bubbular-ing
(no gravity in this swelling sphere)

down’n is up’n and up’n is down’n
and moving all arounding
being here is being there
‘cause it’s all every where
thinking that’s it
when just maybe it aint
but it aint got not to be it
down’n is up’n and up’n is down’n
and moving all arounding
being here is being there
‘cause it’s all every where
eyes still try’n to be look’n down
from a here that’s there some where
so unaware pretending they care
when there’s no such thing as where
down’n is up’n and up’n is down’n
and moving all arounding
being here is being there
‘cause it’s all every where
‘spose i just gon’n’dare that
i’m in a here some where
got my phone
with the camera turned on
so there’s some kinda knowing
that i’m a here some where
down’n is up’n and up’n is down’n
and moving all arounding
being here is being there
‘cause it’s all every where
just a shadow of doubt
this what it be all about
don’t wanna find out that
i don’t wanna find out
down’n is up’n and up’n is down’n
and moving all arounding
being here is being there
‘cause it’s all every where

Copyright © 2017 Asili Ya Nadhiri

mesmerizing in fantasizing mesmerizing

 afflictionating in addicting afflictionationings
trying to paying no never never mindings
kicking ourselves here dead in the ass
like it’s just another hole in the grounding
arrogating in surrogating prevaricationings
that there’s never no blood in bleeding
‘cause every body they got to be knowing
there just aint no such’a thing
we orgasming in the salavating spray
of our lecherous asining gloating
spandexing flabby norms
for copy-cat-ing worn illusionationings
so posterizing fantasizings
dissolving on in teasing porn forms
it is what it is so what the hell is it is
promenading virgin whores
and diacritically ambivalenting hordes
who circling ‘round ‘n’round ‘n’round
all arounding right here in our heads
making more’n’more themms like us
stumbling and wandering blindly on
every where swallowing disclaiming
nervously portensively proclaiming
“♪this aint nothing but justa thang
it aint no shot but justa bang
close your eyes keep-on run’n alone
and holding on to the potion
of just holding on
!!!AND THEN POOF!!!
it gon all be gone♪”

Copyright © 2017 Asili Ya Nadhiri

this dissipationing OM

our burnishings and garnishings
are tarnishing most all every thing
and we’re just varnishing pains
through which we are wantonly staring
slumbering plunderinged morsel-lings
grabbing after gaudily painted what-nots
on dangling spangling bangling tables
over which we’re supposed to be caring
hoping they might swell-us-all-up
into sparkling little care-not-whats

they’re casting torn worn nets poured full
of porning midnight dancing shadowings
luring in patented promisory distortionings
of moldy-ing municipal adulterationings
loitering in jading charms of fading pastels
through which we’re militarily trompling on
patriotically flossing at bothersome notions
our prancing toothpic-ings are dis-sing
of a whom we’re always wanting
just ever barely barely only
always a little lessening
and never not so far

Copyright © 2017 Asili Ya Nadhiri

vs.-ing 

. . . contentiously just measuring each other
putting one up against another
and we’re doing this so it’s seeming
and sounding just like we’re grounding
in this gripping crippling oppositioning
serpentining here crawling all around
on down in our bellies up under the neath
a subtling nourishing addicting bequeathing
of nat-u-ral born contrasting-ings
breeding lethal social conflictionings
slithering on and dastardly flaunting
drowning us all in our ratiocinating
in this ra-ti-o-ci-na-tion-ning foam
see how short’s exposing tall
as large does so for small
and nothing next to all
up’s requiring a down
as here does all around
good and bad and glad and sad
needing one another just to be had
like weak and strong so fear be grown
contentiously all we’re doing
is here just measuring each other
by putting one up against another
and we’re doing this so it’s seeming
and sounding just like we’re grounding
in this gripping crippling oppositioning
serpentining in here crawling all around
swirling down ‘round ‘n ‘round
on down in our bellies all up under the neath
a subtling nourishing addicting bequeathing
of nat-u-ral born contrasting-ings
breeding lethal social conflictionings
slithering on and dastardly flaunting
drowning us all in our ratiocinating
in this ra-ti-o-ci-na-tion-ning foam

Copyright © 2017 Asili Ya Nadhiri

hubrisationing
(hiding in behind my hiding)

ME!!! THIS ME YOU SEE’N ME!!!
i’m the this-est and the that-est
and sho’ be sho’ i’m the -est -est-est
just gon to hell your damn disdaining
‘cause more mo’ bolder gon be my claim’n
so how come i feel’n now this stalk’n amiss-est
inside the babbling of some god damn solips-est
make’n me puke just like i  some kinda hoax -est
here going all around and ‘round masquerading
my lips puckering up   like some kinda butt-hole
and in the smelling here rendering me an-ic-ic
you know’n the way we talk’n about a clin-ic
festering here inside yuh head an epidemic
rumblin swallow’n in yo’ gut it’s a seismic
wanna beg but too scared of say’n please
hiding here inside inside in this toilet
a baby crying down on my knees
after all my loud  petty-est’n
a snotty nose in a corner
suing for fetal-lationing reprieve
MAMA I PLEAD’N TO YA PLEASE!!!
yo’ baby’s just want’n mo’ titty caressing

