Category: Poetry

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Traditions

Empowering, uplifting, generational gifts, with unity, family, love, faith, a safe space, but

violence, disdain, exile, and prejudice run alongside some traditional ties mixed in with lies.

All it takes is a little misinterpretation to find ourselves armed to the teeth

with grief and contempt for those not following doctrine,

We don’t tempt the gods, supreme beings, nor leaders who we’ve been told to worship / fear / revere as we grow,

and as long as hatred is sowed in the fields that we teach our descendants to reap,

our loving traditions will be intertwined along with guidelines on who to love, who to hate, and who doesn’t belong.

Traditions are the chorus of humanity’s one song, and in this uni-verse I’ll gladly sing along,

but I’m not down for the twists and turns that changes love for all into misery for ‘others,’ and only love for some. – RSM

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And the Beat Goes On

Sneakers and boots swarm the shoe rack by the front door.

The apartment is bustling, the air is rustling,

buzzing with the electric bliss of danceable beats,

beer cans clicking open – a romanceable heat fills the air.

I’m there, purple pants gliding by the guidance of my black socks beneath.

I didn’t know that this pretty girl I hadn’t met yet had her bold brown eyes hovering my way,

but I’m glad that when she saw me for the first time, I was at my happiest –

I was just vibing, speaking my soul’s most fluent language.

We broke the ice with our feet and the beat

as our words flowed flawlessly over the backdrop

of about twenty-something other twenty-somethings,

grooving along to the music that moved us.

I let her know that I liked her necklace, and when she said “Thank you!”

I was introduced to my favorite smile in the world.

Today we’re ten years beyond the night we had shared our first song.

Anniversaries and holidays now align

as we dine, travel, work, live, love, laugh, and still dance together.

From days to weeks, months, years, decades, and more

I always look forward to the next time we share a dance floor. – RSM ❤

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And I Ran . . .

What a relief as I take off into the cool breeze,

I’m feeling the air, hearing my footsteps as I sweat it out,

I zoom into the void of my path ahead.

My mind drops into silence from its usual chatter, ever-loud;

distractions disappear like a leftover fog from a cloudy day.

Peace sits between my ears as a flock of seagulls sets a course ahead to explore. – RSM

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The Scarlet Diagnosis

It’s not a letter imprinted on my forehead,

but a permanent brand, nevertheless.

A reason to be ‘written off,’ no matter my patience,

nor my life’s redemptive arc, or stellar record of maintenance,

my clearest, most quiet days are drowned out by the noise

and the fog of others’ uncertainty, no matter my poise.

Difficult – it’s been that. Optimistic – I’m still that.

But just like the label on the back of your clothes –

you’re judged by it, put in a box, and I’ve been trapped.

I don’t mind, though, the territory it comes with;

Exiled to roam this land’s steep peaks, low valleys, and unpredictable weather,

I’ve learned to snowboard and rock climb, and I keep getting better. – RSM

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Visions, Vol. 3: My’nd’imensional Jumps

All the time, so it goes,

a quick shift lifts my consciousness out the nearest window,

a random round-robin of rare realities rage,

ranging from what’s reasonable to the completely unfeasible,

my mind is a flip phone with T9, sometime in 2002, after 9 –

unlimited. It talks all it wants.

A gust of wind blows me back in,

a nano-second long journey takes me across the universe and snaps me back to my reality.

Then,

through the entropy of imagination, the cosmic jungle of all possibilities seen through my own unique lens,

I’m. Once. Again. pinballing through existence, leaning into this mysterious experience, with no resistance –

And here I am, back in an instant – sliding right into my third eye’s home plate, where it always begins, this,

Infinite, unpredictable winding pathway of pathways, it sounds overh’whelming in writing, but I find it lovely,

My thoughts are on shuffle, my mind jumps into the Google text box, but never hits ‘Search’ cuz I’m always ‘Feeling Lucky,’

My ego’s like Jasmine on the balcony: playing hard to get.

But just like Aladdin my imagination is stationed on his magic carpet,

hand outstretched with a smile, asking her, “Do you trust me?” – RSM

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Blank

I’m on a journey where things just tend to get stranger,

I have a stoic face on, from a chemical brain changer.

my emotional range has been strictly maintained

so I stare down bliss the same way I look at danger.

I’m a feather, slowly floating along through sweater weather,

whether the winds are weak or strong, I’m just gone

and the song in my mind is on a short loop, perpetual,

It’s the same time of the day, no matter when I look at the schedu-al,

Third eye’s view is laser precise, cuz all the colors of emotions are void,

I can only see in a sharp black and white, I can hear a loud silence, I can feel the noise;

each moment is vivid, from the inside out

But I’m on Saitama’s vibes all day, without a doubt. – RSM

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L’appel du vide

The air lies still.

A docu-series rambles on, recanting memories of generations past.

A storm batters the trees outside with violent gusts, endless rains ravage the view beyond my closed windows.

