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Intimate Compositions

  • June 4th, 2020

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    They run wild in the night
    Hoping their spirits take flight
    By the dawning of the light

  • The Progeny of Anxiety

    June 3rd, 2020

    black

    The percussion of their heartbeat
    Is the rhythm of struggle of many generations.
    The agony of their fathers last words
    Spoken intensely for so many summers. 
    They have seen the hope of dreams
    Turned into the nightmares of monstrous scenes unseen;
    Their fathers lie there—eyes opened, as pooled blood 
    Starts to run; the last remnant left behind
    Of the affliction of their lives.
    Mothers in unbearable anguish comfort their sons
    and gently wipe the tears from their eyes;
    They say, It will be alright, but in their hearts 
    They fear their utterances lie;
    Prayers are abandoned, and faces
    No longer look toward the sky.
    Stark reality is lifelessness taken away on a gurney,
    While eyes stare, with not so subtle apathy;
    Black children ask, What does that mean for me?
    Tired mothers and fathers try to answer

    But voices drag wearily;
    Targeted we may be, but we find our strength daily.
    We will survive; even with tears in our eyes, we will survive.
    In anxiety, we will survive;
    In depression, we will survive;
    With a generational history of PTSD, we will survive;
    With OCD, we will survive;
    With afflictions of all kinds, we will survive;
    And after the dark winter we will thrive.

  • For George

    May 31st, 2020

    Lifeless he is carried; his open eyes look towards the sky.
    The remnants of his tears stream, just minutes before he screamed
    I can’t breathe, still the evil one pressed harder with his knee;
    In his last moments he called for his mother; in distress he was, but 
    Still, he could see her. Cold-blooded eyes stared with arrogance in the air;
    Inside they smiled for they relish the instillation of fear.
    We hang on in constant distress hoping that our salvation is near;
    Strange fruit appeared on blood spattered trees for so many years;
    Our brown hue our only sin— Constantly in our oppression we are set back
    Then begin again; Our lives lived like a tormented novel 
    Written in the bowels of hell and narrated by the devil.
    Over fifty years ago, We Shall Overcome was sung,
    But still now we sit anxiously with weathered hands wrung—
    We survive but we have yet to thrive. Systematically we are targeted
    So our solemn plight is to stay alive. They see our sorrow, 
    But they ignore our cries; I swear under the heavens 
    and on the pain of my grandmother’s eyes, that one day . . .
    That one glorious day, we shall arise.

  • Beautiful Intoxication

    May 27th, 2020

    I breathe you in to expel the pain
    The euphoria is immediate in my exhale
    You are my drug of choice
    I taste you often and my capillaries rejoice
    You give me reprieve in the in-between 
    Though after my hell resumes
    Soon after again I consume
    In my euphoria the taste of you nectar is sweeter
    In my wild indulgence I lose myself
    And still I seek to remain lost forever
    In silent enthusiasm sheets are slowly pulled back
    And sensual kisses begin
    Anxiousness turns to eagerness
    And you shudder again and again
    In that time despondency flees and 
    I find my soul wandering
    Intrusion of thoughts dissipate
    Intensity of intimacy takes over completely
    And in the throes of your pleasure
    Your hair flows over wonderfully

    You are my drug of choice
    A black silk robe off of your body flows
    The floor is graced with remnants of your essence
    I am euphoric in your presence
    Anticipating the fire of sensual experience
    That is to come but you must be cherished
    I savor the sweetness of your flavor 
    Your cup is poured out
    But not without the screams of ecstasy 
    My mind records the moment automatically
    I know the delight you seek without you telling me
    I react almost involuntarily
    In my primal state I cast of all anxiety
    Sorrow and melancholy are left behind me
    The focus of my being is pleasing you thoroughly
    You are my escape and I inhale you deeply
    My immersion is long
    I drown in you and I am resurrected anew
    Take me away from all this pain 
    And replace my desolation with exhilaration 
    Even long after the aura of you lingers
    In my intoxication I am consumed

