Half Cooked

Tags

a poem about wasted potential, blacklivesmatter, half cooked, potential, wasted potential

Boiling over,

my lid lifts spilling my contents….

Spilling spilling it rolls down my side,

putting the fire beneath me,

Out

….and the life of this meal is cut short.

Uneattened.

Wasted.

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Jungle?

Tags

#fear, a poem about economic empowerment, basic income, jungle, poverty, predator, prey, prose

struggling through life can make you stronger – or crush you.

Society shouldn’t be a dangerous jungle
of predators and
prey
but something that
evolves towards
transcendence….

All this bullsh😭t….

Tags

#fear, a poem about school shootings, bullying, love, poetry, school shootings, society

They’ve

cut out

my eyes and

linked images

directly to the….

I can’t believe

What I’m been

seening….

….another school shooting,

but why the debate?

Protect the children

And yet no one knows how to do that….

Develop a nourishing society that respects everyone….

No.

This not a joke.

11.29.2017

Here I am again.

I haven’t been here for awhile, due to life being distracting. Which kinda makes me feel crappy, because I use my writing for my emotions and dreams. But my poetry doesn’t make money for me, and I my job is minimum wage job sits in the middle of the day.

But while these things are true, I still strive to live my life as part of a way.

Need better time management….

Two Walls….

Tags

America is Great Again, border walls, economics, humanity, immigration, poverty, racism, walls

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

They come to the promised land,
but were turned away.

Why?

To make America Great again?

Another wall,
that keeps in people,
made from the clay of
poverty.

Some better off would
called them losers, the
undeserving as part of humanity.

America is Great Again.

Wasted Dreams

Tags

a poem about empty sex, a poem about sex, a poem about space travel, mars mission, poetry, space travel, wasted dreams

I cried,
How in my life
I will never live in space,
how I will never live on,
or visit Mars,
never serve on cargo ships
to our mining colonies.

Was Dr. Von Braun wrong?

I cried in my loneliness
between my sheets,
of empty pleasures and
and how my stomach groans
on such a diet.

They tell me,
Those doctors,
those people,
that my life is worth living.

Of poverty and potentials
unfulfilled.

I beg your pardon,
I disagree.

Waiting For Night

Tags

contrast, daylight, harshness, light, poetry, soft glow

A soft glow, versus the
the harsh whiteness of day,
the light of the lamp against
brightenning daylight
form a disappearing contrast.

Overcast and the sun
looks to be on a coffee break and
the harshness covers everything in
adsolute untruthes.

No clarity or respite from the
harshness of daylight, only
a barren wasteland.

I can not wait until night.

04.27.2017

Tags

a since of fairness, HIV, HIV meds, journal entry, life, poetry, prose, society poverty

It’s 6:14 am,
and it hasn’t returned yet.  

Also, have no idea as to when it left.  The flow, that mergence between poet, human being and decency, that drive and need to write, had disappeared and it has slowly leaked away.

I don’t know how I got this way, 

a deasert without words
for miles around, to be at
a lost for words.

But well, to be fair, I have been distracted:

My counts have dropped, and my doctors and sources are insisting that I begin HIV meds right away.

But I haven’t wanted to.
My taking meds would end my run of having a capable and strong immune system, and to take that pill will begin the doubts of
some of my beliefs.

A lost of faith.

And without that, what would my life would or should be
about.

All but one friend has adviced that I take the meds and don’t look back.

I have had my meds for days, however, and I feel no urgent to do so.

Like this would be a good time to check out from life,

Just die.

It’s frightening, to not have that desire to live, to simply be happy with my existence.

All I have is a desire to question.

Winter Rain

Tags

old man, plastic, poem, poetry, rain, tree, winter, winter rain

It’s raining,
discerning individual
drops,
puddle to gather on
streets and sidewalks,
a congretation of water.

There’s a tree
with a plastic bag caught
in it’s branches I see through the fog….
until it moves
and becomes an
old white man.

Discarded booze bottles
and cigarette butts
tell tales, in mud.

The fog is lifting
and things
become clearer
everyday.

The Great “D”

Tags

arsenal of democracy, Detroit MI, drugs, economic revival, poem, racism, Renaissance, ruins, rust belt, the rust, unemployment

I love my city,
The “D”.

It is old
and vibrant,
a colorful soul
in torment.
We were once the Motor City,
the Arsenal of Democracy.

Then came the Rust.

The Rust
Coated everything,
so that great buildings
fell in ruins.

The Rust
coated economic theories
and further divided
a divided people
With drugs,jail,
poverty and
a lack of
opportunities.

Now its 2016 in
the “D”, into
our third Renaissance.

But we still lack
our shop keepers,

May their numbers ever grow.