Poems

Group Therapy

It was a first, in my crib,

Listening to the sound of your voices yelling,

Lovely a start to the day!

Thinking it is an opportunity to start developing some good old habits,

earning my right to be here or die,

send me away so you can yell some more

to my face a little bit later,

I, growing my weeds inside with which to master one day

The art of getting you choked!

How would you like to lose a limb,

Maybe an arm, or your head?

A good reason to start haunting the ones responsible for your suffering,

Never finding rest in your bed,

Never resting in your own grave,

Still chasing the shadows of a past

Holding you responsible for your crippled paradise. 

It is I the fine artist

Dawn comes with the crack of wood veins,
Twigs yelling and leaves moaning underneath a heavy pace;
And with the whooshing sounds of ghastly appearances
The morning starts taking off her dark wedding veils.


One by one she reveals all of my own, now, bodies,
Old skeletons are hidden in the closets of the woods,
New bleeding bodies lingering nobly with the foliage covering
Of teeth-gritting, raising hairs along the spine.


Chicken wings skin and goose bumps on thighs and neck round fit:
She loves decorating things called people,
Night to day and day by twenty-four hours cycles of earthly life,
Placing poisons in bodies of flesh,
Decorating them with scars on the outside,
Making lists of beauty placed on top of beauty.


And it is I the fine artist!

ARTIST'S EYES

Rise, like all humans, but be aware!

Thoughts, like rabid hamsters,

Spinning in a cage of poisonous cheese,

The tangible death and joy zipping past their heads

In a free fall of delight and agony.


You must choose, mustn’t you,

Between the agony of the everyday,

The quests for fame and fortune,

Or the maudlin verities

Of one-step-at-a-time ennui and actual

Reality.


It seems the drama always wins out,

Even though you try to be normal,

Try to wrap your body and mind into eating cereal,

Drinking coffee, and passing it all down the toilet,

Where everything seems to go these days.


But, the light of creativity, that holy shroud that

Basks within you, as if it were indeed the holy shroud

That covers genius in every profession, comes forth

Once more. You radiate within, but nobody sees it. Yet.


When the pages begin to flow, the jewels start to shine,

And the pains and struggles leap on the page, in prose or in poem,

Life starts to make you into the vessel you were always meant

To be.


Your age, your past, and your agonies, fade into the day,

Or night, and you become one with the artistic expression.


Copyright 2022 by Professor James Musgrave

Tick-tock

The gravity of time holds me down;

Like a tree I'm growing up in my place,

Or a bird caged in my own space.

I keep waiting and hoping;

For my dreams to bloom,

And for my wings to come out soon.

But the harder I fight life,

The farther it pulls me under.

I'm tired of starting over every time I lose,

When giving up hurts less-

than anything else I may choose.

Call me weak for wanting to let go,

My burden is getting heavier

And life refuses to slow.

Yet whatever happens to me-

in the days to come,

I will always thank myself first,

Because I'm not where I came from.

And for you who are still not apart;

If my death arrives with a poem,

Then promise my cursed soul-

A burial next to the Sacred Heart.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA

You have no idea how much hurts

every poet's soul hides ...

No, you don't know nor will you ever know,

because you think poetry is something

what is only read and listened to.


You have no idea what it's like

when you smile and tears choke you,

when sobs are heard from the soul.

What is just a verse to you

for the poet, it is proof of the suffering of all.


For you and many others

there is a significant poetic award,

you have no idea it's just

confirmation for a sick soul.

What you call deserved recognition

for the poet, it is another proof

to have him less and less.


Every word in some verse

a sigh is one noteworthy,

and every poem with tears written

a piece of the poet's heart was torn off.

Poets are unhappy people

those who walk the world with sorrow

but know, they love the strongest and purest.


I know very well how it hurts

because I am one of those

who the verses write these and that

and thus heals the pains of the soul ...

I am one of you, of those

who strongly and purely know to love.

YOU WERE MY LOVE

You were my unattainable love

wonderful, silent, and distant

and you didn't even know that

I loved only summer and the sea more

because in every wave of it

my soul still breathes the most beautiful today.


I loved you, my love

and you never even found out...

I longed and fantasized about you

more and more every day

suffered because you were somehow yourself

I hoped and thought you would be mine.


I loved you so much

and I didn't know much about you

in my dreams, you were the one

who loves me, who wants me

and I surrender to him soul and body

without any shame, so bold!

I loved those loves far away

my delusion from youth too far! 

WHEN THE YEARS PASS

When the years pass and we grow old

embrace me with your eyes

and touch me with your soul

as your own newborn child!

