POETRY: 'Gorilla' by Kabriel Moorehead

Gorilla
By Kabriel Moorehead

Breathe,
Let it all sink in
Relax the body to uncover a soul
Burdened by a weight I alone must carry.
A two ton monkey on my back
Attempting to impede progress.
I can't let you win.
Its a struggle to retain humanity under these circumstances,
Night in and night out as you berate,
Chastise, and undermine my efforts
Consistently adding to the load I bear
How much is enough,
When more is always the answer?
I must unleash this beast,
Rid myself of this cancer!
I can use the fire in my belly,
To subdue the Gorilla on my shoulders.
And lose myself in the process,
Or use the weight I've lifted,
To find the strength to soldier on a little longer.
Remind myself that this load I carry,
Is only a temporary companion,
Testing my character with company

Copyright 2013| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: 'Respect' by Cheryl A. Baldwin

Respect the mother with the Angel baby

Whose love is hidden and suppressed by love lost

                Loved and lost again

…and again

She reaches towards the heavens with a question

Why me?

“Why choose to tease, when you know how to ease my aching soul.”

She said

Why must I go through this?

 

Lurking behind the chambers of her heart lies a memory

…Senses of a child unborn.

Clutching her stomach daily because she just can’t knock the feeling that there was,

 and still is something there.

Respect her, for her baby will never crawl, walk, then run,

…but flies towards the sunrise.

And still she pushes on…

Praying like it’s all she’s got.

Only through faith does she achieve it.

Every day, trying to catch up with a never ending plight to sanity.

 

Just take a minute to Respect her for all she has had to overcome,

and let her know that you are with her.

 

POETRY: 'For Madeleine' by George Abraham

For Madeleine
By George Abraham

To the girl I danced with at freshman year homecoming,
I apologize for stepping on your feet.
As if our dance wasn’t already awkward enough,
My lack of coordination didn’t go well
With the fact that you were barefoot, and I had wooden loafers on;
So I apologize for any bruises I may have left that night;
Maybe this was the reason you didn’t dance with me again
Until the time I decided to step on your feet at senior prom;
I’d like to say I improved my dancing over the course of
4 years of attending sweaty, cramped, orgy-like high-school dances,
but that would be an understatement-
perhaps the only thing joining the step team did to me
was help me learn to step on your feet more elegantly…

To the girl who sends me random snapchats of her cat,
I swear you’re not a crazy cat lady.
Yet.
And sadly enough, you’re not my only friend who
Snapchats me pictures of their cats;
In a digital world where exchanging perverted images can be done with the swipe of a finger,
It’s nice to have friends who sends me pictures of cute animals every now and then;

To the girl who got an awkward tanline when she crossed 2 bandages over her freshly-done bellybutton piercing before we went to the beach,
I think that outline of a cross on your stomach was the closest thing you ever got to a baptism.
And no, I don’t apologize for not warning you when the tide washed upshore
And got your whole torso soaked;
Sorry, that was for the time you gave me an awkward nickname,
And embarrassed me in front of everyone at a football game;
We have a healthily unhealthy back-and-forth, at-each-others-throats relationship,
If I had to give you a spirit animal, it’d probably be a barracuda

To the girl who invited everyone to her house to jump on her wet trampoline after a day at the beach,
It still angers me that your deep-fryer broke just when we started making wings.
But that movie you wanted to watch about flesh eating bacteria really made me lose my appetite anyways;
Those were good times-
That week before everyone went their separate ways for college,
And all we could do was kill the time we’d look back and cherish one day…
Because beneath the hookah-smoke-leaking smiles, and grains of  sand and shell fragments that littered our car floors,
Beneath the white lie excuses we’d give to our parents, and the nights that ended when the moon consumed our eyelids,
There was us.
And we were happy.

To the girl I danced with at freshman year homecoming,
I don’t know why it took us till senior year to become friends.
Maybe it was because my dancing turned you off,
Or maybe it was because we both needed time to come out of our shells;
Whatever the case may be, I apologize for any bruises I may have left-
That night, or any other;
Because being that pair of friends who fights every day can get exhausting;
I never thought I’d look back on my battle scars and smile,
And all I can say is, being your friend has been
The best boxing match I’ve ever fought.
I hear you may be going camping with us when I come back for winter break.
I guess that means round 2 commences….


