Poetry & Flash Writing

"Songs from a Broken Mind"

Stony corridors of limited space

People with no particular place

Missing love and hugs from my ace

Thoughts of infidelity when I see his face


Pebbles and sand

Asses roam the land

Swahili beats from a band of children


Bee bop…Asante Sana

Walaikum assalam

5am prayers 

A tough California girl scared


Missing my love, one day to be my groom

Visits daily from a midwife to help heal my womb

For 2017 is about life and creation

Where we’ll struggle to survive an Obamaless nation


Freedoms stripped bill by bill

A sad day on Capitol Hill

Not quite missing Lamu town, Bush Gardens or Tune

Back plugged into the American Tribune

Songs from Lamu, Kenya (2016)

Shoes made from cow’s leather replaced with BPA filled polyurethane and plastics. 


Gangsters of the 80’s sold rocks to pregnant mothers and fathers worked 20-hours overtime but never made it home that weeks hefty pay. 


Instead he took his check straight down to the tough boy corner where tiny locs held down the avenues. Creased blue 501’s with cuffs asleep at the mouth of a pair blue and white Nike Cortez. 


If the weather was chill, dope dealers in south LA pulled hooded sweatshirts over cornrowed braids while they stood expectantly at the intersection of any Martin Luther opposite his homeboy (No Trayvon) to watch each others backs. Teamwork meant there would be no competition. 


Drugs sold themselves, and a crackhead was nothing but a dollar sign. 


Those misguided brothas followed the foolproof blueprint on how to get ahead in the greediest place on Earth.

Only a war was declared on drugs, not the soft beautiful white girl, cocaine, but the dirty, calloused, bitch, crack.

"No Trayvon" (2016)



I open my eyes and see nothing.


“Do I know you?” Nothing asks.


I don’t reply, I don’t reply because the voice that asks the question sounds unfamiliar.


I see absolutely nothing. 


Only the most minute degree of light.


And although I heard a voice, I don’t feel the presence of anything save for an overwhelming sense of nothingness.


So I wait.


I wait for the voice again.


I hear nothing.


Timelessness ensues before nothing speaks again.


“Now do you know me?” Nothing asks again.


This time, I reply, “yes.”

Depression (2017)

Leaves fall from tall oak trees

Fluttering as they cascade onto icy sheets of gravel


Tis winter now, snow and ice

Illadelphians stay ready with down coats, leather gloves


Calf length boots keep their socks dry

Warmth is the motive. 


But most forget the ears…almost always the ears are exposed. 


The ears, the gateway to thought

Maybe that’s why the nameless man asks us for food 


The heat from the street hole warms his blood 


Making him too afraid to leave to eat

As the city passes him by


What seeped through his gateway to become this?

"Illadel" (2017)

Millennials are encouraged to just be themselves. 

I'm sure you, like I, see it all the time. 

Children who come from abused parents that vow to spare the rod, allowing their children to run amuck. Talking back, telling the parent exactly what they will and won't do. 


Just terror, pure terror. Maybe it's just the indigo in them. 


That stain on the moon, vibrating to a tune that turns white light ultraviolet, spawning a generation of degenerates who don't know they're actually degenerates because society deems such as creative. 


Innovators, geniuses even. 

How many 80's babies would have been deemed geniuses if we hadn’t been herded into classrooms 9-months out of the year for 8 grueling hours per day being miseducated. 


Fed poisons from the five food groups that 30-years later would be revealed to have been pumped full of harmful hormones and pesticides. 


Milk only fitting for baby calves to quaff, yet intolerant when a human ingests. Served mystery meats, which later were revealed to have been harvested from sick Chino cows feeding off of other sick Chino cows. Still we wonder why ADHD runs rampant in our youth. 

Its like the noxious aftereffects of Agent Orange manifesting in our offspring, generation after generation. 


That's if we can produce offspring because toxic fluoride tablets were offered as a treat when the dentist visited our classrooms, touted as a supplement to promote healthy teeth and gums while his evil sister, florescent lights, beamed down onto our highest chakra causing tumors to manifest which in turn promoted infertility in our women and mass confusion in our men. 

Chemical Geniuses (2016)

Diamonds dance atop glassy black skin 


that shone like a puddle by moonlight 

structure bony, strong, aristocratic


Eyes sunken.





Dijimon (2018)