Humble Mouths

Raw Perspectives! Wordplay from active minds and humble mouths.

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Semper Fi is no Lullaby

I do not know how many of them slept as they should.

When boots are on the ground how could…

They not worry about loss, worry about cost, fatigued with responsibility

The wavering endurance of surviving lefts and rights,

Pushing on to maintain our ideals, our suppositions of ethics and morals, our cornucopia of races, religion, gender, politics no matter how skewed, racist, sexist and childish they are amongst our neighbors.

Semper Fi is no lullaby.

Neither are the hoorahs that exclaim from the ranks,

Neither are the badass sergeants and petty officers that run things,

“Officers are for offices anyway right?” (Joking)

Leaders, lead beside and in front.

Many of each have died to afford us 10 Britannica collections worth of freedoms we aren’t even grateful for.

Imagine the life of occupation

Yea, Semper Fi is no lullaby but some will sleep better tonight. Some know the battles fought; won and lost.

Some know the duty, the watchstanding, the 12s, the trenches, the general quarters, battlefields, folding Old Glory, half masts, 21 gun salutes, purple hearts, weeping spouses, bereaved children, successing bloodlines…

Semper Fi is no lullaby but tonight…

I’ll sleep better because of your faith.

Thank you



Mama’s got a way about her.

Never ever been the type to concern herself with what you say about her.

She doesn’t earn enough to be rich,

But everything she has are byproducts of her working fists.

Some mothers didn’t wanna be:

Mothers, makers, providers, huggers, Mrs. Wipe-the-tears-away, confidants, best friends, muses, teachers, heros…

Mama’s got a way about her.

Never ever been the type to concern herself with what you say about her.

She’ll pull 2 doubles saving up for the trouble,

It’s better to be prepared than unprepared in the struggle.

Some mothers didn’t wanna be:

Responsible, reasonable, reliable, reassuring, reachers, road maps, rescuers…

Mama’s got a way about her.

Never ever been the type to concern herself with what you say about her.

So her kids brought their own in the world and give her all the praises for their graces and being their worlds.

It’s unfortunate that in black communities mothers too often raise their children alone. Thank you to the mothers that embody the true representation of motherhood. We love you.



Gray… greatest ceiling cover ever to shelter you, me, your brother,  mother and grandmothers.
Fathers is running farther,  anticipating the storming.
The precipitation atop the perspiration can remedy the burning…
Of lost love or love lost.

How many dictators and righteous men the same been gutted under the slate skies to even slates and battle plains?
Enough to pain.
I just know the sun is hidden,  this fact is proven.
Until I call Ruben, a service member serving in Cali until September.
He said it’s right as rain.
Disconnecting mobile minutes in lieu of that last cool
-breeze that blows before the thunderous pellets drip-drop.

Drop drip,
Drip drip,
Sons die like drops drip for throwing sets and claiming crip.
More lay in red pools dueling over stripes and culture chips,  for saying blood.

Gun on floor,  face on deck,  hog tied with pig legs prying weight on backs for carrying weight, the irony.
Rain falls and absolves whatever hate hasn’t dissolved,
Drains clog as it falls, First 48,
it won’t be solved.

Storm gauges everywhere will serve a purpose.
The bayous can’t hold this much pasta sauce, thicker than roux too.
As red as Texas is Houston feels so black.
I see cops and men that resemble their uniforms give dap.
Ponchos and gone-brellas kiting in the wind.


The Children

Commission me with thigh high expectations on changing the world wouldn’t you?
They all are bright-eyed and promising, not yet awakened to the negativity surrounding them, protect them couldn’t you?

They love so hard and are born so honest.
Only to shed skin and become liars, and haters, and drunks and colonists.
Spreading infection to their peers like we did.
Raping the innocence in them, we take pleasure in their most horrific comprehension.
These kids…

Have no future beyond our dissatisfaction with ourselves.
Neglect was never a contraceptive,
We bury ourselves in the latest technology and ipads are not birth control just controlling birth.

Retinal scans and “smart” mobilization, tools to keep us tuned out of our starving nation.
Focused on baking more bread in excess, while stealing every grain of wheat from starving nations.
How can I focus on success?

When I was born into a race that doesn’t even have rights yet?

Don’t speak to me of equality because my son is not comforted with words.
Don’t lie to me of education because you lied to my wife with those words.
Don’t tell me there are reparations when there are more sanctuaries for plants and birds.
There are more clauses and laws for immigration, irrigation and none yet for black, African-American, Moorish, negro… Niggers don’t get the awards.

I’m dissatisfied and disenfranchised.
My history starts with a boat ride.
When the population, the staggering numbers does not coincide with the Triangle Trade…
In denial I took your Apple Pie crumbs but I now refuse your lemonade.

It’s filled with diabetes and my children love it.

They have no future serenading your Star Spangled Banner,
But even they have no where else to call home.



I, I, I can’t seem to shake the feeling, no… the urge.
The stomach churning necessity to purge,
The climatic rise accompanied by goosebumps and hormonal spikes.
I recognize the surge of explicit pleasure when it bites my hand every time I feed it.

There’s a thing within my skin that lives to collect as much sin as it can.
Some call it demon, but I call it man.
It’s purpose is destruction and it’s plan is insatiable; it’s contribution is nothing but contraband as is bland.

It craves lust, desires gluttony. It is a sex addict, a thief, a murderer yet looks so human. Too human to be so monstrous.

It’s obsessed with pain and grief. It yearns for attention and when I cannot supply…
It demands MORE. Every strand of resistance takes fatal blows. Bad ideas become good and I do as always after the 12th hour; I give in.

*** Photo credits go to:

Conscious and Awareness


To be creative is as to be a psychopath.
Cognitively or unconsciously germinating fluorescent fruits, molding their nutrition into serving carafes.
Fine things always need room to breathe.

Long neck drunkards should be seated, staggering barley by the pint barely
past the point of sober giraffes.
It’s only a perspective for the inquisitive minds.
Ink-with-histamines; life text.
Wooden planks come as one with concrete and barnacles; family.
An even better phrase for success is taking advantage of the divisions within the opportunity.
Opportunist communities lynch mob loved ones like communist authority.

Assignment of beauty, cups filled approximately to their 50% markers. Admire the other side, the grass is always greener,
The sands are much softer, waves break then crash gently and the water, much cleaner.

But what lays await at the end?
Freedom, friends?
Mystery lends undergarments to eerie occurrences.
The currents currently undertaking that far out.
Can you trust the floorboards to hold you that far out?
Ancient trees dead a long time… doing hard time, withstanding those barnacles and constant criticism.

Bite sized sea devils doing their damnedest to hold strong between tides and the casual empty aquafina,
Resident seaweed waving in the sway like crowds at the FIFA arenas.

The Sun weighs in as head official from his box seat to cast order and opinion and inspite of all the awe you inspire;
There is one more superior than you…
The consciously aware you.

****Picture Title: Dromana Pier Bush Fire
Obtained from Flipboard Matt Elliot 500

Untitled Free Verse 1

Infinite void.

It’s like a damn sinkhole, fresh atop the upper ventricle.

Atriums collapse and muscles transform into serpent like critters.
Self consumption.
Suicide plots thicken among cellular levels.
Self destruction, death by minions.

No reincarnation just regret and guilt,
Existence used to be easier than this make shift bed I built.
Poised well to poison myself and fade out in a kilt.
Self degradation until the remaining resin left is silt.

Chagrin defines what coincidence does not defy.
Consummation with demons that I resurrected in ignorance and stupidity.
Rejecting the serendipity of bliss amiss times of well needed comfort for events of deserved anguish.
Fishing the soul for inaccuracies, inadequacies… incentives of inflection and preparation for imaginary adversaries.

To the average comprehension it’s all formatted word art with the cliche text fonts and Windows clipboard illustrations.
To angels its heresy and desecration of temple and all things heavenly to include divine manifestation.
Removal by drowning is self absorption, removal by jumping is self exaltation, as self propelling as a projectile through the mouth like bullets seem it seems the best way to exit scene is to…

Leave in a dream.

The 50

Ahhh, I’ve been around the whole world in my mind set.
Tripping to places skilled climbers couldn’t vision on their mind treks.
Some lands cry Jesus, others say witch, home land security says bitch and humble still can be serene like 9 million 900 thousand 99 monk steps.
Yelling Apache at the red dot until my vocal line’s strep.
I bet, in 50s that in the 50s, at least 50 columnists plagiarized the work of the Mayans as that of the colonists now take 50….

Bet their offspring sprung the same plagiarism in headlines during the Harlem Renaissance.

Spitting shit on your history smearing it in disgrace and covers,
Devil and reverse architect, hand in hand matrimonial lovers.
Decimated your history and made it his-story; cover.
Hung generations of every auto-generated culture in the name of…
Ssshhhh in vain.
Promptly between 10-4 constable gather the people in the market square.

Bodies of the redman slain for some land,
Torsos of the yellowman scattered on some land,
Necks of the blackman stretched between some lands; on a noose some hang,
Exhausted the brownman and fenced them outside of their lands,
Reverse psychology makes them the immigrants to their land.
Minds of the whiteman lobotomized for land, liberty and material pursuit.
No blue outside the corona and Jews meet liquidation in concentration camps; dead lands and horrendous aromas.

Breathe f*ck** breathe and then take 50.
Impregnated by the beast, dilution after 50,
Seeds bloom by doom gloom, dead by 50,
Years of age and crack, self, cops, current situations, kill all 50.
Niggers, wetbacks, spicks, towelheads, chinks and the other 50,
Mixed up mixed breed dogs forget how to academically work with 50.
Can’t add…. there’s an app for that, can’t read there’s an app for that, can’t spell T9 autocorrect in every app for that, can’t plot, can’t chart… so lost where’s the stars at…? Wtf is the app for that?!

Severance of man from land like thoughts from gland or wrist from hand… blood pools thicker than asphalt in all that black.
This isn’t about race, that’s a lie, this is a race.
To divide the races into 1st and last place.
It was never to a finish… line
Destined to be about the diminish line.
3rd cousin to Sir Poverty Line.
The monkeys we “came” from are slated to the inheritance of the earth we earned by birthright inheritance.
After all the nukes drop, gun pops, chipped brains circuit shock, melanin punches clocks, bath salts and crack rocks…


Solo Via Life

I’ve made my share and some of “bad decisions”
Gross shit to my subconscious, things I filter daily like carbon emissions.
Regrets are to shame as pollution is to fossil fuels,
Tools I use to disguise my rouse,
Fools I play to canvas my moods and then there’s the muse… Life.

What an awful teacher in regards to perspective, time and truths.
Perspective is all racist, pacifist, feminist, journalist; nothing benefits the roots.
Time kills all negligence, magnificence, adolescence, innocence and youth.
And truth… that’s the shock, awe and pain of everything preceding this line but with blood, bullets and a noose.

I’ve made my share and some of “bad decisions”
Enough uneducated selections to land me in some,
Shit I’d rather be left alone on this voyage with one bullet, one rifle and a stick of gum.
So I can chew the gum, clean the rifle and shoot the bullet into the son, me….

Thought Provoking Question #1

What’s the meaning of living?

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