Inconvenience

 

Such a bother,

Pain in the ass,

That's life? That's life? That's the best excuse they can selfishly reveal? 

Why. Cause. Your. Own. Headache?

You find yourself screaming,

Screaming on the inside,

Inner silent shrieks Of misunderstood loneliness.

Inner silent shrieks within yourself,

Misunderstood loneliness.

You really do. Not. Intend to.

Come, come on, please!

Prisoner imprisoned  in your own body.

Can they not see? 

They try, at least.

Waiting for some realization, actualization, condemnation to allure thought allowing this dove to fly.

Conveniently included. 

Living incoherently,

Incoherently living unjustly, inclusion when convenient!

Justified defiance? 

Will it ever come my way?

Never! 

If only people could understand 

They try, and get a sense of understanding,

That's all, a sense…

Unjust treatment becomes the normality

BLOODLINE

  

Blood stains

the hard-packed snow

in the street

 

crisp cold air

creates a crust

on the chill white

landscape

 

and footsteps sound

like echoes

from distant hills

 

a cluster of children

hurry

past the mark

 

save one

 

a girl

with knowing eyes

 

who pauses

as if viewing a flower

 

then scurries on

cheeks stung

red as the stain

to join her comrades

going to the warmth

of somewhere



**********



BIGOT



hey faggot

he shouted

with venom and contempt

to a flamboyant

young man

across the street



to this

the flamboyant young man

with a toss of his head

and a different intent

said

how queer

to himself

and with sadness

and pity in his eyes

walked away from the words

without looking back



**********

all fluff 73*75


(lonely)

 

that night

like others, looking

for companionship

for someone

anyone

 

 

                (incredibly)

 

there you were

the shadows, flickering

enticing, exciting

we

                met

 

flashing dark

eyes showing

arrogance

sex

 

electricity

 

                (extraordinary)

 

temptation

sensation

elation

celebration

 

 

                (emotionally)

 

exhale inhale

in out

shout

wow

 

 

                (candidly)

 

for a while

very happy

 

some doubt

 

you stayed

                but

were you

there

 

I believed

in you & me

truly

 

 

                (retrospectively)

 

more or less

I confess

what a mess

 

you were pretty

but not elementary

 

 

                (specifically)

 

no loyalty

no integrity

just transitory

you used me

 

 

                (regrettably)

 

no surprise

so many lies

so unwise

no prize

 

 

                (pointedly)

 

you cheated

frequently

easily

blatantly

& everyone knew

but me

 

no remorse at all

you had a ball

 

never an apology

 

angry

 

sad

 

been had

 

 

                (ultimately)

 

you

me

we agree

                not to be

 

mercifully

 

you set me free

 

released from purgatory

 

                                end of story

My Shame 

My Old Man for reasons unknown to me my entire life was a racist. He despised black people, referring to them as niggers. We were not allowed to associate with, buy records or listen to music by them and we weren't allowed to talk about any sporting event they participated in. The Old Man wasn't very fond of Jews or the Irish either.
In the summer of 1966 Martin Luther King Jr. planned a demonstration to march in Marquette Park on the Southside of Chicago in early August.

The park was near my neighborhood.  There were actually early evening meetings in local Churches, American Legion Halls and on the front porches of homes discussing strategies on how to disrupt the march or stop it completely. Even the local clergy, police and community leaders attended the meetings in support of the cause. Kinda pisses you off when you think about it.
My philosophy concerning demonstrations is; if no one shows up to acknowledge the protest, or pays attention to them, the demonstration becomes ineffective.

Two years earlier my oldest brother Harold told the Old Man he was joining a civil rights movement with other College students to register black people to vote in Southern states. 
The Old Man became so enraged he excluded him from posing in the family photo.  He also cut off all college financial aid and my brother was not allowed to enter our house. The Old Man told him to kiss his ass goodbye because he was asking for trouble. There was a good chance he'd wind up getting lynched by the Ku Klux Klan.
A month before his intended deployment he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. They decided to get married which ended his involvement in the cause. A few months later three volunteers were murdered by the KKK and local police in Mississippi. The Old Man had an "I told you so" to justify his actions.

The day of the demonstration arrived with a large contingency of opposition assembled.  I followed the crowd of white protestors, including family and relatives, neighbors and friends to Marquette Park that August afternoon. The closer we got to the park the more vocal the group became. A man dressed in an Army type uniform started yelling commands. 

"Let's run these niggers out of our neighborhood." He hollered in a southern accent. When I got closer to him I saw a patch on his sleeve that said KKK Alabama. I don't think he even lived in our neighborhood.

 I remember feeling forceful and tenacious emotionally charged by the electricity generated from the crowd.
The Old Man with my next oldest brother, an uncle and two cousins were wearing expressions of venomous hatred.  There appeared to be a thousand white people gathered ready to do battle. I was caught up in the herd mentality.

The black demonstrators led by Martin Luther King Jr drew closer to where I stood.
They marched to a chorus of racial slurs and a barrage of bottles, rocks and bags of shit being hurled at them. 
"Fucking niggers get the fuck outta here." along with chants of, "Niggers go back to Africa" echoing throughout the park. The police stood idly by and did little to stop the crowd's harassment. 

I noticed on the ground in front of me a large piece of house brick. I knew this would cause serious damage. I have no idea what compelled me  to do what I did that day. 

I picked up the piece of brick, took aim and hurled it with force into the crowd of demonstrators. The brick struck Martin Luther King Jr. in the chest causing him to drop to one knee. He remained in that pose for a short minute then stood and continued the march acting unfazed by the incident. 

Instantly an emotion of intense remorse gripped my soul strangling it so tightly I became physically ill, wanting to vomit. My friends and others nearby began patting me on my back, giving me congratulations and laughing. I had to hold myself back from crying after witnessing the courage Martin Luther King Jr. displayed. He stood up, brushed himself off and continued the march.  He finished the march and even made a speech afterward without succumbing to the wound he had sustained.

I read about the incident the next day in the Chicago Tribune.
Here is the follow up article headline: Martin Luther King Jr. and supporters pause during a fair housing march through Marquette Park. 

King later said he had never seen “mobs as hostile and as hate-filled as I’ve seen here in Chicago.”

When Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. stepped out of a car in Marquette Park on Aug. 5, 1966, he was met by a crowd in an ugly mood. That was nothing new for King. During his civil rights crusade, he'd often faced Southern mobs. The year before, police and sheriff's deputies brutally attacked a march he'd organized in Selma, Alabama. 

But he saw something even more menacing in the faces of the 700 white protesters who confronted him on Chicago's Southwest Side.

"I've been in many demonstrations all across the South, but I can say that I have never seen — even in Mississippi and Alabama — mobs as hostile and as hate-filled as I've seen here in Chicago," King told reporters afterward. 

King and hundreds of demonstrators had scarcely set out on a march to promote open housing when he was struck by a rock. 

"The blow knocked King to one knee and he thrust out an arm to break the fall," the Tribune reported. "He remained in this kneeling position, head bent, for a few seconds until his head cleared." 

Aides and bodyguards closed in around King, holding placards aloft to shield him from the missiles that followed. King and the demonstrators had hoped to reach a real estate office on nearby 63rd Street, intending to demand that properties be rented and sold on a nondiscriminatory basis in the all-white Chicago Lawn neighborhood. Only a few of them made it before a riot broke out.

After reading the article I experienced a sense of guilt and shame that I'd never felt before. The act of hatred I demonstrated that day has haunted me my entire life.

I was viewed as a local hero for quite a while. My Old Man treated me with respect and kindness for the first time. He was proud of what I had done. However I resented every congratulatory remark and comment people made to me.
This story has never been told until now. I've kept it hidden inside for fifty-seven years. I was thirteen at the time and I will turn seventy this July.

Math Time

Math time is just before the first recess,
And children can’t wait to play outside, 
But they love math and know they’ll have 
Exploration and computer time 
When they return if they remain focused.
Except this particular day, our class got an 
Unexpected but pleasant surprise, a messenger 
Pigeon flew right into the classroom, and 
Students forgot all about math faster than a
Tick-tock in a hurry. They excitedly called out,
“Teacher, there’s a bird in the classroom!”
Teacher stopped teaching math and quickly 
Turned off the light and asked students to close 
The blinds to keep them and the bird safer.
Teacher asked students to remain calm.

Students wanted to catch and play with the bird.
Teacher carefully caught the bird and placed it in 
A shoebox. Recess bell rings, and teacher has 
Yard duty. What to do with bird. Under 
Teacher’s armpit it goes, and students are excited.
Students forget about playground equipment and 
Stick by teacher like a tick on a deer.
It was a long recess for sure but bird survives.
Once back in the classroom, students get to 
Pet their temporary pet.

Because everyone is in love with the pet,
They forget to close the classroom door 
And the messenger pigeon flies right out....

I tell the black dog
that his coat is so shiny—
good boy licks my face


---


black beans at midnight—
last night's dream of Christ's return
made the day feel strange


---


the two hens eat oats
& blueberries in their coop—
cold wind before snow


---


could it be Venus?
wispy clouds race in front of
a twinkly planet


---


truck backs up & beeps—
the dog sniffs the deflated
orange basketball


---


bio/graf

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poems have appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.

MINING A FAITH

My language tells me all I know
That for every name, is a contour 
To the beginning of it's origin

That God breathe into souls
I pushed in fears, oxygenate prayers
And dioxidize glory in a carbonated poem

That to back my country
Is to lick lips of men with juicy curses 
My head stocking valleys of grieving

That heaven is full of lovers
The sun adores moon 
Like how lord sweeten kids
For men are riot gods
Men fighting peace to how stars looked peaceful

That for in a second a trumpet plays
We will all melt into sands gone
And  there be a holy poem to recite 

That for every angel's letter 
Is an acquaintance of either of two postal stamps
YOUR RIGHT HAND?
Everything in right means good to go

YOUR LEFT HAND?
There are more classes after learning red.
Your body deceives you

DANGEROUS ZONE
The address being located at the street in your spine

My language tells me all I know
That everything invisible isn't God
God is always beautiful when you close your eyes looking into his.

Aliyu Umar Muhammad is an 18 years old Nigerian writer, poet, spoken word artist and a member of Hill Top Creative Arts Foundation, TYNSWA and Guided Minds Initiatives. His works are published and forth coming on: Kalahari review, pine cone review, open doors magazine and elsewhere.