I close my eyes for a long few seconds. A familiar light bulb clicks on in an old dusty attic bathed in bright moonlight on a clear, chilly evening – emitting an aqua blue hue, suspended from the center of the ceiling.

I travel here when I think of death and the afterlife, either on my own or from external stimuli – sometimes a dangerous daydream scene emerges from a quaint reality:

For instance – I’m waiting for a bus and wonder what would happen if it hit me, resulting in death on impact – how do my five senses respond?  Where does that leave ‘me’? Or maybe a plane goes down on a trip and before I know it I’m on a new found post-life trajectory.

Be it a heart attack, something else sudden, or a terminal expectation that everybody sees coming, I’ve thought about what death would be like here and there as far back as I can recall. I remember looking out my window as a toddler, and wondering if I fell and died where my mind and soul would come to reside, where I would travel to, where would my soul wander – where does consciousness go after this life?

The aqua blue lightbulb in the attic is in my mind’s eye, on a different plane where all my inner imaginings lie – I have an old journal as thick as a small brick. Pages frayed, leather-bound.  I flip to the nearest blank, past thousands of older hand written engagements, I write it all down in the aqua blue-lit attic while imagining another possible path or experience that may come to pass when this life is finished.

In those few seconds with my eyes closed on that  dark, stormy evening, I visited the attic where the blue light glimmers – opened my old journal, and  wrote down my latest vision. – RSM

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h’woooosh

My mind is always spinning.

I’m a fuckin’ whirlwind.

The curved air rolls with the force and speed of the images produced within my consciousness,

Third eye, dizzy –

Hitting all corners at least twice before realizing I’ve been spinning.

A grand, rotating revolution, spinning is the problem – and spinning is the solution!

Just endless spirals, lights of the night go round and round,

Images, viral, reaching right into my retinas as I recall the square frames

as I endlessly scroll down –

S

P

I

N

N

I

N

G

!

A regurgitation of recent memory, trains of thought criss-cross-crashing, flying off the rails,

airplanes flying, shooting my thoughts up high while spilling out white streaks of racing-thought chemtrails

SPINNING around, my point of view’s on ballerina style, just a Whirling Dervish,

morphing, contorting – an 18th century French poem, written in cursive – a lightly used, Hello Kitty themed furnace,

a concerned Greek chorus, singing, trying to warn us – a rebellious sect of spaghetti, bobbing and weaving away from a fork –

it’s, a natural force of the mind, subliminal– it keeps [spinning] it goes so fast, unpredictable,

Mind’s eye like a set of 24-inch Sprewell rims from 2003

a wheel within a wheel, a Mayan calendar of an experience

sPiNnNiNg I change channels in my head

From Tik-Tok clips to Cher’s greatest hits to random scenes from Eddie Murphy’s ‘Delirious’

I’m serious, just kaleido-scope into my third eye view, and see whatever comes to;

Mind you, at times its not intentional, the way it aligns, but,

nevertheless, I’m usually just a happy, little mess;

Rotating revolutions, all mixed with randomness,

Self-entertaining, that’s what my mind’s eye be like, fam;

If you catch me laughing to myself, no te apures I’m doing just fine!

I just paused on something funny I saw on my internal screens, and just had to hit re-wind. . .

Because, you see, my mind is always spinning.

I’m a fuckin’ whirlwind. – RSM

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A Note for The Gardener

Know that you did your best, and it showed.


The love by your side is what grounds you, she is your earth;


how else could you rediscover these roots and water the tallest trees while planting new seeds?


El jardinero – you did your part, and more.

Think of yourself less as the bridge – a hard, flat, steel, man made vessel that gets run over in both directions.


Think more of yourself as the garden and the gardener, cultivating your growth, and the growth of those around you, just the same.

– RSM

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Bad Bitch, Part 2 (About Damn Time!)

It’s Bad Bitch, Part 2, she’s thick, curvy…

our first year’s on lock, wheels still turning…

another week away down on South Beach,

flashy, classy, sassy, she’s a damn Queen,

wearing all her hubbies’ sunglassies,

looking hotter, than the sunset now..

She’s been so down and under pressure

she’s way too fine to be this stressed, yeah

I’m used to her, and now she’s used to me…

So let’s grow together!

Turn up the music…let’s celebrate

It’s been a year now… a lot more on the way

Okay… alright… it’s about damn time!

In a minute, we’ll be chillin’,

tanning, drinking, margaritas, along the coast,

We’ll be grinning, reminiscing, a little kissing,

Beach babe with the matching Coach –

Admiring her nails, laying on the sand,

Gazing at the water with a drink in her hand,

the baddest bitch around, on water, air, land,

got everybody looking at her like ‘oh, damn!’

She’s been so down and under pressure

But she’s a Bad Bitch, there’s no question

She’s looking fine, no glasses needed to see…

It’s about damn time!

Turn up the music…let’s celebrate

You’re very welcome – happy anniversa-ray!

Okay… alright… it’s about damn time! – RSM ❤

Inspired by ‘About Damn Time’ by Lizzo

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