(EMPTIEST OF EMPTIES) A TOPIC SUBMITTED BY KEISHA BISHOP.
THE BEAT GOES WITH THE READ.
https://youtu.be/5WQBK98Sn4A

And a man fell into the dark place... That place where nothing exists save the overwhelming loneliness.
He is absorbed in the overwhelming darkness... His thoughts driven by pain so great that he cannot share it... No not ever.
No light penetrates this place... It sucked up and digested by an even darker knowledge.
He floating in the anti-matter... Suspended in the void.
Man alone even while functioning on a physical level... Fake smiles and hollow laughter... Illusions in another dimension where time is the conscript.
This is where he is most readily found... A disembodied voice crying out.
Who would hear? Who would answer?
Softly brushing fingertips of sad memories... Happiness a bittersweet reminder.
Flights of fancy and crashing reminders.
Man...
Existing in the blackness of reality.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(HER POWER EMPOWERS HE) A SENRYU
THE SOUND OF THIS TALE... PLEASE LISTEN...
https://youtu.be/ntQowgPy0CA

(Darkness)
Man enraptured sighs
Her skin the color of the night
Such a lovely sight

(Her)
She is earth reborn
Hue-woman regality
His soul hers to take

(Essence)
He amazed breathes her
She as fresh air in his lungs
To him she is life

(Soothing)
His days have found light
The night sings of her healing
In her is his peace

(Embrace)
Man drifting to sleep
She is the object of his dreams
He need run no more

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(BITCH!!!!)
THE POUNDING SOUND...
https://youtu.be/PqDoBwEmh4o

I can't stand a bitch.
See bitches come  in all kinds a shapes and sizes...  Bitches tend cross genres and races... Bitches show up in all kinds a places... Genders don't even phase a bitch cause bitches got all kinds a faces.
A man is the worst kind a bitch sometimes... Especially  if he just a plain ol punk ass bitch.... Sometimes he's just best given the moniker a pure ass bitch nigga .
I cant stand a bitch on that bitch shit... Be wantin to slap a bitch in his shit... I woulda said hers but I ain't never slapped a female bitch, cause its a lot of them out there too.
Thriving on that dumb bitch shit... Running round spreading  that dirty bitch shit.
Bitches will tell on a bitch cause that's what bitches do... Snitch on a bitch cause snitching is bitching too.... Just a bitch through and through... Mama probably a bitch too.
Just got to say it like it really is cause bitches ain't shit... Goddamned crumb sucking bitch ass, bitch ass scum... Worse than green lichen ass fish tank licking bitch with a ninety  mile per hour dick hum.
Yep... I find it hard to tolerate that particular piece a shit....
Bitches...
Bitches ain't shit.

HERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(OBSERVATION)
THE SOUND...

And the sun... The sun rising attests to another day.
Some never made it this far.
Cold on a sidewalk in a city somewhere... Rigor setting in as the moments hold cries.
So many in disbelief as the cycle continues.
In the end it can seem so wasted.
Life that is.
Across the sky the sun moves through another phase... Joy as a child is born.... a hurtle conquered ... or so it would seem.
So many things manmade... Systems and concepts ... Formed on shifting sand .. A poet looking on from the periphery ... He would cross dimensions trying to absorb it all.
A whiff of the babies hair... A breath of fresh air.
Sun on brown skin as the day caressed pineal digresses ... Goes right on along heedless to mans limitations... The depths of his comprehension.
Sons rising and falling down... Severed silver chords and false visions of hue-manity as glimpsed through blinded eyes.
Sun glimmering  through green treetops... Sun rising somewhere else... Sun setting here.

JERALD  HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(RUBITOUT)
THE SOUND...
https://youtu.be/b6DkbCsEj2Y

Gently massaging... Such lovely  brown skin.
Dark hues of the nipples.... pastel of the lotus blossom... the flower.
I love to see you rub it... Mind and matter... I hard in my hand as I watch you rub thyself.
Slowly stroking.
The lowered lids of your eyes.... your bated breath.... I  feel you in my membranes.... In the blood rushing through my brain... Utter uncontrolled  sanity.
Wanna lick  but I like this so... Rub  thyself for the beast... All that liquidity... Fingers slick in your oil.
I standing over you spank your clot with my heavy head.
Scatters of your droplets raining on my thighs.... I linger in your moans... Voyeuristic ecstasy.
Loving the stretch marks... Pure femininity writhing before me.
I talking to you.
"Whose pussy?"
"Mine."
"Spank it for me."
Swollen member in hand... Stroking slowly... These seconds... These minutes.
I hear you as your orgasm rips from your core... As it travels to the surface.
Mine ripping from my mortal coil... Becoming life spermadic ..
We come  together... Early touching as you shudder... I the droplets slashing on your stomach... On the lips of your vagina.
Woman you release my very wild...
The fantasy... The reality.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(OF ALLAH, THE BIRDS, THE BEES AND ME)
MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN... THE MUSIC IS PART OF THE. MESSAGE...
https://youtu.be/ZPQW_YQ9XXA

Out here it's just Allah, dog, and me.
And the breeze... The breeze gently pushes the tops of the trees.
Dog perks up her ears, Allah whispering to us both.
Cicadas singing their part in a symphony that includes the birds, the squirrels, wilder things.
The forest breathes under our feet as we in synch with Allah move, as we synched become.
The sun falling on road, dappled shadows where relief resides... A moment in Allah's shade.
Our existence so profound... Our existence so miniscule as galaxies upon galaxies rotate and revolve in the heavens above, beyond the clouds and blue sky.
Who is more important than the smallest bee? Who is more important than dog? Than me?
Such philosophical glimpses as man reflects on Allah, as dog remains dog, as trees with great vines hanging remain trees.
All at the whim of the most gracious, the most merciful Allah wa ta Allah.
In this realm where we find ourselves molecularly, we Be

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(SHE PAINTED GENTLY IN SUCH SOFT WORDS) DEDICATED TO SHERINA.
THE SOUND AS MY TEMPLES POUND...
https://youtu.be/j2EaIWdC1-Q

And if I were to draw her I would use charcoal to capture the very pure darkness of she.
Rip her and render her alive pon page.
Words and image combined as o bringing her alive would sketch her eyes, the Asiatic cut... Her lips, the juicy African plumpness... Oh my... My mind.
So much information as I contemplate her form.
Her breasts so firm as I trace her from mental horizons... The gentle rise of her belly, the thickness of her thighs.
The plumpness of her feminity as my temples... My temples pound her into the very crevasses of my psyche.
Her smell so sweet that I swayed would try to convey it as the most magnificent of odors ever to cross the hairs of my nose.
As it is inhaled into my lungs.
All these things as I poetic painter would preserve her pon paper... Pon computer screen.
Such a delicately lovely thing that I gently would treat it... This trans-dimensional journey into this realm where we in our love would bring life to dying world's.
I in hanging these words would stand back contemplating them as I would sigh...
A tear in mine eye a second before it following my cheek would fall to the floor.
Eventually evaporating away, back to the flow.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY