the writer waited until he hit a century
before releasing the rights to his diary
while flipping through the pages one night
his still-active imagination took flight
and he was a young man again
as far as he could ascertain
and a young lady came near
and whispered in his ear
they went for a walk
and had a lovely talk
and
when the writer’s son
came to visit the next day
the old man had passed away
with a smile on his face
that showed
he was in a better place
golden lightning bolts streaking along ghetto walls like a snake in the Garden of Babylon intent on conveying anarchistic values to the viewers who gaze upon the colorful buildings in shock and awe...
graffiti in high C playing in the neighborhood
it’s art to the homeboys who make noise while spraying their gang names and playing games and it’s all understood
graffiti in high C playing in every city
the world is crazy
about an artist called Banksy
who secretly
paints murals of damnation in every nation
but the critics don’t get it
because they think it’s about money and fame, but graffiti’s real message is not so tame, it’s a reality check warning things will not always remain the same
when I was growing up my grandfather use to say
that boy is going to find out everything the hard way
if he comes out of his childhood alive
there’s a damn good chance he’ll survive
I was an eager student of the School of Hard Knocks
my troubles were never pebbles they were always rocks
taking the least traveled pathway had a price
I come close to losing my life twice
there was never really a choice for me
I’ve always been on the verge of tragedy
but in these later days of my life
I look back and appreciate the strife
and accept my past and my destiny
whatever that happens to be
at first glance baby laughs or cries
when she looks in the mirror
and sees her eyes
but as the years go by
she forms a relationship
and greets her visage
in friendship
with selfies
and a discerning eye
looking to defy
age while still youthful
and beautiful
with cosmetics that lie
looking in the mirror
can begin
and end
with fear
but in-between
that mirror
must be near!
we cannot hide from our deeds
whether they’re good or bad
our actions have consequences
that either leave us happy or sad
the life moves we make
affect our journey
and the roads we take
a good path
or a mistake
call it karma
or call it fate
everything you do
comes back to you
love
or hate
what’s in your center?
an enlightening epiphany
or more?
discovering your inner core?
a place to safely explore?
some say
the soul is your center
and gateway
to your spirit
that follows a pathway
up a celestial stairway
to heaven
but I wouldn’t know
I have a wayward soul
that wanders alone
seeking the center
of the universe
and it’s secrets
but
I still wonder why
I can never go home
no matter how hard I try
after a century the first thing I could see
was a replica of me staring with curiosity
we looked at one another
trying to discover
the mystery
it didn’t take long
to understand what was wrong
when I blinked an eye
so did the other guy
and it became clear
I was looking up into a mirror
and there was no reason for fear
but when I stood up
I heard a hidden gear
instead of my heart
there was a moving part
instead of skin
I had something akin
that gleamed in the light
and gave me a fright
until I realized I was still alive
even if my body didn’t survive
I was always aware of someone watching me in the family
and it was oddly comforting but sometimes scary
like having The Eye of Horus or The Eye of Ra on me
no matter what I did or how dangerous the activity
That watchful eye followed me over the years
and helped me deal with my fears
sometimes, I look up at the sky
after all these years have gone by
and wonder why
I still believe in a watchful eye?
he stood amidst the ruins of the city
a warrior raised with no pity
when no one was looking
a tear welled up in his eye
for all the men who had to die
she was as tough as could be
a corporate climber making money
but when no one was looking
she would cry
tired of being the bad “guy”
he was a professional fighter
who wanted to be a writer
when no one was looking
he proved he had what it took
and wrote a book
c’mon, let’s be real
who cares about trivial facts
that are supposed to be a big deal?
a Hollywood star has a baby
whose name fans say is crazy
the royal family visited a park
and the children thought it a lark
the latest study found
that marmots are proud
the trending activity
is oversensitivity
c’mon…who cares
about millionaires?
or conspiracies?
or political memes
with hateful themes?
Who cares what others do?
As long as they don’t hurt you?
or ruin your day
and take something away?
who cares about others
unless their brothers or mothers?
who cares about anything at all
however big and however small?
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