“State of our Lack of Union: A Sonnet”

We have all become warmongers

Would rather attack than look for redeeming qualities

Assimilation is so American

Love to point out the faults

No not work, work involves responsibility

Love to criticize

No not educate, educating requires research

Seems like bombs dropped from a distance

Seems like plans coordinated in backrooms

Gotten good at propaganda

Deniability of similarity used to circumvent accountability

Make them seem uncivilized

Masking your indignant ignorance as insight

Using social media like press conferences

“Tired of Heartache: A Lonely Pantoum”

“Tired of heartache”

Doubt has become my default

You will never be who you present

I have started believing in illusions

 

Doubt has become my default

Skepticism is like scripture

When you start believing in illusions

It’s easier to hold onto ghosts

 

When skepticism is like scripture

Insecurity bullies faith like peer pressure

It’s easier to hold onto ghosts

The haunting excuses the depression

 

Faith can’t resist the peer pressure from Insecurity

It’s so codependent

The haunting excuses the depression

Lust becomes an exorcism

 

I’m so codependent

I need a reason to resist

Lust is my exorcism

I’ve cast out my rationale thinking

 

I need a reason to resist

It doesn’t need to be valid

I’ve cast out my rationale thinking

You gave me no options

 

It doesn’t need to be valid

You made it real

You gave me no options

Only a mirror to reflect my fault lines

 

You made this pain real

I won’t give you credit

Only a mirror to reflect your fault

A dear john letter marked XOXO

 

I won’t give you credit

You agreed to ghostwrite this tragedy

A dear john letter marked XOXO

A PS. That says “Tired of heartache”

 

“Sunday in Durham”

I tear stanzas

Joy written along my cheeks

You restored my faith

Affirmed my conviction

There is something pure in your midst

An unspoken incantation

Spell pulled from notebooks

From phones

This extra terrestrial feels home

There is burden with lit finger

Pointing out the holes in humanity

Picnic basket on bike

Could mean there is a lynching soon

Or innocence showing strange fruit

The beauty of the moon

But I don’t have discern purpose here

I just have be here

 

I have friends here

Peers here

Peering into souls

Who work well with the word

Have faith in the word

I was blessed to be where the word was heard

Great grandmama said that ring shout

Fed her spirit

This cypher feeds my Hunger

A feast of fellowship

Big mama cooked up the right weather

Served it on a Sunday evening

I’m giving away the big piece of chicken

Fear has no place here

I feel in place here

There is joy written on my face here

I tear stanzas

They are the most wonderful tears

I have ever cried

Guess What?

I decided to create a blog. After many facebook posts of poetically monolithic eloquential utteraces and contemporaneous philosophical waxings. After tweets  of 140 character neoprogressive commentary. After vanguard  pristine impressionist photonarcissism on IG. After totally making up cool sounding words to describe things I do. I wanted a space that was mine, all mine. So I finally caved and set it up. I don’t know what this will lead to. There is madness amiss. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop once I get started. There may be video, audio, pictures, and God knows what else! You have been forewarned.