I know I’m your little boy
But this world raised me-us a little gory
Product of a dying breed, a little praised in glory
I might not always shout thug love to the womb
But for the life’s lessons and the tears shed in gleamers
Taught importantly to believe in the inevitable- always rise on
From bad examples to shrewd decisions and a poppa’s screwing
For the days you said a prayer for a lost sheep to running in the rain
Half naked getting all worked for a sick bastard running echelons
And when I was leaving you waving and crying
On nights stopping by seeing you smiling
The memories built a pillar so strong to erode
And rhymes and dimes will never say enough this
As a grown-up tweaking this and that
The world will never cave in on you for as long as I breathe
For living a life meant not for you
You made it look a rim shot blood eyed ogre
And the stars hold me in prayer for a same
I do own up on the love and thankfulness.

To a world that made a monster larger than life
I’m crying for the unborn bidding in abortion tents
Failing is the norm on the glock cocked concrete
You either make it and regret or fail and live again
And if time smiles on you and make it legal or illegal
Remember words o wisdom oft repeated
Nothing will save you from sinking but yourself
Not mummy, not pops, not girly, not homie
The world was meant to be, the word was meant to live
While some get paid, others get laid, and others get on a raid
Don’t just sit there and do something, pray for your soul
Life’s work was meant to be a lonely affair
Like they say reaching the apex and being it all alone
The snakes in the grass wait for such heels all alone
Shush a legion and you have me covered in fake imagery
Take a slot and look at that brother getting hooked
Just remember to point the glock the other way before you shoot
You’re my own race, so we get it straight in this race
Our time came and went; it’s your time to turn around
Just remember never to regret of the turnaround

For the dark concrete that raised me, a loner
A heart you would give anything for, a boner
Made men getting paid in hushed pounds,
Inch for inch the guns were better than roses,
Doused on ink stronger than teary love we all get,
Smiled under the starry skies telling me I would,
Then you never made it this far, Never made it real,
Dumped us all so young at the top so early,
To spend the bigger years searching for meaning,
To spend lifetimes looking for dope love
To run errands searching for friendship
True love and honor based on what I made not,
To the gleaming darks and coats in the dark,
You have a journey and a legacy to fulfill
Create more, live more, regret more.
The wise words of a former student

In my written, writing for a distant love,
I screamed on the rhymes, blew up the meter,
And shaking in mute I saw the love wither,
Leaving me shame-faced on grand scales of a major.

At my first recital I called to jove, whistling a tune in silence
A fathom and miles away from reality
Under the towering voice of a literature tutor, I reveled in glory
Having forgotten the rules, the written word coming.

And I gave you ‘I shall return’, playing home and away
I accepted the elegy. And ran the whole ninety yards
Through the clapping I heard you, All lamed out, lifting my heights,
But the very people I trust brought me down, ‘the people I trust’ came to be.

I took a second chance-fatefully, but in fear now,
I saw the clarion call and the piper played me a tune,
The easy in me gone, feigned I loved again, and the ode was born in me.
Strutting stuff at my feet. They lord it on me now.

You who have always expected miracles
Sat on and played my muse and more
And watched life run out of me from Junior high,
But consider the life full of charm, an elegy drawn on a waste paper.

Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild,
incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility,
and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter.

Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres
far above the vulgar world and fills his soul
with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth.

It is probably on account of this
that people who have genius
do not pay their board, as a general thing.

Geniuses are very singular.

If you see a young man who has frowsy hair
and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress,
you may set him down for a genius.

If he sings about the degeneracy of a world
which courts vulgar opulence
and neglects brains,
he is undoubtedly a genius.

If he is too proud to accept assistance,
and spurns it with a lordly air
at the very same time
that he knows he can’t make a living to save his life,
he is most certainly a genius.

If he hangs on and sticks to poetry,
notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him,
he is a true genius.

If he throws away every opportunity in life
and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends
and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot,
and finally persists,
in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense
but not any genius,
persists in going up some infamous back alley
dying in rags and dirt,
he is beyond all question a genius.

But above all things,
to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse
and then rush off and get booming drunk,
is the surest of all the different signs
of genius.

There is a dead end to some lull:
A spell cast on bitter hatred and truth
A heart foreboding it’s own call
To the end that is nigh and high,
And floats on the green coat for sure,
Held forever by peace on a junk love.

Our heritage was made on the rough and rugged
Bred on values next to sublime
From the pains of empires crumbling
To the guilt thereafter

This war was at a cost- not sure worth it
It spanned hearts and souls of made men
And we fought the good fight
For an uncertain future we now hold.

We sacrificed our identities
and created new consciences
Our reticence gave in- crumbled
But we did our best- and live on we shall.

I must go down to watch the sunrises, for the urban tide of a bubble,
Is a loving call to be ignored from muses that prosper in heart;
And all I ask for is a sign of redemption from the stars,
And the cry of a sunset guile’d on my loneliness, and the fate calling me.

I must go back to love again, to vignettes casting a spell on my wounds,
To the soul’s maverick and a wild oat, where the flow is uninhibited by nature;
And all I ask for is a tinge of merry ol’ love from you on the death bed,
And some quiet endless frowns settling on my stately mind-in gloom.

Dark clouds singing bizarre,
A breeze calm after fall,
I’m caught in the fall,
As my heart starts to recover.

Pieces of shattered dreams,
Startling the calm azure skies,
My wings an enchantment,
My soul starts to soar.

I fly to heaven and yonder,
Where ego marches into ego,
As the past gathers dust,
My soul starts to shed tears.

Tear drops on a veneer thick,
Down the drift rivers of my cheeks,
The winddries them to cake,
And gives me a ‘rest well’ look.

Soaring agile and free,
A spirit for the moment,
My lord guide me over the heat,
Take me by the lows.

And I am shown for what I lived,
Que sera sera,
The life that was meant,
Important so for the moment.

A long roar in might,
Going under head high,
Soul bowed in utter revere,
As I start to cry for them that loved.

Finally alone in the sunset,
I watch us go down – set,
And totally embrace,
The new found peace from within.