Category Archives: Poetry

We move Ever Forward

Click this link to hear Ever Forward (written and performed by Gambit and Riot – produced by The Poet Priest)

Contact Guerilla Poets at: GuerillaPoets2012@gmail.com

Contact Guerilla Poets at: GuerillaPoets2012@gmail.com

Or at:

Guerilla Poets

Poetry is life’s breath.

  • Priest

When Gambit and Riot of Guerilla Poets came together to write and perform Ever Forward, I like to believe that they romanced the muse and gave voice to Poetry.

Ever Forward is what it sounds like when Poetry exhales after holding her breath for far too long – a song, a fluttered heartbeat bleeding compassion and unbound love for those oppressed, discouraged, and depressed.

Guerilla Poets is a movement in mentality, a movement that is surging forward in a flood of syllables and solidarity backed by charitable acts – bringing the breath of Poetry‘s life back to the masses.

Poetry is power to the people, and Guerilla Poets is a conduit through which the juice flows.

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Darker Than Coal

Listen to this poem set to music on Reverbnation.com

You are the devil, in a little black dress

You are the devil, in a little black dress

You are the devil in a little black dress.

Inside you burns a soul darker than coal.

 

My shine is sucked from me into the holes

of your eyes. Your silence is a list of reasons,

a wet carpet that can’t fly—

 

but I can. Without deference

I spread the pinions of my opinion

and swat down opposition’s debate.

 

Swept into the sky on self-made thermals, I do pirouettes

with sunbeams and waltz with milky moon stone

through lofty epiphany, in and out, in and out of thin air.

 

You are the devil in a little black dress.

Inside you burns a soul darker than coal.

 

An osprey with thunderbird ambition,

an eagle with an Icarus wingspan,

Never look into the sun

 

but how can a peacock bypass his own reflection?

The frost calls to me, as I box with shadows, a deliberate

dancer who courts immortality knowing that

 

bricks, boards and heavy-bags don’t punch back.

Hypnotized by double mirror vision, I ride a comet chard

and punch through the astral loopty-loop to dictate

 

the indecipherable. Chisels of dynamite

strapped to my thighs, I sculpt a frieze infested

with contagious verbiage, set on infecting the future.

 

You are the devil in a little black dress.

Inside you burns a soul darker than coal.

 

From my mind-field I calibrate a personal time

space continuum. Rooted but reaching, a lexicon

climbs the boughs and branches of my psychic canopy.

 

Cockatoos and toucans swoop low through a rain forest

of lucid consciousness, down into the nether realm of the rime

scaled juggernaut. Out from the top of my brain cell ceiling,

 

I am resurrected with cursive dreams set in concrete,

spouting antediluvian lore. Still,

your sickening silence swings like a scythe,

 

slicing through me. The way you smile is cyanide.

In your eyes, I see monstrosity,

a truth darker than coal.

.

Spoiled Milk

Hear this poem spoken over music at VerseWrights.com

I was a child seduced.

Mesmerized

by ABC, CBS, NBC—

suckled at the small-screen nipple,

miseducated, inundated

by glowing images.

I had Good Times

with the Jeffersons,

poked fun at Aunt Esther

with Sanford and Son

like we were

All in the Family.

I learned the Facts of Life

from Arnold and Willis—

went through my own

Growing Pains

with dysfunctional

Family Ties.

I took

One Day at a Time,

all the while hot

for Designing Women.

I was mentally

masturbated, desecrated

by what Neilson rated,

was a channel surfer long

before my family could afford

a remote surfboard.

Subliminal advertising

commercial misrepresentations—

spellbound

I grew up thinking

Life is like TV.

It took me 29 years to see

television is not

20/20.

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