Madiba--A New Poem

We knew you,
by your love--
love for your neighbor,
love for your oppressors,
love for the world;
a man,
anointed,
appointed
to show us
what forgiveness
looks like;
to show us
what one man
can do,
what we all
can do,
when we are not governed
by fear,
by hatred;

this was your life,
displayed before us;
this is your legacy,
you now leave us;
your long walk
towards freedom
has now taken flight
as angels
guide you safely
home.

Godspeed, Madiba.

© 2013 Joseph Powell

Happy Thanksgiving

May we all be thankful for who and what we have. And remember those who have not or who are unable to be with their families and friends. God's peace be with them, and with us all. 

As My Bugle Gently Weeps (11/22/63)

a moment of silence,

for a moment

I will not forget;

for a man,

I will not forget;

I stand,

with eyes closed

and lips slightly pursed,

I raise my bugle,

to emit

one last goodbye;

trying to be still,

trying to be calm,

I choke on a note,

as a tear

falls

from my horn.

© 2013 Joseph Powell

Strange Fruit (Class of 2013) - Jasiri X

Blue Is The Magic Number

though I’m not one to adhere to,

or be defined by, labels;

nor inclined to be fitted into certain parameters;

if you were to press me,

or choose to dig down,

to my very essence,

to the core of who I am--

you would find

that blue

is my favorite color;

the color

that inspired rhapsodies

and baseball teams;

it is the signifier of a particular mood,

the foundation

of nearly every musical genre

on this planet,

which,

if the pictures from space

are to be believed,

is also blue;

it is the color of harmony--

if you don’t believe me,

imagine our country’s flag without it;

could be one of the reasons,

why we’re called the United States

(could you imagine if we

were only made up of

only red states?);

blue

is the color of life;

it is

the color of God’s glory,

one of the primary colors

in His divine palette;

blue

is the color of this poem,

if its words

could be enveloped

in any particular color,

each letter,

a different shade

or variation

of indigo,

sapphire,

jade,

azure--

even those words

make blue sound beautiful,

which it is.

I give you

blue,

which is,

in a sense,

giving of myself;

and I hope,

that you will accept it,

in the spirit

of which it was given,

which is also

blue.

© 2013 Joseph Powell

Joseph Powell-Poetry Open Mic @Priscilla's-Toluca Lake

Man In The Mirror Redux

As I looked in the mirror

this afternoon,

I could swear

I saw my father's face

looking back at me;

I didn't know if I should

smile or cry--

smile,

at the man I've become

and am still becoming;

or cry,

at the man who wasn't there

to help me do so;

I chose to neither

as I walked out

of the restroom

with my head held high.

© 2013 Joseph Powell

let me be--a new poem

let me be the tears you can not shed;

let me be the mirror you can not face;

let me be what causes your screams to dissipate;

let me be what causes your fears to evaporate;

let me be what inspires you;

that which comforts you,

which shows you the face of God;

let me be your breath;

the first thing you see in the morning,

and the last thing you see at night,

so that when you sleep,

all you dream of

is me,

loving you thru the dark hours

and the valley of the shadow

that used to haunt you;

let me be the words that flow from your pen,

and from your mouth when you stand on that stage;

let me be your applause;

the answer to your prayer;

let me be what makes you laugh,

uncontrollably;

let me be the art that knows no equal-

the dance that no one else can dance,

the song that no one else can sing,

the poem that will never be surpassed

or replicated;

let me be what helps you get through this life-

holds your hand,

walks beside you,

kisses your lips,

caresses your brow,

holds you up;

let me be everything…

let me be.

© 2013 Joseph Powell

Skin - Joseph Powell

Blood On The Grass (for Trayvon Martin)

Close your eyes

and listen--

Can you hear it?

It’s the cry of yet another Rachel,

weeping for her children,

and refusing to be comforted;

it echoes 

in the cry of Sybrina Fulton,

and Wanda Johnson;

it reverberates even still

from Mamie Till Mobley,

now since departed 

and reunited

with her beloved

and taken-too-soon Emmitt;

can you hear it?

the collective cries

of scores of mothers

who will never see their sons

grow old,

never fall in love,

or pursue their dreams;

listen,

you might just also hear

the cries

of blood from the ground--

cries for justice,

justice that may never come,

because we choose not to listen;

choose to keep our eyes closed

to the fact that our children

are dying needlessly,

senselessly,

and with little

to no recourse.

I’ve heard it said,

that it would be better

if a millstone

was hung around the neck

of one who were to cause 

a little one to stumble;

and yet,

perpetrators are allowed to roam

freely,

trampling underfoot,

blood left on the grass,

having ignored screams 

for mercy;

while we care more for the child not yet born

than for the one who is already

among us.

