a lonely guitar
a lonely soul
create harmonies
as powerful as
steel strings
catching lightning
this is love
passion affirmed
with every strum of a chord
morning walks
with ol' no name
around my back
swingin'
©2012 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
for OLN at dVerse Poets Pub!
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Willful
A king's crown laid with blood diamonds
From the poorest river
A church goer on the sidewalk
Holding signs with readings of the Devil
A child abused a mother ignores to save herself
Like an empty collection plate
Passing a beautiful Shellie McDowell
If God's love is biased how will
I wake up in the morning
With his love as my only desire
Life is written in stone
Words splattered in red ink
Cursed with a black pupil
As the dot on every i
Black masters white slaves
Vs. white masters black slaves
Black on white against black on black
All white on white supremacy flags
Thrown in vanilla rushing waters
As black face(s) running the streets
Of NY to the sounds of Gil Scott-Heron
©2012 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
for open link night @dVersePoets join the fun!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Masquerades
A rafter of turkeys crowd a room
Like the cover photo of a bestseller
In an effort to avoid yet another
Superfluous cliche labeled as a metaphor
Like a needle that stings to numb the pain
But only dulls my existence
The truth hurts only when it's spoken
From those who don't know love
Like the empty heart of an elder
Zambia tribe leader turning boys into men
Yet in cowardice returned from Mukanda
Himself uncircumcised
©2012 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
This poem is greatly inspired by Phyllis Galembo's amazing tribal photography book 'Maske'.
Each year, in Northwest Zambia, village elders select boys aged between seven & thirteen
to participate in the initiation ceremonies and rituals known as 'Mukanda'. When Mukanda
is complete, they return to the village, which celebrates their transformation from boys into men.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Gainsay
This old apartment quarantined and abandoned
Housing bloody mirrors and spotless walls
For a decent distraction
For a decent distraction
They say a wounded spirit never leaves its home
I must turn myth to legend in a bed of flesh and bone
As I walk alone dragging a loved one through dirt
I a gravedigger let his demons spread like cancer
Rotting fumes with every raindrop
The scent of lust at its coldest
I shall sacrifice purity for endless orgasm
And love what so many can't bear to accept
The precious gem of vanity
Slit my throat in the name of validation if master asked
A pouring of blood beautifully
Displayed in a riedel wine glass
Each sip dribbling down the side of your mouth
And into the pocket of your handsome face
My instincts are cannibal as I witness
A slow rotting fine paste
I found pleasure in the cum filled asshole
Of a malignant asshole
It should be filled with maggots
I should be filled with guilt
Not gazing at my master like he wasn't
A fucking human being
More like a victim of distress
Ripped from head to base like torture to a rapist
Master held me close
Leaving his mark like a cicatrix
Stark naked and soft
His veins pulsate as if their yearning
For crack cocaine
He's addicted as I
An eternal sleeper on a cot of decomposed forgiveness
©2011 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
for open link night @dVersePoets!
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