  • May 26th, 2020

    In my agony I reach for the warmth of your comfort
    But you have been gone now for three summers
    In my tears I drown seeking the last remnants of your aura
    Hoping somewhere in my mind they still wander
    The scent of your hair I remember in its fullness and its texture
    I am overcome but there will be no rescue
    There will be no It’s okay honey I love you
    There will be no tender kisses and reassuring whispers
    There will be no crying together and the intensity of intimacy after
    There will be no angel with hazel eyes
    Lying next to me beautifully in all her glory
    The flowers of my soul wither in need of sunlight and water
    Desolation slowly moves closer and closer and the days wane
    Nights are cold and the dread of my heart is spending the winter alone
    Oh that I could recapture what I so sadly lost
    Though I resist the heart wants what it wants
    In my wretched state intrusive thoughts taunt
    I’ve searched my soul three times over
    And I have found that you are still my endless desire
    Like holy relics I ponder as my tears fall on your pictures
    I touch your face gently and send you loving whispers
    It is in the late hours that I pour out my essence
    Wildly dancing alone remembering the substance of your passion
    I write letters to you hoping the winds of love will carry them
    In my remembrance I separate you from all others
    You are the one who touched me deeply
    And left an indelible mark on me
    Must I roam endlessly with your mark on me
    While other angels shun me because of jealousy
    Am I sentenced to life without the possibility of love
    Do you not see that my heart burns with the fire of envy
    Though I am consumed with emotion I wait patiently
    But in my sorrow I die daily

  • May 23rd, 2020

    You invade my memories constantly
    Every time unknowingly taking a piece of me
    With nothing left to give I am left empty
    The solace that comforts me
    Is knowing that you once loved me
    At early morning hours I surrender to sentimentality
    Immersing myself in the lingering essence of you completely
    In my willing immersion the tears run
    My love if you could only see 
    I walk in cold winds with my arms extended
    Sending kisses through my spirit hoping you can feel me
    Rescue me Touch me
    Take me away from desolation and agony
    In my mortal flesh I am but a man
    But on the wings of your love I transcend 
    Hidden in the nurturing darkness of your comfort
    I am reborn again and again

  • Calm

    May 22nd, 2020

    Be still my heart
    In the fiery storm
    And waiver not,
    For you are strong.

  • Deeply Wounded

    May 22nd, 2020

    The suffering of the long anguished is palpable
    Lifelessness is sensed even though they draw breath
    The oppression of the soul is heaviness of sorrow untold
    Faces of sadness are listless and cold
    A once vigorous spirit is slowly constricted
    The substance of a man are the contents of his heart
    Dreams are dreamed but reality falls apart
    Light evening breezes blow through weeping willow trees
    Weeping of the sorrowful causes the listener to fall to their knees
    Oh the wretchedness of the innocent
    Words are hard to find in constant torment
    A sudden tightening of the chest feels like the last breath
    Many seek solace in the perceived tranquility of death
    Tears of the ill are endlessly spilled
    A respite from their troubles is their solemn will
    But sorrow persists still
    Upon hearing the news there is a sudden chill
    Tears drop when the soul is wounded and the body is still
    The world does not care if they survive
    Some cut themselves again and again to feel alive
    When the last rose is thrown why does it rain every time
    The living march on behind black carriages horse drawn
    The portion of the sufferer is agony and forlorn
    Black silk kerchiefs absorb the tears of the old
    While the young with solemn faces look on
    The aged with wrinkled faces and weathered hands lament
    Slowly and in whispers they say

    We were born of our mother’s womb
    But now we are old
    We have sought warmth and love
    But still we are cold
    The path of agony is long
    And for so long we have walked
    Look upon us and see what the years
    Have unmercifully brought
    Oh Eternal Father hear our cry
    Oh Eternal Father hear our cry
    Lest in our misery we unmercifully die
    Lest in our woe we cruelly die

    They loudly cry
    On varnished wooden pews
    They loudly cry

  • Adoration

    May 21st, 2020

    Your aroma is as sweet as your aura.
    You must be properly appreciated in my savor.
    I inhale you deeply and hold my breath
    For as long as I can, before release.
    I am infused with you and intoxicated
    in my unapologetic indulgence;
    My will to please you is beyond
    Even my own comprehension;
    The sky could fall and still
    I would be wrapped up in your ascension.
    The deep waters of your soul,
    Is where I take my euphoric immersion;
    The black waterfall that is your hair, flows,
    Brushing seductively against your contours;
    The silhouette of an angel beheld in my eyes.
    You strip away from me torment and agony;
    I am resurrected in your affection daily —
    Giving to you all that is within me uninhibitedly.
    The diamonds that are your eyes shine …
    I rejoice knowing that you are mine;
    A love that could never be bought;
    A love that they could never find.

  • Nurturing of the Soul

    May 20th, 2020

    Unexpected passionate kisses,
    And utterances of loving whispers
    On affectionate midnight summers,
    Are the the soil, sunlight, and water
    For the soul’s blooming flowers.

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