[BooMBuSSiT] Lady Luck and the Unsolved Mystery

Knock, knockin'
in a red dress---
She was banging at the door.
Hot stuff,
Lady Luck,
many labeled her whore
for 

it wasn't trickin' 'less you got her
highly favored ones implored;
She's a player to the core...
and never truly yours...
Right.

But anyway...

she was banging at his door!

Needs no invitation,
he was pacin' polished floors.
Said she had a case..

said she wants him to explore...
His private eye detected
she was after something more,
but regardless of intentions
he was absolutely sure
that it didn't really matter;
  what the fuck

she lookin' for.

He offered her a seat,
and o u t s t r e t c h e d his feet,
and grabbed an extra pen out his lower-level drawer.
Score!
He thought,
as the clues began to pour,
and he jotted down the facts
like a prospect on a tour;
She offered him the bank;
straight flowin' , like a mini reservoir,
not to mention
she was fashioned to the caliber
of something similar
to Christian Dior... 

(To Be Continued...)

[BooMBuSSiT] Sex in Transit

I wrote this for a friend who rode out a bad relationship for wayyyyy too long. 

 

He's so cold, 

She's shivering.
  She's so deep, 

he's sinking in...
He calls again.

Her pulse quickening
  and it's sickening...

how heat rise with them,

when she rides for him,

and when night fall comes,
she dies for him.

And when sunrise runs,
she cries after it.
Not quite sure what's happening.
Is she... imagining
her knees fastening?
Heart strings held tight,
now, just slackening?

 The train moves fast,
and they're packin' in.
This couple sits down
and starts grappling.
But with her head phones in,
She's P I C T U R I N G
how it's gonna feel like
to get back to him.

The train rides made her back go soar;
  not quite sure why she's ON IT for.
  The climate's poor,
  and the lack of discourse
on how their tracks have crisscrossed
is bound to ex out
their unreasonable,

juggernaut, 

passionate 

force.

BUT she's his Doll
and he's her Soldier
and they'll play house
till IT blows over.
UnTil then...
her train's here now;
  she'll still come over
like a game of Red Rover.

[BooMBuSSiT] For Heaven's Sake

A  F L A S H of blinding light

exposed Time's trick.

The allied cold and the ailing sick

were both cured

with just one sip

of the Elixir of Truth:

The body is a foolish illusion.

Humans are so  deluded.

Perfection obtained

does NOT satisfy the convoluted

standards

of LOOKING insane.

When we see Heaven

we'll be out of our brains;

all feel the same.

We'll be free of the physical,

free of the chains

of our original sin...

that is,

being human.

Who, THEN,

could see your differences,

when they cannot see themselves

in a condition to judge you?

At the end of Time,

there is no choice

but to love YOU;

no One above you,

just of you

and the source

of light

that was there

way  before

you knew

to say

"I'm afraid of the night!"

For Heaven's sake,

such an occurrence sounds impossible,

better,  
colossal

and yet  it's coming.

Whether we like it or not,

whether the weather

is freezing or hot,

Heaven's on the way...

[VISUAL POEM]: Party in the Evening of Eden // [BooMBuSSiT]

Party in the Evening of Eden from AnnMargaret Tutu on Vimeo.
Visual depiction of the contemporary Garden of Eden.

Hey, everyone!!! I'm happy to premiere my first visual storytelling for one of my poems...  

PARTY IN THE EVENING OF EDEN! 

This is just the first of many more to come...and a HUGE THANK YOU to  

FATAI AJAKAI 

and

EMERGENT VISUAL MEDIA  

 for the production of this piece. 