Now.

Copyright 2013| George Abraham

POETRY: 'Dreams' by Kabriel Moorehead

Dreams
By Kabriel Moorehead

Have you ever wanted something so desperately,
That you were willing to race the stars across the sky for it?
Leap Valleys,
Bridge Oceans,
Transcend time?
Have you ever yearned so passionately for something,
Anything,
That it sent ripples through your skin,
Tremors through your bones,
And combust infernos in your heart,
Creating a feeling that was at once indescribable,
And full of tangible outcomes.
But Is risking the world worth the glory of a single fleeting moment?
We speak of our dreams as if they are a concrete entity,
Something to own, hold, cherish
And chase to the world's end
Without any regard for consequences.
When in reality they flutter like feathers in the wind,
Always in reach but never in grasp
Recklessly causing us to drift further from safety.
Maybe the point of dreams is not the simple attainment of a goal.
No,
It's the show of resilience required to achieve it.

Copyright 2013| Kabriel Moorehead

SONNET 'Granddaddy' by Trinity

My soul is weary ‘cause my heart does mourn

for granddaddy, my most dearly beloved.

I feel as if it’s been ripped out and torn

because he lies still like he never was.

I will lay his heart right next to mine

so that where his leads mine will follow.

I hate the fact that we ran out of time

for now my soul is a friend of sorrow.

My heart once beat from the love he had shown

unconditionally, no strings attached.

But now my heart has been left so alone

because no one compares, there is no match.

More days shall pass when my heart beats sadly

‘Cause my heart will beat, but not granddaddy's. 

POETRY: 'Poker Face' by The Trinity

The sight of a

new woman

impairs the heart,

but one cleans

obsessively to erase

the tracks of all

tears, making

sure there is

no way to detect

the broken heart.

The main objective is to

deceive the opponent.

Cry silently but

bluff aloud.

 Don’t be foolish

enough to throw

all cards on the

table, for that

mistake was made

before and everything

that was once

possessed was taken

away. Though one

may hurt, the m.o.

must be kept in place.

POETRY: 'Photo' by The Trinity

The past caught in a frame.

A moment frozen still,

never to be thawed

again.

One’s history in a square.

A monument that never

crumbles.

Former times dwelling

in the latter days.

A resurrection of memories

on what used to be.

A reminder of who once

was.

The one thing that can

make time stand still,

a necessity, since time

is what takes away the

dearly beloved. 

POETRY: 'Kansas' by Kabriel Moorehead

Kansas
By Kabriel Moorehead

Born of tradition that you’ve since rejected

Leaving behind the only thing you’ve ever known;

Home

Fleeing safety for the bright lights of the city.

In an attempt to become individuals we mature into a million moths,

All attracted to the same bulb

And damned to the same destiny

You could have been different.

Slowly accumulated wisdom

And waited for the right moment to announce your arrival

You would have had the world bowing at your feet.

Now you bow in deference to the captain,

No longer in charge of life’s journey

Your fate is held in another’s hands,

Slowly crumbling from lack of care.

Or did you crudely rip it apart,

By attempting to fly too high to soon?

Maybe one day you’ll snatch it back,

Once your heart holds reverence for tradition again.

But not today. 

Copyright 2013| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: My Spiritual Cadence By Cheryl A.Baldwin

Cuz you were my therapy when I needed you

My scapegoat and I was feeding you

Lies from which my soul weakened to

Repress…

…the truth untold

Hidden beneath my soul

The spirit inside of me.

            Stressed

Depressed

Oh Chicita my life has been such a mess

And you didn’t even know.

Innocent to the fact that You were helping Me

Your words…

Soothing the psyche

The medication to my soul

Helping to mold…

The person I am becoming.

Your goodness and your favor intriguing to the heart,

The mind,

The body,

The fruit of the Spirits.

Showing me that God works in many ways

            And when I was feigning for some affection

You satisfied my hunger with your love, and your warmth,…

…and you comforted me.

I remember that moment. 

Reminiscing on a time when you wrapped your arms around me and held my soul together

                                                Embracing, the spirit inside of me.

Reminiscent of a time from the past

Oh you will never know how much

                   …you truly mean to me .

