Blue

Lady sings the blues
Beneath blue skies
The sun's rays dampened
by the blue tinge in her eyes

The piano man hunches uncomfortably
Over the black and white keys
The piano whispers history's cries

The sax player curls into the sounds
As the sax wails
Melodic storytelling of a history of pain

The drummer lazily beats on the drums
Arms too tired to lift
Heart too heavy to enthuse
The skin of the drum sag
Like the wrinkles on a worn t-shirt

And the lady still sings the blues
Death can be short and painless
But sadly the reaper is otherwise occupied
And is taking is time
So the lady sings the blues

Beef

On hip hop landscapes
The residues of gunfire
Linger behind every word spoken

Within the towers of its origin
The shallow speak loudest
Flagbearers for the true remain silent

Heightened awareness breeds focus on self
Definition of wealth is in building of self
We create beef where there is none
The wretched scramble for crumbs
Devour each other blindly
Blinded by the minute

word speaks

i am the last word to be spoken
when the earth implodes
sucks the humans to death at its core
i will be the last thought
the final state of existence

when their lives flash before the collective eyes
when the sins of their fathers, and their fathers, and their mothers, and their mothers
come home to roost on the volcano's edge
when regret clogs their arteries
and they dream of taking it all back
i shall be the last word to pass their lips

i take no pride in this knowledge
i do not preen or gloat or swagger
it gives no pleasure and no satisfaction
i do not linger in anticipation of that moment
when i am spoken in truth
when all that i am
and all i represent
is whispered to the heavens
in the hope that i shall bring hope
in the wish that i may somehow fulfill the last wish
in the belief that the mere mentioning of me
shall reverse centuries of action

i do not pride in all of this
it gives me no pleasure
to know that i shall be on the tip of millions of tongues
as mankind slips brutally into nothing

i am the last word to be spoken
i am .......................... MOTHER
the last word that will ever be spoken

My rabbit hole

My word is my bond
Fuses me to the thoughts I speak
On the page lies my being
Schizophrenic and contradictory
I mirror the ramblings of my mind
Man is judged by his action
And my action is word
So shall I be judged by word rather than action
I exist at a fraction
Of my potential
My stupidity often rears its cobra-like head
But my word is my bond
So I follow its footsteps across the page
And pray for ambiguity between the lines

How high

Faceless man paints murals of heroes on suburban complex walls
The nameless and the soul-less collide on street corners
Brought together by weed smoke
Class barriers crash under the weight of cravings
Natural viral metaphors swim their veins
Multiple blessings born out of living in theory
The practical enactment of blaze is hazy
Truth is changing into reality in a phone booth

Animal speak

I have tasted her
Run my tongue across her heart
Suckled passion from her mind
While she raked her nails up my back
We have lost ourselves in turbulent rivers
Caught our collective breath on the edge of waterfall
Drowned in the silence of our moment

The boundary between love and lust is thin
We traverse it easily
Finding comfort in the sounds we create as echoes
There is that moment when we are submerged in the rawness of our coupling
We embrace it and each other willingly
Knowing that we shall slip back across to love's nest
When we are satisfied

The creation of perfection is not in the perfect romance
But rather in the ability to give ourselves freely to each embrace
However we decide to define it

Broken love

Give me a word, any word
Something to entice the muse
She's been difficult of late
Teasing me with residues of inspiration
She pecks me on the lips
But holds her lips tight
Not allowing me even the slightest taste of her breath

Share a line, any line
Something that will ignite her passion
Warm her blood
Dampen her soul
And loosen her spirit
We were so close once
Our skins had coccooned to enclose the two of us in beauty
We were inseparable
And I had every thought, every emotion and every poem at my disposal

I suspect she is seeing someone else
I have suspicions that her lips and arms and heat are now for another

Give me a poem, any poem
Mine seems to slither to a stop
Even before I begin

Wordplay

Temperature's rising
And we reach across the city
In anticipation of what's to come
The words we speak are practice strokes
We tease each other playfully
Without bravado or doubt
Ours is a dance we have danced many times and still we never tire
We hear the same drum and move to the same rhythm
Which is the work half done
All that's left is the manifestation of pleasure

ge inspired

when she cries
the tears sing lullabies down her cheeks
she is a similie in love with ideas
and when they kiss
they kiss so deeply
metaphors get jealous
envious of their passion

it's still early days
their moments are passionate
and there is still much work to be done

in another lifetime
she was in love with adjectives
they lived on blue lines
and dreamt of creating beautiful language
theirs was the birth of romanticism
but adjectives had an unholy alliance with nouns that couldn't be broken

and now similie has found comfort in the arms of ideas
and only time has the answer to the conclusion to this lyrical saga