Poetry & Music by Paradigm

Words from Saturn

Listen to poetry audio here: www.SoundCloud.com/MeetParadigm

A.) POETRY FROM THE NEW BOOK “PARALLELS”:

HAIKUS

The Philosopher
Who accepts he knows nothing
Inspires me most.

Live a thousand times.
We are immortal beings.
No one ever dies.

Ready for take off.
Radio transmit tower.
Life is a runway.

MOTHER

One day my sky will break and all within me will escape…
For eyes are the soul…
And, mine are dark and eternal.
Karma police, arrest me. I am in need of an escape.
Serving time for a curving mind…
Correct and facilitate my fate.
Cold hearted. I was born in the mental state of Illinois.
To connect with humanity, I rely on tears for my sanity.
In mental rooms I play with zoom, looking through the lens of my camera.
Trying to capture the demons whom await me in Montana.
Mental rebirth, I know is…
Essential research to my growth.
Serving as a portal to the truth…
And, how I am immortal to my youth.
Black holes have sucked away my soul and I am told that I did it.
I am good at killing myself, but no such crime has been committed.
Still, I seek imprisonment…
With spirit robbed by ego greed.
Still, I seek imprisonment
For, one must be trapped to be freed.
Heavy like metal…
I rebirth and curve the edges of metallic beams.
For wisdom is woman…
And, it is through her womb that I am cleansed.

VENOM (THE BEAUTIFUL POISON)

She has lips that taste like venom
Cause love is a snake…
Rippling through grass of the unnerved and unsettled.

Removing shoulder straps from her dress,
She lies down in my kingdom…
Where distance can only be measured by its rulers.

Unbuckling belts from my denim…
I drink venom of its liquid swords.
Slicing me down to paralysis…
The analysis of her silent accord.

Her queendom…
Ruled by endless walls and many guards.
Which all collapse in my lap…
As I walk barefoot through this yard.

Purity, honesty in my veins…I soon become immune.
Though, love strikes venom of impending doom…
Biting its victims to open wounds.

With beautiful poison that can cum rushing in waves…
Between her legs lies more venom I crave.
Fuck her soft. Make love to her hard.
You’d never see it coming.
From love that challenges guards…
And the sweet taste of a tongue that is numbing.

Fuck her hard. Make love to her soft.
You’d never see her cumming.
Among her walls that are slowly…
But, surely crumbling.

GLASS

I speak in shards of glass from the mirror…
I don’t know where I’m going but I know just where I’ve been.
Take my past, present, and future then toss them in the wind…
Seeing before me a reflection of my imperfections.
“You’re like a pearl in a shell”…
This is what the mirror tells.
Telling tales of mirrored jails refracting from cells.
I test my luck on broken glass…
Let the mirror give direction.
Beaming prisms that change the complexion of my perception.
Scribing thoughts on mirrors in this section of broken glass.
Shades of grey are now blurring my past.
Shuffling cards and bleeding from shards…
Keeping composure while searching for closure…
Seeing before me the reflection of my imperfections.
Think less. Feel more.
Sweep up the glass from the floor.
Think less. Build more…
From glass that cuts away at your pores.
Put broken glass in the past and lock it among steel doors.
Bend. Make amends…
That’s what love of self is still for.
Think less feel more.
Wounds heal from shattered mirrors…
Even if fogged vision is clouding your cognition.
Think less feel more.
Rise again from Broken glass…
So even in this inked mess you build more.

B.) POETRY FROM THE “HEART CHAKRAS AND ASTRONAUTS” EP

BAREFOOT

Driving on roads and paying tolls…
Pathways that never end.
I know where I want to be/go…eventually
Too busy looking through my rearview to see what lies in front of me.
But I’m running low on gas and time is kicking my ass.
I keep remembering my past and forgetting my future.
Can’t change lanes and merge so I just ride along the curb.
Plenty of time for pit stops in order to rest and digest…
This road is never ending and was not paved for me.
Park the car for I finally understand…
Life can only be lived now and understood backwards.
I see mountains worth journeying off road for new chapters.
I get out of the car…
And walk.


C.) POETRY FROM “THE PEN HELPS” AND “REDSHIFTS”:

HAIKUS

At just 2 years old
I would say to my mother
“I feel like a boy”

Logic is not all.
Some things lie outside our grasp.
Man will learn someday.

Visit her often.
She’s 22 years of me.
My love. Chicago.

Love astronomy.
Views divine through telescopes.
The study of “God”.

I love solitude.
Not as much as I love her.
So, we compromise.

BOOKSHELF

I published a book in her name.
But, my words crumbled.
Falling victim to her attempted edits.
Blank pages became filled…
With red inked letters.
Permanently.
From an inevitable impermanence.
I stopped writing.
She stopped reading…
My precious flaws.
I am now just another book on her shelf
Filled with chapters she was unable to decipher.
Among pages that once cut our fingertips…
Until we no longer touched.
I just hope she‘ll always love me…
Though she never read me cover to cover.