POETRY: The Revolution will not be televised by Reggie Drake

I was told that,
The Revolution will not be televised.
Only prophesized in street sermons
That leaders feed us through tubes connected to cylinders
That pump philosophy into our veins,
The New Age Enlightenment,
The Revolution will not be sponsored by coke or state farm,
The Revolution will not be seen on BET,
NO broadcast interrupted,
NO streets eruptin',
It will come like a thief in the night
Stealing away your false securities
You will not be able to stay at home
Because your homes will be bonfires
Lighting sparks in the hearts of,
NBC and CNN newscasters
That propagate our disasters,
Showcasing crooks in suits
That feed us lies on the same worn out platters.
There will be no make up artists,
Sound directors,
Tech teams,
Plots and schemes,
There will be no gunshots and mass killings shown on the instant replay
There will be no gunshots, screams, and mass killings shown on the instant replay
Oh no,
Because this shxt wont be on tv,
Our Revolution will not be televised.
I used to sit on church on Sunday
Pondering my philosophy drenched in God,
Thinking back on wise words told in verses,
"Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep,
For salvation is nearer to us now then when we first believed"
That means our time is coming
That means our time is coming
So dont sleep,
Because it wont be televised,
It will be LIVE
For the whole universe to see
Bigger than the worlds greatest symphony
Doors will open to see the spectacle,
Marveled by the brilliancy,
But then they'll turn on that tv
And the government will tell them
"Dont believe what you see.
Its a trick , its a trap"
And brands hotter than the core of venus
Will emerge like a three letter codon
On skins that reject truth and obey whims,
While we,
Dance our tribal dances
In white liberation outfits that we prepared just for the occasion,
And we,
scream in these megaphones
That we prepared just in case
Our voices arent loud enough to say
"Our revolution has come"
But some,
Will still be watching re-runs of Martin.
Hoping notices pop up on screens saying
"Our Revolution is here"
But it wont be here
For those that cant hear us over the rumblings of an old spice commercial
The Revolution doesnt care about what new hairstyle Beyonce has or,
What combination of numbers will net you once-in-this-lifetime wealth
The Revolution will not be back after a warning about some hurricane
The Revolution is not some uprising in the Middle East
The Revolution, will not have to be authorized by Obama
I was told that it wouldn't be televised,
So I sat in church in waited
Ponderin my philosophy on Sunday
As that offering pan circulates
The ching of alms hitting metal reverberates
Inside our cathedral creating sound waves loud enough
To revive Moses and,
Put his holy spirit inside our preacher,
Who poses,
As Gods confidante
Confidently regurgitating scriptures
Instilling faith in believers
I see Saul Williams,
Over there hustling culture
Standing on the corner of the block slinging amethyst rocks
Drinkin 40 ounces of Mother Earths nectar stock,
Public Enemy #1
To the man who forbids you to be real and feel
You cant find the truth with an ax or a drill,
Its buried,
The Revolution doesnt start till u find it in your heart
Theres no repentance for sinners
Their bound to live infinitely in executive life sentences
So while your stuck behind bars
Bombards of life explodes from our revolution
And they'll prey,
They exist like hungry vultures preying on our weakness
But in my rarefied mirror im flawless
These vultures dont have enough spirituality to really know how to pray,
Like we do on Sunday
So that one day we would be there when the revelation came ,
So that one day I would here,
At 5:30pm,
On this land,
In this city,
On this rock
When the Revolution...
Was LIVE.

POETRY: 'The Strongest People' by Jazelle Handoush

The Strongest People

By Jazelle Handoush

The strongest people are the ones nobody realizes are fighting.

They wear masks to shield their pain from other eyes, 

stretching lips into convincing Cheshire cat grins 

and eyes wide with wonder. 

These are the people who step in to comfort you, 

though no one notices the scars they wear on skin, hearts, and soul. 

They make up a race of survivors, 

of spirits too often put down and trampled on. 

Yet they stand back up, never allowing another pair of eyes 

to see the stampede’s footprints on their backs.

The strongest people are the ones nobody realizes are fighting, 

bleeding, screaming silently, and yet still living.

They suffer in silence, 

instead of shouting to the cosmos of all the ways 

they’re scared and scarred. 

When other’s expect society to run towards them with open arms, 

to heal their wounds and scatter their tears, 

this unseen population of Strong and Silent remain zip-lipped. 

They believe that backbone and tough skin will get them by, 

help them survive, 

and they’re unaware that it’s a lie.

