Throwback Thursday Poetry: Esthetics of Death

within a split second
a lifetime shall pass
all that has ever been
will return to you again
all that you remember
all you have seen
will flash before your eyes
as if on a TV screen
you feel quick and short pain
it’s a shock to your brain
you breathe your last breath
as you’re swept away by death
all questions are answered
all knowledge foreseen
and forever you stay
in a most wonderful dream

Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.

Twofer Tuesday Poetry: Severed & The Yellow Bird

Severed

I know a woman
The Woman – 
She sees her family
Once a week
She makes time for them
Always – 

I envy her because
I’ve never known this
My family is scattered
Broken – 
We don’t even call
On birthdays –

The Yellow Bird

I came upon a yellow bird
            Chirping as he played

He led me towards adventures
            But I felt pulled away

I thought he tried to hide something
            What could this bird know
Does he shield me or protect me
            From some unknown horror

This yellow bird made me happy
            That’s all that mattered

One day my little friend was gone
            I saw what he saw
Nothing protected me from these
            Nightmares forgotten

I saw my little yellow friend
            With another child
Leading him away from the pain
            Of abusive parents

The yellow bird helps those in need
            He helps you survive

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.

Poetry Monday: Don’t Call Me Macho

I know I strut
When I walk
Keep my head up
And make eye contact
I raise my voice 
And get louder
To get your attention
I hold my head high
And take command
Of the room
I know these are
All the things you see
But please don’t call me macho

You don’t see me
Open doors for women
And men
And the people still deciding
You don’t hear me say
Please and thank you
Or ask a friend for help
Or cry on someone’s shoulder
When my pet dies
You don’t see the panic attacks
The self-doubt, the depression
The terminal aloneness
Please don’t call me macho

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.