The Moment

Leave a comment

One poem. About to be spoken.
One man. Not so far removed from almost being broken.
One stage.
A makeshift platform that formed, bonded with the strength of holding on to the belief that I have been on the right path for…

Me,
My self,
and I.
To kick rhymes de la soul
And since I was nearly buried alive
I need to up the ante twofold when I say my poem
And spit lines that are six feet high
And rising

One poem. The chemical change of fear to courage.
One man. The mental change of unsure to brave.
One stage. Designed to entertain, doubling as a dais where my life is being saved.


No demons distracting
I had the universe’s backing
Angels peering over clouds
Looking at God, saying, “I told you this would happen.”
“I told you it would click
That he would stop hearing the whispers of doubt once he fully listened to his heart.”

In the midst of the applause
Hidden but seated in my line of vision.
My muse.
She, who inspires every word that I choose
Lurking.
Slightly smirking as if she knew
As if She and The Most High in divine cahoots
They are.
She did.

I was afraid–only a little.
Okay, a lot afraid.
But the recognition of one’s own power can cause fear through astonishment.
Before I was too timid
Unwilling to embrace
But this time, I knew I was here to answer my calling.

This acknowledgment of my first steps toward destiny.
Passion as nutrition, blessings directing me.
Who knew one moment in time could resurrect me?
The Most High did.

One stage. Ignited
One poem. Recited.
One man. Revived.

Peace.

Eyes Wide Shut

Leave a comment

I hold the memory of her in my eyelids.
Replenishing my iris–the moisture of remembered sights, since
Blinking is just as involuntary as thinking
…About her

Explicit motion pictures projected onto these natural blinders
Of her body accepting and directing me inside it
I may be resting peacefully, but between these images in my mind, I’m
Reliving times when passion was ignited

Burned into my cornea are visions of positions
Retinas’ retention of sensually bending femininity
Pupils looking her over, learning her ad-libs for better chemistry.
Studying the notes taken from recent sessions


Firm erection of monumental lessons
Evidenced by the progression of muscle extending to bone
Optical illusions from that night so lifelike
I forget that I’m sleeping alone.

You may have wet Dreams
I have Soaked Fantasies
Cinematic climaxes, reenacting Saturated Realities.

Entrancing is the lead actress in films behind my eyes
Instead of counting sheep, I recount her numbered releases
Bedtime arousal until I arise
Amazing what’s created when seeing her with three of them.
Waking to make new scenes is the only reason I stop dreaming.


Peace.

Form of Being

Leave a comment

It seems I’ve been writing about her
What?
Well, I’m unsure
But whatever it is, she’s the is
The utensil
The process
The object over which I obsess
She, whom I hold so dear, that close is telescopic in definition

I journeyed through a journal
I tried to word and link lived-out verbs to feelings before they were lost
But I remember
I will always remember
Each soul to soul encounter and taste of your perfume
Memories are movies
Vintage classics of dreamworks in my mental vault.
Amnesia can’t solve the locks because I met her among the stars


Sessions in song
Initially playful fingered caresses on a guitar
Stringing of hearts on one A chord
Scaling noted affections that can’t fit in any measure
Counting time is futile because it gravels at her pleasure

Funny what happens when past and forever meets in the present
Melodies are created
Duets are orchestrated
Beethoven is jealous of the symphony only two people have made, it’s
The moment Excalibur was unsheathed,
Arthur’s use of his destiny as weaponry to build
I’m filled with the blessings of the reception of her as sword and shield
Demanding a place among the most revered since I have her to wield.

She is the knowledge of once upon a time and the promise of happily ever after
Stories of erasing past mistakes, fairy tales in permanent pencil
Stenciled circles whispered in my mind
Now tattooed spheres of “I’m glad you are here”
She has inked herself into my ink.
Linked verb being in the way I think

So whenever I compose, whatever I am, we are or, she is
She’s the is.


Peace.

Less Than Three

1 Comment

I less than 3 you.
You know, the little sideways heart with the number next to it
At the risk of this being corny, hear me out because it just…might get cornier
If you look past the cheesy text symbols, it’s one hell of a formula

I take it to mean the only numbers less than 3 can express your value.
It’s tough to argue with the math.
It’s actually really true.
Because there are zero 1’s like your One added to mine to make an incredible 2

I apologize if I’m sounding like a nerd…
But I’m a cool nerd
Somewhat of a geek with a mind stronger that those Ancient Gods of Greece
Able to bend numbers to my words.

I know what you’re thinking what about the Most High’s presence in You and Me?
But that’s not addition that’s 1 exponentially
So our 1 + 1 raised by 1 to His infinite power
Still is less than 3

Put my heart behind bars,turn myself into the cardiac slammer
Switching subjects, moving past math and taking it to grammar
Whether or not you’re here I still gotta recite this in the first
To you in the second. It’s too personal so it only uses pronouns less than the third…of them I’m not a fan of

I swear my deepest apologies for appearing to be a nerd.
But at least I’m a smooth nerd.
No need for bifocals because my focus on you never blurs

Aight. I see the number three was on a mission
To be a part of our equation. Changing variables, adding X’s to our Y
Only time I use three is when I put one-four ahead of it
Instead of it being “te amor” it’s expressed numerically in this line

I do apologize for sounding like a nerd
But I’m a true nerd
With a heart bigger than the universe beating
Searching to find the right combination of words and math to give your value the meaning
The meaning it deserves.

