Revised Poem: One Drop

Hi, so after a lot of reflection, I was able to narrow my focus. :) Please let me know what you think!

Reflection

I grew up in a tree house

The rich people’s version of roughing it

 Because it was a whole ten minutes away 

From four Michelin star restaurants.

In Los Gatos,

You can Spot Kids 

Being Hood Rat Wannabes

 Hats turned to an angle

Wearing the  

BOU

TIQUE

Low

Ri-

Der

Skinny jeans

Blogger Moms

Afflicted with the 

Rich B*tch Syndrome

Stepping in

Escalades and Louis Vuitton’s

Silences

Are shouting at one another…

Eyes quaking in a skull…

When they see you…

Their

Skin like receipt paper 

Yours Freckled in

Numbers, decimals, and dollar signs

Ray Bans daintily placed 

On the crown of your head,

Flash the Gucci watch

While grabbing the plastic…

Because Plastic buys Plastic…

American Express delivers a tight smile…

Pageant Queen wave…

Buys full lips 

A small smirk…

Approved.

Don’t look in the mirrors,

Or Memory will come banging:

Power Flickering

 Through your childhood home

Faucet’s leaking

One drop…

One drop of brown

Dripping,

Staining

 The chipped porcelain sink

STOP.

Look straight ahead

Let the lit trees

 On Main Street cushion your vision

Here every day is Christmas…

Don’t look in the mirrors,

Practice your swing,

Learn the language of

Fat, thin, slice, Chipping--

It’s the dialect only Suits speak…

Silences

Are shouting at one another…

Eyes quaking in a skull…

When they see you…

Their

Skin like receipt paper 

Yours Freckled in

Numbers, decimals, and dollar signs

Stab the plastic tee in,

Take your swing,

Mmph!

Perfect pronunciation

 With the green

Plastic buys Plastic

Par two earns a tight smile

An impressed handshake…

Buys Full lips 

A small smirk…

Approved.

Don’t look in the mirror

Or you might catch a glimpse of 

Stereotype…

A hole:

Your reflection in his eyes

And there’s the hole 

To bury your

Aspirations

Wistfully watch

Dandelions escape

Your mouth:

I wish 

I wish 

I WISH….

STOP.

Wondering which skin to wear today

Pulling out hangers,

Trying Things on.

At Six,

Abuelita

 Put your Schlubby Sweats on house arrest 

You haven’t shaved, so no

Fuchsia Femme Fatale 

Boot cut slacks and a button up, it is

Pondering

Between spoons of Cocoa Puffs

 How they can have a glass of milk

Add a drop of chocolate

And still call it milk…

But they take a person

And black always defines them?

Stop.

Look in the mirror:

You’re beautiful.

 Full lips try on a shy smile…

Approved.

Revised poem: Home

So I 've been working on the "Home" piece some more. I'm not sure how this turned out but I think this is better! Let me know what you think.


Home-Coming

Boy,

you were not birthed of this womb

Don’t have

 my weathered hands

Don’t know

The pain of

Cracking open sores

Shaving my wild, citrine hair

Sowing it in brown scalps

Wash your pink hands

Try to get ‘em clean

Stand Straight,

Leaning Sapling,

You can’t wrench your roots from me

Someday someone’s going to

Chop you down to a bloody stump

Burn you up: branches and trunk

And leave you… to fall in to me

Boy,

Up in your fort

With all your favorite toys

Leaving a stain on the sky

With your greasy sun blocked nose

Why don’t you let your brother join you?

Smoking sage

still lingering in sweat glands

Heart still Bouncing

 like turquoise beads

He’s trying to cool with a double scoop

Of Garlic soft serve

But his toasted skin

Still sizzles and toughens

Like dusty leather chaps

Sometimes he tries to knock you out

With Plums and Tomatoes

But his arm

Is too tired from carrying me

Stand Straight,

Leaning Tree,

You can’t wrench your roots from me

Someday someone’s going to

Chop you down to a bloody stump

Burn you up branches and trunk

And leave you… to fall in to me

Boy,

A few more rings around your trunk

And your toy soldiers

Are melted into the battlefield

Waiting for orders

That will never come.

You’re too busy

Thrusting your pocket knife

Carving “Love” into trees…

(But only I can hear their screams)

Son,

You have a problem.

A mannequin modeled

From Magazines and Billboards

Is not molded with

Built in shelving for

A brain…

 Or a soul

I want you to dream

Of a full bodied woman

Smelling of empanadas and sage

Humming happily over the pot

As she takes

Taste,

After taste,

After…

 Taste…

But you never listen to me.