The strongest people in the world have scratched up souls, 

but they don’t allow anyone to see.

Its a population of you, them, and me.

And we’re convinced we need to suffer alone, 

in the shadows. 

We’re not hiding, 

we just don’t want to be a burden. 

We sit in silence while others suffocate us with their woes, 

though they don’t listen to ours.

They don’t ask.

So here is to ever member of the Strong and Silent. 

Here is to the boys and girls who think they are alone, 

unknowing we are a full society of secret keepers. 

Here is to those of backbone and tough skin, 

too often reminded of the painful world we’re in.

I’m here. I’ll listen. I’ll see your scars and try to heal them with my own.

Just know…you’re not alone.

Copyright 2013 | Jazelle Handoush

POETRY: Day Dream by Reggie Drake

WAKE UP MR. DRAKE
WAKE UP!!!!
Why cant you pay attention in class
Am I not interesting?
Do you feel sick??
Is there something you want to say to the class??
And I say no sir....
I just, like to Daydream
And watch the Day Dream realities
That I put in my mentality
I didnt mean to ignore you,
He interrupts and says "Focus on things that you can see"
Well, what if i dont like the world that I view inside my retinal,
Is it so wrong for me to dream
And pretend that I dont see your prejudice persistently
displayed by subtle favoritisms
Your eyes never lie
Mentally dividing us by skin tone
Our section you never enter
Religiously devoting time
To young minds deemed superior
Because superiors coddle and cuddle
Little Sally until shes happy
And, trigonometry becomes second nature
Like, 2+2
And us, we're left in the dust
Psychologically attaining attention deficit
Our attention was always at a deficit
You,
So called teachers pick out the problem child
Attributing his troubles with a lack of acumen
Fundamentally forgetting that,
Maybe little Jerome has issues at home
Maybe education is 2nd priority when the issue is abuse
But hes tossed aside like trash,
A lost cause
And you wonder why I daydream in your class...
Needless to say I was kicked out and sent home
Had to tell mom on the phone i was walking back
Dragging my feet against the sidewalk
At least I can daydream amidst the flowers,
For a couple of hours,
On this beautiful day
Thinking of playing hopscotch with the solar system
And kickball with the galaxy,
My imagination exaggerated
That,
Small field next to that parking lot smelling like freedom
The aroma *smelling noise
Suffocating my soul
With ethereal vitality
It was, kinda like alchemy
The way, mental faculties x originality
could put us kids together like an equation playin in the shade,
Neighborhood kids with smiling faces elated
Jump for joy when that spiraling object reaches eager hands ,
Lagoons fill up quickly with bodies ready to party but,
Its not what it seems
These pools of paradise are not recreational,
Even youth drown face flat when attacked by demonic personas
Disguised as sharks who,
Fail to put enough time into their costumes
A, wiseman stays ashore until he is ashored that theres no harm in those razorback fins
That slant like italics when prey wanders near
I guess thats why Im dreaming and perpetually scheming
The system tryna trap us like birds in cages
waiting for that one slip so we fall and break backs
Unable to rise from the bottom of economics
Thats why these gray skies turn blue,
Murdereres become benevolent,
And deception changes form forming some unattainable concept
Like, World Peace
When I daydream
But, back to reality
I open my house door and ignore
The tossed and turned furniture ,
The, "I fucking hate you's" exploding out the bedroom across the hall,
Angry feet stomp out and wet sobs soak the kitchen floor
Loneliness invades the abode
As I flee to comfort zones blocking out despair
It gets worse,
Pleas of "Please dont take him" takes me back,
And figures emerge from the back of the house
Saying, "Son, we would like to take you in and give you a better home than this"
I say, "NOOO, all ill ever need is these daydreams to ease my mind
When life gives me more than I can take
And my, frail flesh cant bear to handle the weight
These daises and sunflowers comfort me in my darkest hours
So please just leave
So I can sleep
And get back to my daydreams

