Your Whisper is an Earthquake.

Your every whisper is an earthquake,
To build my heart or make it break.
Your every laugh a hurricane,
Bringing me pleasure, bringing me pain.
You make my soul shake,
I can't remember if I'm awake.
I wonder if this is real,
For I feel,
Every whisper touch me,
I hear every touch softly,
And I don't want to miss,
The scent of a single kiss,
The taste of your scent,
Your every whisper is an earthquake,
To build my heart or make it break.
Your every laugh a hurricane,
Bringing me pleasure, bringing me pain.
Your every touch is a typhoon,
To bring me out of my cocoon.
You saturate me to my core,
As you sweep me from the shore.
No longer to stand upon apathy,
But to swim in love for thee.
I breath you in, and you in turn,
Inspire me and make me burn.
I taste your soul, and you as well,
Savor me, and we know all is well.
Your every whisper is an earthquake,
To build me heart of make it break.
Your every laugh a hurricane,
Bringing me pleasure, bringing me pain.
Your every touch is a typhoon,
To bring me out of my cocoon.
Your loves a fire set ablaze,
To send my Phoenix on its ways.

Betrayal

In a moment of slack,
When strength waned,
You stuck a knife in my back,
But what was there to gain?

We were my friend,
Why do you now dissever,
My soul into a thousand shards?
Why have you dealt me these cards?

Why?

What was the gain,
From my dearth and pain?
What was the rhyme,
Propelling your heinous crime?

Perhaps...

Could it be that from the start,
You awaited, betrayal of my heart?
Could it be that from the last,
You awaited this moment to be past?

Now,

We are friends no longer,
To you will I never defer,
My heart's affections,
Or my soul's reflections.

For,

In a moment of slack,
When strength waned,
You stuck a knife in my back,
But what was there to gain?

Enough!

Anathema now,
All my soul knows how,
To feel now towards you,
And whatever you do...

Hence,

It will be derision,
With precision,
You receive from me,
Your now eternal enemy.

The Lofty Tower

High above the lands,
It stands,
Resolute and strong,
A bulwark against the wrong.

High above the lands,
It stands,
Tall and lofty,
All the lands it sees.

High above the land,
Of the heart,
Towers this spire,
Lookout made of soul fire.

The army of passion,
Try to fashion,
Armaments to besiege its gates,
But it just waits.

Indomitable and strong,
Weathering the right,
Weathering the wrong,
A lighthouse in the night.

Love sees and yet is mighty,
It is the tower,
To which the heart might flee,
Safe in Love's power.

Cherry Blossoms Scattered

In this poem I was trying to emulate, albeit poorly, Sonia Sanchez.  I was trying to emulate to some extent her poem titled "Poem # 3."  I deviated greatly from the theme of her poem however I was trying to make my poem a counterpoint of hers. Hers starts with gathering what someone left behind and I in turn scatter what the person is causing or giving.  This of course does not directly relate to something happening in my life now but was done for practice purposes and to be a contrast to her poem while still trying to emulate the style.  I hope you like it.

I scatter,
Each tear,
Cherry blossoms,
In the spring,
Sheets wet,
Soul dry,
My sorrow,
Your flower garden.

Round our Breakfast Table

This is an attempt at emulating Bob Kaufman's "Round about Midnight."  My brother has been challenging me to imitate other poets to expand my abilities and to develop more stylistic approaches to poetry.  Though I must admit I am not very skilled at this negritude or black arts poetry. I am going to attempt to stay as close as possible to the rhyming scheme and the style while still making it more of a message I would wish to portray.

Sounds of family kiss our ear,
Round our breakfast table.

Sitting together, family,
Waffles, a feast, as we draw near,
Round our breakfast table.

Scrape of fork upon plate,
Round our breakfast table.

These gatherings, rare, like a fate,
Round our breakfast table.

We in whisper shout our dreams,
Coarsely voicing soft themes,
Round our breakfast table.

Come all, it's time we leave,
Round our breakfast table.

Crawling Backwards

This one is a practice and an experiment, albeit a poor one, trying to emulate the style of Amiri Baraka as seen in his poem Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note. Though to be honest I don't fully understand his stylistic methods and why his poetry is as popular as it is.  Perhaps through more analysis (I only looked over a few for about 20 minutes) I will come to have a better understanding and then could emulate it better.  This was done at my brother Craig's suggestion.  I tried to copy the brevity and seeming wandering of his power while still giving out a strong message.  I stuck to the same stanza divisions of 5.1.4.1.5.1 and more or less no rhyme scheme.  I hope it is a fruitful effort however I feel disappointment in it.  His poetry just doesn't really speak to me very loudly or with much import or power.
Anyways here is the poem...

Lately, In the course of days,
I’ve learned to walk,
Not forward like other men,
But along the shattered path,
Incoherent dreams are made.

What else is left.

Crawling backwards each day,
What else now is there to say?
The stars are rents in oppression,
Little dots piercing my depression.

Perhaps I’ll sing Again.

In my soul there once was song.
As I now can not sing.
But today I heard the voice,
Of my old teacher, soft,
As if singing, all and all alone.

Mocking bird’s solo.