All is flux, nothing stays still.
                                               — Heraclitus

nothing really rests.

           breathes between sunsets
inhaling life, exhaling death
in the ebb & flow
of yesterday
           becoming today
                                  soon to be tomorrow.

nothing remains the same.

           breathes between sunsets
manifesting itself as the beacon
of brighter
           replacing darkness of night with the light of sunrays
                                  until the veil of dusk is returned to us.

           breathes aeons sing
like rolling stones
that gather
neither moss nor gloss; nonetheless,
           time is on our side…yes it is, dancing
                                  through memories unseen
on roads for traveling souls in search of infinity–
our infinity, with no limitations no boundaries.

& all that endures is change. 


Like Kerouac Said

I love pink tacos
With strawberries & whipped cream.
Some call me dirty
Old man. I say, “fuck is a
Dirty word, but comes out clean.”

©2014 MDSHall

Sermon [Ode to the Word]

 “In the beginning was the Word…and the Word was God”:
 ingrained in the ecology of the poet tree, echoing from its myriad
 of rings, through its ageless roots & enduring branches.

   & God, the wordsmith of wordsmiths, made the Word flesh
 to dwell among us & blow riffs of tradition through us, the leaves
 of forever soloing on the indigenous versaphone…

   as we with an ear to the ground, search for purpose within
 truth, discovering truth within beauty, carving a brand new nuance
 of meaning from the beauty of our own expression…

   as we with the winged thoughts of our angel eyes take flight
 through another long day’s journey into night, to where
 our deeds, begotten in births of cool winds blown

    everywhere all at once, return as reflections
                            in the kaleidoscopic urn of ubiquity
 breathing life eternal into our words.


The Revolution Has Arrived

(for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery)

“Respect our existence or expect our   resistance…we, too, are Human.”

Our origin is not arbitrary

We are no longer pawns
In the fun and games of Dick and Jane

We are the citizens who fell victim
To a dream that, after 400 years, has
Been transmogrified and magnified

Into a firestorm of indifference
And intolerance, as our system
Falls deeper into a divide
Of dissension and ignorance;

Yet, we emerge from the margins
Like a metaphorce of ancestral sighs
Speaking truth to power in the tongue
Of survival’s drums, wandering through
The wilderness in search of Zion,

Unlearning everything, pondering in lieu
Of wondering between dilemmas
Of perish or live to cherish the rituals
That define us. and though we may

Grow weary, we will rise to revitalize
The revolution that never died
But rather has arrived, to be streamed

Via black soul and the versaphone, only
To unveil the wail of a new day, as we
Become the swing of its perpetual
Pendulum in the continuum of our

Human spectrum, a constant verse
Within the canon of a scarlet history
Moving, with the momentum

Of immortality manifest in murals
Of our own montaged soul-flesh,

Towards freedom and peace of mind.

©2020 MDSHall

Haikooley High Harmony: Life, The Duality of Love Versus Lust & The Sunshine After The Rain

“It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday…”


We Who Are Like God

I remember his
Hands, a palm reader’s garden
With roots tracing back

To the beginning
Of the heavens and Earth, grown
Deep as Atlantis

As though he’d been here
Before, planting seeds of our
Divine DNA.

Scars on the Heart

To wield its weapons
Has been the way of the world
Which now wears its wounds

As it walks through corridors
Of a hemophiliac

History, with scars
Of our malice still marring
The heart of Mother Earth.

Can Words Be Weapons?

Iconoclasts of
Baffled creeds feed on arcane
Seeds of mystery

Like culture vultures
In a dance cadaverous
Of life beyond death

Who cursed for cowards
Are ‘fraid to be convicted
Of their convictions.

Never let your thoughts
Be bought…knowledge is power
In the war of words.

Evidence of Things Not Seen

Proof of things unseen–
Faith ain’t no fairytale, but
More the avenue

To where life sheds→love
sheds→light on the fact that what’s
Meant to be will be.

Love vs. Lust:

For Suite Luv

By faith not by sight
I walk in grace, baptized by
The fire in her eyes.


With a cunning tongue
As I kneel at her altar
She is communion.

The Art of Love (& its carnal confections)

Let’s neck & nibble
In the temple of our flesh
& minds intertwined
With words savored by our tongues
For love is the last supper.

Dorothy Dandridge Dreams

Redbone to the bone
With dark chocolate eyes, creamy
Butter pecan thighs,

Lips of caramel
& brown skin that glows as though
Dipped in honey, she

Is my sundae
Of sunday dreams, my own black
& tan fantasy.

Domino Effect

More than mood for thought
Condemned to a road of faults
To arrive at truth
Love is like a domino
Always falling fore we know.

Mystique of a Panther

Amidst the lure of
Her feral eyes, she buries
Me in mystery.

Lion Queen

Lioness, with your
Mane of auburn flames, Sol of
My soul burns for you
Crystallized in piscean
Dreams of sunship horizons.

Full Moon

Fine as frog hair down
To her marrow, she’s lush as
A full moon in bloom.

Like Kerouac Said

I love pink tacos
With strawberries & whipped cream.
Some call me dirty
Old man. I say, “fuck is a
Dirty word, but comes out clean.”

The Sunshine After The Rain:

Light of the World

Visions of sunsets
Forge infernos upon skies

Dancing heliocentric
Circles around the capstone

Of the cosmos, till
The light of the world is cast
In shadows of souls.

New Moon Blues

The sky is crying
Down upon the midnight lamp
Of my beating heart
Flooding the gates with new moons
Riding carpets of bright rain.

The Word of Bird

for Charlie Parker

as he flew, Bird blew
Trying to play clean, looking
For the pretty notes.

In the voice of the
Coolest breeze, the Apostle
Of Hipness hovers

Like a satellite
In orbit of mother earth
& the universe.

Changing of the Guard

For Amiri Baraka [who passed January 9, 2014]

The ripples of time
& space transbluesent like jazz
Interplay like night

& day, where novas
Explode amidst shadows in
Brilliant bursts of life

That open the doors
To the oneness of two eyes
Observing the light

Refracted by streams
Of consciousness curated
In the margins of

Our minds, left behind
As footnotes to changing times
For us to study.

Blood of a Metaphor

As words flow through me
I don’t know where I might be
Without poetry.

At The Heart Of Art

What is art but that
Which hands of men & women
Mold from the thunder
Of hearts so as to wake souls
Following in their shadows.

Curators of the Lost Art

for Amiri Baraka & Albert Einstein

We are curators
Of the lost art of thought, forced
Into existence
By revelations of mind
& the imagination.

©2014 MDSHall