POETRY: 'Gold Standards' by Kabriel Moorehead

Gold Standards
By Kabriel Moorehead

All I ever wanted was a chance to shine in the sun
An ambitious request clouded by a childhood fantasy
How marvelous it would be to gleam in the spotlight,
To dance in the lap of luxury and extol my accomplishments
Even if only for a solitary moment
Little could a young child realize
As dreams of gold glimmered inside his eyes,
And became hardened into precious diamonds,
By the divine pressure of hard work,
That there is no joy to be relished in a singular spotlight
Rather that the fulfillment comes from the journey,
And the souls reached along the way.
Experience is its own reward
One that this young child often took for granted,
By neglecting the trials of his youth
With a determined and misguided focus on the future
Only when he reached his destination did he realize
That soaking up the rays alone
Held no meaning if there was no one to watch
We as human beings are not judged by our accomplishments
But who we accomplish with

Copyright 2013| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: Soul 2 Soul by Reggie Drake

A wise man once told me.
How you gon chase a dream,
If those running shoes aint yo size.
No picture this,
Summer 07,
Dad hands crack to kid telling him lies like,
This right here will,
Help us transcend the skies and survive
Because believe me I do hear the rumbles and grumbles
In your gut,
So heed my every word
This,
Transient prison becomes his forever
Forever interlocking him into a system where we aint meant to survive,
Perpetual genocide becomes his lifestyle,
Gunmen pull switch hairs
As bullets tear through the air
Puncturing hearts that grew cold,
When the pain they hold is buried
In those,
Little holes nestled in the soul
Screaming from the raptures to be let free,
Then descends from heavenly heights
To plummet in hells pitfalls,
Make no mistake,
The soul does waver and quake
When you chase a dream disguised
As a silky silhouette,
Resembling a figure thats not you,
But someone new,
Someone whos shoes indubitably cant fit your feet
That kid works nonstop on the corner without any sleep
Whats he to do,
Dad tells him
Im doing all this for us,
For you,
Meanwhile baby sheds silver tears crying on the stoop,
He's hungry,
But daddy isnt giving him any food
Kid works and works to stay alive
Slapping fives in transactions,
Manufacturing happiness
To repair a broken spirit.
He wants to stop,
But dad doesnt listen
Dads dreams become his
HIs dreams dont matter
They dont see eye to eye
So they cant see Soul 2 Soul.
That was a snapshot,
Summer '07
Now picture
Winter '95
Momma workin 9-5
Pushing her daughter to achieve Olympian heights,
She is her catalyst,
The mystical magician who abracadabras her wishes
To grant them better lives.
Them tight ballerina shoes squeeze the life
Outta her aspirations
As she twirls to the rhythm of her souls cacophony
That tutu,
Was way to,
Tight to allow her to break the cycle
Her,
South African roots are fastened to the tree of ideology
That manifested the ideals of Desmond Tutu,
And she too,
Desires change because,
That dance floor gets lonely,
Its crowded with her despair
Her mother remains blissfully unaware
As her intricate dance patterns choreograph her heart
And exposes her soul
How she gon chase a dream
If her mothers running shoes dont fit her feet
How she gon chase a dream
If those running shoes,
Dont allow her to, grab hold of the tiny thought
The microscopic dream residing somewhere in the soul,
They dont see eye to eye
So they cants see Soul 2 Soul,
She speaks to her,
The words flying off the pages of her heart,
Only to hit the margin
When emotions bombard
She prays let grace descend and suspend the evergrowing madness
In the midst of verbal confusion
Contusions grow in restless souls
Mom loves the limelight,
Shes infatuated with freedom
Greed divides the love
But if you flip the reciprocal
Love divides the greed
And paves a way to the cementary that has buried all her needs
She digs her broken heart
And the dislocated spirit
She finds her moms conscience
NOw they both can see the difference
The sum of the parts equals the whole
Now them soles fit them shoes
You know
Them little niches at the bottom of the shoe
Those things that give that extra spring to reach the proverbial stars
And chase the inescapable dream that was once deemed impossible,
Now she can take that ballerina shxt,
NOw he can put that crack down cuz when you see Soul 2 Soul,
Souls do merge and converge upon impact
Impactfully letting us proceed beyond that impasse,
A wiseman once told me,
Know thy brother to
Know thyself
He said,
Know thy brother so
My can leave self and self can be us
Cuz souls are connected like spirit cords cordially inviting dancing hearts to ethereal ballet
Dreams dont have to coincide
They can run together side by side
Thats how we roll
Soul 2 Soul
Soul 2 Soul
Is how we roll
Let em know
Let em know
We are parts,
Of the same whole

POETRY: 'Stardust' by George Abraham

Stardust
By George Abraham

“We’re all made of stardust,”
he said.
And what a peculiar thought to arise
Here
In the world’s most powerful city,
Washington, DC;
Here
Where our nation’s story is engraved in
Sculptures as if history is
Trapped in time- forever living
Through triumph and tragedy,
Through war and peace,
Through economic boom and bust;
            It is here
Where immigrant protesters march upon capitol hill
Demanding their rights.

