05 Monday Jun 2017
Posted in Economics, poetry, Politics in The US, Poverty, prose, social mores, society
“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.
06 Saturday May 2017
Posted in Domestic Policy, Economics, poetry, Politics in The US, Poverty, society
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.
04 Thursday May 2017
Posted in poem, poetry, Poverty, prose, spirituality
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.
27 Thursday Apr 2017
Posted in HIV, Journal, poem, poetry, Politics in The US, Poverty, prose, Sexuality, social mores, society, spirituality, spirituality, ghosts, poem
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.
18 Wednesday Jan 2017
Posted in poem, poetry, Poverty, social mores, society
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.
07 Wednesday Dec 2016
Posted in Domestic Policy, Economics, poem, Politics in The US, Poverty
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.
28 Monday Nov 2016
Posted in poem, poetry, Poverty, social mores, society, spirituality
Tags
bag, Eugene Hardy, heavy bag, poem, poverty, racism, religion, shoulder bag, walls, wars, world's problems
Ethnic cleansing,
Racial tensions,
Cultural wars,
Poverty with all
it’s many faces.
Walls and wars for
glory, profits and religion.
All the world’s problems
fittin’ in my bag.
I put them there,
responsible for world’s healing
and peace.
Sometimes an awful
burden,
so heavy I can’t move it.
With all the love
I put in it,
I can bare my bag
and it is light….
15 Thursday Sep 2016
Posted in Domestic Policy, poem, poetry, Poverty, social mores, society
13 Tuesday Sep 2016
At what point should pride give sway?
And what is pride anyway?….
He is bent,
Black and prostrated, his eyes wide
with need,
asking passersby for
A coin or a dollar.
Most ignore him,
Or heap scorn upon his old person.
I want to help him,
but have no coin of my own….
I’m at the welfare office,
for the eighth time in my
51 years.
I’ve worked hard for most of it,
But scornful eyes look down on me,
and ask if I’d broken my back.
I tell them no,
and they push me out their door.
If I could crawl into the woods and die,
I would.
01 Thursday Sep 2016
Tags
a poem of self help, down and out, perceptions, poem, poetry, self help, self improvement, self-esteem
Hi there baby.
I know that it hurt you and soul, that you are done.
But we both know some secrets….
An accumulation of wounds,
My death no big deal.
I loved my life though:
My loves and my lusts. How I remremember our first Embrace.
But I am up….
but it is you that thinks you’re still down….
You see, you still see us on the floor!
I stand now.
So Lover, thySelf, change your perception.
And Walk with Me….
