SAD (POETRY)

It was them dear eyes

That cried lullabies

And gave tears another definition

A new rendition

Called sad

MASK (POETRY)

I carried the weight in my beautifully poised face

And happiness arrived a few days to late

Hard for me to harbor this hate

And still hold on

To

This beautifully poised face

PIXIE (POETRY)

It was a demon!

A CURSE FROM THE BEGINNING

BECAUSE ADAM WAS AFRAID TO TAKE THE LEAD

AND GOT EVE TO DO HIS DIRTY DEED

Sent to terrorize this empty room

She hates me and berates me

At least that’s what I presume

I’ve even given this thing a name

Because she has her own personality

 Pixie

Sadly she’s part of my reality

Their like monsters that dance around in strange little groups

Dropping coal minds on my womb

Marching fiercely like military troops

In my mind strange things happen and I am forced to assume

As Pixie dances harder

Between my bloody womb

In five days she’ll be gone

And I’ll be left cleaning up her mess

Because I’m normally prompted to be mean and nasty

Under Pixie’s cramped up stress

I need to give my belly some much needed rest

Trying desperately to hide next month

From Pixie’s curse called

PMS

I WELCOME ALL SPELLCHECKERS (GIGGLES)

THE OTHER ME (POETRY)

I waited for her to walk in the door

With her ghetto diction

She was my affliction

My addiction

And the reason why I was stricken and sickened

And plagued by her rage that went way beyond adult age

I gave her the keys and offered her other things

That was dear to me

And taunted the other me

I was tempted to walk away

But I played the fool and stayed

Another day

And another

And another

And I was wrong because I stayed way to long

I was fighting with the knot that gripped my soul

And I knew she was the reason I was old and alone

No one ever told me it would be like this

Once I kissed her majestic lips

Frozen in a matrix of denial

And still

WAITING

ON

HER

Featured Poet – Street Girl by Bonnie Parker

Bonnie, Clyde’s woman was an awesome poet

       

You don’t want to marry me honey 

Though just to hear you ask me is sweet

If you did you’d regret it tomorrow

For I’m only a girl of the street

There was a time when I’d gladly have listened

Before I was tainted with shame

But it wouldn’t be fair to you honey

Men laugh when they mention my name
Back there on the farm in Nebraska

I might have said yes to you then

But I thought the world was a playground

Just teeming with Santa Claus men

So I left the old home for the city

To play in its mad, dirty whirl

Never knowing how little of pity, It holds for a slip of a girl
You think I’m still good-looking honey!

But no I am faded and spent

Even Helen of Troy would look seedy

If she followed the pace I went

But that day I came in from the country

With my hair down my back in a curl

Through the length and the breadth of the city

There was never a prettier girl.
I soon got a job in the chorus

With nothing but looks and a form

I had a new man every evening

And my kisses were thrilling and warm

I might have sold them for a fortune

To some old sugar daddy with dough

But youth called to youth for its lover

There was plenty that I didn’t know
Then I fell for the “line” of a “junker”

A slim devotee of hope,

And those dreams in the juice of a poppy

Had got me before I could stop.

But I didn’t care while he loved me

Just to lie in his arms was a delight

But his ardour grew cold and he left me

In a Chinatown “hop-joint” one night.
Well I didn’t care then what happened

A Chink took me under his wing

And down there in a hovel of hell

I laboured for Hop and Ah-Sing

Oh no I’m no longer a “Junker”

The police came and got me one day

And I took the one cure that is certain

That island out there in the bay
Don’t spring that old gag of reforming

A girl hardly ever goes back

Too many are eager and waiting

To guide her feet off of the track

A man can break every commandment

And the world will still lend him a hand

Yet a girl that has loved, but un-wisely

Is an outcast all over the land.
You see how it is don’t you honey

I’d marry you now if I could

I’d go with you back to the country

But I know it won’t do any good

For I’m only a poor branded woman

And I can’t get away from the past

Good-bye and God bless you for asking

But I’ll stick out now till the last

STILL I RISE (MAYA ANGELOU FEATURE POET)

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise I rise I rise.

THE WAY THEY WERE (POETRY W/ AUDIO)

I heard the desperation

In a voice that had been dry

Because he was denied

And it was her flesh that cried

He wanted her to see

The man he so desperately needed to be

A chain reaction

Turned into

A fraction

Multiplied

By love

 

But three doesn’t equal two

 

And chances are

Things will never be the same

Can she ever really change?

It’s his heart that’s been stained  

By her

And her

And her

And her

He just wishes

Things

Could

Go back

To

The way

They were

LESSONS (POETRY)

I nurtured him back to life

Because she was incapable of doing it

I reassured him

That I was his mistress

Never with an art

Because the stars where never aligned

At the right time

Tired of loving what could never be mines

Tryn’a separate me from the sin

Knowing this is a lesson

I will never repeat again

Because

I was his mistress

MY MELANIN (POETRY W/AUDIO)

https://soundcloud.com/mentalnotes-1/my-melanin

My skin begins telling me things

Stories

Only my ancestors were qualified to tell

Living in such hell

But

It’s my Melanin

That propels me into my destiny

And validates the rest of me

And when the kids used to tease me

About my big nose with big hips and wide lips

And gave me that look staring straight at my titts

I knew it was because of the Melanin

That lay deep underneath my skin

So I would run home

And wrap a towel over my head

With a rubber band at the nap

And pretend to be white

See, I had to fight to believe what I know to be true today

And only age matured me

And my grandmamma adored me

And my skin

I was perplexed by this darkness that

Stared at me in the mirror

That stared at me in the schools

That stared at me on the streets

And taunted me

Even while I was asleep

Smiles behind hidden hate they constantly berate my beauty

My superiority is in my Melanin

Shut up in my skeleton

Is where my power lies

And I will never be so ignorant to hide my beauty

So I tell every little black girl

You are a queen

And never be afraid to be seen

I was my Melanin that pushed me into darkness

And now I understand

That it is my Melanin that propels me into greatness

I can’t hate this

This skin that’s so beautiful

And shines when the sun hits it

It’s my Melanin that perplexes them

I realize

That I love

My skin

NO MATTER  IF YOU ARE PURPLE OR GREEN, LOVE YOUR SKIN (:

SO BEAUTIFUL (I’M ALL TEARS)

Steven Harz / Americana Soul

Each night I press

my ear to your

empty pillow

as if it were a

seashell, conch or nautilus

and while your

voice used to echo

each night that we were

forever and anchored

and true

your pillow now only

provides me with the deafening

silence of distant waves

from a now vacant shore

where we once laid with

bodies and words

intertwined in the sand

drawing a map with our fingers

and charting the path

of our journey to

a world of occupied

sheets and pillows

and flesh

where we would be

forever and anchored

and true

—

Please take a look at my book of poetry and short fiction titled “Songs you can’t dance to”

—

copyright 2013 Steven Harz

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