And the sculptures watch,
Remaining immovable
But yearning to speak.

For, they realize a divine truth,
Yet the mortals do not.
We are stuck in a country
Where people like
Johnny Moneybags can go to Harvard
Because daddy paid to build their latest library,
     But immigrants cannot get even the most
     Basic of college educations despite
     Hard work and diligence-
Where Taylor Swift can live her life
Making songs of all the boys that have
Come and gone; Breaking up with guys
is as periodic as sunrise and sunset;
     Yet, we hear talk of gays everywhere
     Being bullied into suicide
     Despite that their love is even more genuine
     Than that of this beloved star;       
Where people are arrested on sight
At our airports
For greeting incoming relatives
In Arabic,
     Because, in their heads 
     If one bad person speaks Arabic
     Obviously all people who speak Arabic must
     Follow suit…

It is easier to own a machine gun
Than it is to afford a college education
Here;
It is easier to find someone who has memorized parts of the bible
Than it is to find someone who can locate China on the globe
Here;
It is easier to find a McDonnalds
Than it is to find a book store
Here

In the God-blessed United States of America.

And as these sculptures
Fall
watching this country descend into turmoil,
they yearn to speak the divine truth-
a truth that is not even too complex-
the only criteria to understand this truth is
Giving a damn
About someone other than yourself-

“The ground you walk on-
It’s dust.
And so are you.

So is everyone.”

Copyright 2013| George Abraham

POEM 30/30 (2013) #8: "Art Project" By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

“Art Project”
By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

She found herself within
soft brush strokes.

Her canvas was more than
a surface for creating; it was
an outlet, a medium with which
she discovered her soul’s depth,
a slate upon which she hid
emotions too raw and too painful.

Colors coded her sentiments,
vibrant hues brought
meaning to the hurt
wrenching apart
her young, innocent,
unguarded spirit;
she was lost in suffering.

Her canvas saved her.

Painted lines were life lines,
pulling her from a cold abyss
of fear and confusion and sorrow;
freeing her from imprisoned misery,
allowing youthful purity to beam.

She was enamored with true art,
how a soul in turmoil creates,
how it illumines, how it heals;
but liberation is temporary,
the canvas is quickly filled,
the paint soon dries, the picture
becomes fabricated reality,
and hurt returns as waves do
crashing on windswept shores.

(c) 2013 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.

POEM 30/30 (2013) #6: "At Three" By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

"At Three"
By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

Imagine yourself at three,
young, still believing in magic,
no disillusionment or doubt,
still wide-eyed and fond of smiles,
still enamored with sky and sea
and sun; still in love with innocence.
Those beautiful, idyllic days,
the ones celebrated in verse
and remembered in lamentations
issued by sage men on stoops,
they can always be reclaimed.

They are not myths.

They are not legends conceived
on the metal typewriters
of fiction authors; they are real.

Imagine yourself at thirty
or forty (or fifty), your world
altered beautifully by the absence
of marginalized thought, or
your eyes transfixed by beauty.

Your childhood yearns for freedom,
craves second chances at life;
it cries out in theme parks and fairs,
dimly lit movie theaters prompt
familiar aches for enchantment;
it secretly giggles each time a balloon
breaks free and soars and wafts
with invisible wings in summer.

Imagine yourself at three,
wonder and wishful thought
directing grown-up endeavors,
fascination and curiosity
at play in dusty, grey minds;
envision youthful smiles,
gracious, glowing laughter
and light and love
then begin to live.

(c) 2013 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.

POETRY 30/30 (2013) #5: "Love, always" By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

“Love, always”
By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

-for A.D. and R.K. (on April 6, 2013)

It is a divine thing
to love.

The intricacy of unquestioned feeling
found in a union of two souls in love
is akin to a blessed miracle; it is
something special,
    something perfect
                absent of enmity.

