Poetry Nowadays


Pathetic pandering to the same tired people,
Tongue tied they can only snap the same tune.
Clubbed to deaf with cliché, hypnotized blind
They…we are prey and predator, snake swallowing
Gorging on our behinds, entangled in our entrails.
What happened to living words, dancing sparks
the match to set off a forest fire of emotion
Shattering the dam, the walls and washing pain away
Where is the blood caressing pages like ink,
Tracing the cracks in shattered hearts so we can breath.
poetry nowadays needs mouth to mouth resuscitation
So let’s pick up pens, pencils and computer keyboards
Open our spirits and let the soul breath life unto the page


Beauty- For Women


Link for the video:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GUSEL-2qWT8


I Googled the word beauty and found that,  

Beauty is a white woman’s face, perfectly proportioned,

Pink lipstick properly portioned,

With fives make up brushes pointed at key places.


Underneath a quote: Beauty is not in the face; beauty is in the light of the heart

Beauty is not in the face…but in the light of the heart.

They say beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,

The beheld beholden, at the behest of the beholders holding of their beauty, their worth.


We all know that women can’t be inherently beautiful,

Inherited bodies bountifully blessed, no.

Only when fake plastered with plastic paint can the perfect beauty truly shine

And we, men, castrated by capitalistic corporations to capitulation can’t raise beautiful daughters.

Can’t counsel the insecurity restrictions or cancel the iniquitous subscriptions.

Let our daughters live in the imagination creation of malevolent masterminds that is

the fantastical TV land where perfect people perch with beauty bought from bottles

instead of teaching her the perfection of potential, the beauty of belief and the power of possibility


our daughters grow to be wives, mothers, sisters and aunts,

trapped like ants in a anteater world where each day is war

and they can’t leave the house without war paint

wordless glances eviscerating their foes and decimating the enemy

only to have each glancing blow landed by disdainful glance

leave internal scars seen in the mirror

the mirror which never names her the most fair in the land


so she is stuck, chasing a white face, perfectly proportioned

unable to be satisfied by the perfection incarnate that she was born

and we, men, stand aside hopelessly helpless unable to help

until now.

I refuse to stand on the sideline of this one-sided fight

So I write this for every man, boy or child that has told the women they love that they are beautiful

And not been believed.

For every time I looked you in the eyes, told you that you were perfect and you did not believe me.

For every night spent showing her, her body with trembling fingers and for each whispered word, drunk in the perfection of the moment broken by the disbelief ingrained in the insecurities

You are beautiful. No. We know women are not inherently beautiful.

You are beyond beautiful.

This is for every woman I have met, will meet and will never meet.

Beauty can’t even begin to capture your being, you are so far beyond the word that to call you beautiful wouldn’t be becoming.

Your eyes shine like miniature supernovas when you laugh at something stupid

Your mouth hold the promise of tomorrow, whether curved in a smile or open and yelling or giving the valedictorian speech.

Your hair is the foundation of a dream catcher, each strand the rope I will use to save myself when stranded and lonely I will sink my fingers into your length and relax my worries

Your body is the perfect fit for my puzzle, you fold into me like a puppies love, all-encompassing and warm.  So warm you melt my rough edges into the softness of self

You smell like home and adventure and mystery and magic and fresh cookies

Your heart makes the Grinch jealous because it is a million times to big, so big that you can fit my mistakes and still have room to love me. Your heart is so big that if you allow it, it can love you too…scars and all.

Your soul is the missing link, the answer to why we are on earth and the solution to the greatest problems

You are my mother. You are my sister. You are my lover, my wife, my unborn daughter. My friend. My companion. My soul mate.

Don’t you dare you dare tell me that you are not beautiful.

You are beyond beautiful, and don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t. Especially not that girl in the mirror.

