Humble Mouths

Raw Perspectives! Wordplay from active minds and humble mouths.

Archive for the category “Memory”

The Miss

How do we miss each other so much?
I don’t mean like longing to see your significant other or a crush.
I mean, like passing our perspectives of each other right by, like a brush.
And close is never enough like enough can always use more.

I need more of you after you’re my wife and we’re already married type shit.
Heavy conversations like which God should we believe in after we’ve spent the beginning of this asking Jesus to forgive our sins type shit.
We grow, in the same household but sooooo differently type shit.
Like twins in segregation.
I miss your every move, your every mood misjudged, your steps over anticipated, your promises under anticipated, your kindness under appreciated, your embraces disassociated and this is all so lovely to the audience but to us it’s so damn complicated.

We the type that get the likes on Facebook but get the hate at home.
I’m the type to tell you all of this in a poem but can’t find the verbs to fuck nouns into making my mouth describe this accurately with adjectives.
That type of shit…

But how do wet become closer, magnets?
How do we kiss deeper, lips, tongues, baguettes?
How do we listen harder, death metal?
How do we hold hands longer, Timex?
How do we love more?

No examples is the true example, no one’s perfect is the grail to hail, relationship preamble, elderly couples are just a sample. 63 years in the mix and can’t remember if she prefers omelets over scrambled.

So the pieces we miss, we fill in like cavity fillings, it’s not a flush fit but at least hope gets to sit in.
Next to fluoride and missing you isn’t the same as it used to be… you expect me to hold you before you slip by and love you like you weren’t mines. Then remember things like are mines like you hate putting gas in the car.
I hate putting gas in this car too!
This one that drives hope, because I take us no where blaring the music like we’re going somewhere.

With the sincerest expectations we arrive at 334 Promise Street
Proclaiming that we’ll never bypass each other the way we used to as we weep.

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The Uni-versary

Endless possibilities: Feature presentation made possible by possibly professing in friendship.

Only vessel capable of physically carrying love is friend’s ship.

Date: The distant future
Where: Her gentle embrace
Objective:

Disabling the magnetosphere of common deception.
Protection of her loveliness, paramount amongst the things on my list.
Inception; I’ll dial Mars for a chance to orbit her perfection.
Diamond set sweetly around rubies and single file lines of amethyst.
Collection; gravity pulls all things that were up… down.
So dreams fall like pillars and they topple like towers and they collapse like bridges under the feet of the determined brigades.
Love be that fortifying renegade on the Harley in the thunderstorm without the poncho holding fast to chivalry like…
F%¡* the obstacles this is no charade, it’s a carriage for marriage.

A single conception of emotional strength and physical passion for devotional length, conversational integrity intact to enact the pact we bounded as hardcover bindings exchanging rounded ring things and oaths hoping they never do us apart.
Part of that wonderful start was dependant on heart, the other was… is, with the intention of maintaining tendon tension of this friendship.

The only vessel capable of physically carrying love is friend’s ship.

Where are the Poets?

I spent my entire life twisting phrases in inoperable ways,
trying my hardest to live up to this title of “Poet” and everything that being a poet says.
Waging wars with warped weapons welcomed as words over whisky; alphabetical food trays.
Serving up something diligent to any bystander, audience member or those engaging in the casual gaze.

At first I was most intrigued by huge adjectives but even more so by dissecting them down into edible fillets,
Then I tried to subdue my hues and cues to couplets but free form became the only way for my prose to graze.
So I unleashed an Armageddon of cross burning consonants strung up by nooses bound like consonance of K’s.
                                                                  [KKK get it??]
Anyways, I believed God branded me with a talent to tally verbal compilations in rhythmical compliance.
Deter the social structure and poke socialism like an accepting vagina, to uprise against conformity with defiance.
My only alliance, was with heaven and the pen. That which I drew from stone, manifesting beastly comparisons and drafting contrasts from the wits of geniuses and the bicep mass of giants.
Ink etching lifelike formations from mere abc’s; my god-like appliance…
                       Notably morphing metaphors into matadors in metaseconds maniacally!

But in the midst of it all I noticed I was alone in my dwarfed universe.

