Bukowski(isms)

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Things Left Unsaid (re:Vision)

As the black rose
Blooms
Into the night’s deepest
Shades
Of midnight blue

With its looming
Show of lights, I

Wait in vain
Perchance to dance
On the sunny
Side of the street
At dawn, or

Recollect & reflect in retrospect:

Nights are but sermons
To be streamed
In this requiem
To a dream, with

Stars
Drawn from wondrous dust
On shadows of the moon
As past, present
And future ferment
Like grapes
“In the twilight
Of perpetual noon”

&
Kismet
Beckoned
By the revenant vox
Of wordshippers to come

Through The static
And the hum, out from
Under the umbra
Like a beacon
Of life shining in the darkest
Of light, communing
With kindred souls
In search of the other
Side, speaking truth
To power rather than letting
The things left unsaid
Fade into oblivion
Or die with the setting sun.

©2018 MDSHall

Tuff Gong

Red, Black & Green

The Creators of Now! (“Black Heroes” Revisited)

i. “if not us, who?”

“Ain’t even much a matter what happens tomorrow, ’cause we men, ain’t we?”
–Trip (from the movie Glory)

There
Is
No time
To fake, front
Or ride the fence, when
It comes to doing the right thing.
Born in the margins of the melting pot, I’m made real

By
The
Ideal
That we are
Begotten by God–
To rise up…& be free! once we
Counted only as
Three-fifths a
Human
&
All

The
World’s
Wealth can’t
Compensate
For the vestiges
Of the peculiar institution
That ended one-hundred fifty years ago. & it

Would
Seem
As though
Old Jim Crow
& hate that hate made
Never left
Instead
Just
Stayed.

Manifest Destiny is now:

Time
To
Take back
Our future
As the descendants
Of those black heroes surviving
The Middle Passage. time to rise & shine on frontlines

Of
A
New day
For the sake
Of Malcolm, Martin,
Biko & the sea of unsung
Martyrs who perished
& perchance
To dream
For
Whom

The bells toll over & again.

ii. “liberating the language of legacy”

“Long live the black rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.”
— Tupac Shakur

All ebony & saxish
like the bouquet
Of black roses called the cosmos

The shimmery Shadow
Of my wandering spiritsong
Sprouts

From shrouds of traveling souls
Battered & tattered & left behind
To be pieced back together
By epitaphs of our talking paths
Through eternal moments
Giving sound to silence, and life
To everything, even the excerpts

Undefined by time
but improvised
In music of our minds. long live

The black rose
As it grows
Beneath the black light (& its
Ultraviolet

Scope of hope) with wisdom
To understand the gravity
That draws us back–even
When we are forced apart.
We are one blood, Humanity–

Why can’t hue see?
ain’t it ’bout
time we take
Heed
of our own
history. Time
To unlearn the lies
& revive our legacy.

iii. “For His eye is on the sparrow…”

If
Only the random
Rants
Of our candidly

Disillusioned minds
Could pry the eyes of a world
Consuming itself

Still: so much hatred,
War & poverty. Police
Taking innocent lives

Without a regret,
Committing acts of Black
Genocide as though

We are not suppose
To react. But, silence is
The betrayal that gives

Consent to violence
Silence is a sin that makes
Cowards of men
& women & their children–
Because now is the time, when

We should be shoutin’:
Pharaoh, let my people go!
Let my people go!!
“For His eye is on the sparrow”
& the truth we already know.

Time flies, yet all that
Changes is our beloved
Heroes, more than just
Ashes to dust, more
Than just dirt to be

Swept under the rug
Or put back into the ground.
We are soul children:
The future light of the world
The all in all, speaking love

Into existence…this
We need to heed & believe
Until it’s written
Within, on the mystic walls
Of our own innervisions.

©2019, A Conscious Matter Collective

Songs for My Father

the session began

strictly instrumental

or so i thought

till the tandem

of Jefferson

& Taylor arrived

followed by a menagerie

of midnight marauders

masquerading as righteous reeds

around a crescent moon

that boogaloos like a burning boomerang

of amani na mapenzi

sending smoke signals

from the soul station

in panacean patterns of aural alchemy
falling like summer soft

contusions of one shine
playing ping pong

off of my brain.

(2018)

It’s a Wonderful Life

It’s a wonderful life

We live,
Never taking for granted
The gift of the present

As we become
The conundrum
Of body and soul
Whole
In the montage
Of our multihued
Views
Dusted by magic
Of moments
& the memories

That see us
On the path of our own
Writes of passage.

©2019

Imagination under Revision Pt5

Pieces of Dreams

“…until we dream of life and life becomes a dream…”
–excerpt from Stevie Wonder’s “As”

Caught in the movement of the moment
Amidst augmentations of aspiration, my
Heart immersed
In the myriad meanings of life burns
With Sol of my soular system, as my
Conscious matter
Follows in the footsteps of the cosmos.

Call me crazy, call me creationist
But I’ve seen God
S/he has the countenance of every
Mother…father…
Sister…brother…that’s ever been, &
Of all the beautiful ones not yet born
That are to be
With lives linked like pieces of dreams.

©2018

Legacy (this is us)

This sea of souls deep
With dreams despite the darkness
Will be the beacon…

for

We
Drink up
The beauty

With trust in the translation
To be the epitome of our inspiration;

We
Are
Mortal
But our verse
Is left to live on

©2018