Bug-eyed boogie boys practicin’on they horns;
Gran’pa got a razor blade - shaving his corns.
Pig foot smell floating in da air;
Auntie in da kitchin burnin’ her hair.
Brother man messin roun wit da deacon’s wife
Royal Crown fo clowns; I'se wit Spo’tin Waves,
Going out to injoy sum spo’tin life.
All the slangers, singers en big dick slingers,
Go pimpin on down to da Black n Tan.
Got ta get muh right fo Sa’tiddy night,
Gone go meet dat reet ol reefer man
Wit a dollah en a dime en muh hand.
All the slick chicks done grab dey beaus
And the sharp cats all got hole uh dey hos
After midnight chil, ever thang goes!
Lawd ha murcy we’ll be thowin it on down,
Cos its Sa’tiddy nite en Nigga town.
We gone do the Hi-Dee-Hi, Buck en Wang
We gone Shim-Sham Shimmy shake
Ever body will be muggin en a’buggin;
Snuggling en hugging til daylite break.
Drinkin wine n gin, we gone hi-side and sin;
Come on bahtender, set up a nuther round!
Den we’ll all sleep thu da Sunday sermon agin.
Afta a jumpin Sa’tiddy nite down in Nigga town
The Poet
Friday, February 3, 2017
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Nothing But The Blues by Ronald S Porter ©2017
I ain't got nothin' but the blues.
My car isn't running.
It's been six years of so since a taste of honey;
It am not funnin' you, I'm all out of money.
It's no joke, I just sit home, stroke and smoke
and I'm running low on cigarettes.
Loaded with debt;- I can't cover bets.
Wondering why I have no membership card,
'cause though I never get the club's newsletter,
I keep on paying the dues. I got no place to go
but, a lot of cool shoes. Otherwise life is hard
And I ain't got nothin' but the blues.
So I am caught between Charybdis and Scylla!
I wrote the preceding line in deference
to all the smart ass, snobby, critics who say
True Poetry must include a literary reference
My car isn't running.
It's been six years of so since a taste of honey;
It am not funnin' you, I'm all out of money.
It's no joke, I just sit home, stroke and smoke
and I'm running low on cigarettes.
Loaded with debt;- I can't cover bets.
Wondering why I have no membership card,
'cause though I never get the club's newsletter,
I keep on paying the dues. I got no place to go
but, a lot of cool shoes. Otherwise life is hard
And I ain't got nothin' but the blues.
So I am caught between Charybdis and Scylla!
I wrote the preceding line in deference
to all the smart ass, snobby, critics who say
True Poetry must include a literary reference
Freed At Last? by Ronald S Porter ©2017
We never fled across desert, yet
wandered a hostile desolate land.
We moved no stone to erect
monuments to tower o'er hot sand.
Yet, we poured sweat, tears and blood
into black earth from sun to sun,
never to prosper from crops grown.
We had no names; we owned no field;
not one thing to call our own.
Oh! Pharoah's army ne'er pursued,
When word came Let My people go!
There was no home to return to, so
we lingered in that hostile place;
life was hard, the people mean.
Gone were the old cold iron chains;
replaced by shackles of links unseen
Still we cry, we sweat we bleed.
And the very ones who parented our pain
ask what have you for which to complain?
wandered a hostile desolate land.
We moved no stone to erect
monuments to tower o'er hot sand.
Yet, we poured sweat, tears and blood
into black earth from sun to sun,
never to prosper from crops grown.
We had no names; we owned no field;
not one thing to call our own.
Oh! Pharoah's army ne'er pursued,
When word came Let My people go!
There was no home to return to, so
we lingered in that hostile place;
life was hard, the people mean.
Gone were the old cold iron chains;
replaced by shackles of links unseen
Still we cry, we sweat we bleed.
And the very ones who parented our pain
ask what have you for which to complain?
Captured: A Love Poem? by Ronald S Porter ©2017
you read the secret of my dreams
you took my love for ransom
you chained my heart to your own
so that i would not make escape
ah! too late you saw your mistake
for in binding me to you
you made your self a captive too
oh sweet captivity!
two prisoners now locked in tandem
captured warriors in war called love
chained and bound yet not enslaved
neither do i seek to be set free
two hearts enlocked myself and thee
my only desire now is to be
for always held your captive. you
who read the secret of my dreams
you took my love for ransom
you chained my heart to your own
so that i would not make escape
ah! too late you saw your mistake
for in binding me to you
you made your self a captive too
oh sweet captivity!
two prisoners now locked in tandem
captured warriors in war called love
chained and bound yet not enslaved
neither do i seek to be set free
two hearts enlocked myself and thee
my only desire now is to be
for always held your captive. you
who read the secret of my dreams
Bow Bown King Nebuchadnezzar, Bow Down by Ron Porter ©2017
To my own self I set to erect an idol,
that I would construct of solid gold.
Consider, I halt twixt divine and profane.