Now,

I want you to open your eyes

and imagine,

that it was your son,

your daughter,

your brother,

your sister,

pleading for their lives,

begging for mercy,

crying for help,

for justice.

What would you do then?

What would you do?

What will you do?

What?!

© 2013 Joseph Powell

The Writing's On The Wall-A Poem

This is the title poem from the new book, "The Writing's On The Wall", currently available thru Lulu.com...


The writing on the wall
that I drove past
down Barham Blvd.,
read,
“ Do something good today”;
So, I’m writing this poem
for you,
not an abstract ‘you’,
but the concrete ‘you’;
The you,
I always write for;
The you,
I have always written for;

I am writing this
on the wall of your heart,
I am writing this
on the wall of the city ,
a poem that can’t be
taken down
or painted over;
it will be etched in forever,
written in love,
dipped in my blood,
my sweat,
my tears,
painted, carved
in broad strokes
visible to every naked eye
that is willing to see,
willing to look;
in fact,
you will have to look
because you will not
be able
to turn away,
to ignore--
truth is like that,
beauty is like that.

I am writing this
for you,
not because you deserve it,
not because I deserve it,
but because,
it has to be done;
something good
has to be done,
because so much
of what’s being done
is not good,
is not right,
is not true,
not real--
love is being commodified,
the writing is on the wall;
children are starving in the streets,
the writing is on the wall;
people dictating who I can love,
the writing is on the wall;
the have’s still dominating
the have-not’s,
and the writing is on the wall;

people making asses of themselves
on national TV
for millions of dollars,
while people,
who are molding the minds
of future generations,
aren’t making enough
to make ends meet,
the writing is on the wall;
I can’t afford
to take care
of myself
or the people I love
because some insurance company
gets to dictate
how much I have to pay,
the writing is on the wall.

These are not the ramblings
of a mad poet;
these are the words
of a poet
who is mad,
like you should be mad,
the concrete ‘you’,
and willing to do something about it,
something good,
like I’m trying to do
something good,
by writing this poem,
by writing this book;
because voices need to be heard,
because truth needs to be made visible,
because there are walls
that need to be written on,
with the blood, sweat,
and tears
of those who
wish to do something
good.
I have written this,
for you,
and now,
I am handing you
the pen.

Do something good!

© 2013 Joseph Powell

The Writing's On The Wall--finally available in print!

The Writing's On The Wall

Joseph Powell @Open Mic-Golden Road Brewery

The Writing's On The Wall

The Writing's On The Wall

It's Here!!

My new collection of poetry, The Writing's On The Wall, is now currently available in both print and digital via Amazon. It's been a while coming but am happy and proud to say after much deliberation(and procrastination), it is now  ready for purchase and perusal. Thank you all for your patience and support. I hope you are inspired, encouraged, maybe even entertained. Peace.

The Writing's On The Wall

It's been a long time coming, but my new book, The Writing's On The Wall", will be available for download in the next day or so. So, if you own a Kindle, IPad, IPhone, or any electronic reading device, you will be able to purchase and enjoy it at your leisure. I am very proud of this effort and am hoping for it to be perished widely. I thank everyone for their support. Peace.

The Writing's On The Wall

My new collection of poetry, The Writing's On The Wall-I am anticipating its release during the month of July 2013.  Please stay tuned for more details as they become available.

I Simply Wrote The Word...

I simply wrote the word, I. My mind is as blank as the screen before me, though a million words and images are racing through my head, I can’t seem to settle on a single one. I am afraid, I am weighed down by stress, which affects my body, which affects my mind. My one prayer is to make it through the day that is now. I don’t know what tomorrow holds--I do  know that I long for a better life, where I get to do what I want, which is write. In which I can love someone who wants to be with me...period. Where I can see my daughter develop into the woman she is becoming. Where I’m appreciated for the art that I continue trying to make as opposed to the work that someone else thinks I should be doing. I still long to travel--I am well aware that there is a whole world out there and I am hoping, with however long I have to live, to see at least some of it.

I simply wrote the word, I. Because it starts with me. I am fighting every day, not to be held back--by myself or by others, by outside forces beyond my control.  I desire to just be--not confined to some job description or a paycheck; not to others’ perception of me, or what they think I should be doing; not to some vague notion of what it takes to get ahead in this life.

I simply wrote the word, I. I am trying to fight the urge not to call it quits. To keep the demons at bay. I am more than this life I’m currently living. Not sure if my spirit is still willing, though I’m well aware that my body is beyond weak. But for the grace of God go I...

simply write the word, which is where it all begins, where it all began. And God has always been in the details...He or She created them. Whether we choose to acknowledge that or not.

