motivation

Bound To My Crown.

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Everyone and no-one

Everywhere and nowhere

Panopticon, warden, to the cause

That instigates their effect

The punctuation mark to answers

That dine with inadequacy

The knot that binds the present

To the future, the piece

To a bigger whole

A bigger whole that is incomplete

Non-existent, without that last piece

That is me.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by: efeline

Radiate

When It Happens, Look For This.

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If it happens today

The elaborate chiseling of my epitaph

Six feet under, re-acquainting myself

With mother earth, how will you take it?

Will you remember me?

If so, how?

Will you remember me as

The heart on sleeve wearer?

The all in lover?

The harsh truth giver?

Or maybe something even simpler?

Just another black guy?

The poet from who knows where?

The writer who stared at his goal

With a steely eyed glare?

The Last Earth Bender?

Who could re-direct our planet on its axis

With words that took you to a time

Filled with regenerative bliss

Long forgotten or yet to be explored?

Will my enemies rejoice and see it

As a chance to think of a rejoinder

They couldn’t conjure when I was still

In my vessel? 

A shame, I won’t have the chance

To put them back in place, at any rate

All my past pieces could still play the part

Even beyond the grave.

Will that narcissist finally take the time

To read this post and finally realize

That my way of thought is in no way or form

Geared to conform?

Will she finally see all a did?

Will she finally escape from the confines

Of her own mind?

 Or will I just be another memory

She holds onto?

At the very least

When, and if it happens, today or tomorrow

Remember this place, my haven

For if you ever needed answers 

To who I am, what I do, or feel about you

Never say I forgot to leave you something

To look through.

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by: Poli91

 

Transfiguration.

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No weapon formed shall ever prosper,

Words, you re-design and hurl my way

Are the virtual equivalent of sand grains

Trying to pierce my golden armor.

My transfiguration entails

That I light the darkest side of the moon

While you,  say all you can

Behind the skirts of your puppet master;

Consider it a curtain yet to close

On your otherwise shallow act.

An act I let play on

Noting how much it means to you

As rubbing it out would leave you empty

With no identity,

Without a role

I.e. without purpose

As part of the collective consciousness

You’d expect us to work together

Since we’re but fragments

Of a bigger whole,

A bigger whole, that is, in essence

Experiencing itself.

To save myself the act

Of having to fry the filament in your light bulb

With a dialect that makes little sense to you

I retract the idea of your existence

From my pocket dimension,

Leaving one of us tormented

With the idea of the other.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Art by: Ov3RMinD

Maddening

When Dreams Fade Away (Collaboration)

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My contribution to a collaborative poem by Neha from the blog, ForgottenMeadows

You can find the entire collaboration here

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When it all fades to black

Like the end of a motion picture,

Despair morphing into a beast

Looking to take control

Distorting my peripheral vision

Chewing a bigger fraction of my pie chart …

I, in turn,

Hunt like a blood hound

For what is rightfully mine,

I grip the collar of my dreams

Put them on a leash,

Make them recite my name

Till they realize they are not aligned

With anything or anyone except me,

In a world as cruel as ours,

When fighting for the good of others

Vying for justice,

Being gentle can only last so long.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by: GestianPoet21

 

The Being Black Project.

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Dunno how I forgot to post this piece, but I decided to considering it was laying idle in my drafts section. Besides, its been a while since I posted anything 🙂 . I’ll be returning soon though, count on it…In the mean time…enjoy.

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What does it mean

To carry my particular pigment?

Unaccomplished?  inferiority?

Rip your outdated memo and listen closely,

Because it means power, my friend

What else confirms our superiority

Other than the relentless effort

By supremacists to hide such knowledge.

My role is not to convince you

That what I say is true,

But hear this,

What you see on me as melanin,

You’d best reaffirm

As unintelligible dark matter

Coursing through my veins

At unsettling speeds

Settling well under my skin.

It would be convenient wouldn’t it,

To have a “Black history” month?

How kind of you,

To reduce our vast history

To a month,

As if it all fits …

Why is there no “white history” month?

If not to raise peoples’ consciousness

To the idea that we’re different.

Well then, if being different means

I don’t end up as manipulative

Or power hungry as you

Then I, in kind

Whole-heartedly accept.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Art by: JoelKelly

New Generation Gold.

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Last year I remember seeing a poem in a newspaper article about young poets (like myself) failing to adopt what poetry stands for and how we are slowly destroying the art. I didn’t take note of the poet’s name, because I thought nothing of it at the time; only the message he was giving.

In context, all he was saying was that this (poetry) is something we’re not good at, since we are so fixated on things like fashion and social media e.t.c.

In essence, he wants us to adopt the style he deems appropriate or we don’t write poetry at all.  The editor seemed very fascinated by all of it, saying that since the poet is highly renowned his opinion must hold some merit. Felt like a suck up session to me, I don’t know why I remembered the whole thing today but, I decided to respond to the poem regardless…

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Competing for a supposed throne

Through the art form

Has never really been

My kind of scene.

But suppose we WERE to compete

Your chance to belittle me,

Showing the divide between us

The perfect opportunity to show

How you’re up there

And I’m down here,

You’d love that wouldn’t you?

Well, spoiler alert

Because if we compete

What you see as an ordinary,

Lush and Green mind

Will expose your eyes

To ethereal designs,

Taking your mind through

The longest train of thought,

Leaving you out of breath as I

Write tartan track laps around you.

We would start at the same line

And I would be back

Before you decide to begin;

Don’t make me commit a crime

By leaving your mind with a chalk outline

Analogy for the brain dead state

I’ll leave you with

After reality sets in. 

Tempting as that would be

I realize that it takes a great person

To discover the power hidden within,

But it takes a rare

And special kind of person

To respect everyone regardless

Of that discovery.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by:  Aquilapse

There is no right or wrong way to write matters of the heart, the old man should escape from his cocoon.

Purpose.

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The second my feet tasted earth

I knew I was different,

As peoples’ eyes mirrored

My light bulb high in the sky

Difficult to miss, as it is

That which you call the sun.

I am not a puzzle

That many “claim” to be

No, For I am that

Which stores the puzzle.

Been clear since day one

That I’m not here

To kiss up to those in power,

But to make them aware

They are specks to who I serve,

I’m not here to endorse war

But to enlighten the walking dead

On humanity’s wrongs,

Those who move, but don’t live

Those who have eyes, but don’t see.

I’m not here to impress

But to tell the truth,

And with that out of the way,

Etch it in stone

That I won’t let petty squabbles

Be what jeopardizes a movement

That is, in the simplest form,

Beyond your understanding.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by:  MarcoHeisler

 

Ground Zero Privileges.

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Despite having an unstable approach

To the idea and thought formation;

Despite the ability

To be a driver, passenger

And orbiter to my own vessel;

Despite being a champion

For the Black Star and its cosmos

…. I’m still firmly grounded

By all that surrounds me,

Family, friends

And a higher existence

That allows me to tally the count

Of my overall mileage.

Without them, I have nothing

To pull me back from being too big

For myself; Without them,

I’m just another

Wax wing owner,

Flying too close

To the sun.

– Original-Dante ©2016

Photograph by: shiek0r