Poetic License

Marco Martin

Description

Numerology One thing I want is Two have peace. Three sides of the truth. What's the lie be-Four me? My Five fingers want to slap reality, as my Six sense tells me, "Be cool." Every Seven minutes, I have Eight regrets, as I survive in this Nine by Ten world.

Sujets

• Poetry
• American

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 18 août 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781977232434
• Langue: English

Extrait

Poetic License Freedom is to be a Storyteller. All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2020 Marco Martin v1.0
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
ISBN: 978-1-9772-3243-4
Cover Photo © 2020 Marco Martin www.gettyimages.com . All rights reserved - used with permission.
Outskirts Press and the "OP" logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
I Love God, But Hate My Brother
Whisper
T’was the Night before Ramadan
Small Country
Forgive My Cliché
Roach
Black Butterfly
Excuse My French
Now is the Time
King of Pop
Gone Too Soon
Yes, We Can
Where I’m From
Jihad
In the Name of Allah, The Beneficent, The Merciful The Oneness (tentative Friday sermon)
Bags Under the Eyes
Boy Meets Girl
You Look Familiar
Slippery When Wet
Shut the Front Door
The Kingdom Cometh
The Tale of the Protagonist Caterpillar and the Antagonistic Writer’s Block
Odd Fruit
STOP (a play in four acts)
Loving You
Emotions
Entitled
Touch Me and I’ll…
On a Trial Bases
The Call to Freedom
I Need You
Turn-Ons
Turn-Offs
What I Love
What I Hate
Why Me?
Life
Being Black
Dream
Sweet Liberty
A Hot Mess
The Drama
Jungle Man
The Amazing Fish Who Could Cry
Stuff I Live By
Junk in the Trunk
A Piece of Power
If Baby Girl Names (Someday)
The Future
Under the Finger of a Teenager
Infamous Quote
Thank You Letter
Race
Tears for Fears
When I Die
Lips Smacking of Bubblegum
Lady, Hold Me
Place
If I Have a Baby Boy (Names)
Also Known as Mama
Oh, Brother!
The City
The Home
Rotten Apple
Here
Playing With Fire
The Coming of Age Story
Blue
Puppy Dog
This Christmas
I Desire
The Red Empty Wagon (Before Actual Event)
For Your Information
A Woman’s Touch
Happy Days
It Ain’t Funny
Not Black and White
Poetic License
So-called Muslim
The Fifth Wheel
Bookworms
Tulip
His Royal Badness
The Greatest
Green Light (Prior to Red Light)
Forever Hold Your Peace
Go
12 Meets 35
The Dance Floor Rules
35 Meets 12
Make No Mistake About It
Once Upon a Time
Not My Cup of Tea
Water
Race
The Upper Room
Oh, Fudge!
The Cat Whisperer
Exodus
Fantastical Lady
Coming Full Circle
In the Bush
Thanks, but No Thanks
Pep Talk
The Walls Fall Down
Insurrection
Naughty or Nice
Mother’s Milk
Mother Knows Best
Jungle Love
Death
Big Meanie
I Too
Underground
The Main Event
Stab in the Dark
Float On
I Am
Spin the Bottle
One, for the Money, Two, for the Show
All or Nothing
Hungry as a Mug
So Be It
44
I Don’t Fit In
Funky Guitar
Original Gangster
The Pot Calling the Kettle, Black
Ring the Alarm
Wars
Shopping Spree
Superhero
Exit Plan
Worry Wort
Oh, Lucky Me
Second-Rate
Trojan Man
The Golden Watch
Could it be the Chocolate?
Numerology
Respect Yourself
Flies Don’t Lie
Pride, My Middle Name
On the One
Friend
Epiphany: Love Fulfilled
First Black President
Ode to My Ancestors
Memoirs of Prison
Inner City Blues
Your Name Here
Let It Be Known
Untitled
Let Us Break Bread
King
Storyteller
God
Unspeakable
I Love God, But Hate My Brother
You are a liar, mister!
It is a most despicable thing, sister!
"I love God," but you look at me with hatred and disgust.
"I love God," but your prejudice precedes predictability.
"I love God."
Hungry for advice. Would you feed me?
Sneeze. Would you bless me?
Sick. Would you see me?
Invited. Would you meet me?
Dying. Would you help me?
I come in peace. Would you greet me?
"I love God," but you hate your brother, who you see every day.
You are a liar!
Name- calling mister.
Finger-pointing sister.
But you say, "I love God" though.
Whisper
Do you adore me?
Do I shuffle my feet?
Can you hear me shouting inside?
Is my worship a trend?
Do I snap my fingers?
Do you cherish my swagger?
May I suggest to you my heart, that there’s buried treasure in there?
Do I hike to my nearest buddy and declare what you enjoy most?
You scurry and stammer, but I prefer to trot pass the murmur that you value so much.
It’s all a parade.
Explain to me how you are saved.
Drop your books and describe it to me.
How do you serve, with your position of me.
Again, demonstrate how you serve, with your disposition of me?
You and your illustrious talk!
What do you protect?
May I please be at rest?
Clarify what’s at stake.
Is my situation for your interpretation?
You hide, and arrange agendas, on my account.
I’m not for your entertainment!
Should I organize?
You jabber at my accomplishments.
You stare and chat at my sayings I completed.
You glance at my direction, for a report on my performance.
You gaze and declare that I am finished in this town.
You examine and discuss the things I produced.
You peek when I can inform you.
Whatever I achieve, you noticed with a response.
You present your studies, but you just don’t get it.
You receive me with a purchase.
You gather at what you THINK I’ve earned.
Find it.
Capture it.
It is gossip you obtain.
T’was the Night before Ramadan
"T’was the night before Ramadan, when all the through the house, none of God’s creation was stirring, not even a mouse.
The Qur’ans were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that the first day of Ramadan soon would soon be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sweet dates danced in their heads.
Wife in her hijab cover, and I in my kufi cap, had just settle down for a fasting nap.
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the comfy mattress to see the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a flash, tore open the door, not knowing if it would be my last.
The night light glowed, and me a fuse about to blow, gave the luster of midnight to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature man, who smelled like he had eight cans of beer.
A little old man, so lively and quick, I wondered in a moment if he must hungry and sick.
More rapid than my prayers, came his hunger pain.
He whistled and shouted as I called the children by name,
"Now, Mustafa! Now, Muhammad! Now, Ali and Abdul-Aziz! On, Khadijah! On Aisha, who looks like my Aunt Louise!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, a homeless man is raiding our refrigerator!
Now runaway, run away, run away all!"
Little did I know his home was destroyed, like dry leaves, when the wild hurricane did fly.
Nor did I know what a man with a wife and kids would do with an obstacle mount to the sky.
So to the house top my children flew.
With an armful of toys, and my wife with books too.
And then in the twilight, I heard on the roof the dancing and shoving of each little "ooph!"
As I drew out my hand, without making a sound, to my horror, the man in my kitchen turned around.
He was dressed all in rags, from his head to his foot.
His clothes were all tarnished, with cigarette ashes and soot.
A bundle of food he flung on his back.

