37. Who is She?

37.
Who is She?

She has no backbone
Afraid to stand on her own
Letting the world jump in her luggage bag for free
Conforming to a world that does not even want her to be.
I ask you who is she?
I ask you again who is she?
She’s an eleven year old mother.
She’s a prostitute.
She’s a lawyer.
She’s a doctor.
She could be you she could be me.
She’s one left turn from a dark alley,
She’s one consultation away from reconstructing her body.
She’s one pill away from suicide
She’s one disappointment away from being ready to die.
Who is she?
I ask you again who is she?
She could be you she could be me.
She never looked in the mirror and found beauty,
Sitting on her ass everyday pondering on what she wish she could be,
Meanwhile she’s one stiff away from HIV.
She’s a brown skinned urban dame,
She’s a blonde headed suburban girl with ponytails and bangs,
She’s a mulatto mami in the heart of north philly,
She’s a bohemian beauty across the seas.
Different lifestyles and different time zones but the problem still remains the same.
No self-love and no faith in the man above.
I pray for the day where she can find her beauty in her imperfections.
Until then I can only tell her tale and pray that you will listen.
Extract every ounce of beauty from your imperfections...Embrace It...Breathe It...Be It
Who is she?
I ask you again who is she?
She could be you she could be me
Don’t be so quick to pass judgment…She could be your Baby.

36. My Bag

36.
My Bag

In my bag…there’s this and there’s that.
Some good shit and some trash but regardless it’s my bag.
I don’t come over in your yard digging in your bag trying to tell you what’s good and what’s trash…You know why because it’s your bag.
I’m the one that has to fill it up with the things I gather thru my travels and I don’t never ask you to carry it.
But there you are always snooping thru my shit.
I know I saw you the other night sneaking in my yard trying to see what you can find.
You probably don’t even understand what you’re looking at because it’s not for your eyes...Just mine.
You need to mind your own and stop always sneaking around in bags… always judging… trying to be sneaky… always on the creep,
Because while you were so busy worried about me you forgot to tie your bags up last night and I heard them alley cats you call friends done spread all your shit out in the street!

35. Tragedy In Bangladesh

35.
Tragedy In Bangladesh

A country rises from the dust,
from hunger, thirst and needs must.
It begins to spread its wings to abolish all those things.
It brings in jobs and hope and joy,
for children food, a school, a toy.
Then a factory tumbles down, people die in fire, they drown.
Why is this, why must this be? Let me see now, let me see.
Every baby learns to walk
and smile and crawl and sing and talk.
At first, it falls flat on its face. Oh, keep going, human race!
Learning, learning all the time,
he sees a tree, she starts to climb.
Who never made a mistake? No one ever, that’s for sure.
The rich should not despise the poor,
we all start somewhere, simple, pure.
Those in power, of each rank,
should not care just for cash in bank.
Parent, landlord, boss or wife,
all have their own view of life.
One thing in common they should share,
that, for everyone they care.
We depend on those above
to care, to share, to work, to love.
So, then learn from each mistake,
be brave, another footstep take.
Change is not your enemy, it is your friend, good company.
Good rulers, parents, children, all,
take fresh steps, however small.
Price and quality itself put good goods upon the shelf.
In every aspect let this be, above all, quality.
Good leaders care, a child may cry,
a mother live, a mother die.
We learn to live, we learn to learn,
wages are not all we earn.
Oh God I cannot say it all! Behold, the writing on the wall.
The blind may see, the blind may read,
the blind might learn, the blind might lead.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,
I want to laugh and love, not cry.
A less than perfect poet speaks,
I cry, I try, birds sing, have beaks.

34. Warfare

34.
Warfare

Unnatural smiles played by emotions, 
the look that fools all the generations.
Everyone is turning into an enemy!
The art of war in a modern army.

I imagine that ruled by weak overlords
leading innovation and imitation by others,
otherwise discussing the rights and wrongs,
they want to be able to finance them wars

They do harm, either they fear or they hate?!
But seeking refuge of their materialistic lust
Systematised the tough realities of Machiavelli,
Figure it out, a ruling elite Inspired by the Devil.

the queen’s crooked troops without mercy
war produces thieves and peace hangs them
A psychological crime that might betray
“Warfare” BBC reports leading you astray.

Falsehood! A result of blameworthy love!
Who do not know? Who tries to keep it true?
the cause of these continuously speculations
Why? Reading history and studying the actions.

They instituted an army in order to wage war
Believing themselves to be faced with a choice
And the strength of the foundations is evident,
the modern world, another from the ancient.

33. My Father

33.
My Father

My father was a father figure, what would you expect?
He walked tall and straight and proud, he stood up erect.
Then he died of cancer, when I was thirteen,
I cried that day, our family sat and spoke no word between.
My father ruled with an iron hand, 
he believed in right and wrong.
So do I, all life long I sing and sing his song.
My father, strangely, spoke few words, I am a man of many.
He was direct and to the point, you’d think he hadn’t any.
When you have nothing to say, say nothing, he said.
There aren’t many like him, now he’s dead.
Say what you mean, mean what you say, he said once, he never said things twice.
By and large, how shall I say, I miss his advice.

32. Forty Days and Forty Nights

32.
Forty Days and Forty Nights

Not much out here; a gulp
Or two of brackish water, a root
Clawed from the dirt and gnawed.
Once in a great while, some 
bitter greens.
The sand burns my feet.

Local spirits chant to me,
Querulous, inquisitorial,
Even worse, sometimes, agreeable.
Bad company; I turn a cold shoulder
And sing “Adonai” at the top of my lungs.

The good news? I am in love.
The stars now shine in a vast blue sky
And the sun rises at dusk. I smell rosemary,
Myrrh, sweetest of all, musk.
She is just over that dune there, I am sure.

But beyond a further line of hills lies Jerusalem
Where I will, in good time, wend to
Climb one more obstinate slope
And there make an end.

Destiny, like this desert, is tiresome.
Know this, my friends; I cannot not.

31. Squeedonker Sonnet

31.
Squeedonker Sonnet

When early morning light began to glow,
with you and I cupped close like two rose petals,
before we spoke our morning words of love
the kona winds spoke of plumeria--
returning from the ocean of the night
where dreams did toss from you to me
and waking to the realm of worldly life,
a fat bird intoned a nasal greeting:
"Squeedonk, squeedonk!" I woke in laughter.
You swore, "I should have shot it with my gun."
I said, "Nature sings with the squeedonker".
And soon the bird was mascot of our love.
The Christmas and New Year wore silver rain,
with women glittering in your shadow:
I woke alone when the squeedonker sang,
an empty woman in an empty following
alone with justice and a lonely moral;
we do not understand our oracles.