Category: Cancelled Without Prejudice

Luddite

Know what it means before presenting yourself as one.

No! Luddite isn’t some fancy glasses with awkwardness.
Luddite means you shouldn’t even be reading this right now.

More than a trendy term to drop into circles
oh I’m a Luddite writer
well, we’re all writers
all of us
Luddite or not!

Yeah I know what a type is, so what
I saw what a typewriter looks like
and I saw its alphabets
and I used many of its letters.

Do you really romanticize over the lost of letters
like real letters that you get from a pigeon
because really the pigeons are out of work
and no one demands a strong letter anymore.

I was brought up on T.V.
Does that scare you?  It should if you’re a Luddite
I write on a computer, so I can easily escape
and start over
If you’re a pure Luddite it’s either telling of where you’ve grown up or your age

which one would you like to be the predicate of?

Words fight as they come and go
but this one bothers me the most

Luddite:

19C protester against technology: a worker who was involved in protests in the United Kingdom in the 1810s against new factory methods of production and who favored traditional methods of work.

A Jesus Birthday

At the closing of tonight
I’ll sit painstakingly reminiscing.
Reminisce over saying goodbye
then dance alone again.

My home with those many walls
keeping me still, smelling the strong aroma
my favorite dish, beef stew marinating
as the lady laboring over the stovetop cares for
making it all the better, this has been removed for
just a room filled with bitter cold things.

Reminiscing over the place that once was
still measuring the range of her laughter, and the saddness
that is like milestones, as they carted me away to the institution.
Reminisce over the fear and devastation, I found staring back at me
in those brown pools of continuous wonderings, should I even be taking this on?

Reminisce over the appearance of truth
and the presence, oh but a stagnation,  a straggling grip of desperation
where there aren’t any days drenched with tortured love songs.
But I was getting better at seeing the light.  Too late… 

Shouldn’t I’ve known this storm was coming?
Since, they say 33 is the year of the crisis, where the unexpected occurs
except no one told me, as I walked into the eye of a  hurricane.

Possessing the Secret of Joy

Is in those moments when you’re most blinded, you’ll find it possessed, bazodeed, when you’re least aware of what you have. That moment of joy, seeing her standing there waiting, pieces of her blowing in the wind. She smokes another cigarette, checking her cell phone because she’s lonely without you. And when she catches a glimpse of you, all you see is her dimples. And your smile is broad enough that you silently cry a secret joy, because even though you can’t really see, your eyes find each other. You embrace.

Is there such a thing?
Are there moments so sure
that you’re so unaware of?

Find it possessed, bazodeed
with your cataract eyes
incapable of recognizing joy

as she waits there for you
dimpled and broad smiled
lonely for your sauntering suspension?

We embrace, because it’s been that long
since we’ve caught a sighting that spectacular
shooting ephemeral phenomenologies
burning a thousand years away.

Looks inside a Skeleton

Save Yourself                                                             Life Jacket

How can I feel thank-ful-ness                    self preservation, something I should have
while I’ve arrived at survival and you didn’t?  learned, been aware of by the time I was teething

How can I move pass the memory                  especially while I’ve absorbed the ugliness
when we both were gasping for air?                  breathing out its dead, its shivering debris.

They never say to give up your oxygen mask                 As a child, you’re never allowed a say
in fact they strongly advise you against it.           unless you have a good law guardian:

Before attempting anything                                I must understand directions
you must first be breathing.                                and consider how cruel self preservation
                                                                        can be.

But then, once I’ve put my oxygen mask on                   It is like while one is drowning and
and you’re left stranded for air, I watch you try to speak without a thought, you reach for

I watch you escape into the open, into oblivion              slapping  for anything afloat, and      
I fight and scream for you to stay with me.                       then grab on,
                                                                                               push, push, push down for air,

                                                                                            for life.

                                                                                   

Ode to the Infinite Burn

To forget, oh to forget, have to, have to
have never touched your open hearth
where luminosity soaks and then soars.