There are zero 1’s like your One added to mine to make a remarkable two
I less than three you

Peace.

Why She Is… (Rhymed)

1 Comment

I flipped a previous piece into rhyme form.

Everyone has a gift that’s special and unique to them. For my first two posts, I shared (for the most part) how I see writing when I’m its process. Now, I’m sharing why I see it that way. A lot of people see their passions as various objects/people, but I choose the female frame.

Some people see their gift as a sickness, disease, or virus.
They flow cancer, spit flu, rhymes so ill they’re dying
Fine but it doesn’t really fit right
Disease means contamination then others become xeroxes
Copies of your intellect
I don’t want another me I just wanna add a little extra spark to your thought process

Well maybe it’s piece of granite, glass or marble, waiting to be sculpted
Those artists say they’re freeing the finished product
That’s an okay description but for me something’s missing
When I’m with her I never know where we’ll finish. Just know it’ll be sealed with her forehead kissed as my insignia
No clue on how we’ll start, she tells me where to begin on her body

Maybe it’s a blank canvas sitting atop an easel
I do use strokes to do the pleasing
But here’s the reason why that’s not her meaning
I’m not “creating” her she is wisdom divine
Not in 2d; a goddess from Dimension Three resting in the recesses of my 3rd eye.

Maybe a newborn child like some artistic fatherhood
Even though I’m apparently great at it, it’s still not my offspring
She is a grown woman with curves, lips, and hips
And she doesn’t get punished I love it when she’s naughty
Also, I didn’t give her life, it’s actually the opposite
She breathed consciousness in my conscience
Took my soul and made it whole
Since she saved my life, I give it to her a sacrifice

But she is not the warden and this is not a prison.
These bars are not caged, but I do owe her a life sentence.
I turn myself in and do her bidding
Her thighs enclose me but inside her I’ve found freedom…so that portrayal’s not fitting

As a Sun she could be my Moon especially since she enjoys the cover of darkness to shine
And her body is definitely heavenly
But we coexist as one so she’s more like my Earth
Using her celestial abilties we string stars and similes
Mixing metaphors and meteors united in verse as we showcase our chemistry across the Universe

That’s why She is…Hallowed be her.

Peace.

Verbal Intercourse (Not Built 4 Cuban Linx)

Leave a comment

Through the lights, camera, action, glamour, glitters, and…umm
This isn’t that type of vernacular
This one is for our relationship that speaks
With or without vocals, her being is parts of speech

I’m possessive of my pronouns, there’s nothing amateur about them.
Only con is the notation of the persuasive look in her eyes…
Each time I add verb I want to modify the truth
Even though I tend do it with a “ly”

Metaphors get envious of how passionately I kiss similes
Using pre-positions to take me back to my memories
I have a hard time remembering their names, which strains our love triangle
I forget which one just wants to wear the modifier dress; and which loves wearing Like earrings as they dangle

If schoolhouse rocks then my bedroom quakes
Her body’s interrogative and exclamatory…a curvaceous and bold shape
Removing each article as my hands start wandering
Double, triple, quadruple entendres
Making sense of her senses since she gets aroused through homonyms.

Adjectives make interjections on behalf of dependent clauses
Changing the tempo with the curved touch of a comma
Periods can sometimes be too abrupt, so yeah…lots of commas
Digging in her rhythms, she Mos Def stays fluid, even in staccato

Don’t wanna be fragmented
Shackled by my writing destined to carry out her life sentence…I hope it runs on
Pairs of graphs I use to plot thoughts scattered
I didn’t switch subjects, math too is a part of her language

Infatuated with the clues in her context
And how she knows when to use fewer instead of less
The syn-ful tax of her movements proves the worth
Intimacy between she and I…verbal intercourse.

Peace.

Writer’s Block/Solar Eclipse: Space and Time

Leave a comment

I don’t have the time…
Rather, I don’t have the mind…
To put my thoughts in a straight line
Something like graphing cosine…

(x). The variable, ever-changing
Should I rename my realm X for all this rearranging?
That’s an easy rhyme, gonna have to do a little better
Brainstorm in her realm to create rainy weather


I feel her arms hug me, her hands caress both atria
But right now it’s hard to find the end to her body’s mazes
I begin at her thigh but am halted underneath her ribs
Or I can massage her shoulders but hesitate when it’s time to kiss

If there’s no time like the present, then she is the gift of my life span
Pen to pad til nothing’s left like my right hand
I stand…to be the answer to Shakespeare’s query
With the precision of an assassin and the desert Sun’s fury

If it’s writer’s block to some, then I’m in a Solar eclipse
If I’m 93 millions miles from her, these are the times when she’s distant
Kissing the constellation of her frame in the stars
Seconds are ours as the clock bends to our rhythms

Light years isn’t a measure of distance, it’s our radiance in space
Time brightens when we meet face-to-face
Thoughts rotate on her axis
Strokes of ink til her leg quivers as she climaxes

Built up arousal leads to poetic aggression
Pinned to a comet she controls post-eclipse sessions
A supernova that illuminates the heavens
Now if only I can finish this last sentence…

Peace.

Older Entries