Wisdom of a Negro “Poem”

A negro walks towards me like some Messiah

He took off sleeves of his shirt and present his bare naked arm

His dark skin and flesh and bones he offered

He then told me to present my bare naked arm in the picture we were making

He thus spoke

“Cut my skin off with a knife and see what color is of my blood and same as yours?

“We bleed red” he said again

We are one humane race no matter how we divide ourselves based on religion and culture

We are one humane Race he kept on repeating

Remy Ginger “Poem”

A bottle of Remy Martin and some ginger ale

That’s what I call a sophisticated night with style

Having some blunts to smoke and intelligence overflowed in conversations

Some dim music with some nostalgia and her lips

A decent mourning and claps of despair

Volume of Montesquieu on spirituality of laws on table lying open for me to take a dive

That is what I call intellectual exertion

A Student “Poem”

I am a student up to his neck in debt

I am a student ambitious up to his soul

I am a student called a weirdo up to university

I am a student heart Broken and pain stricken

I am a student listen O world I am a student

A dagger “Poem”

In the middle of night I am sitting

What should I do unable to sleep?

Pick up a dagger and ran on streets?

Or Read a bit more of cioran as we both suffered from Insomnia

I need activity not boredom

I can bear anything even a conscience of a Murderer but no idleness or boredom or sleeplessness

Last breath “Poem”

I have always paid attention to a dying person

I saw my own dog once taking its last breath

Last breath is the hardest thing to do

Last breath is like the last song which seizes thinking

Thinking makes us alive rest is mechanical like a machine

Last breath is a struggle to get life out of the confines of the body

The soul is liberated in our last breath

We all take our last breath uniquely

My last breath will be like a distant smile of a stranger

I will be happy that I am dying

What greater happiness is in life could be if not death?

I am always ready to die and I am always ready to take my last breath

She took my heart and my Money “Poem”

She came like the thunder warnings in Florida

She came like the sun setting near the shores of a beach

She took my heart and my money like a sailer captured by pirates

I gave her all I could but she wanted more

So I gave her my pains and sufferings in return

She gave me betrayal and hate

She gave me heartaches and poetry

She took all my innocence and gave me her cunningness and savagery

Thus I rebelled against the person I was before meeting her

To Denver “Poem”

Oh Denver you have my brother residing under the city’s sweet symphonies

Take care of him as I have no means to know how he is doing?

I hope to God my brother is alright and must have a reason to cut off entirely all forms of communications

I am talking to you Norris through this poem now

I don’t care how ridiculous it sounds to world

I only care about reaching out to you and tell you that I remember you

And whatever you are doing I say keep on doing my friend

I am going into free zone of non communication following your savage ways

To deconstruct everything and start a fresh

To create our self’s anew we must abandon our old friends and places and ideas

I just miss you so much that I wish you all my love in these words

You will triumph like sun after a storm

I will grab another bottle of Guinness and look at it as you are with me

A Thug, A philosopher and A King “Poem”

On the East side of Tampa a thug, a philosopher and a king sit together in the garage

The thug said, “I rhyme cause I have to survive and make people lazy and make money then they come to streets lazy and bored for something to inspire and escape”

That is how I make my living day and night hustling and hustling like these leaves in winter

The philosopher interrupted, “I philosophize because I have to survive. I care for individuality in constant danger by our loved ones”

The king then started laughing

The king declares, “ I am king because I am a king and feel the Israelite blood in me and I can’t help it and you the thug and the philosopher are wrong”

The darkness loomed all over their faces

And the world crushed them in the wake of light

The Feeling of Kansas “Poem”

In Kansas one feels loved in nights and stranger on day light

The air is too cold and the roads spread like a bedsheet that falls on ground every morning

The trees are somewhat without life and dead

Christmas trees hanging around downtown Missouri

Homemade food way too delicious to digest

Silence of night too deep to sleep and dream

Awake and arise O child the sun is high this Sunday morning

I don’t know about you but I can say I am alive

I shall say no more having a friend that understands too much of you is not quite delightful

It takes you back to the first vision, an eye that sees your soul and declares

Worry no more I see you for who you are and consider something the way you are

A friend of mine shall you be until the time comes for our breaths to last

I am no stranger but a friend of a friend speaks the cold serene air of Kansas

The Trouble with Airports “Poem”

What troublesome things are these airports

Massive complexes, huge floors, big roofs, countless toilets, benches and glass windows

Airplanes and Aeroplanes, jets, aircrafts, Boeing’s, puzzling Terminals, Air buses, flight stats on screens and departure gates, boarding gates with strange alphabetical orders

Boarding passes, passports, ids, mingling giant bacteria of passengers licking the floors here and there running, talking, walking and asking

“What is this Zoo?”

I hope I haven’t missed my flight?

Yes I did! And got the next one ready in five hours with two free food vouchers writing poems sitting at the Houston Airport.

Where am I going? Why am I going?

Holiday flights and airports are but mass hysteria of an old women to whom nor one can hear or listen but endure

Oh ask not the Trauma of Beijing Airport

Airports and Airports what a wasteful world

POET CAFE

POET CAFE - blog by Alex Markovich (42 y.o., Russia, author, artist, theater director)

Painting with words

Everything that I want to paint with words 🎀

Digitaltools4you

Digital products and reviews

sūdrakarma

Just a personal blog. I'm not trying to sell you anything.

RENEE VERONA

- Verse Seventeen -

Paper Life Painting

Visual works of Wayne Wolfson

POET CAFE

POET CAFE - blog by Alex Markovich (42 y.o., Russia, author, artist, theater director)

Painting with words

Everything that I want to paint with words 🎀

Digitaltools4you

Digital products and reviews

sūdrakarma

Just a personal blog. I'm not trying to sell you anything.

RENEE VERONA

- Verse Seventeen -

Paper Life Painting

Visual works of Wayne Wolfson

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