Month: February 2024

Look Book Pic

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©. Feb 27, 2024. All Rights Reserved.

Title: Look Book Pic

Medium: Acrylic on Wood Panel

Size: 18” X 18”

Date: 2/26/24

A poem is painted on the back:

A lover’s loophole finds

The brevity of tolerance.

Vales and valleys are photographed

Mostly when she’s on them.

Gales are blowing the rustling leaves,

Lulling the lightning.

Glimpses at her should make soldiers sodden,

But they’re fighting.

Someone is trimming their nose hairs for her

Like she’s bathing

In myths made out of liquid sugar

And lesser-known love.

Desensitized to the wars

That burn the look books, there’s kings

Like they dig in her pockets

To coin the word safekeepings.

References to sketch her are not enough

To perfect.

How many artists draw and paint her

To attract her?

How many poets amuse her

Like life on sofa beds.

How much further can she tread,

Hanging onto lifelong threads?

Her eyes say her favorite vegetables

Are onions,

But her mouth says they’re golden beets,

As they can taste her scent.

Her heart is like scrambled eggs

And her brain is overcooked.

She memorizes cook books

And her stay is overbooked.

The sky is ruddy and unwanted by all,

Except her.

She’s perceived like a high performance tool

Used frequently

And watched like cities dance

On her plastinated organs.

The fall of man sees the rise of man

And abundant plans.

Sun-kissed Sugar Revamped Version

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©. Feb. 20, 2024. All Rights Reserved.

Title: Sun-kissed Sugar

Medium: Acrylic on wood print

Size:18” X 18” 

Date: 5/22/22-2/19/24

I decided to paint the poem on the back of the wood panel.

Poem:

What if I told you that 

“I love you at

Mutual degrees Celsius,” 

But I befriended

Hesitation to avoid

Rejection from my love? 

You were perfection with good grace,

Ingrained in my mind,

Then I found Jesus. 

The woman I’d have children with, 

Far away has friends

And a lack thereof. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

The pocket door to everything more, 

We lack adventures,

But have progress. 

We had belated blessings, 

Then they came early,

Fulfilling our households. 

I can seep my hugs in your skin

And live within,

But how can I express? 

Loved more than

An entourage of reverence,

You’ll see how my life unfolds. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

How you include me in your day,

I can’t seem to 

Get over chapter you, 

With full-flavored lips

Having an aroma,

I can only imagine. 

Skin as real as silica sand, 

You vanish in my dreams,

But look brand new. 

Wherein will we meet, greet, and treat,

Loving more than kissing kin

Without sin. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

Wanting more than

Amorous advances,

We’ll both receive the Crown of Life. 

Would heirlooms fall

From the heavens for us to cherish

Or must we work hard?

Prosperity isn’t a necessity 

For my love to be

My wife. 

The ounces your hyped heart weighs 

Are the seconds it takes to

Take my bank card. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

Sun-kissed sugar. 

Sleep and Salaries

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©. Feb 15, 2024. All Rights Reserved.

By the time I turn ageless,

I want to be a best-selling novelist

And a renown poet.

I’ll use 100% of my brain

Instead of just the right or left side

Out of hesitance.

The stories that I tell

Can feel like polygraph tests

With an authentic source of euphony.

My posture will tell you that

I can articulate every word

In the English dictionary.

Fans will thank my innovation,

Unlike 5-star libraries

That never respond to my emails.

I will be cheered for my dialogues

And sentence fluency

And my autographs will be worth homes,

But I will not sell my soul,

And I will worship the mediator

Between the Father and men,

Dog-tired, harnessing your happiness

Until your eyes are the color of grape sugar

That’s a ten.

My writing will have the bone-chilling longevity

Of wedging your foot

Into relationships.

Wedge your will into relationships

And do you mean that it is

A legal will or a free will?

You could not like me any more than you do,

Then there is the concept of love,

Tickling the ears.

Wait until you find out that I bulked up

On the words that you put into my mouth

For ageless years.

I’ve lost sleep and salaries.

I’ve lost friends and families,

Writing for my endless dreams.

I bulked up on sincerity

Like the equivalent

Of running out of bleached toilet paper.

Worrying will be eradicable,

Even if you have an undershot jaw

Because you’re you.

Talk me into an ice cream headache

And tell me that I’m supposed to utter

That it’s a brain freeze.

Succumb to tuberculosis

And I don’t need the king’s evil

Because I have the Lord who sees.

While I’m writing, you could be glowering at me

While gloating, across the globe

Like sold out tickets.

I am not a loquacious man

Using who and whom verbally

While reading kiss-and-tell novels.

Forgive me if I do not write

Like the doting work wives

That are wearing the face of kumbaya.

What if I talk like coming-of-age stories

With cars running in garages

Because of the law?

I was told that you’re supposed to write

The way you speak

And thinking too long about a subject shows.

I convince myself that the rich buy vowels

Like buy one, get one free,

Restricting the ways you speak.

Graphite colors my writing hands,

Which are dirty fingernails and when I type,

There’s autocorrect.

I do not request speech-to-text

Because AI may even

Try to remember my dialect.

I’ve lost sleep and salaries.

I’ve lost friends and families,

Writing for my endless dreams.

Before we start a buddy system,

I have some reasons

Why you may want to reconsider it.

I am not an award-winning actor,

But may know about psychology

A little bit.

Because psychology can help

With character development,

Remind me what I’m fluent in.

I know English, but my love language

Is words of affirmation,

So let the studying begin.

My writing could be like a people person

That is not a people pleaser,

But I’m improving

Like I’m giving my main characters

Catchy nicknames

And reexploring my versatility.

Writer’s block is like oxymorons

To geniuses and suspects

To citizen informants.

I put the cure in curiosity

And response in responsibility

For zero chants.

My notes entail police officers commandeering

Your car and fining you

If you dare refuse.

And skateboarders hating scooters riders

And every death-defying trick they do

Is made fun of.

Breakfast smell like crayons

Because I breathe art

Until I realize that countless contests are rigged.

My faith is bigger than my failures

Like hugs during mid-sentences,

Realizing when clothes are sprigged.

I’ve lost sleep and salaries.

I’ve lost friends and families,

Writing for my endless dreams.

Taken To Prettiness

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©. Feb. 7, 2024. All Rights Reserved.

Ms. Taken sees the greenery.

Ms. Taken sees the scenery.

The mirror makes her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

She walks five blocks away from home,

Told that her body is a poem.

The millions make her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

She is lost and need directions.

She gave a million rejections.

Her ego makes her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

She confuses the north for south.

Traffic is waiting for her mouth.

Her neighbors make her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

The happiest she’s been

Is an unsolved mystery

Like where’s your 401(k)?

Somehow, you’re the guerdon

With an explanation

for learning angelology.

You should not have to hold doors

Because she does not

Have authority over you.

Enliven yourself like discovering

Why you don’t need glasses

To dream clearly.

Ms. Taken knows a bitter end.

Ms. Taken knows and makes a trend.

The airports make her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

She walks pass 12th street to a train.

Unstable men, she won’t entertain.

The silence makes her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

She doesn’t trust dead giveaways.

What is genuine has delays.

The selfie makes her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

Neighbors are knocking on her door.

They want to drive her to the store.

Compliments make her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

You’ve exposed the devils

Doing missionary work

Like they’ve hired dead candidates.

It seems that few are assigned

To love you,

But you are assigned to love the Most High.

Everything seems like either contests

And interviews

And you despise them both.

You’re so polite

That you’ll donate your organs

And they’ll eat your hamstrings like stir-fry.

Ms. Taken sees the ugly truth.

Ms. Taken remains in her youth.

New car smells make her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

She can smell the scent of cow pie.

And trenchermen saying, “Goodbye.”

The coydogs make her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

When she watches the lilies grow,

Every minute of time feels slow.

Relaxing makes her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

When she runs pass vegetable sheep,

She runs into her home to sleep.

The mattress makes her feel pretty.

Then she runs into the unthinkable.

How is it not weird to talk

To a puppy like,

“Hi, there. You know that you’re gorgeous,”

But it’s weird to talk

To a puppy like,

“My boss kept nagging me at the office”?

You could live with

Walking emotional support dogs

Without people greeting them.

Oh, you have to remember

To feed them bowls full of love

Or they’ll be in hospice.