March 16, 2016

  Awakened from dream

By a storm last night

At peace with the rain

And the thunder’s bite

My inner eye bright

In lightning’s white light

My vision unmarred

By life’s base deceptions

My mind unfettered

Blank slate at post inception

I see myself floating

Safe in my mother’s womb

While the world rages

Like the weather

Outside my room

And yet I know peace

Wrapped in calm chrysalism

Yet to be touched

By the cut

Of poor decisions-

I am suspended

Within life’s morn

Chaste in the eye

Of a living storm…



Flat Black

March 14, 2016

My mood
As flat black
By hope
In light’s
Shy reflection

[Photo: Juankarh Hernandez


Your Witchy Ways

March 13, 2016

 Cold catalysts’ confluence
Converge in dark influence
In your web my struggles, stayed
All trace of goodness truant
Oh, how I love your witchy ways
You walk toward me
In your too tight
Catholic school girl
My heartbeat skips
My manhood hurts
My breath
don’t know where i end and you begin a
tumultuous tumble of lips and legs and
walnut skin progressive passion comes
on feet fleet my self control a fading mist slippery and molten in perpetual motion ebbing and flowing in lust’s stormy ocean swells faster and faster- t h e n   s l o w e r t h a n   s l o w 101 resurrections for 100 small deaths still we lie our bodies spent innocence rent illusions flit evanescent fleeing memory’s tired
truce asked
peace granted
I trace patterns
In the sweat
Upon your breast
As we
Which outcome only time will test


Quiet Town

March 13, 2016

  Cornered by

Rain soaked streets


Memory and reflection


Quiet town breathes

Moments sweet

A taste of joy

My dream complete


Painting: “Quiet Town” Leonid Afremov

Potter’s Clay

March 11, 2016

  My life
A potter’s clay
To mold
Tempered by both
Fire and cold.
Will I yield
Or contumant be-
Resisting my Maker’s
Shape for me?
Such form
To set me free.
Hence thwarted
By the plans of Man
I seek the touch
Of a Greater Hand…


Life Lessons

March 11, 2016

  Life is full of cuts
And barbs and pricks and dings
Fire rages beneath the crucible-
My body
In this world of “things”

When my Maker brings the heat
I feel the sting
He smelts the silver of my soul
To reveal weaknesses
Adversity holds

Dross rises to the silver’s surface
There for me to scrape away
Or let sink back into my essence
To rise and mar another day

Life’s fiery lessons
Are but beauty on the journey
A gift,
My blessing…


Alan W. King

(IMAGE: New Issues)

You’ve seen that movie or read the novel, the one where the ending blindsided you. The hero or heroine, for whom you rooted throughout the drama, was either captured or killed. Or maybe it was another story with an ending that left you hanging.

In either case you left the theater or closed the pages, slightly disappointed. But that didn’t stop you from dreaming up alternate endings for your satisfaction.

That’s what Rachel Eliza Griffiths does with Mule & Pear (New Issues, 2011), her third collection of poetry. “Many of these poems convey the intimacy I’ve developed and sustained through reading,” Rachel writes in a brief introduction. “From this act and all of its powers, my imagination gathered some of my most admired literary characters and their creators in one space, one intricate body…in hopes that each voice would make its way towards other voices.”


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less but better

Recently I listened to a podcast interview with Bryan Johnson (founder of payment processing company Braintree) and his new venture called OS Fund is quite inspiring.  Even more so, it was his view of the world as an operating system that got me thinking…

To the layman, an operating system is essentially a set of rules that govern how a computer system runs, basically the interface between software and hardware.  If in this analogy humans represent software and the earth represents hardware, then the rules in between would be considered the operating system.  Therefore, these rules would govern the use of our planetary resources similar to computing resources within the hardware.

Following this comparison, imagine a proto-Earth as inflexible hardware only capable of running a basic operating system with limited capability.  This primitive hardware would restrict the type of software (life) that could run on it, if any at all.  As hardware capabilities improve, so…

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Words, Alone

March 3, 2016

A Certain Point of View

No tingled touch
Upon bare skin.
No toss of hair;
Or playful grin.
These words, alone, to woo.

No eyes to meet,
Or silence break.
No hand to hold,
Or breath to take.
These words, alone, to woo.

No stolen glance
Or moments miss.
No lips to touch,
Or nape to kiss.
Words, alone, to woo.

No whispered wants
Or breathy hush.
No caress
Or soaring rush.
Words, alone, to woo.

No midnight madness
Guilt to cleanse.
Falling quickly;
More than friends.

No joy.
No pain.
Fleeting there
And back again.
My words, alone.
For you.


Picture credit:

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The Genuine Me

February 17, 2016

I saw a Facebook post the other day of a computer generated photo of how a living Michael Jackson would appear today without the major cosmetic reconstructions and skin lightening he chose. 

It showed a very distinguished and handsome black man. 

The comments varied as one might expect. But, I couldn’t help being reminded of a particular incident from my own past that helped me understand why he did what he did. 

I was around 13, and struggling with the insecurities of budding adolescence. I stood in front of a bathroom mirror tucking in my lips to make them look smaller, less…African.

This wasn’t enough, so I smeared heavy grease in my hair and began to aggressively brush my hair to the side, desperately trying to brush my naturally kinky hair straight. 

I wanted to be better looking. It was the 1960s, and the “black is beautiful” movement had yet to catch on in sleepy West Texas; so being better looking for an insecure black child meant looking “white.” This is a sad fact of American life. 

In a recent study, black and white children were presented a group of identical dolls, differentiated only by their skin tone, ranging from pale Aryan white to dark African black. Both black and white children consistently rated the lighter colored dolls as “intelligent, trustworthy, and good,” while the dark colored dolls were categorized by the children as “unintelligent, dishonest and bad.” 

As I stood in front of the mirror that day, trying unsuccessfully to reinvent myself as a “whiter,” more handsome DeRicki, I have to admit that if I had had MJ’s financial resources, I might have made some of the same decisions. 

Eventually, I learned to love the person that I am, and that I am continuing to become; but I feel concern for the children in that study. What will become of them? What can we do to ensure a more accepting and diverse world?