Where are the Poets?

I haven’t met that many, my mentor and the greats before him have passed on and in their honor I go ape-shit-poetic every chance I get.
You’re out there though and for the few I have found with the exception of the Def Poets, I follow you… I am a part of the mission, I am a sublet.
But the multitude of undiscovered wordsmiths and lyricists that I have not yet encountered…
Where are you?

Where are the Poets?

Mí Papá, Roy

Old man, old man
Why you became a fisherman?

Fish do run from menacing hooks,
Dressed pretty in appetizing worms… look!
Old man reach back with pounds and pounds of Yellow Tail, Old Wife, King Fish, Grouper, Shellfish, and an occasional wondering Barracuda for keepsake.
Rum knows no mistakes, island folk knows nothing of sweepstakes… except for, we never win.
I could never keep up being one of the youngest; couldn’t grasp the task of crab pots and fish traps,
Every time I think I’m sober over home I find an even better reason to relapse.

Old man, old man
Why you love construction so man?

Bulldozers and dynamite makes havoc on predestined habitable reservations,
Built the house I grew up in and excavated most of the island I grew up on… made those simple walls of a home feel like a castle.
Made those ragged streets feel like superhighways and less of a pothole hassle.
Apostles of carib carbon, I lined the premises well with ganja clouds in adolescence,
Making truth of mainland stereotypes.
Tentative touches to the probability you built to withstand more hurricanes while savoring the memories of mí mama cleaning fish old man.
This old man, he built heights,
baco and traco developments into new city lights…

Old man, old man
Never wanted to be an army man.

My tails of setting sails on most of the seven seas gave you reference to your own military memory.
We can talk for hours old man, sea stories…
Exploits and explorations,
Children from a different land, distant generations part of a unsure federation.
The navy wouldn’t take you and the army barely loved you.
Black man of a dissimilar era with comparable restraints of the segregated today too.

Old man, old man
I love you old man.
Old man, old man
We love you old man.

Nicest old man I ever knew admittedly with bias and love.
All your grandchildren love your last name deeply,
We wear it like badges of honor, dawn it like a reputation proud yet humbly,
Even the mix of us who are dubbed differently all agree to be the lot of the Potter family.
Potters, shottas annually. Building roofs for our offspring in a different manner than you did.
Same reasons in mind, with the essences you left in mind.
I still tell people your Ford truck must’ve ran 8 million miles before it died.
Though I never tell them anything but it was all metal, rather than it died.
Family gathering at your place, 8 dozen smiles.
The argument ensues, who amongst the lot of us looks the most like you?
Who??!?
Nobody wanted to look like their grandmother.
Couldn’t tell Tronn he wasn’t in first place!
Kuba got it too, cubs of your pride Mr. Patriarch Lion and if mama will allow it we all look just like you.
Can see your elements in so many faces.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen you angry,
Not since ’96,
Maybe ’95.
I been owing you a drink now I’ll drink to our times.

Old man, mí papà, grandfather
We love you

In every loving constant, Rest In Love…
image

Old man Walker

Old man Walker was of a different breed.

He came from the lineage of men who had both parents and the undying support of an entire family.

Kids nowadays can’t understand why he wears all these medals; “Mr. Vietnam Veteran.”

Old man Walker, was of a alternate stature,
He came up during a time where it was cool to be good, everyone feared the wrath of God and the impending rapture.

Kids nowadays don’t grasp the entire concept of religion, too very concerned and saturated with materialism.

Old man Walker, was really a loved man,
Stood up for what he believed in and gaved his last dollar,
Always dawned his military insignia on his shirt chests and collars.
Inspired change from the opposite end of the totem and passionately he never voted.
Blamed the people for the nation’s shortcomings and raved about how we are the future and the kids are the hope!
He challenged the reps, the senators and mayors,
ate with the homeless and conversed with other religions in several layers… of understanding.

Old man Walker, if he ran for president I’d vote my ass off,
Not because the current candidates aren’t worth it or because the president doesn’t deserve it…
But because Old man Walker believed that we the people…

…We the people,
the people of this great nation should take responsibility of all the ills and perils that we’ve created.

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