He looked like a peddler putting our food in his pack.
His eyes, how teary-eyed and red!
His dimples, how merry!
His ears were like roses!
His nose, like a cherry!
His hungry little mouth was drawn up like a bow.
Was he a thief, or getting food for his family, due to the new fallen snow?
I was holding my tongue behind my teeth.
The sorrow I had for him encircled my head like a wreath.
He had a scared face, and I had a round, big belly.
He shook, and I laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
I was chubby, plump, and gave him more food from off the shelf.
I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink in my eye, and twist of my head, soon let him know he had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but in the morning I had to go to work.
My eyes were filled with tears as he turned around with a jerk.
Laying his finger aside of his nose, I gave him a nod, when out of the window he rode.
I sprang to the window to give my family a whistle.
Down they all flew, like the falling of crystal.
I heard the stranger exclaim, as he walked out of sight, "Have a blessed Ramadan to all, and to all, a good night!"
Small Country
You small country, you.
You poor country, you.
Why should I care about you?
I have my big, old house and fancy car too.
I have my nice, old job and social club, boo.
I have a dream.
Why should I care about you?
I eat off the fat of the land.
Plenty of milk and honey too.
You know how I do!
…But something tells me, you are human beings too.
Forgive My Cliché
Forgive my cliché, no pun intended, but for obvious reasons, Yellow is faster than Black.

Yellow screams for attention. It absolutely yells for it. Yellow yearns. Yellow begs to be recognized.
It wants to be seen. It’s the life of the party. The life of the sun. For cautionary measures, be careful of Yellow at all
cost. There’s no telling what’s behind that corner; that Yellow street sign, that Yellow Jack, that sunflower, that
dandelion, that annoying Yellow traffic light. Yellow loathes to go faster, but it does anyway. Can’t help, but see it.
Slowly, but surely it comes; school buses, taxi cabs, holding precious cargo. Even bananas peel back.
Yellow bellows with excitement. It rejuvenates a