Manhood

God cried into the soil
splattering mud

a little boy refused to grow up
presuming the reach of his roots
fell short of his branches

oh, but he was a seed
swimming in the mud
of God’s coldest tears
determined to take root
in ground not intended
to hold him tight

-Rahk.

#grief, #poem, #poetry, #sons, #storytime

Rahk on Jussie Smollet Allegations

if it is true
an old rope chokes the American Flag
once again
Free bodies travel fearfully underground
once again

if it is true
Ida’s tenacity has pounded on locked doors
once again
Malcolm’s scowl has deepened in revolution
once again

Americans hang their heads
and clutch their hopes like holy bibles
once again
once again

Harriet, shotgun at the ready,
reminds her people:
“The way to freedom is Northward.
We’ve passed too many Pillars of Salt–
caught between moving forward and looking back.
Keep marchin forward like you ought–
I gots the strength you lack.”

“Not again
Not again”
Emmett mutters a prayer
“Not again
Lord, not again.”
Emmett can only stare
if it is true

Maya frowns,
“shoulders falling down
like tear drops,
weakened by her soulful cries”

once again
we’re forced to fear the truth
as much as we fear the lies


-Rahk. (R. Person),

Original post read, “Civil Rights travel underground”. All posts are subject to revision. Some posts will become unavailable as “Rahk’s Water’ continues to form into a final work.

#grief, #jussie-smollet, #poem, #poetry, #raw

“Grief (When a Poem Can’t Fix It)” -raw audio

When you can’t write a poem.

When a poem can’t fix it.

When a flick of the lighter

and a pull of the cigar

and a lashing out at loved ones

can’t fix it

When sporadic sobs of faith

ripping from bellies

like plagues of moths

can’t fix it

When a prayer skips

“Don’t let it be true, Jesus”

And another prayer skips

“Don’t let it be true, Jesus”

And the prayers skip

And voices crack

like whips across Christ’s back

and questions linger

on the napes of our necks

and lifting our heads to the sky

does not loosen their hooks

And you don’t ask them

because you know the silence

resounds like his last breath

Because you know he should not have taken his last breath

And a rage storms

through the blood of kinship

And a rage storms

below the clouds of scriptures

And a question clasps hold of your eyelids

And a gaze falters at the casket

And a sweeping of the crowd jettisons a spray of questions

like bullets

like bullets

like bullets

that wail like they just lost their child

like bullets

like bullets

like bullets

that wail as if their prayers were answered incorrectly

like bullets

like bullets

burdened by too many unanswered questions

like bullets

like bullets

Who is responsible for these tears?Tears dammed by so many quesions

Tears desperate to escape the dam to prevent the flood

And a poem can’t fix it

And a prayer didn’t make it not so

And questions still haven’t been answered

And we have heard that weeping endures for a night,

But why is it that we have been forced into mourning?

#grief, #poetry, #raw, #spoken-words, #water

Pop’s Fables

Son regret just like a dog with two tails–
he can’t move his ass without waggin’.

So, tell that woman you wanna hold her in a dark room and witness the stars in her eyes.

Love that woman, boy. Love her man-like. Then love her like you a woman too. Tell her

“I’m not as strong as I wanna be and I’m weaker than I think. But I can keep a volcano calm when I choose to hold you tighter than my ego.” Tell her

A bejeweled crown adorns her trust and you have become her tallest throne. Show her. Show her.

Son, a dog with two tails is a sad sight to behold. And son… if you’ve never seen one, keep living ’til you get old.


-Rahk.

#fathers, #poetry, #relationships, #sons, #storytime

Yes, Even Men

I will not stuff my tears into my coat pocket
Or swipe them from my face
as if they burn
I will not clasp hold of the sob
banging furiously at the corners of my eyes

I will let these tears escape
like refugees from an oppressive regime
I will let these tears dampen my beard
as if a staff will part the sea
gathering unabashedly at my chin

I will not be ashamed

Death touches everyone
inappropriately


-Rahk.

#poetry, #water, #when-rahk-writes

Mother-Son Talk

Mama says, “Man be feral.
Apt to concquer–
Yet can’t concquer his beast.
Makes him irrational
Like a rabid wolf
Intent to maintain his awareness
As he seeks the meat ‘neath your chest.”
Mama says, “Man be feral,” and “a little too infatuated with woman’s breasts.”
I say, “No mama, man be hurt.”
Mama says, “And what wounded beast, is not demon in deed?
Ever seen a rabid jackal? That’s a demon indeed!”
I say, “But mama, daddy ain’t no beast.”
Says Mama, “Beast no match for a monster.”
“So, Mama, woman be monster?”
“Yes, Baby, but only when beasts are upon us.”
“What’s woman before then?”
“Baby, before when? Beasts were created before men.”


-Rahk.

#poetry, #prose, #when-rahk-writes

Somewhere in the Oceans

Is this some new great white shark?
One that holds lightning ‘tween its teeth?
Lord, hammercy.
I could do without that
again–

Oh, it’s just those white men with Lightning in their hands again–
they like the way I look
for some invasive reason or another…

I’m just trying to get to where I’m going.
It’s been 98 years since I’ve seen my Aunt Kimaya.
She makes me smiiile.

So, go ‘head and stare if y’all must.
Just please, please point your lightning somewhere else–
it’s hard enough to see as it is.

#personification, #poetry, #sea-turtles, #water