My Little Fairy


The swing creaks in the empty blackness,

dark coils drowning into the darkness

as her head is flung back in joy


a broken doll, used hard by life

she flings herself into the air,

the swing whispering soft music

as she freezes in the moonlight,

hidden scars illuminated,

her fairy wings glowing dimly


she laughs then, a ringing melody

of sound that rolls through the woods,

makes the trees cry for their little lost fairy

dancing through in the darkness

her jade eyes deep pools of experience

blue sadness coalesced.


a fairy princess, overflowing with other

shackled by heavy doubts, she swings

back and forth through the darkness,

afraid to live but not afraid to give


her broken heart brimming with life

she nurtures spirits and shines candle light

for the lost souls wandering her woods

trapped in mazes of their own making


one day she too will walk the maze

break free from the lonesome darkness

and remember who she is meant to be

not a fairy princess overflowing with other

but an angel, a shining symbol of hope

Beauty (Revisited)


There is an infinite beauty in living

Breathing and listening

To the rhythm of the earth


Artists merely tap into this haunting melody

And make vacuous shadows of the real

Beat that echoes


And heats the blood of men and women

And sounds through the dreams of kings

The symphony


Of a sunset, the staccato beat of the heart

As the body warms from a kiss

The music that roars


Soundlessly through the universe

The scale the world revolves in

With moans


Of the seasons, typhoons and dust bowls

Of the worlds pain and joy

The rumbles


Of a stampeding group of elephants

Charging the nearby store for bargain prices

And the percussion


Of the incessant tapping in class as the teachers

Drone on endlessly, the rhythm monotonous and

Overbearingly slow


Like the heartbeat of a great whale as it groans

Its sad song to the world, the sound vibrating through

The ocean wide, sonorous


The cry of a parent that outlived their child

Wild and aching, a piercing pain, sharper than the

Shriek of


Of pain as a tooth is uprooted and tossed


In it all.

There is beauty.


A Poem For Faith (My Sister)


Sometimes life hits you hard, 

a sucker punch right to the heart

Sometimes the sun dims

and your nightmares come true

Sometimes your eyes are screaming

but no one can hear

Sometimes you look down and only

your steps mark the sand

Sometimes all you can do is cry

and hope for a better tomorrow


But remember you are never alone


Remember we only fall to remember

why standing is so sweet

Remember that all nightmares

must end when the sun come out

Remember who you are 

and what it is you believe

Remember that it is OK to cry

but never to give up hope

Remember your name

Remember above all else,

you are loved

I Be Poltergiest


I be poltergeist. I Am not poltergeist. I be nothing, nothing but emotions. I feel, not think, I be, not am. I be poltergeist. I be anger.


It started with death. After dying all the things insubstantial within the body, meaning the mind and soul, went to heaven or nirvana. The emotions had no place to go. The love, hate, grief, joy, anger, and the other emotions remained and wrecked havoc upon the earth. The gods seeing chaos created an astral plane and trapped all the emotions therein. The gods succeeded in throwing them into the astral plane, leaving only the few good emotions. The gods knew that in the act of trapping all emotions in one place they had started a great war, however they had no choice. One by one the emotions were dumped into the astral plane; a flexile area in a different dimension that was easily altered and changed. It was known as Poltergeist.

Hate came first, black as night and a towering monster. Hate was a 3-headed serpent that embodied all that was evil. Its sinuous coils contracted and then expanded as Hate reared it ugly head, its baleful eyes glaring at its surroundings, turning to stone all that it gazed upon. It gave an angry hiss, an evil, reverberating cry that echoed across the land, shriveling all that its poisonous notes touched. Then came Love, at first a gentle mist, smelling like chocolate and roses, it languidly came to rest in the plane. Then as it started to solidify, it became aware of the presence of Hate and mushroomed into a raging wildfire, oblivious to all. It roared, and crackled, and thundered, an inferno that consumed all. The conflagration slowly condensed in the form of an ardent dragon, sheathed in flames. The two behemoths squared off, one a pythonic snake and the other a gargantuan dragon. They tore into each other, so different and yet so similar.

Then Fear arrived. No form did it posses; it was simply an empty robe, billowing in an invisible wind. Doubt also came, chained to Fear by an unbreakable bond, for it was Fear’s hound dog. Doubt stood about the size of an ox, and was a mangy, disease ridden cur, with gleaming red eyes and ropes of corrosive saliva dripping from its formidable jaws. Fear’s nebulous form drifted away from the fighting monsters, knowing full well the price it would pay if it got close. As Fear was withdrawing the Twins appeared. There was a burst of incandescent light as Courage and Faith flew into the scene. There stood Courage, a tall form clothes in irradiant armor and holding in his hand a crystalline diamond sword. At his side floated his sister Faith, clothed in luminous leathers and holding in her hand a glittering bow. At their shoulders, Hope flew, a blazing phoenix clothed flames. And so the battle begun, Fear though seemingly weak and cowardly, once trapped, fought like a tiger. Its insidious mists batted away Faith’s silver arrows and exploded forth, seeking her heart, only to draw back swiftly out of reach from Courage’s slashing sword. Off in the distance, the battle between Love and Hate raged on, mirrored by the battle between Hope and Doubt as they tore into each other. Hope’s golden claws tore at Doubt’s pustule crusted pelt, scrabbling for a hold while Doubt twisted and turned its body seeking Hope’s throat with its gaping, excrementitious jaws. The battle endured, both sides scoring deadly hits but neither backing down. One of Hate’s head lolled to the side, spouting and splattering its poisonous gore over the ground with its every movement, while Love’s wings hung feebly by its side, torn to tatters by Hate’s malignant fangs. On they fought, oblivious to all, laying waste to their surroundings. They were in a state of such propinquity as they fought, that there were moments when they almost seemed to merge and be one and the same.

Then Joy and Grief arrived. They were unlike the others in many ways. They seemed to have no urge to fight and also kept no steady form. Joy was deliriously, insanely drunk in its own happiness, randomly bursting into laughter or song. It sat on a comfortable sofa, with food and other comforts arrayed around it watching the fight from a distance. It would watch the fight for a few moments, and then collapse into helpless jocularity, rolling of the carpeted floor, with tears of joy glistening at the corner of its eyes. It held no form long, swiftly changing, one second a baby gurgling as it plays with its foot; an old woman chortling; a mountain man roaring with mirth. Then it would be a jocund old man dancing a jig, or a merry young girl singing a song. It was the gentle sweeping laughter of a mother; the infectious, rousing cachinnation of a comedian; then the hiccuping, sniggering laugh of a drunk college student. Always, its eyes twinkled and its mouth; be it the toothless mouth of a baby, or the fanged maw of a dog rolling over to be scratched; was always agape, grinning. Some distance away, Grief dwelled in a habitat as different, if not more, from Joy’s as night and day. Where Joy was sitting, there was a constant sunshine, illuminating it.

This was not the case with Grief; it lay on hard spiky ground, with no comfort to be seen. Its only covering was meager, scratchy rags that provided not protection from the biting acidic rain that was a constant inhabitant of Grief’s locale. It like Joy held no steady form. There, however, is where all comparison ceased. Its forms changed gradually, first a sobbing mother clasping her stillborn child to her breast; then an impoverished child on the streets, fighting for scraps; a broken hearted girl sobbing in her bedroom; a father as he hears on the news that his son has died in the war; it changed constantly, each form more heartbreaking than the other. They all shared the same pinched, sunken faces and the sametorpid, dead eyes. Occasionally sounds would come from it; the horrified shrieking of a mother as her son sits on the electric chair; the echoing moans of a father whose daughter committed suicide; the racking sobs of a community as they prepare to die, quarantined so as not to spread their disease to others; the aching sigh of the world at large as a natural disaster strikes and kills thousands upon thousands; last but not least, the howling torment of earth as humans torture and defile it. These sounds rose and melded into a singular eerie entity, bursting forth across the plane, causing all who heard to cry. So sad and sonorous was the sound that all fighting stopped for a brief moment as the quavering echoes died down. The two sat, oblivious of the other, both crying in their own way and fashion. Joy cried the glistening tears of a mother reunited with her lost child; a graduating high school student; a father watching his child take its first step. Joy cried the tears of joy. Grief cried the bloody, bitter tears of agony and betrayal; the tears of a child as he watches his mother drive away, knowing she’s never coming back; the tears of a girl, brutally used and ravaged then tossed aside; the blood red tears of a child, sitting alone in some dark corner raising a razor to his wrist; the tears of a lonely man, despised by the world, preparing to end his life. Yes, Grief cried the tears of grief, and pain unknown. So they existed; both crying, neither caring; one bright rays of sunshine, the other a deluge of acid rain. It was so for a while. Until…