I simply wrote the word, I...am trying not to exercise futility. I do not care if this is not making sense. Nowadays, most of, if not all of it is not making any sense. The best that we can hope for is that we can avoid those who believe that they call the shots, that they get to determine that our life is no longer valuable--whether it’s by plane crash, or bombing, or shooting, or drunk driving. Like the man said, “I would like to live a long life--longevity has its place.” The tragic irony being that he never got to--none of us know if we’re going to. Which is simply why I write the word...

I, because other than the grace of God, and the love of my family, and of a good woman, and a few select friends, my words are all I got. It’s probably all I need in this crazy, beautfiul, fucked-up world. Another man wrote, that we are all terminal cases. This terminal case hopes to make a difference in the lives of other terminal cases until mine is closed and I’ve been filed away and I become a memory that people, loved ones talk about at gatherings.  These words that I simply write, I feel, are all I have control over and even then, I’m not so sure, because I’m at the mercy of whatever muse I’ve been assigned to, and most times, she shows up when she wants to, the bitch!

I simply write the word, I, because I continue to look for truth, whereever I can find it. I don’t know any other way. Because it helps me to understand, because sometimes it gives me peace. Because sometimes, I feel like I’ve given some value to the world, even if no one else ever tells me so. Because there’s so much that is not of value that is being put out there, that someone has to fight against it, like a team of doctors fighting against a disease.

I simply wrote the word, I, because I wanted to fill this small hour of time, with something constructive, perhaps even meaningful, as opposed to filling it with something that would be a complete waste of my time and effort, which I seem to be more wont to do. Yes, it is rambling, yes, it may not be coherent, maybe it might not mean a damn thing, but have you watched the news or listened to the pundits lately? I’m just sayin’. And I’ve just said enough...for now at least.
My time is up, for now. Until next time. Thanks for reading, those of you who have chosen to take the time to do so. I just simply wrote the words...what you choose to do with them is up to you.

When I Write

when I write,
I see visions;
this still-young man
dreams dreams;
when I write,
I hear the voice of God
in a still, small whisper;
I hear my mama talking;
the child I once was,
telling me not to give up,
to not squander the promise,
the talent that was once
fresh and new;
when I write,
I remember women I’ve loved
and the few who’ve loved me back;
the friends I’ve made,
and, unfortunately,
lost,
because of time
or distance
or death,
and I don’t want to talk about that,
for that’s a whole other poem
I’ve already written;

when I write,
I am not restricted
by race,
or color,
or creed,
or sexual orientation;
my muse
is an equal opportunity
employer;
when I write,
I try to stay
outside the lines;
my verse is
and will always remain
free;


when I write,
jazz,
is distilled
from its purest form
and reconfigured
through the words
I try to place
on the page
with as much force
and passion
as I can
possibly summon;
when I write,
I believe
a word
is a terrible thing to waste
and I try to choose wisely.

when I write,
I am trying to breathe life
into chaos;
illuminate truth
where there is darkness;

when I write,
I am trying to destroy prejudices
and open eyes;
spread love,
where there is hatred;

when I write,
I want it to be like the blood
that washes away all sins;
I want it to be like water
in a dry and thirsty land;

when I write,
I’m not writing with anyone in mind,
but with everyone in mind,
because everyone needs truth,
and everyone needs love,
and everyone needs beauty,
and everyone needs light,
and everyone,
everyone,
everyone needs
poetry.
And that what is I think of...

when I write.

© 2013 Joseph Powell

I Don't Do Haikus

I will try to be as concise
as I possibly can be;
try to convey as much truth
within each line,
as can be mustered--
but I don't do haikus.

My verse needs to be free,
in a form that allows it
to breathe,
to move,
to become its own thing.

I want the words to go
where they're gonna go;
to take you,
where you need to be taken;
to caress you,
whisper to you,
make love to you;
or,
slap you in the face,
shake some sense into you,
douse cold water
on your hypocrisies
and lies,
your prejudices
and myopia.

And, I,
personally,
cannot do that
with haikus,
not in the way
that they need to be done;
and not in the way
that I need to say
what needs to be said.

Believe me,
I respect the haiku,
I admire the form,
the simplicity,
the beauty;
and the skill it takes
to create one,
let alone,
several.
But just as haikus
are not for everyone,
neither are
the verses I write,
in whatever shape
they choose to manifest themselves.

My only hope
is that,
whoever chooses to read them,
will come to respect
and admire
what it took to create them
and find within them
the truth,
the simplicity,
the beauty,
as in any haiku.

© 2013 Joseph Powell