A Universe expressed through a Window of Experience

Posts tagged “poetry

Ego Strikes Again

ego_by_vimark-d306bsh

Not listening
Ego is deafening
Not visualizing
Ego is blinding
It’s a graffiti painted wall
It’s a filter
It’s a magnetic field
Whatever it is… has cut my umbilical cord
To the outside world
Now Pregnant with Desires
In the form of Chains
Pushing outward, I was
Giving Birth to Control
….Over my environment
The beginnings of my sufferings
Disguised as my pleasures
Not letting anything in
No questions nor suggestions for my mood
No challenges to my feelings
Says ego
…whom guards the storm within me
Deludes me
Protects me…from the truth that hurts
The clarity that purifies and dissolves
The contractual vestment in pleasures
Sex…porn….vanity
Arrogance…sugar….
Mockery…
Accomplishments….
Rightness…
Quarreling with ego
Losing the fight
Addicted to the drama like many others
Flooded with negative thoughts
Grey Clouds that appear in the form of situations
Now a Severe Weather-storm in the forecast
Wind Pressures
From Life’s Gravity, which moves me
Moody with High Temperatures
These are the makings of
Emotion….Picture
….a Movie about my True Nature
A documentary of
An obscure storm
The sound-waves of thunder do not travel fast enough
Nor far beyond for you to receive them
Thinning out over time
Yes…this segment of me may be too dark for you to see
The frictions and afflictions
Sketched as Violet Lightnings
That Strike Violently…Quick
Punching the Air
Snapping and Cracking
The Innocent Skies into Fragments
Looking like Black Shattered Glass
Inside of my vast being
As this is all compressed in a globe the size of a peephole
A Small World within my Universal Self
A sphere of thought
To be thought of as fear
A collaboration of
Rampaging oceans and earthquakes
Present with great movements
And an absent stillness
Nicknamed …”peace”
Whom knows me but we are distant lovers
Incarcerated in one Cell, we once were
For many fallen suns
And since there’s no Conviction
At the moment, we simply don’t Jail (Gel)
Hard Heart
Cemented Feelings
What remains is a Statue of a Storm
Memorializing the life that no longer lives
A Rigid Coagulation of Currents
Sullenly Stubborn
Juxtaposed as a Fighter with a Rocky Role
The ego
A web of fiery desires
A magnetic field
A filter
A graffiti painted wall
Blinding
Deafening


A Prey Tale (Saga 1)

~Youthful Cougar~

~Youthful Cougar~

 

A Queen

With eyes tinted of a Crown Royal hue

That I Sipped from

Inebriated kind of glance

That copiloted her penetrating stance

Finally I blink, Soaked with curiosity

I try to Shake it Off like a Wet Dog

But alas, my attention grasped

Without hands, and no ring on hers

Yet still she jabbed me into surprise by a

Passionate Passive Aggressive gaze

That represents a taste…

..For me

I shy away from the Magnetic Stares

An Elevating Force

That may take me to a smothered place

Rumored where lovers vacate

When life becomes mundane

This is a Tale from Prey

A Pray Tale, per se

Amen…for me

She’s …a Predator

Killer Bank Account

She’s Loaded, Aiming…for me

Her Trigger Squeeze is precise

Her technique is designed

To make my Love Bleed out

That’s what she seeks from this Young Meat

Woman of many Dreams, not a Kruger

But a Cougar, and she’s Hungry

For attention

Let me mention that the Time in her Hourglass frame

Exceeds

Mine

Explosively, she’s fine, physically

Cougars don’t Fly

But mentally she’s in the Skyline

Raining Knowledge

While I build my Noah’s Ark

Amongst this Flood of Thoughts

Yea, she’s a Wise Wine

My kind, a Sophisticated Taste

Flavorful Words, we Brew

In a Stew of Dialogue

Emotional Simmer, gave me the shivers

Her Inner Light was familiar

Reflecting on her Spirit

Was like speaking to a clearer mirror

“Have we met before?” I implore

Was explored by her Erotic Intelligence

Mind Fucking me Raw

She Came…inside

And like Two Guitar Strings

We Vibed

Consumed by her Ego

So I’m Stroking hers

With spoken words

Till I slur into a wake-less blur

I’m drowsy

She’s touching me without permission

What’s her mission?

I’ve met bold women, but she’s bolder

Or maybe my erection was harder than one

I don’t know but I notice

How she unclothed my emotions

Lips massaging my shoulder

Over and over

And over to my chest

My breath weighs a ton

About as much as my eyelids

Pants are falling down

Too weak to get up

I look around, sucking sounds

Fill the air, I Blackout

Confused, this does not compute

And like the jazz serenade that colored our space

I fade….

