#Poet Battle Round 1




this is the moment we are



with the force of the dao

now aligned with profound

divine gateway sounds

allowed it to flow through me

elegantly seducing the goddess of life like rumi,

using medicinal musical movements of potent parables zooming

closer to the quenching of your deepest thirst Use me

as you’d like

a reflection of your own light

prophetic inter-connective true heart spirit of faith,

I recite this Fearless incentive blessing coming through surrender to grace

Were made in the heavens sent to activate your center, Enter the gates

Of liberation

remember the sacred

calling of all ancients

to bow to the infinite and re-create One Peace Nation.

Make a vow to be givin it your all with thy dedication

And release all that is not true love for all of creation


Juarez, I’ll call it
swampy and wanting
that water bog
as it sticks in spindles
two feet in the air
it mirrors my instability
growing wildly in all directions.
ten yellow tulips
with spring still fresh in their buds
placed in sugar water
at the end of my bed
so when I wake alone
their cheer can fill me
as I prepare another day
lost in confusion
and waiting, only waiting…
to season the sickly air
I alight every scent
a mixture of pleasures
stifle the slipping hope
wisping around the twelve-foot ceilings
Vietnamese cinnamon
ginger, curry, patchouli
lavender, eucalyptus
and honeysuckle for my sign
the one which makes habit
of enduring love in solitude
a boon as it is a curse
I love me, I love me
I love you ‘cause you’re not me
but just for a short while
as dawn brings the light
I fought not to see
it’s me, it’s me
all the love
I gave for free
to you and others similar
I should have reserved
exclusively for me


Never leave a drink unattended,
Because drinks are like people,
They can get lonely,
Especially around this time of year
All they want is to find someone
And make them happy, listen
To their problems and promise
With a bitter kiss, to make them go away.

Pause and look at that glass,
So full and yet with no one around
It is so depressing, such good grains
Gone to waste sitting before a stool
That is growing cold, waiting for a rear end
Pressing down on it with pleasure and pressure.

So go along and take them both,
The stool and the drink and try
To master both at the same time,
A hardy task worthy of a jukebox warrior,
There is a damsel in distress, she’s blonde
And she’s thick, take her inside and warm her up,
Never leave a drink unattended.


“Sheeit”, she says to me, “you better give me a muthafuckin winner tonight, or I’ll take ya’ outside, y’hear? Take ya out to the lot and shank you with a Swiss Army Knife–put a little hole in your kidney, yo, cuz’ I NEED that money, dawg, you know? I NEED that muthafuckin money”…And I do know b/c I actually work and sheeit’ I cain’t hardly pay no bills or feed no baby by my own damn self and I cain’t hardly feel nothing or see nothing but the red in my eyes and the fridge is empty and the boys in the yard they fightin’ over a mayonnaise sandwich, and I’d like to see her win some muthafuckin money, I’d like to see her smile like she used to back before towelhead mania, before Jethro Tull put down the flute–back when we was rolling in it, dirty dozens, and staring shamelessly into the sun; taunting it to shine, or not to shine…and I’d like to give her a winner, tonight, I’d like to call her a goddamn number but integrity is all we got in this place now, one of the few places we got it and one of many where we gets to lose it and I just cain’t bear to get cut again…not by her that used to shine like Old Miss Argenia’s Golden Lucky Buddha–not in here, where the pain is too great and the reward is too mighty and the sun don’t shine for us to mock…But I tell her, “I got you, sis, I got you” because lie is just a three-letter word and I cain’t hardly bear to watch her saunter away like that, shuffle off with her damn self and her lucky trolls and her damn numbers that don’t make no patterns no more no how anyhow, off into the middle of the fray, at her usual spot under the vast lingering spirit of a smoke cloud that eats hope for breakfast and drinks angry like a monk’s pen…


it was if I had walked
into a coup d’état
a tribe of elders
a cri de coeur
old men sabotaged
by blue baseball caps
money green windbreakers
thick creole accents
old men
eyes welling up with distrust
checkerboard fingertips
developed lips
disapora line running across
their forehead
libations are given
for the earthquake dead
offered veneration
to Shango and Damballah
oranges and mangoes
called on Aya
transformed this barbershop
into a meeting house
looked around the room
for Christophe
a young Touissant
with muscle tank skill
shave my skull
saved my soul
this mea culpa
with rubbing alcohol and aloe
washed away the residue
looked around the room
and saw Mandela
Martin Obama
Malcolm Desalline
a chair available
I knew I would succeed
not downtown
but the underground
missed an ambush
in this shop on flatbush




War Crimes

Their faces distorted,
Masks contorted to fit the shrunken bones.
The final humiliation to be so alone
And trapped in a cell of arrogance.
The senseless deaths occuring
From bravely spurning questions
Asked not from curiosity,
But animosity.
How did these doctors not bleed
From their believed stigmata,
Surely they bartered with the devil
For their consciences to be destroyed.
Betrayers of their trade,
The Pontius Pilots with their blades
And their ideals of perfection.
Correction of heritage should never be a suggestion,
What sacrilige!
To be hated for your skin, your kin,
Your face, your race,
Your mind.
To be made blind to turn eyes blue.
A hue so common, yet why so desired?
Are we not all wired differently
So why force us into a box?
It shocks us to remember the Reich,
To think bigotry is rife,
Yet we may control our lives,
So why,
Do we not stand up for what is right?


This man slowly marches among men
And they march in single file
He is greeted by his homeland in great cheers
But he is cheered only for what hes defiled
They love him because he bore the mark of their nation
Because he is part of the warriors creed
But as he is cheered by his comrades, he sighs
He is loved for making people bleed
There was ceremony and he was given a medal
for being a hero so brave
And he is applauded and respected but he wondered
Where the medals are for his friends in graves
And as he stood at attention with the men in his division
He tried to look proud and play his part in the charade
And he is pelted with glory and honor for being savage
As he stands in the ranks of the Grim Parade.


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