Wind Chill

There's always a quaint perspective of love on television. There's always the overly happy couple with their overly happy stories of how they fell in love at first sight, first encounters, and the moment their lips intertwined under moonlight-- but they never talk about people like us. They never mention me and you. I stood on the bridge on Michigan Avenue and witnessed an undying emotion in the river's steady current. The glistening on it's skin looked like white angels dancing along it's waves, the light, that provided the blissful sparkle on it came from heaven sprinkled onto my beauty. So he sparkles. Truthfully, my pride no longer prevents me from admitting that I don't have a clue about how he makes me feel. But the wind spawned from his constant rush has enough power to piss me off and make me warm inside all at once. At 15 I would come home and be asked why my hair was all over the place, I simply said, "It was the wind". And so Chicago's love affair with me, wrote many poems along Michigan Avenue, it never ended.

American Dream Revamped - 2/5/11

My American Dream is...

New Beginnings.

A buried history of matriarchal sabotage.

A new legacy built by the strength and wisdom attained from

past endeavors.

A Family.

Mine.

My Own.

Children that I raise to be a reflection of the vision I have for them.

Happiness, genuinely.

The opportunity to live and give life,

to die after purpose, and to rest in peace

without having to R.I.P my soul.

The legacy will continue

and my descendants will tell stories of histories that I built

with my own heart.

One day I will be an ancestor,

and to me they will give praise

for being unselfish enough to recreate so they will have the opportunity to BE.

And not just exist.

Create your own American Dream!

But follow the legacy your last name refers to.

My American Dream is...

Not deserting you.

For being alone in this planet causes pain,

heartache.

And one experience is enough.

It lies in the meaning behind my words.

The words that will be spoken by the elite, the god's and goddesses of the streets.

Let it resurrect the minds that have deserted my generation

Like the Messiah.

Yeshua.

Let it be a relaxation

to the soul.

Create your own legacy!

Map out the faux pas of your past,

and your mother's past,

and your grandmother's past,

and your great-grandmother's past.

My American Dream..

gives daughters worthy mothers,

and sons deserving fathers.

Not lacking the puzzle piece that fulfills the portrait of existence.

My American Dream..

envisions MORE than Americans.

Spread Umoja across the planet,

for we are all God's seeds.

God's Love - 12/20/2010

Last night I told you I loved you.

On my knees, with the moonlight's reflection creating an eclipse in my bedroom

I closed my eyes and saw you sitting there

Being of divinity

My imagination does you no justice as you speak,

like angels singing halos in the tone of your voice

A portrait,

drawn by a sacred pen so that my eyes can only witness your outstanding,

abnormal shape.

A trapezoid with a hint of a sphere

A little bit of love to your hue...

and BAM!

Put combinations of my feeling for you in my hearts pan like Emeril

And when I tell you I love you...

I tell you, with an over-sized heart so that it hurts to bleed

suffocating myself with your presence so that it hurts to breathe,

I'd die

wearing my vulnerability like new clothes on the first day of school

right into your arms

As I dive into your being, free of my worries

Free of my tears.

Baptize me in your love, and free me from sin.

Let me fly without wings in your happily ever after,

and I will promise.

I will promise to be loyal.

To put you first in the midst of my journeys...

And when I tell you I love you, I'll say it with an Amen

SO I can make sure that you heard me.

Coconut Champagne

Inspired by "Coconut Champagne" by Denis DeBlasio

Jazz..

I like to rub my finger against its texture like champagne in my favorite wine glass

Easy

Cold chills, drums and a tune from my hearts speaker.

The trumpet

plays the songs of Havana nights

A fine brotha across the dance floor

We tango, we dance or

bask in the fruits of our existence

Sweeter than the smell of mangoes

His feet stamp steps into my remembrance

Warm

Smooth

Crisp

Like a hard wind

Like a glass of champagne, we toast

We coast

In Havana

But we're still on the dance floor

Hip switching to the sound of the band

oh

this is what I like to call Jazz

The shining instruments and he is synonymous

to the

gold shimmering of music

The beating fist of life

And the crisp

smooth

taste of coconut

We sip.

Out of my favorite champagne glass.

I Am A Poet

There is no definition.
No accurate decription, of a being with a gift beyond the object of affliction
Only the truth can be written, the lies are planted in the minds of children
so I spit to let the truth unfold
I spit copper penny type mentalities and turn them into gold
I spit to maps to, to bring them back, retrieve the lost souls
I spit like, babies who drool disease, upon a life that is bestowed
In sex, drugs money and greed
I spit hunger so these words I only use them to feed
the people
I spit comparisons, erasing a world unequal
I spit resistance to one hit wonders we need more sequels
I live to spit winners so the demons won't defeat who.....
I spit mentally
A group of words they live in me..
My only job is to construct artistry like a picasso
piece
But I need your fuel, this vehicle needs b-p
And like a mute, they need my words to represent them when I speak..
I AM not just a poet, I'm a model of poetry..
Not just a messenger of words...
But like messiah to the weak..
I spit my visions so the blind begin to see..
I spit my lyrics so the speechless begin to speak.

"Harriet Tubman" (2/30)

I spell my thoughts with the letters of ancestry
Creating scriptures of the stories they lived thru
Underground railroads that lead to...a star
That I use to paint pictures, of lynched sisters
and for them I share this vision..

"Lips" (1/30)

I see them
When words roll off of them like spanish lingo,
wetter than pacific and to be a little more specific
I'm a dope fein for the love that rests beneath each pigment
and when the tongue kisses them...

I love to listen to them,
but more the voice that they carry from point a to point me
So that I can imagine how they move when the voices speak
Imagining the difference in them, darker and lighter shades
artistic, forms made by creators I admire them
I desire them, they light fires in me that only they can estinguish
and for them I will burn eternally to be eternally, kissed

As they glisten, I envision
a connection but with permission
To put pieces of the puzzle together creating images
The stroke to my paintbrush and that creates beautiful pictures
But not even a world known photographer can get a glimpse of this
this is sacred so it is meant, this is cherished but it is spent,
this is oxymorons so comparisons are opposite,
attractions to apparent-ness will hv the others staring,
but I am glaring at this star, so I wanna make a wish
Star light, star bright this form of beauty is heaven sent
Oh father what a delight to be serenaded by his, lips...