Archives for posts with tag: poems

There's no place like...

 

where the heart is

follow the broken pieces strewn about

on the yellow brick highway

 

is Apartheid

outside

 

where the wind blows

there is something stirring here

pick up the pieces and run to\the nearest place

where they do not know your name

 

you’ll be safe

 

here you may start anew

an anonymous anomaly

fresh beats for your heart

for which there is no home

 

we all go to hell

in our dreams

and wake up and wake up

 

like babies outside the placenta

always leaving

living life searching for connections

yet long ago we cut the cord

 

so how are we to know

where home is

if every-time we enter

we are again expelled

“…So for me patience is most fitting”

            -Yaqub Father of Yusuf

 

While we wait,

Droning along

Towards world excellence

Towards new order.

 

Policing the heinous crimes of The Others.

So Christian like-

This show of black intelligentsia.

 

Covert. Ignorance. Advocacy.

 

Yes the Dream is real.

The fight won. So

You and I can fight some more

 

And some mo’,

and some mo’.

 

Yes,

I had a Dream

That my big brother was spying on me,

To keep me mo’ safer, make my life mo’ betta.

Ensure my loyalty

 

Les’ I be

Unpatriotic,

A lone wolf wandering amongst the sheep

While the shepherds preach?

 

The reporters ask,

“Would He be here today?”

“Is this the Dream which

Thine eye did seek?”

 

Hell no

 

This dream reeks

Of Orwellian overtones,

Unmanned. Fallacy. Orbits.

So that the children of the world may

One day

 

Be free.

bass slinking along

a panther in the filigree

wild black treeline

out of place like a

brushstroke gone awry

against a somber blue canvas

boom ba boom boom boom

“looks like another love TKO”

I’m not making any promises, but I’m going to attempt to keep up with NaPoWriMo this year. I’ll be writing a poem a day however, I refuse to post one everyday. I think that’s overload. So I’ll do what I can. In other news… today marks the day my biggest source of inspiration came into my life. It’s my anniversary! What better way to kick off National Poetry Month than to share a poem I wrote in honor of the man that keeps me wanting to write poetry.

I hope you make time to read and write some poetry this month, and don’t forget to thank whoever or whatever it is that inspires you to keep doing whatever it is that you do.

-Umm Qamar

The Letters

“…tell your supervisor you’re leaving early today

and I’m going to pay for the rest of your day …” -Tony! Toni! Tone!

A year ago today

Marks the day they became

“Impossible us”

She with legs sealed shut and heart wide open

He in High Pursuit

“Do you know what today is?”

Mother Father Friend said,

He’s all wrong for you

Nothing more than good

Conversation. Piercing like

First time penetration His creed

All wrong he’s coming on too strong

Plundering through barbed wire

fenses trailing Issey Miyake scent

Yellow kite tails catching.

“It’s our anniversary, anniversary…”

Something about a caged bird

The free just can’t appreciate

Scratches in the track our music

Don’t make sense we make

Vinyl record love

Fuck autotunes

He had a throwback style

Would throwback any man

That ever thought they could

She spoke of limitations like deal breakers

And then the letter came

Proving that roses could be born of concrete

And hearts built of brick

Love could be pieced together from leftovers

Can pervade through hard times.

Six years ago today

A moon was born

A year ago today

Trembling hands penned sureties

Two troubled paths eclipsed,

“Do you know what today is?”

Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of. -Benjamin Franklin
TIME CAPSULE 2001, SIDE VIEW, show

Thank you Mr. Franklin, I couldn’t have said it better myself.  Since undertaking some new responsibilities in my life, (a.k.a. a new job, a.k.a now I can pay more bills) I find my myself yearning for more hours in the days and for more minutes in the hours.  I fully understand the complaints of those writers who try to balance practicing their craft with putting food on the table.  I guess I should try to look at it from a more creative positive viewpoint; now I have more fodder to give my poems life.  I digress…

The true reason for this post was to share a link to a poem of mine that has been published by the lovely ladies of The Blue Hour Magazine.  Please be sure to head over to their site and show all of the wonderful poets, writers, and artists some love!  I’ll be back to posting poems and random ramblings soon enough.  I just wanted to thank all my followers and even those of you who just happened to fly by and “like” a few of my posts.  I love you guys and wish you well.

-Umm Qamar

In the Purple Rain- A poem by Jasmine Javid

Opiate Susmission

The sun-rays my silhouette humbled,

Casting reverent shadows on Turkish artistry.

Here because you denied – the sun,

The moon, the stars primitive artistry.  This

Life is lonely, and then you sacrifice your blessings

That is Grace.

 

I watched

Her footprints soft-spoken, unaware

Of her power from which I was conceived.

Bear no witness to my deeds. I

Listened to their stories,

They washed their hands of me

That was love.

 

My knees kiss this consecrated ground

Redemption beading on my forehead,

Wreaking havoc, it is the storm before the calm.

High on opiate submission

And waiting for the pouring forth,

Now I know why they lean.

The weight of confession cannot stand alone.

 

Faith tastes like complacency

Come again?

I never learned how to swim

But I tread deep waters

Because I knew how to pray.

Ya Sheikh!

That is servility.

The signifier failed to signify.

20 resting souls

In a world where:

“Things like this don’t happen,”

not here.

The words, the words

are better dead;

As they are inadequate,

for drying tears.

HAIR COILS UP BUT IT DON’T SPRING BACK

LIKE A MATTRESS MADE LOVE ON

IT DON’T SPRING BACK

 

SKIN IS BLACK LIKE

FINGERS DRAPED ON THE BASE OF A LOVERS NECK

BLACK LIKE, DON’T GET LOST IN THIS NECK

OF THE WOODS

 

THIS MUST BE SPOKEN ALOUD

THE PAIN UNTANGLED

BECAUSE COMPLEXION IS HARD TO EXPLAIN

 

YOU CANT QUITE PICTURE THESE HIPS

ARE FULL LIKE POLITICIANS

ARE FULL OF SHIT

FULL LIKE HOOD BABIES

ARE FULL OF DREAMS

FULL LIKE DISPLACEMENT GENTRIFICATION

 

TO SWIM IN A POOL SO DEEP

THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER YOU’LL NEVER REACH

IT’S FUCKED UP, SO GET UP. GET OUT

DON’T WANT YOU IN THE POOL ANYWAYS

YOU ARE FOREVER DISPLACED

 

THIS AIN’T ABOUT RACE

IF IT WAS WE’D NEVER

IN A GAME RIGGED

 

TOO MANY TIMES  BEEN MADE TO CHOOSE

EITHER TO LIVE UP

OR STOOP DOWN

RED SAID IT BEST-ON US PLYMOUTH ROCK LANDED

 

AND SO THIS NEEDED TO BE WRITTEN

THE STORY NEED NOT BE SCRIPTED

WE ARE BLACK

OUR HAIR COILS UP IT

DON’T SPRING BACK LIKE

THE MOVEMENT THAT WAS LOST
Via Google Image

Photo Credit: Flickr

Shed

Liquid petals captured

and discarded, yours are relinquished

Symbolized

How can one grow

If bound by the confines

of definition, I’d rather

Bleed

Photo courtesy of Sabina Panayotova via Flickr

Love making in negative spaces

Predilections licking surface wounds

Eyes fixed on ceiling store

Shopping its cracks for displaced pleasure

“you’re too deep, I can’t reach you”

The rapacious knocking ceases.

“I know”

%d bloggers like this: