Way Side (Written for dVerse Poets)

The night was lost

Drowning in this noise

Aiming to lose this fight

Lost in the dark of sight

Can’t make out what’s wrong with the right

I passed Sally from 21st and 7th Ave.

There was nothing funny in this world can’t muster up a laugh

Henry and Veronica moved pass me slow and tried to graze my eyes

So I kept walking and talking to the ground

Somebody’s daughter was lost never to be found

Buried in these streets

The hustle and bustle of New York night left me blank in thought

I can’t hear my thoughts

But they whispers to me bad words

And beat me in my dreams

And reminds me what’s wrong with this night

That I’m mangled with these streets can’t win this fight

And I can’t keep sharing my whiskey with Henry and Veronica only makes things risky for a drought

And I howl mamma’s favorite 70’s song to the wind and tell New York traffic my woes

I give pedestrians the blues just for show

I can’t wake myself

Fallen

This life takes too long

And reminds me

I’ve been left by the wayside

https://dversepoets.com/2022/10/04/poetics-allen-ginsberg-and-the-beat-generation/

November 18, 2022 17

Hands (Poetry)

He had hands like magnets on my skin

Sending pulsations tunneled imagination was a combination

That serenaded my porcelain

There was something in his gaze

And not even a short paraphrase could describe this mans hands

They weren’t like typing hands but sexy chiseled

His energy was so powerful it turned my storm into a drizzle

I’m telling you this man had hands like magnets

Sending sensations in me so deep they left fragments

I know it sounds crazy

But

You didn’t feel his hands!

There was something that oooozzzed from him like a man

Evidence by the incense flowing from his sweat glands

And every drop had the purest destination it would land

He entered with a whisper and gently transitioned to a command

He spoke in arabic and taught me the language so that I could understand

Funny thing…

I gathered all this information even before I felt his hands

‘Cause that’s what women do

Investigative reporters

So much better than Nancy Drew

We’ll be home cooking dinner and at the same time watching you

His hands were so powerful they split Adams and made me two

Its been three weeks now and I’m still collecting his residue

I go to church on Sunday to praise God for making not only one hand

But 2

I know it sounds crazy

But

You didn’t feel his hands!

This mans hands came already framed

He had hair so beautiful every lock had its own name

If I were blind his hands would have felt me a story

He took me on this journey

From 19 to 40

From disgrace to glory

From a dark night to a bright morning

There is power in a touch

From the second he graced that room

I swear I felt his rush

There is power in a touch

I know it means nothing to you

But to me it meant much

So I ran home after the poetry slam and listened to the best of Kem

And naturally I wrote a poem about him

This man had hands like magnets that rotated themselves on my blades

He was like a glade plug-in that lingers

Leaves imprints but never fades

It was his prolonged rhyme

And his clock like broken hand

But still made time against me

Made time against me

November 18, 2022 6

Renamed – Trauma (Audio Poetry)

It was a thousand breaths I took
To scale a shaken nook
That withered my spirit
Every nerve in me could hear it
No words
Spirituality
Not even the gods could sear it
The brokenness that transmitted through my spine
And grew
Locs wrapped around my veins like vines
It was a mangled twist
That spew curse words between these lips
Patterns
That left bruises in the seams of my hips
No one knew the dangers that formed from this riff
I’m still confused and somewhat consumed by
This Trauma