Until Anger transpired, that is. Anger came as a storm of mass proportions, hurling random objects in all directions. A raging bull here, a rampageous herd of wild elephants there, bolts of neon colored lighting everywhere. At the center of the storm was an eye, a large blood shot eyecrisscrossed with pulsating veins. The other emotions, preoccupied, had no chance to raise a defense. Anger seemed to grow angrier by the second, howling snowstorms becoming tempestuous blizzards, gouts of wildfire becoming raging infernos, bolts of lightning becoming a rain of lighting. This went on for a while, the other emotions attempting to gather strength and retaliate, but alas, they were too weak and injured to halt the steadily growing Anger. Then finally after they could fight no longer, Anger seemed to pause. They rallied, thinking to group together and attack Anger at once. All of a sudden, a giant rip appeared in the sky below Anger’s eye, and opened to reveal a gaping maw full of teeth. Sharp diamond edged teeth reached for the emotions, and an impossibly long tongue reached out and snaked around the awe stricken emotions. Then before they recovered, they were gone, swallowed in the infinite darkness that was now Anger. For a moment, Anger seemed to explodeoutwards, filing the astral plane almost to its edge, before slowly condensing into the shape of a man. He stood in clearing, an ugly bestial man. He was large and covered in blood soaked lanky hair. Anger’s body was traced with scars and veins, covered in corded muscle. His long hair crackled with latent, barely constrained energy. He would occasionally roar, bearing his fangs and transforming his visage to that of a beast, and hurl bolts of lightning everywhere. And so it was the Poltergeist became anger.

The gods looked upon this monster and were troubled. So they schemed, plotted and planned, eventually coming up with the perfect plan. They searched earth and gathered together all the good or lesser emotions they had let run rampart and combined them. Emotions or ideals such asrespect, justice, goodwill, calmness, contentment, and freedom to name a few; came together as if they meant to be. They coalesced and Peacewas formed. Peace was as beautiful as Anger was ugly, her body was tall and slender, her long hair a beautiful, ebon cascade. Her eyes were wise and understanding yet also sweet and kind; her nose tapered slightly giving her a queenly air. Her mouth was full and lush, seemingly inviting. As she walked, a sweet calming fragrance followed in her steps. The gods took her and placed her in Poltergeist, which was now anger. Then she started dancing, slowly and then faster, singing all the while. As she moved, flowed rather, from place to place, anger’s presence seemed to draw back and the harsh, hostile climates filled with exploding volcanoes and chilling blizzards unrolled and become warm, tropic climates. Finally after Anger had shrunk back to its form as a man, Peace stopped dancing and looked at Anger. Anger, filled with a burning rage, struck out with its ax, only to find air and feel Peace’s hand wrapped around it. As she held him, she continued dancing, her every step a drum beat and the whisper of the wind carressing her long beautiful hair a hand sturmming a harp.She danced and sang her voice low and high and perfect, first dancing fast till anger couldn’t keep up then as he started staggering exhausted, she dance slow and sang low. A lullaby. And Anger collasped to the ground tired and spent, a mere man now. As he slept, the other emotions found strength and tore out. They all filtered out and into the world, until all that was left was the weakened husk that was Anger. Peace also divided herself and the emotions that made her scattered across the world, spreading calm and good will. The world of poltergeist, the world of emotions, and in the end the world of anger.

The old man’s voice echoed as he told a story old as time herself, and new as a baby. His eyes stung with salty tears as he gazed into the dying embers of the fire. He stared at his captive audience and wondered, what emotion would rule them? He stood slowly, his ancient body protesting and made for the village gate. As he left, the people questioned him

“Who are you?”

He replied “I Be Poltergeist”


After the Storm


I wept bitter tears that day,

my grief a jagged blade of flame

that tore at my insides,

my intestines writhing like maddened worms.

And I could do nothing,

nothing but curl up in a ball and wait,

the pain beyond


That day he broke your heart

as he battered your body.

The purpled black picture painted

on your face and

mirrored on your daughters.

Each false smile and tentative step

a dance lesson from pain


She shattered your life,

torturing you with smiles and gazes

and bleeding you dry.

Slowly, the cuts exquisite, execution flawless

you lose yourself.

A man no longer, but a puppet

on strings of pain


Your stomach may ache with

pain as old as the world

and your soul may thirst for just

one happy moment to color the black

and white world of your

biography of pain.

But the pain must end.

Though the sting is sharo, now,

it will fade to an ache,

and become a memory.

The pain will pass.