Black as a Cowboy

Ride ’em!
Until they call You, “Cowboy.”
Take hold of the reins
and raise your arm and fist
up high to show you mean business.
And, when that one tires,
raise the other one
Steady and balance yourself
to avoid being knocked off
the merry-go-round.
There’s no need to raise your voice
to be taken seriously.
Remember, you don’t have to lower
your head to know where you’re going

Ex-Crackhead, Crackhead

Last night,
an ex-Crackhead saved my life
Stories told as tales
brought out the Fairy in me
But, I didn’t have to save
what was never my business
With bended ears
we both heard
With stunned lips
we both shared
Yet, the ex-Crackhead passed judgment
when it wasn’t warranted
The ex-Crackhead saw what could
have been
and the smoke began to clear
Recovery is just a word
I was the crack
who couldn’t shake the head

The Housing Authority Gameplayers

The Housing Authority Gameplayers    


Four men sitting at a table playing Spades.  In any other setting, someone would have called them as they saw them.  Broken and at the end of their rope, the gossip begins.  Anything to get a laugh from each other.  No filter is desired or required at the table.  It was all about outdoing the other team.  And, when the opposing team gets outplayed, there is a balance of shame and glee.  Save one excusing himself to hit the head, the Alpha gets to chose his prey.  Everybody joins in to add their two cents.

Each person had hung around long enough to get to know the others pretty well.  Yet, there’s always that one they all want some dirt on.  Rumors.  What one heard as well as the others, chimes and rings loudly until the return of the prey.  It’s business as usual until the humiliation rises.  It is almost impossible to stop the prey from securing his place in history.  They will never be able to explain their demise except being taken down by a lesser.  If only they would really look at themselves before exiting their domiciles, each would see the flaws they have denied.  Prim, Proper, like a UFO landed with skills beyond their wildest imagination, he feels he is the topic of quiet.  Maybe one would try and sneak in a question about where he came from or what did he do as living before ending up in this place.  The prey knows he is being played to expose his weaknesses.  That’s when the shit gets real.  Every innuendo, every mannerism is exhibited out of fun.  Yet, they have no idea they are the ones getting played.

His luck doesn’t run out.  One by One they all fall down.  The King of the moment all of a sudden subtly reminds the derelicts of how they were beaten.  Now, he can talk as much smack as he can and want to.  He knows he’s good and the cards are always in his favor.  What happened before they walked out of the house?  Did they pray to some higher force to be victorious?  Or, did they want to use different cards to shake up the energy at the table?  Either way, they should have done the right thing:  See it as a game of trash talk and nothing more.  He lets on about the conversation he overheard of them.  Maybe, he shouldn’t have.  With heads held low, My partner and I could only revel in their demise for once being considered the Two Kings.  Will wearing a Burger King crown at each game be ultimately the last straw for comraderie?  Besides, they started the gathering only to be separated by sheer luck and skill from the other side.

At least two egos will be smashed at the game that is like a scheduled ritual…a must for this niche.  At certain times, newbies will appear, seeking a playing partner.  That is how the cycle begins.

By the second appearance, the newcomers have acclimated and adapted to the behaviors of old, Black Men who are looking to expand their egos.  After the loss, the newcomers are told to get more training and come on back.

The Professor

I am a flame
separated from the fire
Still, burning
for ever all   
Did I have to let go
before I opened my eyes?
Or was it their chocolate passion
that made me static?
I was in my eyes
long before you appeared               
And like a loose hair,
I only chose to lower my lash
Leaving it to release at its
own will
I did just that
When they grew longer,
I then squinted
carefully saw you
And looked left
Then right
For loose ideas as like my mind
The many looking in
the same direction
You were amongst great company
The scent of vanilla invaded us
like mold in heat
Apart, I pray you behave
as if no one can watch
Even if it is
for just one day, night, month            
Though I do look forward
to my yearly bonus
How else could I keep account
of my pristine virgin?


Something is dead
Is it me?
Was I easily read
Or too far from reality?
I sold drugs on Rodeo Drive
Instead of sex
Then gave reasons to stay alive
Until I cashed the checks
Too much flash
Would give me away
Obvious ash
And I turned to clay
Drop-off from the carport
Brooks Brothers tie
In-Demand sport
Until it was time to lie
Oh, the loneliness can be mean
When your best friend
Is painted on treasury green
On an upward trend
Something is dead
Make sure I just check my tie   
And not the mirrored eyes of red


Like a thief in the night

She takes away

in the daylight

Hoisting and shattering

young dreams

from those who admire

and envy her

Teachers alike

stand in sheer amazement

of her rise to


Most bidding a farewell

in the final hour

Even it is no match

Lucky are those

who capture the wild wind

Those she do make

rarely meet her again

They know her by one name

Though it’s all the same

Something has touched this soul

to make her stand alone

The unruly lags around the corner

and cries with each mourner

Her name rests above mere titles

whereas mere mortals of past

rise to witness her presence

With health, wealth, and glee

beside her is the place to be

Pray to the Heavens

for sevens and elevens

Though a six is like a latch

For Serena

It’s Game, Set, and Match!