Till I awake, feeling the breeze of time

It blew me into a long stay

Mind alarms me that I need to escape

Dressing slowly, I fasten my pants

Toe Tapping towards the door

Of my car, pedal Hits the Floor like a Shoot Out

Speed limit is 45

The same number of thoughts that race past

Bumping into my Face like Acne

Recollecting events, the suspense

Is venomous, it paralyzed me in confusion

“Was it a dream? An illusion?”

“Where’s my wallet?”

Back pocket, checked it

To my surprise it was Pregnant

With money I’ve never seen

Bulging with a few G’s like a Mafia Movie

I gasp; breathe

“What I have done? What did we say?”

Phone illuminates, it sings

Text message is on the screen

“Thank you for tonight! You were amazing”

“See you next week – heart, heart, wink- smiley face”

 

…To be resumed


Angel in a Blue Dress

No name

Curvy in all of her femininity

Face was a smooth-skinned, coffee-hued canvas

That was painted with Two-Lips that Blossomed full

No lipstick, no make-up, she was organic

Her cat-like eyes fashioned a hazel tone

They sang a song that stole me into a trance

Her gorgeously blue dress danced to the rhythm of her mean walk

It hugged her like a long lost relative

Revealing the outline of her Victoria Secrets

Booty like a Chocolate Peach

Arched into a small waist, abs engraved

Slim torso that seated her medium-sized breasts

She was 5 feet 2 inches of goodness, 135 pounds of gorgeous

And an immeasurable amount of mystery

Artistically designed with symmetrical harmony throughout

Aroused me to the point of my eyes bulging as much as my jeans

I could hear the libido of this lioness growling

Enchanting me with an armor-penetrating stare

Our gravity was intense

We were swallowed in an unspoken dialogue of audible lust

A delicious grin was hibernated on her chin

My curiosity developed an enormous appetite

Grumbling…” How would her skin feel against mine?”

“How does she sound when aroused, and how loud?”

“How tight is it? How warm is she?”

“I wonder if she loves to cuddle”

Thirsty for answers, I chuckle

The silence was so fragile

It was broken with a soft “mnnn” when she slowly approached me

And openly complimented my Black Halo

Bashful, was I, fueled with glee

Requested my name, and I gave

Requested for hers, she replied “Angel…”

Angel in a blue dress…knowing that you’re fly

Modesty filled her face

Damn! I just wanted to cuff her waist

And run my lips into hers like a Linebacker’s Tackle

Passionately….slowly

Whoa! My imagination slowed down, and reality caught up

Still, we thrust seductive gazes into each other’s eyes

Asked if I was single – “yes”

Boomeranged the same question – “indeed, I am”

She was atypical; pocketing a distinct sass appeal

….but there was a blend of serenity in her aura

“Well, look, I don’t wanna waste any more time”

“I wanna get to know you….I feel like we’ve met before, you know what I mean?”

I concur with a head nod

“So, I think it would be appropriate if we meet this evening”

Reached for the phone, surrendered my digits, and captured hers

Supplied a sly glance in between numbers

“Call me around 8”

“Ok”

Eyes said the longest good-bye that I’ve never heard

Heaven-sent and Earth-guided, she walked away

But she saved the last glance for when she reached the exit

Flashed an alluring grin, and became eclipsed by the walls and the passersby

And I sigh, smiling…shaking my head

A gift of love…from another place in time

Will always travel far to find….us


Tu-Lips Goodbye

 

I remember when you used to read my lips

As I kissed you

That was the best poem you ever tasted

Every syllable, every word

Used to tickle your every nerve

You even knew this poem by heart

You didn’t have to think about it

But what’s crazy is how

You read that same poem from someone else

From a nobody who plagiarized my masterpiece!

And you couldn’t tell the difference?

My word choice was flawless

My handwriting was elegant

My delivery was pure brilliance

You vocalized my lips in a series of moans

The emotion was so intense

That your mind had an orgasm and your pussy had to think!

Your thighs pulsated at 150 beats per minute

And your heart had a spasm

I authored ALL of that!

Tell me that your lips read between his lines

And that you didn’t see the lies

Tell me that that you didn’t fake it

Tell me that your gums didn’t get numb

From the Novocain that Inked from under his tongue

Tell me that none of his words smeared like your lipstick

Lie to me and say that it was perfectly legible in Times New Roman

Font 12

And that you understood every…

….DAMN!

…Syllable!!!!

I was just browsing through my endless notebook of kisses

And passionate tongue twists

That once scribed your name in cursive

And I just wanted to ask…

Can you still read my lips?

Or are you too illiterate to comprehend a classic?

                                                                                                                        

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Slamming that Breaks…

So I just returned from an awesome poetry slam that I was invited to about a few weeks ago through a friend. This poetry slam is the first, and I strongly believe, not the last. This was sponsored by the Carribean Association of Kuwait; this organization is basically the Jamaican Embassy of Kuwait. Their role is to bring their cultural influence to this foreign country so that they may learn from each other, compromise, and seek evolution. I was apart of this momentuous event; myself and my counterpart TJ. We arrived pretty late. The doors opened at 7:30; it was so difficult to find the place, yet we arrived. The ambience was very subtle. Quite a few people, actually. Myself and TJ seated ourselves and observed the room, chit chatting from time to time. So many women, ugh…so exotic. Man, oh man…the various Jamaican/Carribean flavors to the Arabic flavors, and yes…the traditional Brown-skinned and light-skinned beauties of America. Each woman with their lumps, curves, grace, style, and attitudes. So much mystery to them. Ahem, anyway. We were served some of the Carribean delights. I didnt know the name of ANY of it, but it was delicious, and quite a joy for my taste buds to experience something new and alien from my preference. Talk about being open. As I made eye contact with various beauties, allowing the silence and the body language to speak, more people seated. The aura of the room increased, and you could sense the spirit of peace and joy within the room increase as more people entered. Sophisticated, intelligent, wise, and youth-spirited individuals; we were truly God’s and Goddesses in Formation. The show started off with a warm-up round. The judges were selected from the audience, and the poets were identified. There were 7 contestants. 3 Americans (Black), 3 Indians, and 1 Kuwaiti…a young woman who was attending Kuwait University. So, Ayana (the MC) starts off with a poem called Sexual Love – Dedicated to the gents of course. The Kuwaiti girl starts off. I was blown away. Her short stature, and very ummm…well-proportioned, volutptuous body accentuated her cute face; so much innocence in there. Her delivery was of a spirte-like attitude, with very extensive vocab and charming word usage. What can I say? This girl impressed me. Reminded me of myself. She knew when to be subtle and when to explode. I mean the grace she had was magnificent. Next was an Indian guy. Elder character, he was, and his English-enunciation was still underdeveloped. He unfortunately lost the crowd because of this. It was hard to understand what he was saying; but I bet if spoken in Hindi, it wouldve been nice. I’m next now. The poem I do is Textual Pleasure. I was nervous initially, or so I thought. Truly I was just filled with anticipation and anxiety. My soul was just ready to show off! Because when I got up there, I was still nervous yet there was a sense of confidence within me. Interacting with the crowd, eye contact…my body language complimented my words very well. This poem gave me the responses that my soul was searching for. Giggles, applause, nods, smiles, eyebrow raises, eye-widenings, jaw-droppings, mmmnnn, ahhhh, oks, and above all….attention!! I of course went pass the time limit, but I intended to since the first poen is just a warm-up. When I finished there was a great applause. One judge reached for a fist-pound. I acknowledged the gesture. Felt good and fulfilled, yet I still left with a sense of nervousness. The butterflies in my stomach were definitely alive. After me, another Indian performed. This man had an expression of peace and humilty. You could tell this soul was very wise and knows God. His poem was about science and nuclear physics; the scientist who invests all of his energy to harvest a destructive energy that will destroy himself and mankind. He shared with us the cry of a soul of many who has forgotten what they alive for. Deep. TJ goes up next. He, of course, gives his disclaimer….he stutters. He performs without the mic allowing the echo from within his voice to resonate and suffocate the room. The room is silent as he attempts to express himself. Some looked at him intrigued, some astonished, some giggled at his speech impediment as he informs the audience of the truth of his “being” a poet. A few oohs, ahs, oks, alrights here. I looked at him with a smile, watching the young poet shine and bare himself naked to the world…boasting “this is who I am…accept me…or shut the hell up!”. You can’t help but admire the courage, unless you’re a perfectionist. Another Indian approaches. His style was very classical. So much grace, and his English-speaking and pronunciations were impressive. He sounded like someone you would hear from a play. Short and sweet, yet laced with very serene imagery. His appreciation for nature is humbling. The last poet was the American. He was as nervous as I was. Of course I had to encourage him; many of us did…waiting with anticipation to receive who he is. To a great surprise, although his poem was short and sweet, it left a residue in your mind. A residue that made you ponder about the message. He too was deep, and he had the experience of love to show for it. His poem was dedicated to the Black man who is hated by the White Supremisist…a Black man who just wants to be respected and loved as anyone else.

There is a break between the final round now. We are advised to fellowship with each other as preparations are made. The fellow next to me speaks: “Yooo, what you did was real tight, man. This is really gonna be something!” I was excited knowing that I touched someone. As I talked to him, I observed the room. I got recognition from all around. The brutha in the Orange and Cream 3-piece suit (cleeeeeean!!). The Kuwaiti girl whom was friends with the Kuwaiti contestant even came up and gave me props; nice. The Phillipina took a picture with me and TJ. Alot more praise and then some from the room. I felt encouraged. I felt fulfilled. I felt like I belonged. I felt complete. All this as meyself, TJ, and the guy next to me chit chat and exchange information. Networking!

The show resumes. It’s game time. Ayana starts it all with another poem dedicated to the Black kings of the world who are waiting to receive respect and reparations from a corrupt system. She was very blunt about her message, and because of her bluntness…the truth struck the heart and mind like a ninja moving in the blanket of midnight.  

We perform in the same order. The heat definitely turned up from each contestant. TJ really outdid himself wit his final piece. It was like looking at a movie. He deserved 2nd place with that performance; which included the monologue of a drug dealer and his client (a crack head). It was when he got to the client’s dialogue when things got heated. He no longer stuttered….there was so much emotion overflowing from him that it drew the crowd in. It was definitely suspenseful. The Kuwait girl maintained her momentum as well…with a lil added enthusiasm. I myself switched my tempo of speech and my delivery to a more thought-provoking concept that I worked on last week. Stray Bullet is the title. Again, same responses from before with a few extras. Myself, TJ, and the Kuwaiti girl each received a very grand applause.

The moment of truth seemed to become greater as they announced the winners from 3rd to 1st. 3rd would receive a notepad, a pen, and 20KD (~$70), 2nd would receive a notepad, a pen, a plague, and 30KD (~$105), and 1st would receive a notepad, a pen, 2 plaques (both bigger than 2nds) and 50KD (~$175). The Kuwait girl recieved first, TJ – 2nd and I received 3rd. Although I would’ve loved to win first, I truly believe I got something much more valuable – the experience to entertain some of the most distinguished human beings. To be able to be ACCEPTED for me has no monetary value, and no consolation prize can replace the joy I feel. I shook so many hands and even was offered another connection (networking) into a new genre of music. My soul jumps, moves, swims, and explodes while reforming with the acknowledgement of an opportunity to take myself into another level of artistic expression. Although nothing is definite on what I am about to receive, just seeing another door open that’s….different from my current surroundings is more than enough. I know I need money to pay bills and honor obligations, but that is an Earthly responsibility that does not define me nor gives me the true joy that I seek in BECOMING.

This poetry slam… broke a shell of my previous self. Another death brings new life, while the old life lives to be remembered, and maybe…just may be a savior as well.


Space Invasion

 

 

I Walk around with a Transparent Shell Protecting me

I am a Spaceship with an Invisible Force Field

It Cloaks me from the Universe – so I think

Visible to the Eye, I remain

I Relax my Shoulders

My Majestic Brown Eyes Absorb and Reflect my Environment

Chest Protruding like the Top of a Bongo Drum

I Stride from the Waist Down

My Toned Arms – Pendulum Swing

My Ship is Well Formed and Well Decorated

My Ship is on Autopilot

A Half Moon Rests upon my Chin

And it Shines for every Woman I see

Each Woman like a Different Planet

My Objective – to Seek Life and Multiply

My Ship Permeates through Atmospheres like a Sperm to an Ovulated Egg

The World I came from was Destroyed

Similar to a Kamikaze – I Died with it

The God of the Universe Resurrected us both

I Travel through Space to Escape her Gravitational Pull

Painfully Missing what was; Secretly Admiring what is

I find a New Planet, and Marvel at its Physical Attributes

Curious of the Life within it

The Cost for my Attention is Paid

She makes Eye Contact with me as a Generous Tip

I Quickly Divert my Eyes Forward

Hoping I wasn’t Disrespectful

It’s Rude to Stare

Which implies that it’s Disrespectful to Admire

I Sense Discomfort through my Radar

Which Triggers my Defense Mechanism – my Transparent Shell

My Perception of the Universe Alters

I convince myself that it was a Simulation

That she was a Holograph in Orbit – fulfilling Galactic Destiny

But a Residue of Curiosity remains

Calling me Back to Reality to Clean it Up

I remove my Transparent Shell and look once more

I Desire to Explore her world

From the Deepest, Wettest Parts

To the Softest, Smoothest Curvy-like Terrain

To Smell the Various Aromas within her Atmosphere

And Observe the most Unusual, Unexplainable Mysteries

But I pass; cursed with fear

Very Few Worlds welcome Aliens such as myself

I have been viewed as an Intruder many times

Even when I come in Peace to Share New Technology

    Life Sustainment Advances, and Secrets of the Universe

As Time Travels, my Spaceship Travels

Escaping a Gravitational Pull

Or maybe

My Magnetic Force is pulling the Planet

Like a Ball and Chain

Nature says “Go home”

But Logic says “Keep Exploring”

Where do I go to fulfill my purpose?  

John Nicholson © March 2010