Posted in Daily Prompt, poetry

Mind the Jungle

My mind is the jungle
lyrically lush
like the Congo after an afternoon
Fertile and untamed
lavish and abundant in the words
that I pen
caressingly on my paper
in hopes of impressing
you like the teasing of a
coming sneeze
pressing parts of me
on to you,
your mind remembering the sound
of each word I have uttered
into existence

My impression
presses me to speak phrases
as vividly as they live in my
mind’s jungle
wild thoughts elope with enslaved words
and consummate in a blissful
menagerie that reveals the savage
and essence of me
titillating impressions undress my mind
so the words can dance free
of restraint that held
a beast that wants to run wild and
naked and adorned in lyrical majesty
I am the storm that brings the rain
to the fruits of my phrases
as they grow and feed you
stimulating your cravings
til you become enthralled in the poetry,
a delicious and satisfying morsel.

In my mind’s jungle
I am the king where the wild things
I play with all of my prey
unable and unwilling to leave
lingering on the edge
of every word, every thought,
every ravenous imagining
as I feast on the moments
and devour the musings
impressed by the deliciousness of you.


Posted in Daily Prompt, poetry

In My Skin

There’s no place
I’d rather be than
In my skin.

It knows me like free verse
written in a forgotten language
heard in song
Lingering over the
Reasons and rhymes
Like Giovanni and poetry

It protects me like a warrior’s oath
spoken in honor’s ceremony
heard in battle
Encasing the amazing wonders
Like soft Adamantine armor

It reveals me spectacularly
felt in Archimedean spirals
heard in Fibonaccian phrases
Presenting the faults and fames
Like a Michelangelo sculpture.

From the toughness
Of my elbows and knees
To the softness
Of my breast and back,
My skin knows of
Of sunshine,
And of midnight kisses.

From the soft pink underside
Of my toes
To the dark mess of tangles
On my head,
My skin’s a multicolored
Canvas for art,
A palette of browns
And rose-tinted golds
And toffee pinks.

there’s no place
I’d rather be, than
In my own skin.

Posted in Daily Prompt, poetry

Morning Glory

Sing me a dew drop
Springtime wisher
A song with notes that trill
Softly over
The morning,
Floating breeze
of dew-drop wishes
light as air
and I am adrift
unmoored in
the Morning,
Sun-kissed drops
Of rain dance on the
Newborn petals
Butterfly parodies
And caterpillar babies
Show praise for the
And I lift my eyes
and see the beauty
of uplifting
and surmounting
praise for
the Morning,
This is my day
a new day
seeing me for first time
me seeing for the first time
raised arms in prayer
soft grass blades
like soft arrows
under bare feet and
squishy toes leaving
footprints on the ground
all around me
the glory of God is
Saying “Good morning.”

Posted in Daily Prompt, poetry

Ironic: American Wants to Save Something

We’re not warriors
Cause we pick our battles.
We’re not leaders
Cause we pick our followers.
We are nothing more than
Glorified missionaries in our
Own wasteland.
And we want to save something?
We’d rather protect ourselves
From without
As we fester within
Like a dying cancerous body
In cosmetic surgery
but unwilling to donate organs.
And we want to save something?

We jump the pond to play
GI Joe in the desert
or Big Daddy in the hills
We educate those unwilling to learn,
from our righteous indignation
and Christian morals.
Yet at home,
Our living are is cluttered
With dirty laundry,
starving people,
and rampant hatred.
Greed crushes
broken dreams,
and from our neighbor’s garbage
We feed the hungry,
rancid gruel,
chemically altered fuel
carcinogenic and cheap
making money, the American Way
We battle barbarians as they
and we destroy their lands
so our own go can go without
in the land of plenty.

We rant for walls
to keep out our
like thieves hiding
their plunder
Mexico, did you know,
about that, little Texas?
Or did you forget the Alamo
shown to you from
some Zinnless
The truth about Columbus?
The truth about Oklahoma?
The truth about charters,
Mother England?

We save the dogs
And electrocute the man
and put down the boys
and mutilate the girls
as the humane society pleads
for the safety of pets
while homeless children
are marketed
for profit by the department.

Our schools are a third world country
And our prisons don’t
Correctional Corps only avoid
the read (pronounced red)
by binding
black minds to
keep black lines
through free labor’s
Decades after
JFK and
and only minutes
after BHO,
We aren’t ready
with race relations
America is dying
Rotting from within
descending into hell
Ironic, right?
That we have to journey somewhere
To save something?


Posted in Daily Prompt, DiscoverWP, poetry


Met him once
outside a corner store
leaning against the wall
Skittles and pop
Funyuns and slushies
Walkman head bobbing to the beat
bad news boy
faded from too much light
he in darkness
shinning like
a beacon guiding be in
bad news boy
with a crooked smile
looking at me
skipping my heartbeat
bad news boy
from around the way
notorious for
making the girls
cry after making the girls
beautiful brown boys
with the bedroom eyes


Posted in Daily Prompt, DiscoverWP, poetry

And you thought you knew

Those words
to that song that makes
you rock in your seat
and stomp your feet
is as fake
as these twig
wearing Sour Patch
hip hop name taggers
dribbling monosyllabic
one-dimensional words that don’t
touch a De La’s
Soul ring
because eye know
the real sound
of music that keeps passing
me by on the far
side of this random hopeless
hip hopelessness
because the real sound
is runnin’
laps around this fake hip hop
arresting music of any development
and none of these
every day people know
the ten
I see when I look
at Bonita thanking
the tribe for putting her on
a quest
to find some real hip hop
made me glad to listen to the
things that
You can kick it to
chlling because today was a good day
and you’re cool like that and digging planets
reminiscing to when you were
totally conscious of your style thanks to your teachers
listening to the children’s stories
so slick, smooth and
completely fresh
how it was all about just having fun
about trying to let young mc’s know how
to busta move
the good times that left
you feeling like you were a part
of the greatness

when can we get back to the
golden age
of hip hop?


Posted in Daily Prompt, DiscoverWP, poetry

On the Edge

White-knuckled one hand holding tight
on the edge
of everything that I have
ever known
excited to be here
face-first into the unknown
fearing and loving
the possibility of my unknown
with the dying
sunset behind me
in shades of golden
blushes and honeys
white-knuckled one hand thrust in the air
on the edge
of everything that I will
ever know in your
gracious warmth of
love and encouragement
makes my aura glow
golden blushes and honeys
the known knows it is the end of one
and the beginning of another
so I face forward
one hand grasping tight
the other raised in praise
shrouded by the golden
blushes and honeys
of one day ending
breathlessly in the
sureness and
of this moment
I wait
for the dawning of
the new day beginning
breathlessly in the
uncertainty of this moment
I am on the edge