ATLANTIC MOORINGS (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

ATLANTIC MOORINGS

glistening sheets of scrolling waters
drumming on’n’on in resounding billows
wet hummming oracles unfolding there
nourishing darkening trepidationings
reverently enthralling wondering tongues
in loud roaring echoes leaving their trace
undauntingly entangling on’n’on
here across your face

by the stark emancipationing of this moon
staring through cavern crevices hand made  
silently kneading assuaging this fear inside
wrap’n ’round the musclings of our strides
so these bronze shackled imprinting soles
aint froth aloning for the leave of wet sands  
drying scared in hubrisating emulationings
who here begging unbeknowingly awaiting 
the mutual beholding of kindred hands
emanating out of our native humane

obedient you’re feeding this tumultuous
flooding here in our wondering souls
with snarling notion-nings crashing there
attacking foreboding wallings of this hold
nourishing the epic will of all who swear’n . . .
when so quietlying on back out on into then
and now on your way forth on up here again
embracing us all in this womb with its sway
pronouncing on and on of this cosmic way

Copyright © 1983, 2014, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

ORACULAR (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

ORACULAR

only the smell is raising up
from the deep tribal markings
on the dark bodies laying there
in they kin folk bowels
shackled down to the bottom
on this cold damp floor
in the belly of Jonah’s slave whales
!and we was told they was coming!
was told way long long before

eating things for living they cannot name
scared about the night it filling they head
they listening for the drumming off yonder
low going lower it fading away fast . . .
they left naked there hummming
hummming here all alone
in the loud throbbing silence
resounding there in
the undulating rhythm of the ocean’s roar

a mama crying there moannn’n
gnawing on she baby’s throat
so he !never! gone die here no more
still having to feed them ones
who burdened there my !Lord!
so for them to be carrying it on
and sown here in this dirt
by many other strange hands
like it long’n’longer is be’n foretold
howcome this all it’s having to be

tCopyright © 1995, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

here inside a soliloquy (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

here inside a soliloqy

in the swallowing of fiction
we’re scurrying in hurrying
to be hiding one from another
the warmth of our arms
we’re raffling in the markets
the womb under seige is forgetting
and our souls are coloring grey
the tape of tomorrow
plays on in tonight
so what’s the use of sleeping
follow the line wasting no time
don’t recall so least of all
you might have a shadow somewhere
the tape of tomorrow
plays on in tonight
so what’s the use of sleeping
so what’s the use of sleeping
so what’s the use of sleeping
so what’s the use of sleeping

dark eyes they circling in a tear
silently and heard
as a whispering embraced
begging softly and still
a silence enfleshed
in a hidden presence
a prayer to the One

the darkness is warm
when it conceals
dreams seem real
‘cause they having no feel

circles turning
close kin to one the other
longing ‘cross a distance
honed close to ah edge
spinning round the life 
in a bubbular space
wandering ‘bout the time

these hands they be
no part of me
in dreams they play
scribbling strange shapes
upon this clay

why’re the children up at midnight
when birds are no where singing
and old folks are blow’n snot
 in the palms of their hands
and the swallows are never
whispering in this dark

after all is said and done
what then is being known
when a river has run its course
where then has it gone

Copyright © 1993, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

feces they often rise’n to the top of water too . . . (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

feces they often rise’n to the top of water too
(spit’n on wooden nickles 
so make’em shine like brand new dimes
in kaleidoscopic mazings of addicting minds)

air it harbors lots of might
when mixed in matter so slight
can raise feces up into plain sight
attending smells and residue
suffice to warn the wary few
firming them up in what to do
but those who dosing in another cause
never even bother with having pause
‘fore iterating some bleating clause
“They’re all just picking on me
and hoping all of you just won’t see
how i’m the best there’s ever gon be
i’m the smartest of the smart
not some kinda phony pop tart
just parading ‘round in a slick go-cart
only i can clear this toilet full of shit
so just lift the lid and quietly sit
swallow all what i saying lick’a’t’split
everything’s happen in this head’s on cue
and the water’s a most vital player too
in my rising in this lavatory venue
so keep laying on there in the shade
breath’n this aroma for which you’ve paid
and be knowing it’s including a maid
all this stink rising is coming to a stop
all it’s do’n now is just steaming off the top
so all we need’n is just more of my mop”
NO! NO! NO!NO!
Mr. thinking ya’ll so slickity poo 
this that you pretending sho’ aint what to do
we need’n to be flushing EVERY one of you!

Copyright © 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

aint-caint-ting-ning (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

aint-caint-ting-ning
(always somebody here
there somewhere else-ing)

i’m here glancing at you
there peeking back 
practicing not seeing me too
!quickly! 
looking off there some other way
so i aint seeing how 
you seeing me acting like
i aint seeing you neither
this is how we’re being together
without us making like it’so
here squeezing into crowds 
trying so hard to be trying
to be acting like we really
aint really trying
to be avoiding each one another
avoiding each other’s other

of course this aint the case
. . . aint feeling good about me
so it got’s to be being the same 
how i’m regarding you
not feeling good about me
aint feeling good about you
automotons entropy-nating
like the gas we’re fart’n
breathing here all together
randoming infectioning deflectionings
in stealthy eyes inspecting reflectionings
of us just being another one 
of another’s somebody’s somebody else

Copyright © 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

toilet holes’re always OM-ing their game (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

toilet holes’re always OM-ing their game
(docile addicts are always cofflingly chained 
to hang’n on’n’on to the same old same)

calloused hands of impoverishing lands
shamed for how you made to be living here
by themm ones who telling you to come . . .
wars strikes depressions no matter what
always enrich’n the lot of them keep’n you here
and you’re the ones forever lose’n the most!
aborting your lives for the bid’n of themm few
who gon never be invite’n you in for a drink . . . 
and on Sundays a horde of hustling lackeys
be lay’n sleight-of-hands on your heads 
by the order’n of them legislating clans pay’n
you with stalls in tiny roach investing slums
and them tin match boxes on wagon wheels
cartons in alleys snotting in socks with no heels
so your children OD’n hug’n wet toilet stools
and found dead decaying dumped in ditches
‘side the waving of sprawling amber fields . . .
A picture containing sitting, photo, dark, computer

Description automatically generatedlazy filthy disgusting !UHHH! societal dronesA picture containing sitting, photo, dark, computer

Description automatically generated
is the news media stoking public disdain
so keep’n you run’n on in the same old lane
“if every Sunday you santify’n themm holy pots
anointing our pompous asses no matter what
aint mattering themm other themms
who aint you but just the same like thee
YOU aint NEVUH gone be on the bottom
of OUR plan of forever being the puppeers
of all the puppets in OUR promised land”

Copyright ã 2019 Asili Ya Nadhiri

atlantic mooring (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

atlantic mooring

glistening sheets of scrolling waters
drumming on in resounding billows
wet humming oracles unfolding there
nourishing darkening trepidationings
reverently enthralling wondering tongues
in loud roaring echoes leaving their trace
undauntingly entangling on
here across your face

by the stark emancipationing of this moon
staring on through cavern crevices homemade
silently kneading assuaging this fear inside
wrap’n’round the musclings of our strides
so these bronze shackled imprinting soles
aint froth aloning for the leave of wet sands
drying scared in hubrisating emulationings
who here begging unbeknowingly awaiting
the mutual beholding of kindred hands
emanating of our native humane

obedient you feeding this tumultuous
flooding here in our wondering souls
with snarling notion-nings crashing there
attacking foreboding wallings of this hold
nourishing the epic will of all them daring . . .
when so quietlying on back out on into then
and now on your way forth on up here again
embracing us all in this womb with its sway
pronouncing on and on of this cosmic way

Copyright © 1983, 2014 Asili Ya Nadhiri

oracular (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

oracular

only the smell is raising up
from the deep tribal markings
on the dark bodies laid laying there
in they kin folk bowels
shackled down to the bottom
on this cold damp floor
in the belly of Jonah’s slave whales
!and we was told they was coming!
was told long long before
eating things for living they cannot name
scared about the night it filling they head
they listening for the drumming off yonder
low going lower it fading away fast
they left naked there humming
humming here alone
in the loud throbbing silence
resounding there
in the undulating rhythm of the ocean’s roarrr
a mama crying there gnawing on she baby throat
so he aint never! gone die here no more
they have to feed them ones
they burdened there my Lord to carry on
and sown here in this dirt
by many other hands
like it long being told
dis it long meaning to be . . .

Copyright © 1995, 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

Ah Blogging: Butterflying

Ah Blogging:  Butterflying

Our vicariously elected vicarious political leaders, and the motley assortment of other hustling self-anointing leaders are arrogantly flaunting an overwhelming insecurity by blatantly posturing themselves in the manner of a god who is intentionally ignoring the warning of THE GOD. And, look how easily a most imposing number of us are being maneuvered into absolute complicity. What are we expecting to be continuously spilling forth from our ever swelling addiction to a historically surreal propensity for desperately sucking harder and harder on fantasizing reality pacifiers? Are we not seeing most demonstratable during this pandemic how monstrously ineptly we are being so blatantly and diabolically mislead? Are not the constantly increasing number of deaths sufficient to jolt us out of our self-addicting surrendering?

Freedom is certainly much more than just the multifarious pronouncing of a word in the manner of a magic mantra. It lives and thrives and radiates in our entanglement with each other in the sense that in order for me to be aware of my existence, I must be aware of yours; in order for me to be experiencing the unfolding of the dynamically floral radiance of my existence, I must be contributing to the unfolding the dynamically floral radiance of yours; and, in order for we humans to be realizing the unfolding of the evolving radiance of our respective cultures, we must be harmoniously participating in the unfolding of the evolving radiance of all the other cultures. Living does not seem to require that we need to be controlling every nuancing of the creation. It seems sufficient that we simply realize what we are being told by the Creator of the heavens and the earth and all that is in between by the butterfly metaphor: The motion of a butterfly’s wings can significantly influence existence through the Creation.

Copyright © 2020 Asili Ya Nadhiri

why come you doing me like this (a tonal drawing written in poetic form)

you just waste’n yo’ damn time
‘cause i aint gon be this who
you always showing here for me
‘cause this sho aint the one i’m want’n
running around acting like it’s me

why come you doing me like this 

how come you there laughing at me
wearing all these different kinda faces
huddling here in the pockets of my eyes
that i keep try’n on one after another
‘cause none of ‘em aint making
aint none of ‘em making me their size
this why i’m always running on
to the next one i’m git’n memorized

and i’m !hate’n! the one
you always having here for me
—this ugly damn face that’s mine
just there wait’n here in behind
that splashing loud addicting glittering
of all them sponsored synthetic druthers
so you spiteful old cheap piece of glass
you can kiss my goddamn ass!

‘cause this one you be showing here
sho as hell aint what i wanna see
i’m-going-out-some-where-right-now!
‘n find a new ‘nother other for this sham
a one who at least for today
i gon be make’n like it them
who i am

Copyright © 2016 Asili Ya Nadhiri