Red

Red

What becomes

Of the color red?

A fiery passion,

No one can contain.

Does it yearn to be

Something it’s not?

A purplish hue

Or a yellowy hot?

Does it desire to be green?

As the wind kissed fields,

In the months of spring?

Or transition,

To an aqua marine.

The teal

Of the ocean’s pristine?

Jet black at night,

Not wanting to be seen.

Or does it simply fade?

Like night into day.

Losing its luster,

Marching endlessly,

Towards dull grey?

Selection from The Satchel of Dreams. Available on Amazon!

J.a. Wine

The Time

“Excuse me sir,

Do you have the time?”

I asked hoping he knew, and

If he did, he’d be the first.

He glanced at his watch

Gold.

So fancy and new,

And proclaimed,

“Why yes,

It’s ten past noon”

With an arrogant grin;

A cocky smile

He tips his hat,

All the while

Never realizing

The clock hands were

Frozen on his dial.

Without protest,

I thank him,

I politely play along.

For how could I

Correct him

If mine too,

Was wrong?

Choice

I peer down the hallow

Of a long endless road

It don’t go right,

Don’t go left,

And for how long

No one knows?

For miles and miles

There ain’t nothin’ around

If not for the wind,

There wouldn’t be a sound

The sun bakes hot

Burnin the ground ash white

I can’t take the heat

So I only walk at night

With withered legs

That Shuffle through the dirt

Tryin to keep the focus,

Off my bloody feet;

They hurt.

I must keep movin,

Just one more inch

If I keep going,

maybe then…

Sittin on the shoulder

With my face sunk in

I ask the Lord

To receive my soul

And Just then

I noticed a fork in the road

I rejoiced!

Cried tears of sand

Tears of a man

Whose faith had long since died

Yet I rejoiced,

Right then and there

I still had miles to go,

But now I had a choice.

Hello all!

So it's been a while but I'm about to kick this in gear. I just wrote a new book called The Satchel of Dreams that I'm super psyched about, i mean just look at that cover!

It's a collection of my very best poetry to date! 

Although it's only a self publish (no shame here in any way.) I think it's time I joined the community in open discussion of the works of other authors out there trying to find their place in this big bad world we live in. Here's the link to my book because I do want you to read it. I really do.  I wouldn't have put it up if I didn't think I had something good to offer!

http://www.amazon.com/The-Satchel-of-Dreams-ebook/dp/B0086XF666/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338766347&sr=8-1
Promise you won't be disappointed, and if you are come holler at me, I'll make it right for you.

Stay tuned to this blog for more updates on my journey into this brave new world. Until next time!

Cheers!

Mannequin (By Choice)

A mannequin by choice
You know you’re not real
You believe you’re alive
But you can’t truly feel
You have flesh of plastic
A hardened heart of stone
Wires for veins
And rigid iron bones
You cry acid tears
Scorching the green grass
Burns solidified, like
The scars of your past
You truly blend in
A source of envy to your friends
Shaped like flawless art
With sleek glossy skin
You have the whole world
Yet have an empty soul
You lay in bed at night
Wondering where it will go
You have a thousands friends
Without having one
To be crafted by hands
Forever the product of someone
To be loved only in lust
For an instant you feel alive
Only to be left
Feeling dead inside
You feel the emptiness,
Of having no vision to see
To be trapped inside
An invented personality
A mannequin by choice
Crying out to be free
Behind solid glass
On display for the world to see
A vision an entire nation
Aspires to be
A mannequin by choice
Seeking its identity.


J.A. Wine

Bitter Poet

Bitter poet…

Sittin’ there with a blank stare
Suckin’ a blunt
With kinks in your nappy hair
A pen in one hand
A pad in another
As you attempt to emulate
The darker brother
With passion you write
Anger on a page

Bitter poet…

“Filled with un-channeled rage
Worthless nigga’
With nothing good to say”
But that’s just what some say

Bitter poet…

You continue to write
Pen mightier than the sword
Maybe you’ve struck a chord
Or perhaps a nerve
As in the last
Dead last in your class
A brilliant lazy ass nigga’
Trying to escape his caste
By venting with blue ink

Bitter poet…

Angry at the world
Or the injustice you see?
Personally you’re free
So what is it you see?

Bitter poet…

Lazy as can be

Bitter poet…

The price of freedom
Wasn’t free.


J.A. Wine