Poem of the Month - AUGUST 2022

What is the point of living
if you are truly not alive
mere shadow in the world

Existing unnoticed by anyone
clothes mock starved skin
mimicking touch only felt in dreams

Passing through life silently
there is no reason to speak
and none wanting to listen

Time passes, hours and minutes
alone, each second a paper cut
slicing into what remains of me

In ways I’m fortunate of course.  
The course of a life can always be worse.  

Yet still the gorge rises to meet  
the carping of the print elite.  

As if some cunt in Pimlico  
has ever known quite what it is  
 
to have a Bad Mother.  
The thought is vulgar, This I Know,  
 
and if I was a better man I’d care.  
But slowly I’ve stopped apologising...  
 
And nothing makes me want to retch  
more than the whiff of lattes from  
 
the liberal salons. As if one of them  
was ever forced to eat a fried egg  
 
that had been dumped in the kitchen bin,  
and marinated in fag ash  
 
as Mother made you watch.  
My brother knew that pain.  
 
And I knew too just what it was,  
to love and beg and say sorry  
 
and still be scorned like thrift-shop shit.  
To watch dad watch his wife break down  
 
and explode like a clockwork prostitute.

Madness is never silent
crucially defiant
never to rest
born to struggle
I grasp onto night
holding a place
for my own darkness
so I can appreciate the light

To the fourscore winds that wreaks havoc on earth  
Manmade blessed oil casted over our inner soul drops of forgiveness in the renewal of rebirth      
Is not the wages of sin death      
Who without wraith within thy heart, can he or she not cast stones when reaching the thrones of divinity's wealth        
       
I have seen the teary faces when hopes, dreams, no more chances, all seems lost        
So many young lives I have been a Nightingale too from wicked choices, changed in the matter of moments with treating their elements because they had the sauce      
Regrets confessed from their mouths, praying, hoping, needing to be assured they will get better at any cost      
When did our Creator bless me to see life and the ghost appearance of failing breaths      
Psalms verse twenty-three read in the declining hours to give a weary soul external rest      
The same messages upon the dowry of our heads, yet a different sanctuary of time      
Plagues, famine, debauchery rules churches' mind      
       
There is no peace no matter where you go      
As sure as the tornado destroys, and the water floods no matter where the rapid streams may flow      
This is God's land, no matter the technology found by the inventive hands of man      
One breeze, torrential rains      
At that interval, you bear witness our lives are all the same      
We all have emotions to feel and compassion to lend when we feel pain      
Then why is color blindness the name of life’s game      
       
As a healer, I hear those calls when hearts are lying in wait, terminally ill      
Worshipping society's sacred temples, speaking your language, your religion is my religion, your beliefs are my reliance to fit the cause of the bill, but still      
Does the mind of others ever get fatigue in doing right      
Holding on to the last of faith when devoid of human nature to give into the heathens that romances the night              
I bow in humbleness unto you, as I am, and through me I will always feel the perpetual devotion of Him        
Given unto power to lasso the magnifications of creature comforts which will never win            
To mankind without, seems it’s his downfall without an end            
Falsehood love in beauty, money, spiritual love tossed in the wind              
Vanity lovers of self, money, consorting in the dark on altar with Jinns            
I have hurtled them all, through the beginning of time, to council the            
mentally to make the loins of men lust and the sacred divinity of women            
adhere to enticement to the temptation of its sin            
The first, the last and the fallen ones on earth, the population follows the hidden horns to deceive            
My Ankh I shield to the powers to be            
            
The truth it seeps to give credence between you and me            
What we stand for, when we ask for more it makes us, or it breaks us            
When the blood of our veins in sickness only pours      
We cry out in the last hour to be spiritually forgiven      
In the perfection of health, debauchery, arrogance is the catalyst when we are immorally driven            
No one is better than each other            
When we look in the mirror our reflective image is the only one who hovers            
No other face from another mother        
Vanity is the tool of the Devil's invention, making us self-lovers          
            
I remain docile in my own melanin skin            
This old world seems at times no hope, no glory, truth of the matter to self is where we all begin      
The good book of fables from the Book of Genesis to the Book of Revelations            
Once out the cocoon of the womb it’s the end we are wandering sheep in guidance from the constellations            
My own voice, my own choice        
In this day and age, no trails to follow, but my own footsteps            
It eliminates the time when trying to measure up when no one is ever            
considered in life to the best by the trails of life’s tests            
We are all one whisper from being a labored breath      
       
Tears in remembrance of our presence thy hollow be thy name is all that's left            
Pine boxes, cremations, our Judgment Day comes next      
Never be scared of the unknown       
Live your life as a melody of your own beautiful song      
Energy never dies, our spiritual vessel ascends to be atoned      
Déjà vu will welcome you to advise you your spirit once roamed free      
Those three phrases of life that is ordained for you and for me            
            
The soul-sister, healer, spiritual fighter, blessed lineage of French Moorish Queens            
Let awoken minds speak of what blinded eyes have not seen            
In the realm of spiritual evolution and the parables of the afterlife we walk in            
Every night in the subconscious of our dreams            
Awaken to the coldness of opened eyes never to reclaim what the            
intellect has seen        
Is it atheist or blaspheme once off the nourishing and enlightening nipple we are weaned            
            
The afterbirth, the last sacramental rites of passage before our Creator separates his presence from thy will shall be done            
The first cry of life to a hellish Kingdom come            
Everyone is wrong, life is measured by the greater good, better choices, yet, overruled by wicked deed and evil voices            
We are down here in in the belly of the beast            
Whereas Angels fly beyond the stars with skybox seats            
            
I shall kneel in tarry in remembrance of earthly immoralities            
To kiss thy blessings at thy tiller of consecrated feet            
Close my eyes to the thunder of earthy chaos arousing me to the last feast            
of spiritual virginal sheets            
Who ever said a sin cannot be conformed when a dark heart and an enlightenment mind greets      
Teach the mind and the heart will surely follow      
In that single moment of reaching the soul, pride is forever swallowed

There’s something of a summer’s day
That drives the leaves of life away
A warming wind that carries time,
Back to where the moments rhyme

Fields of green engrace our view
Reminders of darker hue
While memories reside in blue
Resplendent as the peace of two

A gentle breeze blows thru the trees
And rustles so the silent leaves
It wasn’t but a fading dream
A shadow as the light would seem

I give to you my fading heart
From places where the rainbow start
The blues they linger, ever stay…
There’s something of a summer’s day.

To whom it may concern,

All I want to be is
The one you miss from time to time

When you’re out with your friends or back at your folk’s place
When you feel more alone with them than you do yourself anyway
I want to be your warm welcome

All I want to be is the first person you call on the phone
When you find yourself panicked, shaken, and alone, Unable to sleep
I'll tell you . . . “I’m here.”

Can’t you see me? Because I see you.

Maybe you can see me.
But you can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth.
Over the sound of your grinding teeth

To you, I’ll always be the wind that blows above your head
The hand that’s out of reach

If you ever find yourself struggling to breathe.
I want to be the oxygen that flows through you right before you smoke your last cigarette

And when you contemplate death
I want to be the thought that says, “Don’t go. You’re not done yet.”

I don’t want to be the one you need.
I just want to be a some-what steady plot of land beneath your feet.
I want you to feel grounded.

All I want to be is a part of your life


Sincerely,
- The Small Sliver Of Hope In Your Junk Drawer