Nor am I set perfectly between;
Thus I do not achieve the golden mean.
My construction would have been vain.
Neither could I match the golden section,
For I have two feet of clay.
So, I forsook my statue's erection;
I gave up the grand construction.
Discerning the folly of my endeavor.
I sat at The Master's feet, for instruction
Such shall I seek always and, for ever.
that I would construct of solid gold.
Consider, I halt twixt divine and profane.
Nor am I set perfectly between;
Thus I do not achieve the golden mean.
My construction would have been vain.
Neither could I match the golden section,
For I have two feet of clay.
So, I forsook my statue's erection;
I gave up the grand construction.
Discerning the folly of my endeavor.
I sat at The Master's feet, for instruction
Such shall I seek always and, for ever.
Psalm 152 by Ronald S Porter ©2017
Oh ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
From the valley of suffering and lack;
From vales of death-like drug addiction;
Low places obscured by mountains;
Mountains of ignorance, poverty and despair.
Come now, dry bones, assemble together!
Flesh torn from bodies, by switches and whips.
Chaffed by shackles and hangmen's noose;
Ripped away by persecution,and trial.
Now I will knit back on your frames.
I shall cover restored flesh, wrap it in skin;
Dark skin reminiscent of African nights.
The wind I shall send to breathe for you;
Breath of The Spirit, I put in you!
Be once more, a living people.
Hear the word, now, of The Lord
Ye Dry bones, O! Live again.
Remember My love, children, and prosper.
Call my name my people, and rejoice.
From the valley of suffering and lack;
From vales of death-like drug addiction;
Low places obscured by mountains;
Mountains of ignorance, poverty and despair.
Come now, dry bones, assemble together!
Flesh torn from bodies, by switches and whips.
Chaffed by shackles and hangmen's noose;
Ripped away by persecution,and trial.
Now I will knit back on your frames.
I shall cover restored flesh, wrap it in skin;
Dark skin reminiscent of African nights.
The wind I shall send to breathe for you;
Breath of The Spirit, I put in you!
Be once more, a living people.
Hear the word, now, of The Lord
Ye Dry bones, O! Live again.
Remember My love, children, and prosper.
Call my name my people, and rejoice.
Monday, December 26, 2016
Sealed And Locked By Ronald S Porter ©2016
Arms to wrap me around
laughter to thrill my heart with sound
Soft strong hands to caress my face,
I miss these things and strive to not.
The door I locked, the cell I've sealed
where all unfulfilled desires live.
these things are fled and gone
and, it's foolish, for them, to long.
They are not to come again
and, I've no time for foolery
laughter to thrill my heart with sound
Soft strong hands to caress my face,
I miss these things and strive to not.
The door I locked, the cell I've sealed
where all unfulfilled desires live.
these things are fled and gone
and, it's foolish, for them, to long.
They are not to come again
and, I've no time for foolery
A Seafaring Metaphor by Ronald S Porter ©2016
What a pair the two of us made;
What a pretty couple, you and me.
We built a ship, designed to sink, then
Set sail to an uncertain destination,
upon an unknown, uncharted, sea.
True love made a poor guiding star;
Neither were faithfulness or devotion.
Lost together in endless aloneness,
Drifting across an unnamed ocean
What a pretty couple, you and me.
We built a ship, designed to sink, then
Set sail to an uncertain destination,
upon an unknown, uncharted, sea.
True love made a poor guiding star;
Neither were faithfulness or devotion.
Lost together in endless aloneness,
Drifting across an unnamed ocean
Like A River by Ron Porter ©2016
Years have flowed past like a river;
A rushing stream of happenstance.
Some few things turned out as planned.
A great many came by chance.
Both angels and devils, I heard call
And, I rise again each time I fall.
Somehow, as I look back on it all,
love looms large; the hurts seem small.
A rushing stream of happenstance.
Some few things turned out as planned.
A great many came by chance.
Both angels and devils, I heard call
And, I rise again each time I fall.
Somehow, as I look back on it all,
love looms large; the hurts seem small.
It Doesn't Work by Ronald S Porter ©2016
I committed to not love again;
Not because of anger and hurt,
but simply because it doesn't work
A broken clock is right twice a day
And, a car with a failing engine can
still motor from point A to B.
A broken heart is a kind of machine
which only manufactures misery.
Even when the suffering has gone,
The heart remains in jagged pieces.
And the miracle process that turns
Love into joy and pleasure ceases.
So, I just don't bother with love
Anymore; it simply doesn't work.
Not because of anger and hurt,
but simply because it doesn't work
A broken clock is right twice a day
And, a car with a failing engine can
still motor from point A to B.
A broken heart is a kind of machine
which only manufactures misery.
Even when the suffering has gone,
The heart remains in jagged pieces.
And the miracle process that turns
Love into joy and pleasure ceases.
So, I just don't bother with love
Anymore; it simply doesn't work.
