The Gray Revolution

Gray clouds float across the sky
Gray faces with silver gray smiles
Gray roses in the garden
Gray ice cream melting, dripping on the gray grass
Gray lovers kiss then turn to ash
Gray soldiers fright for a gray cause
Gray leaders makes gray promises
Gray people in gray marriages
Depending on a gray culture for structure
Gray religions with varying colours of gray for doctrine
Gray spirituality based on gray self image
Gray emotions, or is it emotionless
Living a gray existence
Male or female, black or white
Ok I am going back to sleep
At least the tropical colours still exist there.




POEMS Storyteller

Random Thoughts 2

I am singing with wounded lips

Like life words escape me

I am dancing with injured legs

Moving gracefully without motion

I am crying with ice for tears

Hoping hot emotions will melt it

I am spitting snow across a tropical beach

Waiting for footprints to lead me

I am fighting with my convictions

Whispering lies filled with truth



Part of a new project tentatively titled Father’s Shadow

Andre always anticipated that his family’s emotions would boil over sooner or later, but as he hustled around his room getting ready for school, he never knew that day would be the day. He stopped and looked out his window, the blue ocean sparkles as the early tropical sun bounced off of it. He wished he did not have to go to school, he wished he could go the beach and swim all day.  He heard his father’s voice in his parents’ bedroom. At first it was low, but then it grew louder,

“You tink you is better dan me ehh? You tink you white, but all you is is a black whore!”  The angry man screamed. Andre heard his mother respond,

            “Derik, dem children and dem go hear you,” she said in an attempt to make him stop yelling,

            “I don give a fuck if dey hear, I is man ah dis house,” his father screamed back. Then Andre hears a thud and the muffled sound of his mother gasping.  He ran to his parents’ bedroom and got to the doorway just as his older brother kicked the door open, a machete in his hand. His father had his mother by her throat pushing her against the wall.

            “Mamie, Mamie! He screams, and for a second his mother looked at him,

            “Leave de room Andre!” she shouts just as Andre’s older brother grabs his father by the shirt and pulls him off of his mother. The angry man turns to his oldest son, his drunken eyes ablaze with anger,

            “Oh I see how it is, you tink you man enough to take me on eh?’ He said advancing, an evil smile on his face.  Andre’s brother back peddled, the machete held loosely in his hand. Andre stumbled out of the room bumping into his sister; she was holding a mortar above her head ready to swing at her father.

            “Devin, put de machete dung, I don wan no bloodshed in here at all,” His mother said following them through the living room and into the kitchen. They got to the door that led to the alley at the back of the house when Devin stopped, but his father was still walking up to him,

            “Wah you go do huh? You tink you is a big man, wah you go do wid that machete?’ he said, Devin began to swing the machete, but the old man kept advancing,

            “You better stop or I go kill you!” Devin shouted, but the old man took another step, his lips still twisted in that evil smile.  Andre’s mother grabbed her husband by the shirt and pulled. He stumbled back and fell into the antique cabinet sending a drizzle of glass in all directions. Then like vultures on a dead body we all attacked.  Andre’s sister swung the mortar hitting her father on the head. Blood sprayed everywhere, but still, Andre’s father was laughing. Andre saw his chance and jumped into the fray and kicked his father in the face. The old man looked up at him and almost seemed proud of his son. The whole village was in the back alley watching,

            “Mind all yuh own business!” Andre’s mother screamed at them, as she tried to pull her children off of their father.

            That was the last time that Andre’s father lived with them, he was eleven years old when his parents got devoiced. He had just finished testifying and stepped out of the judge’s chambers and saw his father standing by the door smoking a cigarette and crying. Andre walked up to him feeling guilty that he had just finished telling the judge what a monster his father was. He tried to talk to the old man,

            “Hi Daddy,” he said,, the old man looked at him,

            “Is your fault you mudder leaving me, you is a bad son,” His father said, as tear drops rolled down his sun baked face. The old man brushed past Andre and walked away.


POEMS Storyteller

Lady Confusion (!999)

I made a new best friend today; her name is confusion
she speaks to me like she was my mother

She makes me laugh, she makes me cry, she makes my heart ache
She makes people say what they think you want to hear
She drenches herself in  emotional correctness
Soaked, she stands before me with an innocent look on her face
Her gaze seeping through me like a frigid Alaskan wind
She spits in my face like an angry revolutionary
She laughs at me when my soul melts
She pushes me off my cotton candy cloud
She even invades my dreams her presence a haunting Jumbie
Soon I am a shell of myself, the world around me a blur
I am a captive of her seductive charms
I struggle to emancipate myself, but she persists
I guess I will have to embrace her, invite her into my soul
Let her settle into where the rest of my emotions live
For best friends are heard to come by
And these days she seems to be my constant companion


POEMS Storyteller

Silent moments (1983)

 Don’t close your eyes, you might miss something

Stop for a moment, just listen you will be surprised at what you hear

For thoughts not expressed floats in the air like humming birds in mid flight

Ideas circle around your soul at night before you fall asleep

Feelings are covered with a layer of fear

Emotions are stifled by logic

Sooner or later, everyone chokes on reality

Especially when there is confusion

But if a moment passes and it is arrested by logic

That moment is buried, the passion never again felt

Everyone has the ability to stop time

Because time is just a series of moments

Moments that slips by unrecognized

Moments that can over shadow a million words spoken

Stop; let your soul listen because silent moments say the most.


POEMS Storyteller

Daybreak on the Soul

The morning will break again. I anticipate
And my emotions come out of the darkness
And the world can see how I feel
It is the eve of everlasting love.