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Foresight

In the midst of a field

Maybe if the universe gave me a chance
or time did, to keep my wheel of life running
my heart would still pray, to time again
to keep the one I love, to hold my hand
by my side, till time does its duty.

I would watch, leaning on his shoulders
generations of the future, spinning galaxies
and turning time around their wrists, running
along the path, that unfolds like a carpet
opening portals to newer, stranger things.

I would curate the memories made, and recover
the ones lost, at times and tides tempestuous
make plaques and statues out of them, and
finally, a temple in which my children would come
and make themselves owners, to these memories, lost.

I would forever, keep doing this, till I’m tired
till my heart is tired, till my soul stretches out
to the golden thread of salvation, weaving
a fabric of age and the final time, shrouded
over what will be left of me, a feeble human body
till I’m contented with what I’ve become, and
slowly disappear like a mirage, fade away, for
the future child to spin my stories someday.

(from ‘MUSINGS OF A SPEARHEAD’- to be published)

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Rico Lowe Jr. (@panafrico) – the message

the message
stale dreams crust over like a syrupy sweet
after all what’s to dream if chance of miracle’s bleak?
what’s to fight- if a man invests fear in defeat
what is love but a curious leap? – off the edge
what’s the purpose of men fighting for peace? –
when its said temp-tation and lust make men weak,
who’s to blame for the blood in the streets?
the hust-ler or the politician giving the speech?
y’all don’t hear me, if the world was to come to an end,
would the poet proceed to narrate with the pen?
doc-ument the event,
how those waves rose over our heads,
swallowed us in a tide- of death
what the may-ans said
does the soul really die in the flesh?
are men capable of righteous steps?
thine eyes have met- too many murders,
not enough sermons,
what else is veiled be-hind my curtains?
you will never know
and i guess thats the lesson of life
stop questioning; start counting blessings tonight,
the man that knows something knows nothing
but even men that know nothing know the feeling of suffering,
life is complicated, search for your vantage
and maybe then we can understand what the plan is,
together.

 

 

 

 

 

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Photo Credit: Photo by “My Life Through A Lens” on Unsplash

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Red Light Special.

Listen to the hum.
The thought of speeding
down a side street
to beat a red light.
The rushing.
The wishing away.
The avoidance.
The fear to face the truth.
The thoughts collected in
the blink of a traffic light.
Recognize your true reflections.

Continue reading Red Light Special.

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Checkmate

There was a time when checkmate was her future.
Then, she pushed a pawn, he advanced a knight.
They meddled with the squares,
black and white before them,
compounding into a lovely shade of gray.
He predicted her moves well in advance.
He may capture her queen, but she’s a goddess still,
taking his bishop deep within her game,
moving towards the grid that’ll change her name,
that makes her cherish the place they collided,
the end they strive to attain, with her on top,
in his face, in the place, on the board,
where even if he leaves her tied up in a corner,
with no moves, insane, she won just the same.

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Overcome

Sometimes, when the weight
of it all enfolds you,
like an overfilled knapsack,
after an eternity,
you push it away,
your bones weary
and mind haggard.
But, you unearth strength,
like a new dawn,
Eos opening the gates
and welcoming the sun,
and there’s an instant ecstasy
juxtaposed with
a plethora of pain,
ancient galaxies can’t stand up
to the collapse of the climax
or the refrain, so you try to refrain,
but instead stagger through
until you are feeling so huge
and new, with the view
of the old you,
standing at the edge
of your own prison
viewing the skewed,
peering and wondering
how long before
you are no longer hungry,
but held even more,
with a lovely afterglow
after the low
of an aching, pummeled soul,
knowing the stellar is ready
to truly unfold.

 

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Photo Credit: Genre Contributor, Rich

IG: @see.rich.shoot

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What is Poetry? – part 3

What is Poetry? – part 3

Poetry doesn’t necessarily rhyme,

it just climbs out of the mind,

out of a recess in time,

obsessed with success

and blind to the cold shoulder it usually finds.

It’s a mess, it’s sublime,

it’s a knife as a prize,

it is life in the eyes,

it is death, of a kind,

it’s leaving something behind,

it’s caressing the past

and the future that lies,

dormant though brooding

ahead.

Who says poetry is dead?

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They said, “Yes to the dress.” I said, “It’s Cool.”

I kept feeling like I wasn’t doing it right! I was walking out of this consignment shop with a gorgeous dress for 1/4 of the budget we put aside and I wasn’t excited like the women I always see on TV. I was happy. Relieved to knock it off of my checklist. Continue reading They said, “Yes to the dress.” I said, “It’s Cool.”