Monday, January 30, 2012

Man x Guitar

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!

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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.


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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.



for open link night @dVersePoets!
*****************************************************************************************************
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.





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Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Gainsay




This old apartment quarantined and abandoned
Housing bloody mirrors and spotless walls 
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.


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