Stand Straight,

Leaning Tree,

You can’t wrench your roots from me

Someday someone’s going to

Chop you down to a bloody stump

Burn you up: branches and trunk

And leave you…to fall in to me

Boy,

Your daughter

Left her dignity on the corner

With a “FOR FREE” sign

And bought hard, watermelon implants.

She hides her brain next to her retainer

And shares her soul like Peanut Brittle

She’s naked except

 For the steel-boned corset

You bought her.

She squeezes in her

Post-lunch meeting with the Toilet

And Cellulite squatting on her thighs

Smashes them together

And laces it up…

Tightly.

Please

Stand straight,

Leaning Sapling,

Don’t wrench your roots from me…

Because you will fall in to me…

HERE LIES AMERICA.

Poem #3 Citrine Kiss

I completed the second draft of my last poem that I wrote for my Itachi fan series. When I am done I will upload the files, and let you see all three together. Please. Really need some feedback.

Poem #3 your Citrine Kiss

“I love you,” you said
To me with a Ctrine kiss
You lifted my head
With a genuine youness
I sighed, my breath became short
Could I be your last resort?
I looked at you and the mess
And burst in to loud hysteric cries
For all to hear, but none to reply

Suppose I won your trust?
Suppose I let love take me
Or fallen pray to lust
Or let our love take me
What if I lost you just then?
Maybe we were meant as friends
Suppose you proposed to me
And Suppose your darkness crept away
Like a whimpering dog and sun rays

Took over your eyes with gold
Suppose there was a chance
you held me through the untold
Suppose this dream romance
Could have wilt away and died
Suppose your love was a lie
And there was deep hate beneath the folds
And dramatic weeping took that chance

And with loose desperate hips And longing phoenix pleads
Suppose with burning lips
The taste of starvation, need,
And overflowing without
Anyone to think about
Ha… what a sudden love story flip
Who knows where these lucid dreams will lead

To hold you there forever
And to have you ever
to truly love you never
In my rhymes so clever
I cannot help, but long for my lover
would if I could tare pages to sever
to take your pain in leather
would to have you ever

Gandalf's Leave

This was an old poem I found that I have been working with for a while. I just don't know what to do with it. I need a fresh perspective.

Gandalf's Leave

I saw the birth of man
I saw many devious plans
I saw the rebellion of the molder
I saw the fall of Numinor
I saw too much in my long life

But as my last day came
I couldn’t help feel pain
Along with my gratitude
Faces change my mood
You’d think I’d be used to this

But this was different
My life had a dent
Knowing my departure
There‘s no greater torture
It was between fate and friends
The ship was waiting
And light was fading
 Vaire has woven my time
She did her best with mine
The Sand scratched between my toes

I shook my feet and winced
As I gazed at a distance
looked back at the Halfling
He was ready to leave
With a Pretending expression

He got what he should receive
A much needed reprieve
The long retirement of immortals

I dare say I was impressed
For such a deadly quest
Was even too much for me
His eyes were on the sea
Even now, fire still burned in him

Unto the undying lands
It was no longer in my hands
Saraman was long gone
And this was my final song
My existence was no longer needed

Disgust welled inside me
It was so very hard to breath
The wind was soft and cool
I was naive, Yes, I was a fool
Life was…, Curdan released the ship

I sang my goodbyes
With joy in my eyes
As the ancient cities died
The ship moved, I sighed
I was no longer serving, it was over!

Home

I feel this poem has good flow, but I feel like something is missisng. Any ideas? :)

Home

American Boy

You were not cocooned and birthed of this Earth.

You do not have her weathered hands

Nor Her brown complexion

Adopted Son,

You remind me of a leaning tree

Futilely trying to escape its roots

Of softly spoken words…

And loud guns…

Pounding breath and 

Gurgling--

Gagged silence.

American Boy,

Help yourself to a double scoop

Of Garlic soft serve

And a dollop of sunblock

Visit your brother

Mother’s blood son

See his toasted skin,

Sizzle and toughen.

He has Father’s eyes and hair

Both smooth waves of obsidian arrowhead

Light sensually swaying

And Flitting through…

Native Son

You remind me of Corn Stalks:

Rising From

Bouncing turquoise beads and

Smoking Sage And

Burning flesh--

Deceptive silence.

American Girl,

You’ve lost something

Where was the last place you saw it?

Your dignity.

