music, I need to take my coffee
black, no sugar, no cream
harsh just like the reality that waking up so often brings
in a land where oppression still takes spotlight over dreams
this just in on CNN, something negative like
all the other shit we've seen
I need my coffee to run jagged down my throat passage
like the nation's 10% unemployment rate and the
burden of trying to get past it
feel the sting of the liquid burning constant like reminders
of an economy going down in flames, politicians only seeking blame
and all the people picking sides instead of trying to find ways
to sustain
this ain't no fucking pick me up
this is an attempt to just remain
vital enough to make a difference
keep my eyes wide enough to seek deliverance
up this early, because I'm focusing on
grinding, survival
sleep abandoned me last night anyway, so I had to put to rest
my denial
so my coffee is black, and harsh, and stale
reminds me that current living ain't well, but inspires me to keep giving
my best effort as I try to effect this
by seeking out alternate trails
new avenues to place my feet to
because I've been walking in the same hopeless circles
dirtying my hands in the very same ways, then looking up
confused when I see no virtue
a virtual nightmare, but this has the feel of real
has my pen in constant motion, plotting out my mass appeals
has my tears spill when I'm overtaken
by the pressures,
the worries, and the problems, plus all my fears
drink a.m. coffee to combat this early morning
"not again" sensation, drink it
quick and get prepared to deal again, here comes
frustration
like the same local policemen, who've seen me walking to the
same parks for years, yet they have the audacity
to slow down, and just stare at me
eyes looking like they wish I wouldn't stare back
I feel like they're prejudging me
questioning what's in my backpack
....half a dozen notebooks,
and two books by some authors you've never read
the beginning scribes of all the emotions
pouring constant from my head
a tape recorder for my thoughts, a digital camera my sister bought
lottery tickets that didn't win, a few pencils, a few pens
and all the mounting frustration, wondering when shit like this
will end
that's what I carry with me, daily
hoping that just maybe, my a.m. dash of caffeine
keeps my mind motivated
running into the same homeless man at the local
city lake
he sits down, I say good morning, thus begins our give and take
"brother, can you spare a dime?"
and though I haven't worked in two years, I'd gladly give him mine
if I didn't take in the growing
track lines on his arm, because he doesn't bother to
hide them
I wonder what's the difference between me and him
did his run from his worries once begin with morning mochas and
somehow get blurry, the java no longer strong enough
so now he pumps lava through his veins
we talk about pain, promise, poetry and the blues
he brings up a few well known bible verses
I tell him we can go get him something to eat
but he says he'd prefer some booze
his liquid of choice, like my a.m. coffee
used to keep feet from sinking
I slide a couple bills, tell him he should buy food instead
but his eyes tell me what he's thinking

"why bother?"

like a swallow of black coffee
no sugar, no cream
harsh is this scream of
hope not believed
a reminder that life comes exactly how we take it
it is up to us to mold it
we're the ones who have to change it
or forever complain
of bittersweet

One More Piece of Me

Thrust a Heart against a Wall

they say it’s futile

old dog, new tricks type shit

hopeless to the third degree because

everybody knows about vultures

they only love from a distance

fly full circles, swoop down

when the will is most brittle

they can smell the stench of decay

the same can be said of lovers like me, who

force those who love them to hold their love at bay

with ten foot rules

about closeness, loving most nights when you get

the closest, but for the most, it’s time spent

cursing the days that you regret you ever met them

hearts held tight in tender talon hands

a gentle squeeze, it pleases at first

but choking is only a turn on until that moment

you’re aware that you can’t breathe

constricted, emotional agoraphobic and the love

is like open air

panic attacks, exposed, skin peeled back

light headed nauseous feeling

trouble swallowing, lose control

the sickening thump accompanying the sound of

holding a beating heart a few inches from your own

and then thrusting it

against a wall

but I’m no

heartbreaker, just a man with awkward hands

who no one ever taught how to hold a future

and most of the ones I’ve ever witnessed

were bad, long before the tension had passed

I’m talking past tense bad like

why are we still together

as if refusal to be alone weathers more storms than love can

I’ve seen

the bottom fall out

wedded bliss replaced by fists

slammed hard against empty tables, hearts that used to be

a lot more willing, lovers reduced to strangers feeling that their

fabled fairy tale ending didn’t end

quite as happily as it should have

and perhaps I’ve caused more harm than good

trying to love like a realist, cause I’m so quick

to see some coming con and hold onto the feeling that I’m

going to give you everything

and get nothing in return

I learned there are

lies centered between the sweetest thighs and that

pretty brown eyes can reflect more than what’s there

and the best way to avoid being shattered by their guise

was to create a heart that only cares

just enough

so I’ve given and taken love, just enough

like insults, blunt and unforgiving

never quite learning to be p.c.