Hug me gently, yet tightly

to I know that you protect me

and don't give up just like that!


Touch my cheek with a kiss,

and I will keep it like your trust!

Remove the curtains from your eyes,

look at me gently as you once did,

and love me like that at least sometimes.


Love my wrinkles and these hands

which they know to hug

even when they get old.

Still love that child in me,

just love me, love me quietly,

love me a little, because I care.


Love me, dear, when the years pass,

with sight heal me when the pains come.

I will cherish you

and caress you with my soul,

as our newborn child,

just love me, love me a little!

Patio Grumblings

Patio Grumblings

I had a fight with a squirrel today

Such a ruckus in the trees

I asked for quiet graciously

He just ignored my pleas

The leaves were shaking violently

I stood and shook my fist

Please come down here so we may chat

I really must insist.

Some understanding must be reached

So all may sit and play

Birds, bunnies, gecko, butterfly

joined our small soiree

I pointed to the mess he’d made

by jumping through the air

dumping all that’s possible

upon my lap and chair

He looked around and bowed his head

I guess that you are right

We think of you as family

I do not want to fight

At this I had to stop and think

Smiling at what I’d heard

Rejoined them at my usual seat

Speaking not another word

Beauty Like Marilyn Monroe

                          Beauty Like Marilyn Monroe

                                          (This song is dedicated to all the girls)

                                                                                              (Copyright Song Lyrics)


Hi Smarty–Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty–Dear Smiley


(Chorus)


You’re

Tall and Beautiful

Highly Glamorous

Hale and Healthy

Charming Face

Sparkling Eyes

Beautiful Parrot Nose

Stunning Beauty

Mind Blowing Structure


Hi Smarty – Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty – Dear Smiley

(Chorus)


Diamond Studded Ring

Smart Speaking Mouth

A Stylish Lipstick On

Shining Longs Arms

Simple Laughter

Height like Himalayas

Walking Like Angels Style

You’re A Gift of the God


Hi Smarty – Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty – Dear Smiley

(Chorus)


Entry into Hall

Everybody Fell Silent

Each Gaze at Radiant Vision

It’s Glowing complexion

Best Twinkling Eyes

Long Lashes

Full Smiling Mouth

A Lovely Hair

It’s Like Angel Crazy

Warm smiles and welcoming


Hi Smarty – Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty – Dear Smiley

(Chorus)


Intellectually satisfying ones

No doubt, from the Rolls of Angels

Forget everything, when people look at

All Admire your Beauty


Hi Smarty – Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty – Dear Smiley

(Chorus)


You’re a Gift to the Earth

Beauty, a Nature-Lord Joint Venture

Wonders nothing before Beauty

The Beauty is Eighth Wonder

Marilyn Monroe we heard so

A replica like Monroe

A Gift from the Universe


What a Beauty

What a Style


People faint for your Beauty

The Life is nothing

Admiring Beauty is no wrong


Hi Smarty – Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty – Dear Smiley

(Chorus)


Oh Nature, I need beauty life

Lord, give me charming life

God, give me charming life

Oh Universe, give me happiness


Hi Smarty – Yes, Naughty

Hi Beauty – Dear Smiley

(Chorus)


https://youtu.be/c1cXMwhlaj8


My Child


How fleeting time is, it will pass quickly.

My child in a minute,

it grew as fast as

moment.


I still remember his lovely smile,

which time has not forgotten with me either.

Adult, but sweet-and-kind,

if you look at me

I see the little child who has always loved.


We had a lot of struggles along the way,

pain, grief, joy,

My child, thank you for your loyalty.


There was no storm

which would have torn him apart

the deep connection of our love,

which is already embraced by a life.


My Child! Receive my poem on this day.

The once small child,

who have you ever been.

He lives in my heart

like an adult

who will accompany you today

and every day.

A MILLION VOICES

A MILLION MEN CAME TOGETHER THAT DAY

Attended the Million-Man March in 95.

I believe it was an awesome way for the One Million Men to came together that day.

That included, me, my brother and some of the fellas from around the way.

It was a life-long journey, just four hours’ drive away.

The haters expected a million man riot.

It was awesome to see, that even law enforcement joined in to see what we would be.

There were those who rung the bell announcing the Blackman’s death knell.

While the bell might have chimed, it was not for me and mine.

Whatever God you see on bended knee, knew shame was not to be.

Starting the journey, each of us counted one another as friends.

On the way home, we committed to being brothers that day and until the end.

Our alliance consisted of less than ten.

Somehow, we formed a bond with one million men.

A once in an eternality experience.

