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Tag Archives: tradition

Grandmaster Jay’s eyes say no


he looks up, she looks up to him

he looks up, she looks up to him

Three year old hands thump to a rhythm
Small feet dance hard to a song
She cries inconsolably to sing to the clean version
Memorizing lines to exhaustion
She will recite tomorrow
even if it kills her
Cameras flash as a skirt twirls

Singing and dancing is for elementary school
Teens are pushed into a crowded science train
Piano lessons and dance classes
pile up on a heap of broken promises
The geography teacher talks
Contours and fault lines move above her head
while her foot thumps to the staccato of his voice

She would like to fold away her dark life like a carpet
Grandmaster Jay’s eyes say no
He keeps a vigilant watch from her wall
Sniggers rudely burst out into laughter
The mic grows cold and heavy
Her big toes look away and face each other
Her lunch wants to return to her mouth
A voice is raised for Grandmaster Jay

A young rhythm evokes loud screams
Light footed dancing creates mania
Twenty five year old words
form lines that draw tears
Hands are raised to the new sound
She raises her eyes to the face in the sky
And sings the song of heaven
To the new world that she has made

BT

 
2 Comments

Posted by on December 9, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Bloody Burdens


Aunt Betty breaks into a phony smile

You hug the façade and kiss the lie

At 40 you’ve met her ten times

Her words cannot create a bond

She grips your hand tightly

and says your skirt is too short

Her Lord has been faithful

But its’ you who must find her son a job

You sell cakes from your kitchen

Her ignorance demands a date in an office

You are late and need the bathroom

Aunt Betty’s age has the right of goodbye

You strain in this tango of falsehood

 

Uncle John is the Head-of-the-Family

His duty a five minute call

He laughs at your baking ‘cottage industry’

And boasts of his new Mercedes Benz

Your tongue tastes the vomit

But asks for more poisoned counsel

On the sixth minute he ends the talk

of your broken right leg

Your son shouldn’t have been shot at Christmas

Uncle John will not leave his treat on the beach

The Head-of-the-Family is pissing in your face

Instead of turning your back, you open your mouth

Unable to cut off a toxic bloodline

 

You can’t hear her

You can see her clearly

Her mouth gestures violently like a criminal

as she riffles through your desk

Lucy your daughter slaps your hand

when you reach for the papers

Suited men hunch over the table like bears

the day the nurse does not return

An over salted stew signals a harsh world

Where you see the dentist when you cry

The music is loud and the laughter louder

A thirst inducing racket behind your locked door

In the morning Lucy laughs at you

through wisps of wicked smoke

When she turns

You raise the hammer to her head

And strike

As many times as she made you cry

BT

 
3 Comments

Posted by on March 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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