Category: my original poems


I believe that,

Too many undesirable immigrants have come!

Look at what happened as,

In many big USA cities,

We look like a third world country.

Ever since I played this Neil Diamond song

On the radio in the early 1980s.

Too many I say because

Theses newbies do not assimilate

Why we are and who from,

America is independent!

I would be an isolationist President.

No today’s settlers only seek to rape;

Our storied culture instead of learning

Sending back to their poor country,

Money here they are earning.

Not wanting to be true “Americans”.

Shamefully we let them do this after nine-eleven,

Running scared instead of doing

A Harry Truman-like,

Enola Gay blast versus our enimies.

Wiping the asswipes from threatening us.

“Today”, Neil sings and yet

This  4th of July holiday,

We, our government has done little to

Annihilate the constant threat

That undid the life I was promised by

Our parents after World War II.

Now down is up,

Up is down and America,

Who once historically

Separated from overbearing British England

Is now seen by many

As a nation of clowns.

cous·in
 a child of one’s uncle or aunt;  person belonging to the same extended family; a thing related or analogous to another.

what-are-cousins-for-1-638

My parents let me know they are kin;

When we were little boys and girls,

At family gatherings played together again.

The more “ants” and uncles you had

The more cousins you had to play with!

Mine was Thelma and I was jealous when she married.

It was very cool since I was an only child.

Away from under the nose of my two controlling parents.

As uncles and aunts died-off

Spread across the states,

Increasingly less contact over decades with them

Less and less meaningful relationships

As they married or we had our careers.

Cousins are cool when you are young,

They are non-assisting adults in my experience as we age.

I only reconnected via LinkedIN with one who was similar to me,

Recently and only one year older than I;

A judicial magistrate who I played ball with in 1969!

Only to hear that he just died a couple months thereafter!

Cousins with reality checks, is what they are good for.

I never hear from or about most of them,

Save from my thankfully still alive Mum.

Cousins are like a phantom family members;

Past parental fun we had to be around.

(To Be Continued)

It eta no surprise to me
Many southerners in the USA
Still “fight” the American civil war philosophically.
I was called a “Yankee” often when I lived in Nashville;
Didn’t take it personally;
There is a baseball team they may mean. 1390943-american_civil_war6

Southern traditional Christian churchers killed by a BOY.
They watch TV cover the worst ad-nausea,
Copy/act upon misconceptions
No home training to enable common sense.
Today’s media “news directors” cover the worst man has to offer
Where is the good news balance?

As a veteran Black American, I understand both sides.
One is steeped in southern comfort confederacy,
The other having overcome except
Government allowed influx of similar beings;
Meanwhile were not educated to get the memo.

One state still flies the “crossed stars”.
This kid learns distorted history with rednecks in bars
Copycat actors and corporate deceptive news race card protractors,
Keeping the poison flowing in the (un) United race States;
“They reinforce it at the dinner table”,
My dad would always say. american-civil-war

Government-encouraged family decapitation;
Beheaded family now causes poor deportment repetition.
As too many again watch TV cover a sad example.
Of American multicultural mismanagement;
Yet another racial worldwide national embarrassment.
Upon their first brown-skinned President’s watch.

I’ll be Here

The chances increase that, now that I am sixty-plus, I might get a condition also and suddenly slip away, or that the war there in your country will take you from me; your mother may pass on and then we will never fulfill our London plus four years promise to see each other again and marry since meeting at Café Skype in 2010. Afraid, yet optimistic – to a point.

When you are Concerned
or when you are in need of reassuring…

I’ll be right beside you
Comfort you will find.

If you need a vacation from war in your country,
Or a loving helpful Long distance love to walk with hand-in-hand

Better for having met you gefore (before).

I’ll be right here for you,

Tell your mother I want to meet her

And to stay strong.

Via your not-so-good written English,

I do not know how long she has!

I am with you even if you cannot see me;
I truly understand.

I’LL BE HERE FOR YOU!

До Свидания.

533-god-can-heal-a-broken-heart

Where I work there is not enough street parking,
The company I work for created a small lot,
Which sits next to the concrete one for the executives.
The bed of the worker’s lot is grey gravel stones.

One chilly autumn morning I backed the car in
Off of the Gowanus Brooklyn street,
I got out against the chill,
Heading to the trunk to retrieve my leather jacket.
That is when something golden and shinny caught my eyes;
I was quick to identify it as jewelry.