Please spread the word... and follow me on Twitter... @BooMBuSSiT

Nirvana, Heaven and 1987

Not since the Great Inception
and the human perception of Time,
or not unlike the invention
of the convention of rhyme,
did magic seem real,
and nature feel balanced
as the day that the Cosmos
proposed the Heavens a challenge.
It was a calm night in autumn,
short after
the close of November,
a phenomenon occurred;
something
amazing,
spectacular...
forever remembered.
A cupid-like centaur
in a star-composed palace
lay content with his bow
and sipped drink from his chalice..
Appeased by his merriment,
He shot through the heavens
seven arrows ablaze;
a sight so majestic
that perfection was grazed
and contentment was struck
as the stars looked amazed
and learned of their luck.
God smiled down,
and saw it was good,
and smiled in the way
only A Great Spectator could.
This smile bore a light
and made a human reflection
for this joyous,
miraculous, 

cosmic connection.
All love in the tropics,
on the brink of conception
of winter's progression...
And right that very second:
Happiness
and
Beauty,
took a wonderful,  

spiritual,
and Worldly perspective...
Hence,
Nirvana
met Heaven
on December 

2nd,
1987...

The Best Friend Syndrome

A L W A Y S there for her,

he forever cared for her

through many a-drunk nights.

He'd seen too many cat fights

over OTHER guys

deemed more "likable"

because  

HE wasn't considered excitable

enough for her.

She preferred

to be J U S T friends.

BEST friends.

With him

and this girl Kim...

and this other girl Stacy...

He'd get S P A C E Y

whenever she spoke

about jesters who joked

and were 

TOO foolish

to take her seriously

while SHE 

and HE

would E E R I L Y

do something simultaneously

that snapped them back to reality...

momentarily.

It was the BEST FRIEND SYNDROME

and he was love sick

and home alone

with his only remedy.

He'd do anything 

for the longevity

of their conversation.

Her lips moved so heavenly

about her conflicted situations.

And he was DYING with anticipation

for HIS

"seven minutes in heaven" kiss

on her couch.

Still, 

his ego hurt so bad

it made him wanna scream, "OUCH!"

Get drunk

off several stouts

and rock out

to shout out:

"I don't know what I'd do without you"

because IT was THERE

especially when she  

FLIPPED her hair

but It would be GONE in the morning.

Feverishly,

He'll be forever WANTING

something MORE.

VICTORY

Picture Courtesy of Vic Bam

I saw God in the sky one day in July,

laid back in my car

in a lot

getting high. 

The clouds made a shield

that protected my eyes, 

And the light was a pleasant 

present 

unwrapping a worthy, 

Holy,

prize. 

What a solar surprise 

to recognize

the Heaven's disguise!

A pried open secret that the night would deny  

but the day couldn't keep it.

Even nature was peakin', 

at brilliance seeping 

and speaking:

"God will provide!"

The sight was enough

to make a grown man cry.

Quality Time

It was way past seven

in a champagne heaven

and now they're just wishing for stars.

Arms outstretched,

they had a song on next,

from an ipod deck

while they rolled on the grass in the park.

A car drove by

like a long-term high

as they admired the expanse of the green.

She read KEATS

and he made beats

so they made out neat

when they spoke about the rage of machines.

A Chance of A Dance By the Lake

S U MM E R N I G H TS

have a certain rhythm to them,

like flapping wings.

Bonfires inspire,

musing soft things

to pull on strings.

Sing

a love song to ME

under the SPOTLIGHT

of the MOONLIGHT.

I might...

despite my spite for late romance.

You could... 

change the fact that I don't like to dance.

M U S I C

is not played by chance.

We both have noted circumstance

under the stars.

Our feet are dipped in silent, shallow waters;

hearts E C H O E D out to mars.

A Beautiful Mess

You're a beautiful mess

the way you stress the fact that you have flaws.

I'm in awe of how bad the world wants to look like you.

It brings out your inner critic who

never gives you enough credit.

Don't regret it.

Let it be.

I swear, you'll see!

LIFE is a joke and we're ALL clowns

and most days you just have to LAUGH

and guess the punchline before it's told.

We can cry about our flaws when we get old.

Party in the Evening of Eden

The PARTY

was invite ONLY!

And the way that they drank,

you'd swear  that this union was Holy.

Solely,

designer labels

and

white-clothed tables...

ripping and roaring

like A N I M A L S

released from their stables.

They spoke of their lives.

Their stories

sounded  like fables!

