Tag Archives: poetic7

I admit it, I don’t Understand!

Generational or cultural expressions of what it is to be us in our natural and spiritual selves have in many cases been the foundations for who we are or have wanted to be. The expectations of those “passing the torch” may come with a pat on the head and a “be a good boy, do what I say and things will be fine” mantra. They are loaded with warnings and implied repercussions for disobedience.

In light of this, I have learned when to argue and when to keep my mouth shut. I have learned that by appearing to agree with them, I’m protecting myself from a storm of daggers and thunderbolts. I am protecting myself from the exertion of their demigod-like power for the sake of peace. I am shielding myself from myself because to expose that would be war.

Is it your duty to maintain or to advance?

At times I find myself trapped between a desire to maintain the best of what I have received, and build better versions of the worst. Within that are insecurities pertaining to the reception of my evolved view of the worlds I am in. There are also insecurities about knowing enough, being skilled or capable to deliver. Am I enough?

What I can say is that foundations require work. What held the initial version of you together may have to be revisited brick by brick. I am at that point.  I admit it, I don’t understand a number of things that relate to the worlds I belong to. The questions I have, are generated by a level of discomfort with varying structures, attitudes and practices. The byproduct of this is a greater understanding of what I consider to be important.

What I consider important may not line up with generational or cultural expressions or expectations. However, my level of comfort in articulating that through word and deed can only increase by acceptance of that fact. From there, as I know more, I become more. I can exchange old clothes for new clothes and accessories because I know my size, my shape, my style.

Humanity has many dimensions, it’s our duty to discover as many of ours possible.

 

Photo Credit: Jenny Harper Photography

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Filed under Just Living, Non Poetic Blogs

Home Is A Diving Board

diving board

Trapped between the sound of splashing and touching water

Wearing fanfares to allay fear

Fostering first finishes from ticks glimmering

They say…

Stand within ear shot of the gun to know your target

Is clapping the fruit of the harvest?

Drown, and become a compass from a floating carcass.

Another one who did the math only to make up the numbers

Saddled with sackcloth, shame and numbness

Straddling feint margins, seeking waves as markers.

Struggling to strum the melody of the barking.

Seeking to beat this with heartstrings.

A war-torn dome is only enlightened by stillness.

Choose your weapon before tumbleweed kills you.

Strike with every breath, release gold or reach home.

Time the trapeze, then reach and step.

Let your soul know this was a good body to rent.

 

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Filed under Random Poetics

Down Day

Image result for feeling down

 

They say men are made from stuff women aren’t.

Stronger hands, harder hearts

You can take a beating and dare not flinch

The measure of man’s tiers found in grit not ink.

 

He’s made of wildest dreams and infinite schemes

A man is built to last.

He can plot a tree and chop down forests.

Just women’s ages he dare not ask.

 

A man should have money, a man should have style.

A man commands the stage.

Men have no fear, knows lust not love.

Being a MAN is all the rage.

 

So why do good ones fall and bad ones rise?

Is it safe to even ask?

Is it weak to cry, will he be despised?

Is it wise to be about that?

 

I’m drowning in supposed to be.

What I’m not has been my yoke.

If I’m a man or so I claim will my man card be revoked?

 

I guess I’ll hang from ropes you beat me with.

My failures and dented pride.

When love is lost we count the cost.

No hope and suicide.

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Filed under Just Living, Random Poetics

FROM

Image result for journey

Snap chat masking me

What is Masculinity?

His story is mine.

Wheels of the divine?

Magnolia tears screeching

Preaching can’t reach in

Chat rooms and emails

Soul ties and habits

Are they devils or detail?

Masculinity

On the ropes and off the rails

All is vanity

All I’ve got is me

Hands low chin tucked backing up.

Trying to give a

Swing for upper crust

Walk on to the uppercut

Dying to give a

Mourning a mauling

Stabbing at stepping forward

Falling without love.