MAGNET

Northern bound…
I am.
Since we no longer meet…
Halfway.
Equators erased
From planets we tilted…
To altered rotations.
Causing our waters to rise…
Mountains to fall…
And, many suns to…
Scorch hearts.
Every moon being stripped of
Strength that once held us
Together.
I lose blood
From being drawn to…
Your need for my Universe’s
Iron.
But hearts of steel
do not attract
On any plane of this…
Ecliptic.
I yearn for overwhelming force…
Like your love letters
Posted on my refrigerator.
But you only pull me in close enough
For comfort.
Then you flip and…
Repel.

SKELETONS

There is a skeleton in my closet.
Behind the confines of my mind
It rests.
At peace with it’s own secrets.
Where dreams are tied to shackles
Hoisting baggage upon broken axles.
Like a strung out horse I drag these loads up each hill in desperation.
Sweaty palms and dirty nails…
Chaotic heavens and sturdy hells.
I have died many deaths…
Having been at a loss of many breaths.
Noticing that any step
I take on this road less traveled
Leaves the sun cooking away at my imperfections,
Charring my feet upon this gravel.
And, I am not a camel,
Having not been designed to withstand this type of heat.
Therefore, I’ve avoided many kitchens, many deserts, and every beach.
Extend my arms out in front of me for all that lies beyond my reach
I was…too busy trying to teach rather than practicing what I preach.
So I…drag my feet
Up these hills in perspiration.
This is now a matter of survival.
A “She has no vitals” type revival.
And, given these events I know that I must consent to all hints.
I occupy a mind and body in this space…
Therefore I must pay rent.
I’ve lit a fire now I’m choking for air.
I’ve blown a tire but I have a spare.
Having chosen to address my attitude
I look to now finesse my gratitude.
No more walking on stained glass.
Awaiting this pain to pass.
I am the reason for the season
And, it is time to get this hot sun off of my ass.
I was bound by my own chains,
Not knowing what it meant to be free.
Too busy trying to construct a path that was already built for me.
So I…move along now over every hill in aspiration.
Such a struggle was my destiny
Among many lessons experience meant to be.
I let go of all attachments.
Bid farewell to all distractions.
Life happens…
And, time flies….but, I’m the captain.
Less speech, more action,
As I leave this baggage where it is supposed to be.
Behind me, I see…
I can move along now more easily.
All this time I thought I was cursed
But the Universe just reimbursed…
To me.
The wisdom and strength it takes to know I should always put me first.
So I…run full speed tackling these hills in celebration.
I now see life for what it is,
It is time to Love, Laugh, Live.
Let Go.

THE PSEUDO-REVOLUTIONARY

I yell out “Revolution!”
But, I don’t know what it truly means.
I’ve grown locs and I write about “The Struggle”,
So, I must be a part of the team.
I’ve heard of Martin Luther King,
So, I’m only following his Dream.
I honor chicks with “nappy” hair
They’re the only ones who are queens.
I’ve heard Bob Marley’s music
So, I wear his shirts and smoke weed.
But, who is this Haile Selassie figure, though?
How did he or she become Rasta creed?
I spend all my time on the internet
Blogging and bragging about my intellect.
I put my people down and call them coons,
My pretentiousness deserves respect.
I partied my way through college
And, I barely got by with Cs.
But I’m both smarter and better than you,
Since, I’m so informed with my several degrees.
I’ve read all about Huey P.
I know all about Angela Davis.
I’ve even met Nikki G.
I can quote phrases from all of their pages.
Black people embarrass me, sometimes.
Birds of the same feather don’t flock together.
Yet, I spend more time complaining about my community
Than I do trying to make it better.
I trust the media and authorities
For I truly have no grasp on politics.
But, it’s pretty cool to think radically,
(I checked out that Malcolm X flick).
Corporate Blacks are all sell outs,
And, Gandhi taught me to calm my fury.
But “By any means necessary”, of course
If it means a blue-eyed devil can get buried.
All my problems are the White man’s fault
He’s the reason I have no interest in my worth.
So I’ll change it by sitting around and complaining about it,
All while wearing a Che Guevara shirt.
College is the only way to knowledge
Don’t ever give into the system.
It is all a part of the scheme
Cause I can ALWAYS play the victim.
I continue to push for equality
Although, the White man is a cancer.
To hell with Huey P.’s philosophies
I’m a New Age Black Panther.
It is really only fair,
That all men be seen as equal to women.
But, if I hit my boyfriend and he hits me back
I’m sending that no good nigga to prison.
I believe that just because I sport the look,
And, just because I’ve read a few books…
That I can deem myself a part of “The Cause”…
With my political poetry and all
I don’t even know what “Black Power” means
But, I wear it because the shoes fit.
I don’t know anything about my history
But, I’m still apart of the Afro-centric movement.
I say “NiggA” over “NiggER”
It’s a common urban law.
But, if a White man calls me a “Nigga”
I’ll knock that nigga in his jaw.
In reality I point my fist to the sky
Because, I just want the attention.
While I’m up here thinking I’m so different
I’m really just another statistic.
The word “revolutionary”
Is being watered down to the fullest.
What difference am I making, really?
I’m not even willing to take a bullet.

Copyright © Joann Cathleen Roberts
All Right Reserved.

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