Hello, beautiful people… let’s give LOVE an encore, shall we? I will be compiling some work to submit. If you want your voice heard, follow the guidelines listed for the call for submissions and submit. Peace and blessings.
When one of the biggest Creatives on WordPress asks you if you would like to collaborate with him, you do it. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been a fan of their unique work for years and you had a slight heart-attack watching your work come to life in his hands. Below, you’ll find the collaboration between Peter of Little Fears and me.
*View the piece in its entirety, including the incredible audio-visual formatting from Peter by clicking the link below.
Peter, thank you very much for the opportunity, man. I’m still quite over-the-moon about it!
it is easy to gather roses
for the dead,
words for listeners —
you hide in the shadows, content
on stealing what does not belong
I have eyes in the back of my head,
protecting what feeds me.
licensing age-old lyrics,
no duplication, B.
if you’re stepping up,
ready for the game,
bring your best uppercut.
I gotta jab and a crazy left hook
gearing up for top lips
and pretty noses.
a cruel business, the world of writing.
your heart is on display —
the hungry come in droves,
salivating for something
give’em slim fast,
Ensure, or Pedialyte, but
never ever give them
steak and potatoes.
trying to eat the whole meal
in one bite
instead of the portions
we gave you.
a one-shot KO
will never save you
from your ribcage-rattling,
shook from combos
of famine and body-blows;
still, you try to steal my soul
like your name was Jim Crow.
not one to hide, you open wide
to gulp down the fatty talent,
but leave the conscience
on the platter,
and then get mad at me
when diabetes takes your sight
as if your mad-hatter,
had vision to begin with.
I scatter dead roses
at the headstone where we met.
your fat festers, decomposes,
existing as undead,
but I ain’t dead yet
©2019, Barry Dawson IV and Tremaine L. Loadholt. All Rights Reserved
*Barry and I have been collaborating for about a decade. If I think it, he can bring it to life. If he starts something, I can usually finish it. We have meshed well for such a long time that I was beyond myself with glee to finally see him get active on Medium. Every time we work together, it is fun to see where we are in our work at that moment. He is a great Writer and a dope fiend.
I have my copy. Do you have yours?
Even the most subtle hint of creating change can bring out the beasts of the world. An army can obliterate them. The problem is, we don’t have enough people willing to don his or her armor to fight for what’s right in the open when the light is perfectly set. Fear is a mongrel, steadfast when it has a target. “Stand up for something or fall for anything.”
A Collaborative Effort With walkerjo lee|Music: Outkast–Liberation
He comes —
sits real calm-like next
to Daddy, puffs out a heap of
smoke and says, “Gotta make a decision, Tony.
We bulldozing through this city block
with or without your consent.”
I watch Daddy’s eyes turn cold,
he can’t sit, can’t stand, he just
looks frozen in time.
the man in the perfect hat
pats my Daddy’s leg once, then
lifts himself from our porch swing,
a trail of smoke follows him
down the block, connecting his
lies as it forms.
Daddy gives me a quick smile,
he isn’t a big man, short and thin.
he looks like time swaying in
the breeze, waiting for a lifeboat
that’s never coming his way.
he tells me that the Big Wigs
are making us move, taking our
home from up under us.
“We got thirty days, Pumpkin.”
and, I don’t know where
we gonna go, but I hear my
Mom’s soul sigh
in the dead of night.
if she was still alive,
she’d cut that man in the perfect hat
with her words and tell him
where he can stick his ideas.
A strip mall.
that’s what they’re building.
fifteen homes on our block
and three on the next will
be demolished in a matter of days.
I sit and think of that smoke
and how it followed the man
in the perfect hat and I
wonder if it’s gonna come
back without him one day
and liberate us.
thirty days to go and no new home in view
wanting to stay knowing it’s time to leave
sights set on tomorrow
get a new home that fit our porch swing
a patch of dirt to grow bundles of greens
mom’s energy nearby
while i pick and pull from the stems
she keeps a watchful eye over me
while i soak and rinse in the kitchen sink
dandelions in the kitchen window
daddy’s head hangs over the daily news
we beat the thirty days
we walk at our pace
no new development looming near.
daddy gives me that quick smile
a sway in the breeze, he stands
on a sunday afternoon
memory of my mom, she stands beside us
daddy washes his hands and opens the oven door
our home smells of roasting meat
that time, mom had me snapping fresh peas
our family, as whole as can be
home was home, our yard had a tree swing
lay mom to rest, our three turned into a two
all our memories stuffed into a one bedroom
daddy on the sofa
i have a door with a window view of a toxic factory
maybe, a strip mall in our place
won’t be so bad
mom would have the paper preparing for our new home.
i smile daddy’s quick smile, turn to the real estate section
we sit in the sun
i reassure him this time
dream big enough for us both
sure we won’t see the man with the perfect hat
gone before he returns
it is time and we will go
i know one strip mall where we won’t shop
Originally posted on Medium via A Cornered Gurl