A gift from God, to be unwrapped by One Million-Men, Containing a box of ageless wisdom, all we needed do was roll up our sleeves and just dig in.

The gift was not for display or telling tales of that day.

It was a gift to be worn, a custom fit to be adorned.

It was not about the speeches heard that day.

It was all about the bonding of One Million Men in a God inspired way.

One Million Black-Men speaking in One Voice. Singing Brotherhood, Fatherhood and Fidelity to Womanhood.

A perfect storm that took four hundred years to form.

Pouring down a purging rain, creating a worldwide release of pain.

An awesome roar of which I was proud to be a part.

Sending out an echo that I pray never dies in any way.

A Million Black Men, coming together as one.

Drowning out lies told of what happens when Black Men come together to sound out in a single cry.

I don’t know their names, but connected we are.

A melding of minds and spirits that came together that day to take to the streets and share a hope for a better way.

Not sure if this is something to recreate.

It’s a once in a lifetime experience, singing that we can control our own fate.

Don’t know where they all are today.

I pray that they recognize that we made history that day.

One Million Men traveling from near and far, for no other reason than making the point that we ARE. 

‘Novel’ Pain

I wasn’t poor, being not rich

Life was fine, thanks to hope

All that changed, owing to muse,

With one ‘novel’ passion pure

Affairs I had, twelve of them

Unknown to the lovers of books,

Cold-shouldered by publishing folk

Manuscripts those twelve make pillows

In my bed to cause nightmares,

With hope dead, I can’t dream

Now I’m poor, robbed of hope.

----------------------------------------

This was penned before I placed the 'twelve' in the public domain as free ebooks https://g.co/kgs/P5jazk

Clueless Creation

Told God man In Genesis One

Him He created in form of His

Not when asked as how He did

Thought He fit in Genesis Two

To tell He used the dust for that

But to change tack after that,

So in time Muhammad told

Made Jibrail recite him

In the name of One who makes

Man on earth from clot of blood,

Failed as he then to enquire

Wherefrom He gets all that blood

And since God hath sealed His mouth

Knows not man the true roots of his.

The Splendour of Dawn (An excerpt from my published poetry collection “The Morning Glory”)

The sky is pellucid, brilliant blue at its best;

Luminous on one corner is the crescent,

And the tiny orbs suffuse as a canopy,

While the cosmos is enveloped by a misty

Stillness, quietude.

A divine, serene,

Blankness, barring the murmurs of wind

Permeates gently in the mind.

(contd……..)

The Moon Is in Labor

At least she’s pretending to be,

in sisterly solidarity.

It’s not a joke, but the whole

world’s taking it badly. Meanwhile

I sit here pretending to be a flame

in a thrown bottle. I pretend

that curved horns grow out of my ears

when I hear of injustices. And

meanwhile like the faint cigar

lights of the darkened

lounges where world leaders

fraternize, the moon’s light glows

then fades. Her labor proves to be,

well, laborious. Mine was too,

although this poem burst forth

from my brain like a boot

or a god: furious.

anti poetica

who cares how long i’ve spent with my poems—those shit psalms those rats of my soul—head first thru the window me at their ankles demanding substance, revelation, sudden gravity—shamed of my leafless, drug shanked brain—this grey popper worn hell—that dark dull circle i try to conquer beauty & the state from within. i’m not revolutionary i’m regular. nothing radical in being the enemy of america, the country of enemies. we find our laughter between the horror. stop asking me to explain having a body & a mind & a heart—their harmonies, their plots to murder each other. i’ve lived long in a low solstice—wife of a pipe & the blue lit plain—leo trash—saved by occasional dick & the knowledge of my mother, friends i confess my pocked seasons only after their caul. arachnid moods—self-cornered—text back weak—i haven’t been much lately—the dark season lasted years, swallowing seasons, collecting itself in my shallows like a motor-sheered fish. where did the poems go? what is their trouble? what kind of water is i?

Our Newsletter

Give your inbox some love with new books, writing tips, technology & more. Don't worry. we don't spam

åpenbok

Welcome to åpenbok, the premier book promotion platform for authors to showcase their books. We offer free and paid options for fiction and non-fiction books in various formats, including ebooks and audiobooks. Our website boasts an array of promotional services, including book listings, author interviews, and email campaigns. Our strategies are tailored to promote each genre effectively. We leverage social media marketing, book trailers, and reader reviews for fiction books, while non-fiction books thrive on expert endorsements, speaking engagements, and targeted advertising. Explore our services at www.apenbok(dot)com and take your book promotion to the next level. You can access various writing resources for free, such as articles, writer events, and press releases. www.apenbok(dot)com