Ballads and parables

Man of cool to manacles

Just a wailing wall

 

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Shaking the block

Writers block writing stop
Fighting what fires flocks
Painting luscious lions, locks
Ignited align with minds that won’t malign your crops.
You won’t see diamonds stop.
Shining when clouds climb on top.
The rush of the ride will drop.
Sometimes you’ve got to be a minotaur to get behind the door.
Frames change games, meanings names.
Blame remains that same iceberg lettuce.
This ain’t your average Tetris.
We shift gears because our vehicle lets us.
Watch your steps sun, don’t be caught in plain tiffs and vain rifts.
Your gift deserves more than memes and gifs.
I chop it up through writers block to give a soul a lift

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Lament of a Psalmist

lament

You can feel intimate with a militant. 

They seem so real, yet when you touch them, you feel silicone. 

But God said! So their thus said is legitimate. 

Ignorant innocents are impudent kites

Hold on or be hung by string theory

Holy rollers become weed smokers.

Unnoticed, Moses became the Joker

Deleting pixels for their picture a bat symbol, not magnum opus

Hopeful loyalists practice upper lip stiffness as wisdom

Won’t take a knee or comb the heir to the family business.

Live in a dragons den whispering their knowledge of the litmus.

This divine monopoly’s a comedy of vapours and groupthink.

Where the audience is clowned for pointing out it stinks.

Rub sticks and create fire or feel the sword like molar of holy rollers

Code masters unmask the mode of most high and create players to sacrifice.

Who am I?

A born sinner, a dinner, a lost soul to a soul winner that won’t vary the bait.

Space invaders, snipers, rangers marshal the momentum of the naysayer.

Demon days filled with gorillas, gargoyles and goblins are a Lord’s Prayer.

Whose frames do you wear? Do you die or dare? Be a black life, matter?

I see red tape masters speak tongues in monotones like heaven’s got their name on the deed.

With all of these gang signs and storms seen I’m falling through my flaws.

My moorings are unsure and I’m dying to breathe, searching for answers.

If the real God we can’t see, is it because of us or gospel gangsters?

 

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Dusted

leaving home

I was a Lego brick on heaven’s tables with ambitions of being Babel

It would be gravy if I trained well.

I wore the King James label like Air Jordans as an enabler to tap the mike

Cutting shapes for the sake of grand designs lit the eyes.

This mind was primed to freehand more than stencil.

The palette was filled with many colours yet I could only use one

Chew the word and bite your tongue, a babbling baby is free speech.

Slap you with psalms 1 -1 take the p when they reach

They besmirch and beseech the only souls that matter are those of their feet.

Watch how you breathe for Bruce Banner can’t stand spanners in the manor.

What’s love for the poets if you put slammers in the slammer.

Play hangman with every hang up, kill a so-called joker if they stand up

Raise your voice or raise the standard, one day I put my hands up

See I’d chewed on the green grass of home like it was magnanimous manna

How can you be two-faced if you don’t know you’ve got a mask on?

Why fight when I was rapt in the moment that my modem connected.

I didn’t know the download had been infected.

Exceptions and rules wisdom and fools the best fell afoul of while many played chicken.

To challenge was to play hopscotch in a minefield.

Jet fuel from a pulpit could melt your steel if you didn’t have the minerals

They built you so they can kill you.

They built you so they can kill, you.

I’d heed them and repent for I’m a heathen, seedling of evil if I believed them.

I counted years as days, days as hours, hours as minutes and in 15 I’d lost 30

In his eyes were fire and from his mouth swords but this revelation was not written by John.

The shoes I walked in were gone. Was heaven under new management?

Thought I was strapped in! Madness!

Stunned, I snapped into a coma, knowing I could explode at any moment.

Burnt by the cold and homeless, I should have known this was coming.

As the truth created fractions, my history was flagged to be deleted.

I learned that secrets were common knowledge and life hacking wasn’t to make things easier

So I vowed I wouldn’t give them flowers when they’ve kicked the bucket just to keep up appearances.

I’m no longer dumbfounded by the conceited for the mask has fallen.

They put karma’s face on the coin so I dare them to call it.

 

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Filed under Random Poetics