Go Down Moses by Ronald S Porter ©2016
Oh, the rumble of chariots,
Through standing walls of water,
to safety, run the recent slaves.
The great I Am, the cloud and fire,
sets free the walls; looses the waves.
Pharaoh's army weighed down with
weapons of war, find watery graves.
Miriam strikes her tambourine and,
sings and, dances on the far bank
A psalm of victory, a freedom song;
deliverance on the morning shore.
Through standing walls of water,
to safety, run the recent slaves.
The great I Am, the cloud and fire,
sets free the walls; looses the waves.
Pharaoh's army weighed down with
weapons of war, find watery graves.
Miriam strikes her tambourine and,
sings and, dances on the far bank
A psalm of victory, a freedom song;
deliverance on the morning shore.
Lurking Darkness ( I Am With You) by Ron Porter ©2016
The rain comes down on broken streets
and, footsteps echo in the night behind.
I, the lurking darkness, linger in
your memories of a different time,
like the forsaken embrace of love
that vanished up a hole in a vein, or
the click and clack of high heeled shoes.
I am the fading sound that lurks
in the corners of short-term hotel rooms
and the stale gin breath of low rent whores
who ply their trade out on Morgan Street.
And you see my face darkly reflected
at the bottom of your whiskey glass,
And, breathe in the stench of my decay
in the alley ways down on dealers row.
You can hear my soundless voice
attacking your glutted ears from
bar room jukeboxes and cheap radios
and, the lunatic laughter from
toothless meth addled waitresses
in glare lit all night greasy spoons
Want a top off on that coffee, hon?
And, you want to truly be rid of me
but, you just can't let me go.
I am always with you in darkness;
In lurking darkness; I am always there
and, footsteps echo in the night behind.
I, the lurking darkness, linger in
your memories of a different time,
like the forsaken embrace of love
that vanished up a hole in a vein, or
the click and clack of high heeled shoes.
I am the fading sound that lurks
in the corners of short-term hotel rooms
and the stale gin breath of low rent whores
who ply their trade out on Morgan Street.
And you see my face darkly reflected
at the bottom of your whiskey glass,
And, breathe in the stench of my decay
in the alley ways down on dealers row.
You can hear my soundless voice
attacking your glutted ears from
bar room jukeboxes and cheap radios
and, the lunatic laughter from
toothless meth addled waitresses
in glare lit all night greasy spoons
Want a top off on that coffee, hon?
And, you want to truly be rid of me
but, you just can't let me go.
I am always with you in darkness;
In lurking darkness; I am always there
I Made Myth-Takes In Love by Ronald S Porter ©2016
Heracles had his twelve intractable labors
Seven arduous voyages, Sinbad had.
Myself, I had four wives in turn,
more than enough to drive a man mad.
The first was the Erinyes unleashed;
O, how her words did fly and flay.
The second, a Harpy, who fed on my soul.
Tearing it from my core each day,
To regrow, as I slept each night, complete.
With each new morning, again she would eat.
Number three, like Euripides, slipped away
Nor could I ever lead her back but,
left her locked in the cold deep dark,
and so I felt my hurting heart bleed;
Happily, when I departed, she was freed.
Ah, by the last, she remains a mystery;
First she loved fiercely, then she was gone.
I lie awake late at night, abed and alone,
And think she turned Medusa's gaze
upon my heart and, turned it to stone.
Seven arduous voyages, Sinbad had.
Myself, I had four wives in turn,
more than enough to drive a man mad.
The first was the Erinyes unleashed;
O, how her words did fly and flay.
The second, a Harpy, who fed on my soul.
Tearing it from my core each day,
To regrow, as I slept each night, complete.
With each new morning, again she would eat.
Number three, like Euripides, slipped away
Nor could I ever lead her back but,
left her locked in the cold deep dark,
and so I felt my hurting heart bleed;
Happily, when I departed, she was freed.
Ah, by the last, she remains a mystery;
First she loved fiercely, then she was gone.
I lie awake late at night, abed and alone,
And think she turned Medusa's gaze
upon my heart and, turned it to stone.
Out Of Africa, Exodus To Diaspora by Ron Porter ©2016
fiery chariots try the sky
none of them swing low
like other tribes long ago
we wandered and we wondered
forty years? four hundred
but it does not matter
all wilderness is barren
empty hard and cold
a million ways to day
yet no way to live
we followed the drinking gourd
in the land of promised hope
we found freedom chained
and on the willows by
the rivers of babylon
we hung our harps
hung our hearts
hung our heads and wept
Oh son of man tell me
can these bones live again
none of them swing low
like other tribes long ago
we wandered and we wondered
forty years? four hundred
but it does not matter
all wilderness is barren
empty hard and cold
a million ways to day
yet no way to live
we followed the drinking gourd
in the land of promised hope
we found freedom chained
and on the willows by
the rivers of babylon
we hung our harps
hung our hearts
hung our heads and wept
Oh son of man tell me
can these bones live again
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