Watch the fire, watch, watch the fire ignite
watch it ablaze and crack, cheat, cheat
cheating my umbra with orange cinders
blue sparks full of auspicious heights

then dies, dies, dies, it does
in languorous pace, unmindful 
of the fingertips it singed, hurts me so

to forget, oh to forget.

Attachment is Such a Hard Thing to Undo.

No more inquisitive brown eyes
to stare into and lose myself.

No more little ears to measure.
No more love songs to sing, because no one is listening.

No more dimpled smiles.
No more of her laughter, grabbing my attention.

No more flippers for feet
with flipper covers reaching to her knees.

No more secret language to make up
and joke about amongst ourselves.

No more soft kisses to have in the morning
waking me up from my slumber.

No more gentle caress of the middle of my back.
No more love to make during the late hours.

No more dreams to have of little ones playing in our backyard.
No more dreams to have of us growing together.

No more recipies to try.
No more spoons to lick.

No more you to teach me things.
No more coozied drunken debates.

No more you to admire naked in the sunlight.
No more you to watch sleep in the moonlight.

No more you to come home to.
No more home to come to.

No more time.
No more love.

Cuckoo

The catalyst came on his big white horse
and told my lover that I was a fool
a fool for letting you go alone for so long
a fool for letting you dine with such prospects
and then believe of none adventure
the mocking birds sing a loud moan
upon discovery the cuckold will remember
all the things a fool should already know

Dirty Linens

I lay in this mess that is memory
tangled in the mistiness of morning
the comforters from last year
ruined by the color of reminiscing
all the things missed, collecting in a bundle.

With each cycle as yellow sweats
on the submarine eye glass, the t-shirt
with the smell of her arm-pits, spins
360 at the 24-hour all you can clean.
I realize how lonely I’ve become.

And I’m not relieved by possibilities
whispering promises like crickets
while her laughter fades
in this room’s blue-black ear.

A Stranger I Know

As I walk along side her, never do we touch hands
and it is evening now 

never do we sing a love song,

even though I unknowingly want to,
secretly she is in my thoughts.

She wants a home while I want everything
her smile, the sound of her voice…
 
Maybe if we weren’t predisposed as the evening sky
we could find a hymn to hum.

Sweet Maker

First, blame will pursue you for everything you can’t control
and everything you can’t control adds up to a magnified monster
beneath your dreams, magnified as one singular, pet peeve.

But what kind of existence is that? Does it make for adulthood
a well trained dog perhaps? An artisan of a war to come, however
small to come, treading lightly, but eventually exploding as an unforeseen bomb.

Then, this honeymoon of pull and submit, scared by scorn
restrained by the way space makes you regret, when the only
shame is in a smite, so sorry this will be your place. Inside and out.
The world will have its say on our marriage as if we invited them. Like a homemade porno.

After, if we go, so blind and mindless of our thoughts, so reckless
with each others existence, we so go anew, drunkard and stupid
suffering the end of a tale so tall that it allows us not to wonder
drowning our roots, our branches break with such blight
with no remedy to really mend, to mend us for the road that comes
it will be the proof of our submission.

Naked

The first day of Summer, when parks are peopled
we smile at each other for no particular reason
other than the darkness has been lifted
like we were taking off our clothes.
Funny though, since we’re ashamed of the sight
of nakedness.  But here we are when the air is thick
and bodies play in the sun barely clothed.
We are exhibitionists teasing each other
and ourselves with these desires.

You as Conductor

I’ve lost this place I’m suppose to have
my place in this thunder, ringing, ringing clear
what I have, and trust in what I haven’t gained
with this losing war, I’ve won something?

I’ve lost my place in this thundering mess
that lightening tragically strikes on paper
clipping my worth together.

I need a bow and my own arrow to make this right
I need an exorcism done to baptize
my worried hands together

and into a pit of strangers I’d dive
un-bruised by bravado’s curses
I’d dive into this tidal wave of circumstance
I the interpellator, lose myself

I hail
i lose
this champion.

Sabotaging Blueprint

I. IF

Delirious with the minute by minute
how different it could have been, I realized nothing.

And then like a solution, I’m stuck again on If
If I was a time traveler.  It interrupts the answer for why

like a sucking between the teeth, it’s juvenile.  If I was
If I was a time traveler.  Yes it is.  Unconcerned about culpable

blame, ripe with unfortunates, If I were a time traveler I won’t have to
wait for an anomalous filler for fragmented voids, or even wish to delete a moment.

If I was a time traveler, unconcerned with real time
since change is my past and the present is my future

what once was a rabbit hole, no longer becomes familiar
with its miniature tea cups, with its no longer cluttered exclamation to the unknown.

Hair

I was getting rid of some boxes that’s been just sitting in a corner of my apartment.  And I came across a book that I thought I had misplaced.  It’s the Collected Poems of Robert Hayden.  Flipping through the collection I came across a favorite, Snow.  The reason I think I’ve always enjoyed this piece is that it uses so little to express so much.

Snow by Robert Hayden

Smooths and burdens,
endangers, hardens.

Erases, revises.
Extemporizes

Vistas of lunar solitude.
Builds, embellishes a mood.

 

Here’s my attempt at using as few words as possible to express my feelings on my hair:

Hair

Nappy nappy
springs split-ends
soft wild dusky velvet.

Bold black beauty
spry leaping panther
rich as the Nile
subtle as wisdom

Nappy nappy
springs split-ends
soft wild dusky velvet

Lyfe

I thought I’d try writing something fun.  Here’s my attempt at alliterative verse.

Living in lustful love with another
letting lunacy’s lingering lull end
and to never come again…To be
brilliance as a besake, with brighten
becomings for beholders, who beguiles
being as befitting beliefs while betwichted
with blasphemy’s backdoor. To be aware
to antagonise the anti-freedomist
and awaken the spirits of the dead.

The World is Such a Wonderful Place

it doesn’t matter if you’re sober now
those words remember while you weren’t
while you called me a whore, a bitch, a nigger

oh, just kidding
i was drunk, too

like the time that the Professor made it okay
to say the N word in his class, just because
his 9 year old son was singing it
(outloud)

at some point there’s a responsibility held by the facilitator
even if it’s an investigation? And even then it’s a fallacy.
Maybe you should look at yourself first before you try saying those words.

Let’s say that I might
as well be someone’s celebrity
because you know we’re all going to be celebrities
and celebrities are going to be as faceless like the rest of us.

Yeah, I’d be that celebrity
Caught in a collision
And because of my popularity
Everyone takes a picture
Instead of calling the ambulance
I lay there swallowing my own blood
I see the camera flash die.
And all those people
Who stopped to take a picture of my demise
Are rich and happier than ever now…

All because my Professor couldn’t afford to travel to Europe

And he found the information from his son while traveling through South America’s
Easy dollars, that anyone with just enough US dollars can buy the entire island,
Oh but they have, and still won’t want to live there

Calling niggers sons, and sons, niggers
He found it an opportune time to say nigger
And that’s why I love academics
They don’t get killed in the street anymore
for what they say, because their impact is knowledge.

₣7 Across, and 18 Down

Got, swallowing spurious crossword-puzzle
chucks of spotlights to choke on.
A golden casket, yawning
prominence, port of then rides!
Tripping channels like waves, your
servings: words gullible full
say and not say, drowning in
in a wild sizzle that burst.
Got, conjuring certainty
with prays on Fridays, drinking
on credit, flicking a lung
aside a curtain, Always
hustles for platinum chains:
a diamond in a watch tells
time better, chicken wings and
chicken things, quick wicker sight
cruising down Broadway, Park Place
a Lexus teething gold rims.

A Taste of Vanilla

ice-cream-pic-21
by COCOYEA
ice-cream-pic1
by COCOYEA

Mask a howling
behind a curtain
tattered together letters
embroidered pieces of paper.

Pray for a taste of vanilla.

Brush her hair back into a braid
revive the smooth bump
imagine her shoulders
finger her firm even skin.

For a pair of fireflies
moonlighting days
light a room full of candles
kiss her eyes gently
watch them squint awake.