They pigged out on food

just because  they were A B L E.

Champagne dripped

from their lips

to their navels,

stumblin'  about

like their limbs were disabled.

Their networks were merged...

with servers,

programmed like cable,

to dish out the spread

. . .'cause they F I N A G L E D  the BAGEL.

The music was L I V E

and they shucked  and they jived.

They loosened their ties

and laughed  'til they cried

with the darkest mascara

runnin' down from their eyes.

This is a S C E N E

you might've seen

in your D R E A M S

where the setting was clean

and the less that you gave

then the more you RECEIVED

of whatever you need.

Heaven for fiends

in a Garden of Green.

My Constant

Amidst the flashing beams of light,

I travel 

back and forth 

in Life. 

Relative to where I am,

My echo shouts:

"my Constant!"

Mirror me, 

you know

to hold my shape.

You've carved and scraped,

with love and hate,

what neither Time nor state 

could initiate.

You facilitate 

what man 

and sand 

and Saturn's plan

had always known would consummate 

when enlightenment 

struck primal apes. 

Yes,

You truly are: 

my Constant. 

Stay right there. 

Don't change,

Don't move. 

I've seen all hell...

I'll see the moon.

Far beyond, 

you're my looming star 

that loves to rest;

so never stress...

YOU ARE MY BEST.

I'll wake-up call you in autotune,

and only you 

will know my voice.

So, 

by NO choice

are you

my Constant. 

If I run, you know 

it's all for fun.

I'll win the race.

I'll jump the gun.

and track our chase 

to outer space.

They think I'm deep 

or, rather, strange.

Well, 

I think of them 

about the same, 

so, truly here

now who's to blame?

They see I'm not from any one set place

and they're barely here, 

merely tears

speeding down

with quickened pace,

to an empty, 

dark and dismal space.

But you...

You're so matter of fact,

my Constant. 

Where Are You?

 

The sheets ruffled
as two legs shuffled
at the bottom of the bed.
She turned her face
to that middle place
where one would likely find a head.
Dead tired,
she asked,  

"Where are you?"
as she rose to toast some bread.
She lit a half-smoked cigarette
that was on the window's chipping ledge.
She breathed the air of mystery
with sun-highlighted dreads.
The toaster popped
and the sound had knocked
the silence
that was shed.
She wondered
what the chances were
she'd find someone again...

I Love You

Love 

is like a language
only you and I can speak.
We're on another level;
out of hand,
beyond their reach.
I swear you give me shivers
how you seize me when you breathe.
I lose my cool in slivers...
You make the air around me freeze.
You elevate my mood
above the point of highest peaks.
You're the river to my ocean;
YES, 

to me,
our love is just THAT deep.
Your eyes are like a potion
and I dare to take them in.
You look at me
and there's this energy
surging through me,
  and I feel it on my skin.
Between telepathy
and chemistry,
we're breaking barriers,
bending matters.
You know me
and I get you.
You understand
how much 
I love you.

The Picture of Perfect

 

Perfection, 

I know I've seen you before.
I do,  

because I remember taking a picture with you.
You had bought me something sweet
in a dream 

with lots of green
somewhere.
But then I lost it.
I lost the damn picture!
I went frantic,
writing about you 

and me

and this picture.
I was M A D.
Throwing words 

and living verbs  

every

single

night...

so that I might remember you.
It was like...
the more I remembered of you
the more I could never be sure
that I had the image EXACTLY right.
Like, no...

that's not right...

questioning my sight;
  I distinctly remember your face
capturing the essence of a different light...
in a dream, maybe.
Anyway, 

you get it.
You know what I mean
and me knowing that you know me
is exactly what I need.
Coming close to proving that I know you
does wonders for my self-esteem.
I've seen 

so many pictures
of imitations 

of you..
EXAGGERATIONS of you...
And I'm such a fool.
I could have saved you!
Now, I rephrase to one day reface you.
Like sweet music,
you're the only thing
I'll ever chase to.
But first, 

I have to see you.

