24 hours

imagine life was only 24 hours
at one minute past midnight
we crawled out the womb
under the harsh glare of hospital lights
a multitude of eyes
awaiting our first cry
tears in daddy's eyes
a smile of relief on mommy's face
within an hour our first trip home

for the rest of the night
we perfect crying
learn to crawl, walk, talk

at dawn we head through school
learn to finger paint
read, write, one plus one equals two
we find truth in the books
friendship and failure
we discover that life is not always what we dream
and find beauty in achievement

in the afternoon
we spend through high school
first crush, first love
first time we discover what truly makes us laugh, makes us cry
we explore university
lay the foundation for our future

in the evening
we start work
climb the ladder
find love, get married, have kids
as night comes we age gracefully
reach the pinnacle of our purpose
the last few hours are our quiet, peaceful journey into the arms of the reaper
and at midnight, 24 hours from birth
we die
and journey into the spirit world to prepare
for the next 24 hours in another life

monday nights

work the game
twist reality
drift round the corners
full speed down the straights
take regular pit stops
change tires
reload on fuel

work the hustle
regardless of what it is
a 9 to 5, ad hoc career movement
breath in once in a while
don't forget to exhale
speak your truth
keeping it real only applies to self
remember that happiness does not lie in wealth
although it would be nice

emotion is useful
but a clear mind goes a longer way
read more poetry
but play more too

work the game
live the hustle

Gangsta poet

I've decided to redefine myself
Rebirth, resurrection, new beginning, dawn, sunrise,
I'm starting all over
Returning to where I was
From where I am

I've decided to redefine myself
Find the gangsta in me
The pimp, thug, general bad-ass
Misogynist, incoherent, gun-packing, uncouth, ruder than rude

I've decided to redefine myself
Into a gangsta poet
It worked for gangsta rap
Became diluted in studio
And brought about the birth of bling bling

I too want to shine
Get my piece of the pie
So from this day forth
My poetry shall be hardcore

It is officially the birth of gangsta poetry and monsta! has entered the building

Word Assassination

Murder on the mind
Madness on the tongue
Words are daggers
Slitting throats
Carving metaphors into flesh
Corpses laid out like sentences

We speak without moving our minds
Our lips flap without sound

Performance requires a stage and microphone
Plug your veins into the sound system
Perhaps truth will flow through the speakers
And back to the heart

I have sent Hercule Poirot a telegram
Seeking answers to this madness
A little sherlock to determine the way home

Murder on the mind
Sanity shackled within a cabin

Murder on the mind

The musings of Agatha Christie send me down routes that terrify me

Insolence

I only see her when I close my eyes

Engraved on the inside of my lids
She carves my future with her silence

Angels are mothers cleaved out of spirit
They do not give answers
Their hints are abstract
Vague suggestions that leave you with the residues of independence

When I cry, she blurs
But I feel her caress my heart
Her essence following used blood through my veins
Back to the heart

I choke on her substance
And vomit out my fears

When I laugh
She reaches for the sun
And pulls it a little closer to me

I have been to the planet K-Pax
And every other unknown planet, star and galaxy

She takes me on trips of enlightenment monthly

Humans can be so near-sighted

My best friends tend to be illegal aliens
Somehow we seem to share love for introspection and observation

She often says I need to participate more in life

I say I'm living and breathing
Isn't that participation enough?

I find more comfort in the anticipation of nothing
Death comes to us all
Why not prepare myself for its heralded arrival

I am at home in the invisible
And she is my companion

Whisperer of truth

TV Guide

I awoke from a dream
Clothed in snakeskin pyjamas
I was on my way to meet the sky captain in the world of tomorrow
Ended up an insomniac in seattle
Cupid is a twisted sniper
His wanted poster says 'suspect zero'
Trapped in a time machine
I flitted between the titanic and the village of the damned

I awoke to this world
Frightened, I returned to the world of sleep
And slide down snowman's pass
Into the arms of the sandman

Aaah, the comfort of sleep.....

I dream of tasting your lips

Blushing cheeks
Rouged lips
Carved neck
I see these all
And turn away

Wide hips
Delicate waist
Enchanting legs
I inhale them
And turn away

I do wish to objectify you
Though it is the physical you that I lust for
And the heart of you that I love

The seen and unseen
Come together in desire's presence

My desire

But I turn away

What is it to be a man?
What am I allowed to acknowledge?

I shall swallow my truth and my lust
Until it feels safer

Suicide

Lost souls wander on darkened corners
Zombie-like, their hands and arms dangle before them
The carrot for the wretched is the endlessness of existence
They are those who curse infinity
And crave the comfort of death
Where there is respite from the physical
I have often wandered why the hopeless do not actively seek this comfort
Taking the necessary steps needed to go from present to the grave
Hope, even in its absence, seems to drive us all
And, by god, we shall not make the grim reaper's job easier
Or is it because, when enmeshed in failure, the fear is that succeed will elude us even in an act of suicide?
I am not suicidal but am often curious of those who actively are
This is not a poem
But rather the release of random thought
Or is that poetry in itself?

Blank space

Words gone too soon linger
They leave residues of the power
On the tip of my mind

I have nothing to give today
Please forgive