We cherish its fire and tenderness,
pen eloquent verses and songs
meant to praise its existence,
we celebrate its power,
its ever elusive meaning
in a timeless question:
do we live for love,
or does love live
through us
in actions and words
and vows made within
God's presence?

Our answer
yields love.

There are moments, hours
of our lives, fragments of time
woven into the mundanity
of our passing days,
where love is a compass
directing us like two
aimless ships through night,
safely towards horizons
filled with promise,
filled with hope,
with clarity.

In love
we see ourselves;
faults crystallize,
want yields to concession
and we find peace.
No explanation offered
can fully describe how love
transforms us,
how it strengthens
our better selves.

We are the children of love,
entranced by its capacity
to illuminate;
passion may engulf us
temporarily, but
love is permanency.

Love is vital.
Like air and bread
and water,
like a mother’s warmth,
a father’s lessons,
like a brother’s fidelity,
a sister’s confidence
and a child’s smile,
like two best friends
embarking on life's journey,
love is divine.

(c) 2013 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.

POETRY: 'Cubic Zirconium' by George Abraham

“Cubic Zirconium”
By George Abraham

Perhaps it’s like pulling stones off of earrings,
Childishly,
Thinking they’re diamonds-
Gazing with naivety and
Caressing each square inch as if there’s
Something special here,
Only to realize that, in truth, these gems are
Cubic Zirconium-

Or perhaps it’s like finding a lost sibling
After searching for hours amongst a
Crowd of thousands of people
And feeling relieved, yet
Angry
At the same time since he was
Stupid enough to run off when you
Weren’t expecting it.

Or perhaps, it’s like getting to the center of a tootsie pop
Just to realize all you have left is a
Damp wad of spherical chocolate taffy-
Just as the wrapper advertised.

Or perhaps, it’s less playful-
Perhaps it’s like searching through the trash
On a rainy day
Only to find your soul in the midst of the
Rot and decay-
Perhaps that is what writing poetry is like.
Because, sometimes, the poet’s search for
Truth
Isn’t easy to conquer;
Sometimes, the truth is just too obvious, too cliché;
Sometimes it is unable to be grasped;

And Sometimes, the poet wanders
For days and nights
Only to realize there is no diamond to be found;
Just cubic zirconium.

Copyright 2013| George Abraham

POETRY 30/30 | #4: "THE UNIVERSE'S CHILDREN"

"The Universe’s Children"
By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

We are the sons and daughters of stars,
together in the black tapestry of space,
wandering, searching for causes
that define our existence.
To us, life is coupled
with a certain mendacity;
it prevents us from acquiring truth.
Knowing this,
understanding our place
among the dying pinpoints of light,
we resort to time honored customs,
deciding on whims made from air
and opt to stitch patterns
crafted from a thread spool of folly...

(c) 2013 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.

POETRY: 'At a Beach' by George Abraham

At a Beach
By George Abraham

I’ve had forever on my mind;
Walking so far down the shoreline-
            I’m lost
For, I’ve gone farther than I expected
In such seeming little time-
That once enormous lighthouse
Now becomes a speck in the background;
            I lose myself,
A bit,
My foot scrapes across the porous sand
As I forget that I will
Lose
Everything I engrave in the sand,
Even the shells I leave behind;
How, one day the tide will
Wash away these ephemeral impressions-
            But what to come?
What shall happen once my footprints all
Fade
In the tide’s voracity?
What of the sand, the sea,
The lighthouse?
Will the tide consume all,
Rendering this beach a
            Flood of regrets;
            Flood of lost memories;
            Flood of inconsequential impressions?

Or will remnants survive-
            Will the shoreline continue its infinite
                        Gentle roar?
            Will the sand maintain its
                        Impressionability?
            What of the shell fragments left
            Behind by the thousands of beach wanderers?

Perhaps the wind will take over
Forming one word out of these
Infinitesimal fragments of shell:

Continuity.

Copyright 2013| George Abraham

POEM 30/30 (2013) #3: "Cellist" By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

PHOTO BY ANDREINA SCHOEBERLEIN

"Cellist"

By Larry J. Knight, Jr.

Focused eyes,

bow in hand

glides across strings,

the universe responds...

celestial wonder ensues;

we sit transfixed.

(c) 2013 | Larry J. Knight, Jr.