The Trip

 

It was a lovely trip
as L O N G as it lasted
because I learned how to give,
without even asking!
We drove ourselves crazy
waiting for magic
and racing through traffic
without ever crashing
or knowing what happened.
The world felt like plastic,
but WE looked fantastic
for all of our flaws
seemed a little less tragic.
The ugliest truths
seemed much more attractive
and we realized ourselves
by being nostalgic.
Memory lane
was I N S A N E in the passing.
Ignition was key
because our hearts were proactive
and saw that a life lived in F E A R
never gets play,
like brief radio-action.
A trip?
That it was.
And we did it because,
no gassing it up,
dipping in tripping
is what a Venturer does.

 

My Dream Home

 

I want to live in a beach house somewhere
where the water's translucent
and naturally clear
and the weather gives more 

than short shares of fair,
and natural disasters 

are far less than rare.
I don't even care
if I'm alone in this home
or if my presence is known.
I'd sleep lovely with the company of consistency.

The consistency of liberty 

to do as I wish,
to not sink when I think
or float like a boat,
  but to swim like a fish!
  I'd record in the sand all those past times I wrote.
I'd dream like a fiend,
and motion my way through the most epic of scenes.

  A sun-kissed romantic,
making love to the light...
I'd outstretch my arms
and run to embrace
the warm rays of sunshine that beam on my face.
I'd sleep with the stars 

without fear of the night.
Time would mean nothing.
Well, no...
it'd be something:
My day would be now,
the last second forever,
and I'd cast out to sea 

my bottled conceptions of never
and be drunk off the proof 

of the clear 

in the ever.
Yes, 

my moment would be here
and the incessance of ticking 

would just disappear.
God, 

I pray for this home,
this place of my own...

Maybe In A Different Life, Perhaps In A Different Time

We were in the wrong Time.
I could feel it 

and your face revealed it. 

Sealed it.
My presence held no essence in the air for you,
And just so you know that I care for you,
that I'm always there for you,
it's only fair to you 

to let us dwindle 

like a spindle;
threading lies 

that you'll quickly unravel in a second 

and leave me bare to you.
I'll be left with dying embers
of what I remember of our flame.
I don't know when it left 

or when we came.
But how cold are you?
Don't you know how fast I burn for you?
Slowly.

If you were to watch me,
I'd stop.
My hands would turn to your face,

like a clock...
my hour
to be with the one.
But maybe in another life,
Perhaps some other Time.

No. 

In another time,
in another place,
you and I were a special case.
I had a different name
and a different face.
Damn, 

we must've had us quite the chase,
based
on how you make my heartbeat race.
And in this haste, 

I must've left at lightening speed;
jet set here
to outer space.
But that was then
And this is now.
But maybe in some other life, 

somehow. 

Definitely at a different Time...

than now.

WRITINGS on the WALL

I like to write on walls too...

American Badass

 by AnnMargaret

A SPRAY CAN shakes
as THE HOOD does a double take.
The aerosol can hisses
something like a salted snake.
The bagged-bottle d r i p p i n g,
with every moving stake.
The clock was t i c k i n g off to fate...
Sirens cried from somewhere off,
far away;
they sounded lost.
True L O V E is Art,
at at any cost.
Jesus Christ, in all who are mighty.
Damn.
What a thought.
The hoods' lines were previously designed
to full fill a cross.
As abandoned cargo will soon be tossed.
Please. N O T to be crass,
but, SEE, the hood was a B A D A S S
(the kind that "wifed" up the girl with the fat ass).
The hood was glowing,
without even knowing,
and people could see that.
The voices convened that
the hood was trouble,
with double the struggle,
plus reason to flee fact.
Authority,
at least of what's been seen,
captivated the less then free,
and R E E K ED of paint streaks
leaking down red, blue and green
on the horizon of a clashing city scene.
The streets had bred the hood into STRIFE,
and gave the hood canvas to paint THE LIFE.
In Biblical speech:
hoods KNOW the night
and KNOW of plight;
S E E the lights
but KNOW their rights.
After all,
THE HOOD was American.