Surely they were crushed by tires upon all of those stones!
Still attached to the little plastic thing used to display in stores,
On the reverse side was the price tag.
Even this was not too soiled to clean – I did;
Meaning these earrings hadn’t lain there for very long.

I picked them up,
Their shape reminds me of the sign for infinity;
The measure of time I will care for thee.
For now they adorn my office cubicle.
Showing them to some female coworkers,
“Must belong to ‘Beyonce’ “, one said.
She was referring to the rather stuck-up,
Asian-looking, double-breasted receptionist.
She thinks she is “all that” and is not pleasant.

Often praying and I wish you were here.
I could offer these earrings to you just for fun;
You would reject them as not real gold or second-hand.
“Costume jewelry” is the term I always heard mother use;
I believe you would appreciate it is the good thought that counts!

Knowing your ear lobes are not pierced,
I guess I will save them for you anyway.
When I picked them up,
They reminded me in another new way,
Of the past gifts you’ve sent to me;
All of which fit to the “T”,
Even when personally you had not met me!
And how my ears long for the ring of thy voice.

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There once was a radio station slot that was dull,
Too many youngsters were cursing on the air.
The FCC dug the Vandy college campus station null.
Until a community volunteer named Gull
Produced a show named for a bird of the Sea,
That went on to become one that lives
In the WRVU radio hall of fame in infamy.
“Seagulls Over Nashville” was his name.
Conservative and down-home religious was his bent,
When not rocking-out judiciously on the air.

Now on sea-video for the first time,
It is another of his claims to fame,
Since the institution sold its soul and license to NPR
Into shame and meetings about it notwithstanding,
Turning talent out with a boot to the ass;
Faustian caring not about youthful human creativity,
Nor forming terrestrial trusts into perpetuity.
The Gull often squawks, “Not Urgent”
So that we do not take it seriously.

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[With apologies to those who enjoy my poetry (or scorn and mock it) for taking so long between sharing my posts due to working a daily routine which includes helping my eighty-nine year old mum while I learn that New York City is not the place for my future with Nina.
I am on vacation from that world as I post these creative words from that neglected other aspect of my loyal inner self.]


By Pebble Bay Beach

Don’t grow cold on me.
Although in life,
There is war and strife;
Hold onto the cures that might,
Give you peace at night.
Such as me being your man,
Who will more than suffice.

Do not…grow cold on me.
For now almost twice a fortnight,
Upon our collective breast,
This silence is cast against winds
Though they may change directions,
My course is consistent and steady;
Yet, shaken by your sudden surprise absence.
So that when Our Father’s blessing finally comes,
The means to import you and yours;
I will be ready.

Clutch the dreams of your heart.
Even tighter within your fighting fists
Knowing each day we awake;
It carries a blessing and a risk.
A song by Neil Diamond enters my mind,
“Love On The Rocks” lol

Don’t…grow cold on me,
It is embarassing to see!
Allowing me to journey alone like a rudderless boat;
Without word or reason,
When others are gone;
In the disorienting foggy dawns,
That disclaims territory of inevitably changing seasons.

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honey-moon

Seldom does “Friday the thirteenth” and the June full lunar moon coincide as it does this year into what they call a “Full Honey Moon”. I just had a glimpse of it as I prepared the trash in the alley,stopping by to check on my eighty-nine year old mother!

Having resisted the melancholy all of this torrential rainy, humid day after a treacherous work week, it has finally gotten the best of me and I have to express some of “Who I Am” visa v one of my favorite and legendary Rhythm and Blues groups, The O’Jays. I have written about them elsewhere herein my blog, but never included this obscure one [song] and wonder now, fondly, with all of us getting older, if they even are a performing group anymore? I pray so while knowing that “Father Time” lectures over our skills as his clock ticks. So the “full honey moon” means that we have the best chance now to all be gone soon according to prophecies!

http://sploid.gizmodo.com/no-human-has-seen-tonights-honey-moon-in-almost-100-yea-1590096626

So “Who Am I?” To question or feel insecure or maybe on the cusp of declaration?
Like Popeye The Sailorman, “I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.”
I just was strong,
Then I became weakened by loneliness.
Emboldened by prayer and faith,
I reclaimed that I am aware;
The unseen realm working in-favor of my goals,
Frustration notwithstanding,
Strong declarations demanding.