their love for me too much like oil spills

and I was sadly too BP

meaning

I never really took responsibility for it

until it was far too late

splintered hearts by letting them love me to pieces

but I can only give a piece of me

wondering if maybe I’ve come to be complacent

able to compare the love I give to crying

when it happens, sometimes it makes you feel better

but nobody’s trying to do it all the time

because it drains some things inside, leaving

vulnerable spots exposed

and there’s this sense that it’s all for nothing

cultivating a plot where nothing grows

they say I’m futile

old dog, new tricks type shit

frustrating to the fifth degree because

everybody knows about vultures

we only

love

from a distance

How Can We Communicate, When We Refuse to See

This is a poem that I wrote this past Sunday morning, in response to an incident that left me a bit disgusted, both from my indifference and my neighbor's.  They've lived down the street for well over six months and sadly nobody knows anybody's name.  We go about our lives, a few hundred yards away from each other, as if the other does not exist.  While race has never been an issue as far as who I consider friends or decide to get to know, it's sad that it feels like a barrier still.  You see, the newest neighbors are white.  And it almost feels like this is keeping them from introducing themselves, and likewise keeping members of my family from taking the initiative.  Should it still be like this, in 2010?  If so, it makes me question the progress made in the society that we live in.  I hope that you enjoy this piece, but more importantly, I hope that it makes you think.  As a black male, I feel like it is certainly important for me to remember my blackness, including but not limited to the struggles of past black males.  But there are moments in time when focusing on it seems a bit like a regression.  Just some thoughts.

the Rare Poet



My Neighbor's Wave

he lifts one finger
as do I
it is funny to me, that they are both index
he looks off to the side, somewhere in the distance
as his pickup truck rolls by, and I
try my best to reflect disinterest
pretext, that we both learned long ago
he doesn't know me, I don't know him
and yet
we have a history
my white neighbor, so much of what we see in each other
still dictated by history
too coiled by chains that should be absent but
somehow choke us still
he has a story, and so do I
but I doubt we'll ever feel
inclined enough to learn of a man
when we fail to look beyond past and skin
I learned he covets my uniqueness
he learned I covet his wife
and while these two views are entirely wrong
I can't figure out for the life of me why
we exits as two weathered stones
hardening our disposition
refusing to give the other position to the point where
nobody's gaining ground
I wish I could drown my waves of distrust for him
wish he could see me as he sees his own
but today we wave in awkward fingers
and continue to be neighbors
unknown

Defenders of the Free

Although it was my intention to post this ealier this morning, I'd like to take the opportunity while it is still Veterans Day, to appreciate the men and women who continuously put their lives on the line to protect the freedoms of this great nation.  You are all heroes to me.  To your families go my prayers and support, and to each one of you an undying admiration.  Thank you for doing what you do.

the Rare Poet

And From Restlessness Comes Revelation

The last few weeks have seen a dwindling in my normally upbeat disposition.  Beyond moments of extreme sarcasm and slight cynicism, I believe I am a genuinely optimistic person.  But circumstance has a way of putting chinks into the armor.  Lately, I've been dwelling on the negative.  It's like searching for light at the end of the tunnel, but pausing to dissect the darkness.  After too long, you get caught up in it.

For nearly the last two years, I have been unemployed.  For almost a year, I've had no continuous source of income.  It's hard to continue to grind when it seems everything is gone before you get it.  But I persist.  Maybe not just for myself, because I see others around me, family and friends, who I wish that I had the means to help.  This economy is a struggle for all, and to those of you who are managing to persevere, I say God bless you.  Continue to fight.

Insomnia is an integral part of me, only because it is during my moments of restlessness that the revelations come.  I am more than my circumstance and feel like I'm going to be okay.  In the next coming weeks, I am preparing a drastic change, not only to my current living arrangements but also to my current way of thinking.  No one can take my joy, unless I give it to them.  It's time I stop doing just that.  All things that I seek, I give chase, knowing that, if it is mine, I will surely catch it.  And if not, I'll live proudly with my try.  Much love to each of you.

the Rare Poet




KEEP HUSTLIN'