Maybe you should go back home…

To your old room:

Maybe your first boyfriend left it there

(after he finished)

Or your mother tucked it in her suitcase

(when she left)

Or maybe, maybe you’re the sharing type

Breaking off little pieces over time

Maybe you don’t even realize it’s gone…

Good Ole’ Boy,

A Mannequin cannot appreciate

Your shivering naked form

Slowly Stripped down

In conversations

 Modeled from Magazines and Billboards

“She” is not molded with 

built in shelving for a brain or a soul

Endangered Species:

American Woman…

Please, come find me.

American society,

Squeezing into a steel boned corset

Ulcers from Uncle Sam

Cramps from Aunt Flow

Smashing together,

 laced up tightly…

'Murica,

Poetry reminds me of a full-bodied woman…

Smelling of empanadas and sage…

Humming over the pot 

As she takes

Taste,

After 

Taste,

After

New piece I'm struggling with...Don't know if anyone is still checking on this

Just something I wanted to post... get some feedback on. :)

One Drop

We are here to put to rest

 the Millennials’ Imagination.

Convenience was cyanide

 A dash of Suri, a gulp of Google,

But Shock Value is the true culprit

Of Individuality’s demise

Like Electronic Cigs,

Temporary Tatts.

Paper towel implants,

Or when you kiss a girl

and you like it

but its just experimental... human nature,

And You hope your boyfriend don’t mind it.

Everything is cool,

As long as that tan fades.

I grew up in a tree house

The rich people’s version of roughing it

 because it was a whole,

yes a whole ten minutes away

from four michilin star restaurants.

With time, I’d learn

A black friend is an affluent white person’s pardon

To forgo the belt

And wear

LOW

RI

DER

Boutique skinny jeans

And Wide brimmed hats

meticulously turned to a 45degree angle.

 While their moms Showered 

in Channel and Tiffany tear drop diamonds

and glided in Louboutins

 like they were my light up Barbie sneaks

I was unable to read the subtext beneath

“ Are you good at hip hop dancing?” or

“Do you go to Sunday school?”

Well, the only pole was on my four-poster,

and I’m like every other daughter,

I only talk to my Father when I need something…

But back then Black

was only the name of one of my crayons.

I didn’t know then

 that the redwood trees we were surrounded by

Were future kindling for affluence’s arson

Using Jackson’s for lighters

 for a shiny new Apple, Gucci, William-Sonoma

No idea that that, we, as a society,

 dismember great oaks

Immure their remains together

Roll them up

Seal them in a machine

Rip them off

Just So they can shove them in pockets

Later dispose their wrinkled corpses

 from their designer purses

But the numbers become infused on our hands

Because a store’s slip of paper is a black person’s pardon.

When they see us

Silences are shouting at each other

Eyes are quaking in a skull

Power is written on a full-length body mirror

Lights got to SMACK it

For it to be seen

And even then it’s spelled backwards

Like natives shoved into pockets of San Jose’s skid row

Ripped off educations,

Sealed in minimum wage machines

Rolled up futures

Wanting our wrinkled corpses to be disposed

They put a suicide factory on every corner

Some of us shower in Liquid Amber

Smell like a gas station bathroom

Poverty’s arson is sparked by lit Marlboro’s  

Spreading…

Until they immure our remains in a overcrowded cemetery

White noise approaches

Chatter like wine glasses clinking—

But when they see me

Silences interrupt—

Shouting at each other

Eyes are quaking in a skull

Designed lips purse

Pearl Luxe&Lush nails caress Lincoln’s face

Disposing of him

by tossing him into my full coffee cup

Scooping Abe out to dry…

 We’re both cringing…

I go back to studying for finals…

Numbers become infused on my hands

Because a university’s slip of paper is a black person’s pardon

These numbers infused on our hands

are the days

Since we learned subtext,

At seven or eight,

When our parents told us,

“ Honey we have something to tell you…”

That Concrete will never be their bed,

Doorway their pillow,

Stars their roof,

Haunts some of us…

So we end up remaining

 In an overcrowded cemetery

Naïve ones with heavy pockets

Slowly reach--

Now their heads are leaking

Leaving silences in mid argument

Brains suffering aftershocks--

Isn’t a piece of paper supposed to be a black person’s pardon?

Power is written on a full-length body mirror

The light’s got to SMACK it

For it to be seen

And even then it’s spelled backwards

Like take a cup of milk and add one drop of chocolate

You’d call it milk…

But you take a person,

And one drop of black

 always defines them…