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Who are YOU?
These days, do you enjoy common sense?
Can you stand the test – of time?
I know of one who is sublime;
Reaching deeply into your soul,
I pray that you find someone and who you are,
Before your bones grow too old.

This lunar conjunction has not occurred in over one century;
Therefore calls into question whether we will ever fulfill our destinies.
Music is the only thing that can make this right while she is so far away from me.
Tears near both my eyes…

Here I am again in this mean old town
And you’re so far away from me
And where are you when the sun goes down
You’re so far away from me

So far away from me
So far I just can’t see
So far away from me
You’re so far away from me

I’m tired of being in love and being all alone
When you’re so far away from me
I’m tired of making out on the telephone
And you’re so far away from me

So far away from me
So far I just can’t see
So far away from me
You’re so far away from me

I get so tired when I have to explain
When you’re so far away from me
See you been in the sun and I’ve been in the rain
And you’re so far away from me

So far away from me
So far I just can’t see
So far away from me
You’re so far away from me
​Forever,

~Naphtali​

We will overcome.
You will comment?

Since I cut the corporate  tv cable,

I avoid the “news” religiously.

Now when the news intrudes,

And because my betrothed lives in Ukraine

I want to hang my head in shame.

Now what?

What is next to interrupt our plans?

“Scary stuff that Putin!!”, a friend writes.

 

Why of all the places on earth to have a crisis?

Ahead of my plan to bring her to America,

So we can live as one,

Why now?

 

I despise a Putin.

Another Hitler we do not need on the world stage;

He is worse than Sadaam Hussein who never invaded.

He should meet the fate of Muammar Gadaffi;

Dragged and gutted on live television by the rebels.

Image

 

Where are the opposition voices in “the new Moscow”?

Surely all of the Russian people do not endorse this encroachment!

On Davidzon radio in NYC,

At least seventy percent of callers,

Endorse Ukrainian unity and sovereignty.

 

Now when I read my beloved’s letters,

My mood is scared and sullen.

The more news pundits analyze,

I lose more sleep upon Putin’s aggrandize;

Another hurdle to our happiness;

Just my luck…

I had to weigh-in on this,

Which torments me daily.

 

May he “poot”-in his own toilet,

And it back-up into his ass,

Choking him on his own shit that vomits out of his mouth!

In the comunist USSR tradition,
Putin is adept at spinning truth (Pravda),
As propaganda (denial).

The one saving grace here
His agression has hastened
His departure from this earth.

PickHitt: You can help Ukraine via our fundraising campaign here~ http://www.crowdrise.com/Campaign2Ukraine/fundraiser/imijproduckshunz

I went to a party on Labor Day Friday in New York City.

I used to love parties;

Used to play music for parties for many decades!

Maybe that is part of the problem with this poem.

I felt like an alien or elder on the outer limits,

Unable to dance and awed by the “DJs” spinning.

I felt like an alien on a darkened once familiar foreign planet

Only for moments did this DJ pioneer allow himself,

To enjoy the throng of heaving bodies to the music.

None of the chicks were fine enough for me to ask them a dance,

My legs this night were not in-shape to freak anyway;

One burned by boiling water the previous week,

The other with a sudden calf strain.

I gotta get back on my bicycle!  

A Life unhinged since I relocated back east.

It sucks here generally when not amused by the New York accents.

 

I’ve been a fool.

Fooled and failed so many times,

While searching to find the ONE female companion

With whom to spend the rest of my living days…

You know if you have visited previously that

I believe that I have found her.

But hurdles keep appearing in-front of us.

Now I think to fund-raise again…

To help her Mum come to America

For better health care than in Ukraine;

Life is strange.

Some of us never know

The purpose for which we came to be;

The only constant is that,

TIME passes whether we achieve or not.

 

Some will counsel:

“Life is too short” to get upset over disappointments.

I will counter that if we don’t get perturbed;

Crying-out like the infant who needs milk,

Then we never will get fed fulfillment and success!

 

I went to a birthday party last night,

Wishing all the while my far-away fiancee` was there with me.

I ordered  a cocktail.

One part patience, 

Stirred into a pint of deception tonic,

Shaken and sipped through the straw of long-awaited finally.

 

They played and pumped CDs with wordless beats.

They mixed magically as I taught them to unbeknownst.

 

Abashedly concerned I press-on,

Will there ever be any fun in life again?