Bleeding Sea

My heart…Thump. Thump. Thump.

A delayed beat burdened by a solemn ache.

You ever felt an ache? An obstinate, continuous pain that fails to cease

A rebellious throb…My heart contaminated by such sudden dismay.

You remember when you used to love me?

Remember when you left me?

I remember when you flowed back to me like a lucid wave.

You breezed my skin & caressed my heart; soothed my lonely, despaired soul that threatened to transform to a cold river.

You ever walked on ice? Felt it crack like glass under your feet?

Cold & hard yet vulnerable & malleable

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Ice -cold. That’s my heart you stepping on!!!

Why’d you do that? Leave me at the front door of your house

Crying buckets of flowing rivers falling like hopeless rain drops

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You ever seen a heart bleed? It’s a sad thing to see-a young girl so blinded by a used –to-be love that all she does is cry & bleed.

No, she don’t always cry. Most of the time she’s smiling. Wearing a mask of a healed broken heart. But she knows no such thing.

If she’s not crying, she’s bleeding.

Her heart pouring down like a sad sea. By the time the sun rises it freezes over then begins to crack like an ice pack

Click. Clack. Click.

You see her crying? Bleeding like a wounded soldier.

Somebody hold that girl! Stop them invisible tears!! They say.

I almost forgot I always talking about me.

You remember when you loved me then left me cold & bleeding by the sea?

The Black Dream

Who Am I? Classified, Dignified, Portrayed Condemned. Who? I?

I’m not confined to a field of erratic, inane dreams scattered like dead leaves

Destined to Blow away into world of uncertainty & subliminal ambiguity

Who? I? Not Me?

He says I’m BLACK, Impertinent. Destined to Fiasco & Death. Limitation & Incarceration & she says I am inadequately less than she. She blinks & quivers at my proximity. She doesn’t say, but she thinks I’m pre-destined to her welfare system, the ghetto & the government’s section of eight counts of “you’re poor”

They stare me up and down with profound enmity. Wishing & waiting for an epic down fall. A stereotypical failure that will impede, destroy & mislead a courageous yet “precarious” dream

I have to maintain. Not for he & not for She

But for him. The one who protected & believed in the Acceleration & ameliorating of that dream. That one dream that he never Knew. But he still believed.

I’ll rise above a statistic & tenaciously transcend any repulsive wish for a disruptive mislead.

I’ll do it. Not for he & not for she but for her who stood in the crowd and risked her life just to hold her fist & cry “I’m Black & I’m Proud”

She believed, He Dreamed. Why shouldn’t we?

Nina Jazz

She floats in the bar like a silent dream. Her dress flowing freely in the alcohol congested room.

The bar quickly grew loud with quietude as everyone became perplexed by her magnetic elegance

The caramel skin guy-the one with the goatee-stops in mid-position-his pool stick in his right hand, tightly positioned around the width. The man-the one who came in depressed over his flailing finances-set down his fifth glass of Hennessey straight. The heart surgeon at the end of the bar-the one perpetually poisoned by loneliness- lost focus on his solitary confinement, soon as his eyes fell upon the silent dream that softly glided into the room.

The DJ glanced up from his turn tables. Two records in his right hand. His eyes confounded by her stunning presence. The lights were dim, inconspicuous, but her brown skin glowed luminously, vivid & radiant. The music that played above subtly seemed to halt compliantly to her dignified vicinity. The room became profoundly noiseless but her beauty sang a song.

It was poetic . Soothing & soft like Jazz, Calm & Serene with a melancholy tune.

Nina’s melody placated the heart surgeon’s solitude~calmed the depressed & broken man who found temporary solace in Hennessey. As she glided placidly through the smoke infested bar you could hear her graceful song, the blowing of the saxophone & the gentle pressing of the piano keys. Her voice imaginary but lovely, emotes a pain of sorrow & consolation.

Nina’s jazz is Divine. You hear her song? It’s all over the room. Ubiquitous & delightful~ You could hear her it in her African made hips and in her honey coated complexion. It traveled through the wells in her cheek bones, blew through her hazel pupils, emanated from her elegant fragrance. Everyone heard Nina’s Jazz. It’s soft like blues & smooth like Mother’s bedtime melody. Placid. Poetic. Do you hear her song?