Black Beauty

I am not the man i was yesterday. I do not care about the far future – unless it is to make sure that the lives of all people are sweet like the sugar from a cane.


Black!
Beauty seated by the bench
With a bunch of brown boys i don’t know.

All of them trying to show
Just why you should open the door
Between your legs to them.


Black!
Beauty seated by the bench
With a bunch of brown boys i don’t know.

Do you know?

There’s a poet out here
That will most likely shed a tear

If you do not open your heart to him.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

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More then the sky blue

Just like the blacksmith hammers the gallant knights sword into shape.

Tough times batter me into becoming better.

Lazarus Shatipamba

Do you know what it means for a poet to love you?
Even when your lipstick's smudged and your makeup's dry
He will love you as much as birds love the sky blue.

Tell her, the poet loves you much more then lies the true
When stupid cupid comes around to ask you why
You don't know what it means for a poet to love you.

When your friends come by your house to ask for a clue
How much the poet loves you, without even a try-
Tell them he loves you more then the sky loves its blue.

Say that the poet loves you many times, not a few
When they ask you to answer quick and on the fly
"Do you know what it means for a poet to love you?"

Tell all the people of the wide world the poet loves you.
Even when your own self love does begin to die
He will love you more then the judge loves what is true.

When potential suitors ask if you have a clue
In a voice that's very deep and volume high
"Do you know what it means for a poet to love you?"
Tell them he loves you more then birds love the sky blue!

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Mother of Four (An Ode To My Mother)

Happiness doesn’t depend on who you are or what you have, it depends solely on what you think.

Dale Carnegie

Hard life you lead but still you give,
Not just to those you gave birth to.
But also to those have no clue,
How to in your tender womb live.

Oh! Mother of four-
There in my greatest hour of need.
To my hungry, empty tummy feed
Something yummy and not so sour-

That it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Oh! Mother of four : three girls and a boy
That have grown into adults from their youth.
Though you bought me not many a play toy-

In my younger years, I shed bitter tears
When I felt the pain of my many scars
Which like cop you came to lock behind bars
Just so I would not suffer from my fears.

Oh! Mother of four : three girls and a boy.
Though you bought me not many a play toy-
Know i love thee for giving me much joy!

© 2019 The Poets Peace

The Vacant Chair

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery. But, today is a gift…it’s why its called the ‘present’.

The chair in my heart has started to gather dust
For it has not been sat on since you left to warm
The bed of some lucky guy who’s hinges have not rusted
To the point that they could not be trusted to hold
The full weight of your soul that’s whole in your body.

The chair in my heart has started to gather dust
Fast accumulating since last you sat on it
To warm with body as well as wiles of women
You used to seduce me into out of its desk
Pull it slowly out for you, just so you could sit.

But you tired and left it in a state vacant
Of your touch and the support it had to give you.
The chair in my heart has started to gather dust
Since you left, so sit in it by myself I must.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Musings from a lover lost his love.

Do not call the forest that shelters you a jungle.

So much has happened since last we saw each other
I am not the same boy who used to many a game play with you
Smiling in the wind blind to dangers that seek to grind our bones to dust.

So much has happened since last I held your hand.
Since they sent me off to war where I saw worn men and torn bodies
That inspire stomachs to release their contents.

Where victory tasted much the same as defeat
Yet we ate because if we didn’t eat our bodies will lose the heat
Needed to stay warm and alive in the burning winter.

Many winters we fought through were so cold
They turned bold men to boys wanting to hide beneath beds
Till the coming summer when all would be warmer.

When the summer came and home I went to see you my lover.
I found that much has happened since they sent me of to war
On that day when I last held your hands.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

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to a Chocolate Colored Lady

I dwell in possibility.

Emily Dickinson

Sometimes i like,
to sit in silence
and do absolutely
nothing at all.

Yet at the same time
also doing something.

Thinking of the chocolate colored lady
that strolled into my heart and made it her home.

Time
passes me by like a stranger
i never met and had the anger for
because they never did put me in danger
of becoming an endangered species.

but you! brown-eyed beauty
are an entire species altogether.

for the way you changed my weather
from a winter very moody
to a spring truly happy
was like the hand of a goddess
that moved to caress
the feel of her dress
as it fell down her curves
to attract the eyes of men
like thirsty lions to a water hole.

It was a bad day
i had just been robbed
of all my ignorance

and i had a runny tummy
grumbling coz i had not the money
to spend on some munchies.

When she saw me and flashed
a smile, bright as a flashlight,
gently grabbed my hand tight
and held it light
in her hands as she led the way
to her favorite coffee shop.

Conversation freed our desire for food
yet we ate to compensate for the state
of our minds, that were working overtime
to make us smile and make the moment rhyme
in tune with the next six months of our lives.

The next six months were the best of my life
because although she and i were not married
we loved each other like we were men and wife.

Until she ended it to follow her dreams
of becoming a volunteer
for the UN and left my cheeks
flowing with the bittersweet tears
of hurt and joy.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Love

When I dare to be powerful – to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.

Audre Lorde

Love is a newspaper publication
That informs the masses of her affection.
You see, she wrote me a most precious article
That said she'll love me, even were i to wrinkle.

© 2019 The Poets Peace