Category: poems

The flitting, fleeing thing
Darted quickly through the gloom.
Scarcely did my blinking eye,
Did register the sprinting spirit,
Streaking through my living room.

But soft! The cat did descry it,
Just as quick as the nervous nit did
Zip and nip into my field of view,
And just as fast, found at last
A glowing pane where it stopped and hid.

And just as sure and just as calm,
The feline stretched and did wait,
As the sighing bug took one last breath,
Realizing not this was his very last,
Or the eyes that watched him beat and bate.

What can be seen
Shades of beauty
Browns and green

Shades of sunlight
Both pale and dark
Cast distant shadows
What a sight

Sounds of life
Pierce the quiet
Calling pleading cheering
We are right

I’m taking my gloves off and I’m ready for war with my bare hands

Because if one rap song is worth a thousand sermons,

Then one poem should wake up a million troubled souls.

When you start to place the world’s issues into sonnets, haikus, and floetic phonetic tunes

It will start to twist into an eclectic rhythm that beats like a snare drum on your weary soul.

You begin to feel alive like the day when Jesus arose and climbed off the cross to save our souls that looked like, and talked like, and walked like, and sounded like, and smelled like scents of sin that created you and me from the start of Genesis.

It might have taken 4 hundred and 60 years to fix the corruption that happened

But how did 1 hundred days ago we let a president win from electoral votes.

It was the popular votes that would’ve given us hope.

Like the day When Michael Jordan won his second 3-peat, or When Prince dared us to party like its 1999 or when Rocky had his first fight with Apollo Creed.

No more will I allow my heart to just bleed with the words of injustices

spoken from warriors that never watched my mother scrub floors with her bare hands

To get money to fed us Egg Salad Sandwiches and government made Macaroni and Cheese because Momma’s fried chicken only came around on Sunday because Momma worked twice as hard on Mondays.

We wasn’t accepting of the stereotype of being called poor because the richness of pure love ran through our veins as I call Brooklyn my home even when we had three chained locks holding up our front door to protect us from those who lost their means and tried to rob us of our luxuries.

That need for greed wasn’t taught originally it came created and driven by enslavement mentality that rotted our people’s rights to breath.

I never thought I could take this world by storm.

Expressing my life through poetry is like reliving the tragedies written in a rap song.

(So What, I talked about it)

One stanza could free the next person’s heart from a torrential rainstorm.

I never imagined me, giving the world all of my energies. (So What, I talked about it!)

When you open up old wounds, you allow people to throw salt in your cracks;

Their opinions form criticism that you have spoken based on your life’s true facts.

(So What, I talked about it)

I gave up the fears of caring that some people will talk about me behind my back.

So instead I wrote more and explained everything that they thought they knew about me even my unspoken tragedies. (So What, I talked about it!)

I wasn’t ashamed to reveal it.

Just to let you all know

that even though my life seems untouchable;

I’m so unquestionably real.

(So What, I talked about it!)

For you
Anything is possible. I made sure of it.
The way I breathe. The way I think. Is just
For you. The way I scream. The way I cry. The
Way I look love dead in the eyes. Is just for you.
The way I dream. The way I fight. To take away
the struggle from what’s wrong or right. Is just for you.
The way I smile. The way my heart opens up like a canal.
Anything is possible. Its Just for you..

If you allow politeness you may define – some of the spirit of charlston – the fountain of spirit is genuine and allows itself to be heard without being loud. It is a human life experience without the confines of rules that disallow goodness. The people here seem to Know this without hesitation. It’s spread is effectuous – it’s real or it would have melted by now. Charleston is old and crafty and allows those who want its wing of warmth and fortitude to embrace it – it also directs those who may not recognize her at first to love her .
Her winds are sweet her winds heal her winds , help forget , her winds help spread , the pleasant
Reminder of the grandness of life , this wind brushes by all , but touches each . The splendor of such a grand lady is it forgives and gets about the business of life . Two fold is this because it praises the one who gives us each day. Constant pleasant and
Truthful it was given the name the holy city. It rebounds like
No other , and embraces what it is – life ( which is a gift ) the sweetness of its many gifts it gives is praise – and praise is a thankful gift.

You say I dreamed it.
You say I dreamed when he slid his hand up my silhouette.
When he caressed my nipple as he does yours when it’s dark at night.

You say I dreamed seeing the white blur of his shirt crawl on top of me.
And he caressed my carcass.
As I lie there frozen in fear.

Perhaps you say I dreamed it for you’ve dreamed your own life.
You’ve dreamed to forget how your legs spread for boys who could only take you for what you were.
A pleasure tool. A whore without a cause.

But you see,
You and me.
We aren’t so different.
You were once the woman I am.
Chasing the thrill and
seeking the pleasure.
Now you say you’ve grown,
as a flower grows,
peeking above the rest.
You think your perspective is different up there.
You think you’re taller,
more intelligent,
too good to chase
the thrill any longer.

Maybe you’re terrified.
Terrified of what would happen
if that white blur
actually became still.
If what I saw and
what I felt was real.
Then how would that flower change?
Would it cower because
it’s source of power
had blown away in the breeze, carefree,
not owned by its possessor?

Would you wilt,
would you wither
as you appear to do now?
Would you say
I dreamed a dream or that life became too real?


I feel like, in a past life
I was a drummer. And in
another past life I was a
dolphin. And, in between
those two former existences
I was a hexagon that wanted
to be a circle.

I can feel it,
coursing through, within,
like an undercurrent that cannot be sensed,
cannot be caught on radar
unless by casual curiosity:
a blasé desire to consider
the commonality in the
intangible, the metaphysical;
to breathe life into a simple moment,
into a feeling;
to give shape to a sensation:
a vanilla daydream,
an instance of imaginative brevity,
all of which are dealt with
a sort of colloquial reverence.

Soothe my soul like the cool side of the pillow, Like a cool crisp early October morning,Like good news right on time, A feeling that doesn’t have to be explained because we’re on one accord, Like we can afford to waste anymore time,
Ease my mind
Refresh my spirit,
Make me want to live with fervor, Live life with a renewed purpose, Purposely passionately running towards destiny, To a place we have plenty but we aren’t complacent, The moon and stars are our basement as we reach higher together, Arms wrapped around forever like a last first embrace, Too excited to hold on and yet scared to let go,
Ease my mind
Tell me I’m your last first thought,
Tell me I’m needed like air,
Tell me I’m hidden in your purpose,
Tell me I’m your best friend,
Tell me I was a terrible mistake that was so right,
Tell me you are sad when we fight,
Tell me I’m sexy,intelligent,irresistible
Tell me you love me,
And I don’t question it,

Ease my mind

The color of my skin is Despair.
It cries a flooding river.
Screams no words, only feelings.
Feels only pain.
Despair cloakes my eyes and wilts my soul.
Murky dreary gloomy are my home.

I don’t want you to know what I feel inside,
But despite this I want to be reconciled.
Too petrified to talk,
Despair’s language is fear.
What if you don’t like what you hear?

You can’t understand what you haven’t been told.
Dad, no wonder our relationship is so cold.
Scamper off joyful mother, defiance leads the way.
There is no clean air, for I only breathe Despair.

Inside this golden egg,
Isn’t the student you treasure.
Why tarnish when you can shine?
I’m just leaving the real me behind.

Is this why I can’t breathe?
Is this the cause of my anxiety?
Despair forever surrounding me.
Bottomless pit of stomping butterflies,
The more I think about them, the more they multiply.
Not good enough, too skinny, more more more insecurities….


I’m trying something new.
Despair, loosen your hold.
Be honest, girl, be bold.
It’s okay if your truth doesn’t fit into society’s mold.

The strength required
is already within you.
Eradicate Despair forever.

Rainbows paint the golden glistening sky,
The flood is drying up and I can see the sun.
My soul is flourishing.


Send us a poem, or tell us about an event!


Yay! Message sent.
Error! Oops. Something went wrong.
© Copyright Marcus Amaker Design