Copyright © 2017 Asili Ya Nadhiri

*mazinged
(mazing-duh in thuh *Canterburying-duh)

in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound
some where-ing-duh in’us head
turning over’n’over in a masturbating rhyme
syncopating marching to a synthesizing time
in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound

formed us warm born delta brown’s
hardly wandering ‘round amongst’us
found here and there bound
way down underground
in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound
some where-ing-duh in’us head
turning over’n’over in a masturbating rhyme
syncopating marching to a synthesizing time
in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound

us strangers here staring
running out at us selves
crashing on into on into one another
scattering on narrowing dirt paths
in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound
some where-ing-duh in’us head
turning over’n’over in a masturbating rhyme
syncopating marching to a synthesizing time
in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound
in a   slow   low   mo’ humping sound

*Canterbury is an extremely impoverished “ghetto”
in Mantego Bay, Jamaica.

Copyright © 2003 Asili Ya Nadhiri

drowning on in themm’d themmings
(ensconcing inside this blurring obscuring) 

them themms keep on themming mo’ themms
who strutting on out the mouth of this womb
pompously adorning their anxious disdaining
of oracular warning of proverbial sins
they perpetrating with themm’d themms they
offering when to themm covetting themms
who callously moulding and coldly pouring on
through vicariousing veins of other themms
social matrixationing so for libating our thrones

themms fenestrating venderers jes like themm’ds
run’n scared trying to hide from what them too
pandering vitiating hustlers as heroic themms
who blowing slow low mo’ mo’ humping sounds
resounding in the holds of emptying arms
whining bags fulling on pretensifying mimes
self-cowarding pawns so prostrating in place
‘fore rusing algorithming pixillated rhymes
pervert’n on in the blues like themm’d themms

just surling swirling desperating redoundings
as this ever deepening invasive fingering
is enthralling us deeper on here inside
of our own swallow’n invisiblizing
swaggerly staggering arm-in-arm
invisiblizinglying invisiblizing
babbling mesmerizing mesmerizers
so ’cause all we all is just themms

Copyright © 2015 Asili Ya Nadhiri

so what are we wantonly supposing

with in this what we’re calling space
never see’n all it’s boundless face
why are we plotting our own disgrace
to leave somehow a visible trace
i’m scared of all that’s unknown
so i’m brewing a make-believe
‘cause this is how i do conceive
this whom i’m portraying it is
so what’s the big secret of being
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming
with in this what we’re calling space
never see’n all it’s boundless face
why are we plotting our own disgrace
to leave somehow a visible trace
to where am i following what
does it really matter with all i’ve got
if every where’s just some where else
why am i even caring to dare
so what’s the secret to being
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming
with in this what we’re calling space
never see’n all it’s boundless face
why are we plotting our own disgrace
to leave somehow a visible trace
if this is up when then it’s down
is this a smile or grinning frown
aim i spinning or winding down
what does it mean to say i’m free
inside this so-called mystery
so what’s the secret to being
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
 and fricasse-ing my scheming
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming
‘cept jellyrolling my seeming
and fricasse-ing my scheming

Copyright © 2016 Asili Ya Nadhiri

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

bags

these veined dark hands they shrivelling
in the hungry plundering
of her old crooked fingers
her shopping cart loaded it full
of rescued things
tied up in the arms
of her many little strings
silver aged trolley whose shine done gone
mumbling words grumbling ‘round
in thick lipped jaws wit snuff dripping down
‘neath the smile smothered there
in the still abandoned yearning
of her tird brown eyes
her losing what her finding
in the belly of this night
‘cause the wheels wobbling ‘round
us bumping here ‘gainst the ground
her squat’n there by herself
nobody somewhere
big wide bottom hips fart’n bare
for all those flies they hurrying there
looking on they going pretending no care
swallowing the syrupy spell
of this vulgar smell
slobbering mouths their hands dripping full
holding our breath
while her moving her bowels

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

the grave

this armless night is swollen in silence
and sudden echoes of broken glass
muffled in lowly mumblings
of drunken body screams
twisted dark faces surrender
frozen in the pain of having to breathe
and no one is ever here or even near
the ears are closed for all to hear
eyes they stare and on they stare
always there at what they stare

the blues keep feeding in the rhythm
(what is this upon my heart
it make me burn inside this dark)

ghosts

the echoes of what there used to be
and the tease of those smells they bother me
dusty toes dressed in calloused corns
stomping and praying on dirt pourd floors
and them hands dark hands they clapping hands
here juke joint druming in rebok shoes
shadows of fires and fat blow flies
syrup they knots tied here in my head
the taste of things they holding me still
they keep on coming here humming
and drinking my time

keep on coming here humming
and drinking my time

coming here humming
and drinking my time

Copyright © 1995 Asili Ya Nadhiri

‘preciate it
thank you to those of you who have experienced tonal drawings

© 2 minutes ago, Asili Ya Nadhiri