CHOCOLATE, COFFEE, A BLUNT AND A CIGARETTE

CHOCOLATE, COFFEE, A BLUNT AND A CIGARETTE
THE SERANADE...

You empress are my hot chocolate...
The Mocha in my latte...
My cocoa and my cream.
My jolt in the morning that helps to start my day... Keep me awake and dilligent through the night.
Your beauty having caused wars and ended them.
Power in your deep dark flavor born of fertile earth.
I turn you up again and again and drink of your strength.
In the bible, the quran and colonial history.
On imperialistic news reels where they show you big lips and nipples.
Always the absurdity.
On a corner in Tallahassee as you cross Macomb street.
All swinging hips and attitude...
Dress banging off your curves.
Turning me on as I sip a sip of you.
Caffeine rushing through my veins to my testerone filled brain.
My head, my heads tis swolen as I taste of you.
A sweet drink in a bitter place.
Memories of me and you on a voyage from the motherland to the ghettos of the Amerikkkans.
Hot chocolate, coffee, a blunt and a cigarette on a cold winters night.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(FLOWER, ICE AND FLAME)

(FLOWER, ICE AND FLAME)
THE SOUND... THE MUSIC IS A PART OF THE POETRY...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jiCbN0oSfeQ&feature=youtube_gdata_player

And what of the flower in the dead of winter?
It buried in the cold ground.
Where once it was life bathed in splendor it now has seen its death.
Cold has borne it down.
The icy fingers of the cold winds bearing allusions to old man sweep the land.
Breath is but vapor carried away to become the atmosphere.
A thing given to the schism of existence from which we all come and go.
To be breathed and rebreathed again.
Filtered through the leaves.
We these beings living these borrowed lives on borrowed time. Tears that become the ice tinkling to the hard concrete of a city street.
A sigh and we are gone.
The expulsion of warm air.
The last whisper.
Spring but a thought away.
A flame burning on the horizon of pineal planes.
A flower.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY