karma, you're a bitch. i'm sure i'm not the first to tell you. here i am, minding my business (years later) and i get the biggest bite on my ass that led me to a lesson on life, a good "how to." look, i know i ain't the best person in the world and i got a lot coming to me. sure, i did my part to heart break and i paid the price to fight the demons which plague me so i see that is no definite need to come back vengeful, in a form of haste, spitting hate upon wounds that are not so new. blame it entirely on the universe, but karma ain't got no explaining to do. i suspect i had this coming to me as well as the thief in the night. i am damn well gonna die and pay taxes and take a couple of them losses within a fight. i been banged up and mishandled so i dished it where i took it afraid of not seeing the next day, dawn awakens with colorful hues- knocked down on my ass again/pull up by the bootstraps cause clouds awaken the storm on th

i do not know where you begin or where i end we complete this circle with me under you and i ring so true of passion is what it needs to be ought to be should be and right now i cannot see where you begin and where i end. completion. i mean, you complete me wholely. satisfyingly. surprisingly i try to seek what is within flesh heating upon flesh melting caramel skin of me with the beautiful shade of black skin with you and i am so fighting this way that i feel about going on the suspended merry go round i feel fright within flight and seek to find balance as i teeter and totter off of what i find within you and i cannot see where you begin or the line of which i end because we are fused together again. and again. again, i keep on moving and struggling to breathe trying to find a respiration upon your inhalation as you are the lung to which i find air that i seethe out of my lips curled from my tongue rasping, holding on to the inner workings of you- i canno

what made him so different? Was it the slant in his eyes the bass of his voice the disruption within my environment that ceased to fulfill what what originally uncapable for me to see was it the smoothness of his skin the sharpness of his tongue the vulgarity that turned me on the inner freak that made me curl my toes to the break of dawn? was it the muscular path the happy trail to inner happiness the blazing surefire way that he can enrapture and encapture a still moment upon the living that was dead upon the sight for seeing? was it the way he moved and glided the motherfucker could walk on air swag to the side, broad back to envelop strong neck to place kisses upon the nape smooth chest to house the heart for mine to take? was it him the pure je nes sais quoi that made me utter and stutter unknown languages whisper in foretold dimensions and speak in timeless changes he moved me. too much. too much from this spot, this place, this origin. this def

she is a sleeping giant. awakened only by unfamiliar scents and environments clinging to cancerous lies and stories unfolded upon the moonlight. a shift-taker. a compromised representative of thyself trying to hold onto what is new out of the old what is golden yet does not hold the spark that a candle can light to it. she preys. in secret, she bounces from hidden sex to hidden sex stalking the naivete of any man willing to uncover beyond the sheets beyond her being in heat beyond the bitch that she claims is her freak. she pounces. clearly attracted to champagne showers and cheap bottles of nuvo a barter system where values exchange for monetary items education is lost within the swirl of alcohol upbringing is adhered to deprivation of spirit and a soul cleanse super-ceded the anonymity of how she wears it. can she be called any other name? she, like minion answers to many titles fighting to em-battle the sin that is hands idle skin flesh and beauty endless p

to be a kid again. to have dusty knees celebrated by mud pies and overgrown grass graciously gliding upon the white t-shirts that made mothers angry when scrubbing our stains. to have that look within the eyes when lights are strategically placed to endure the Christmas snow, blizzards within the northeast which one has grown up to adore. to fall with the leaves and dance with golden corn built with bonfires and pumpkins upon a rickety hayride to wonder in a tulip and gaze upon morning dew when flowers begin budding against the frozen ground which was replaced by a new season. to be a kid again. to have no worries, no care no idealizations of the first and fifteenth the gas and electrical energies the over plentiful but once barren pantries and warm socks adorned with special trimming. to be a kid again. to wonder in amazement and find pleasure in double dutch flying bubbles, bicycles, dolls and action figures, playing grown up with play make up; now a blur of

if i were a paranoid schizophrenic, i would say that they are controlling my mind. blatantly disrespecting my environment with habitual line crossings and entering a meditative and procreative zone only God designed to seek inner truth, not binary codes within line. keystrokes. tip. tap. tick. surely, the mere existence of social networking taking the personalization of the instant message of what used to be a embrace, what used to be a hug, what used to be the sweet remembrance of what a kiss should taste like...the wholeness of creativity i mean, do i truly need widgets and gadgets androids and complex robotics exemplifying and exonerating my thoughts as they surpass the circuitry of the nervous system inclined to be the mass acceptance of what was laughed about 10 years prior a reality to be that robots taking over the world can you see? is my addiction fed with daily emails, synchronized updates, online learning experiences and detailed html flash player existences

Every time I see him within my dreams, he walks. Once, with a limp. Another time full stride, and damn near a run waiting for legs to jump to life as he becomes the person whom he used to be not society's view of handicapped inadequacy. and he does not use that word. prefers to use wheel chair accessible ramp included or open doorways an ease of hospitality I wish I could see him run. Tease him and tell him to stop being so lazy so stubborn as a mule; just get up and let's get it going Surely, my naivete as a  mobile fool. he was the greatest. greatest mover shaker with that east meets cali swag lemonheads in hand, fresh sneak with kangol freshness cologne spewing LL Cool J rocking rhyming house hip-hop"bad" Bad-Assness. I remember looking out windows previously reserved for Boo, observing his audaciously audible audio blasting from a Jeep colored in blue remember. I remember him walking in and out that truck, taking me on a cool breeze on the b

fingers bouncing on your scalp, smile satisfying lust upon the air bob and weave into the nape of your neck, going down to part your hair rough curls dancing in the shadows i feel so close within you sharing a moment in between my legs, greasing your scalp, in the mood. -b.r.rivera #30in30 http://beverlyrivera.blogspot.com http://writerswrite.ning.com

Chestnuts cannot roast on a fire less chimney cause the house doesn't exist surely Jack Frost nips at your nose when homelessness is not bliss sleigh bells do not ring around a door knob that is not there stockings cannot hang near pine needles laced with ornamented care Surely I can take a partridge, a pear and something la la la la la to thee cause an empty stomach is all I see lights adorned on rooftops indulgence of the rich Presents under the tree which one will miss Trims cannot be made of holly; mistletoe not granted with a kiss All I got is a dream and a wish That someone finds compassion and does not tell me That spending time in a shelter during holidays is the place to be Bah Humbug, Ebeneezer Scrooge and the green old Grinch Fairy tales of wonderlands do not occur In the cold of winter where the house does not exist. -b.r.rivera #30in30 poem 2 of 30...

I was told a soul weighs an ounce. technically, 1/3000 of an ounce by East German researching teams trying to identify and solidify the measure of terminally ill by  scientific means. if I lived a measured life and fulfilled that dash in between my obituary surely the valuation of evil versus good breathed life from my capillaries dispensed in beating chest and blood filled veins and air upon oxygen in which I cannot breathe again. I was told a soul weighs an ounce. the type of treasure that shakes the body upon departure and blind light seeks a new home travelling into unknown dimensions would Peter open the gates to me staring blind eyed at my name clipboard in hand/Excel charted progress of the life I gave and gained would the power of the mere beauty be somewhat unimaginable to me could angels really fly and have wings snipped upon choice will horns blast and heavens part as a sign of entering with rejoice can I bear witness to seraphim and golden streets

a still picture. i captured you in a moment, in a once upon a time fragment suspended by hands of time freely ticking upon tocks and halted for your time of release. you are, to me, a simple still picture trying to be a part of conscious memories where subconscious memories dance upon shadows on walls and laughter that was reverberated off the acoustic ceilings. i captured you in a moment. a stillness that was both moving and vibrant free and totally me cherished and impoverished of what that "l" word is supposed to be. but you are not worthy. not worthy to grace my thin inner plastic linings of adhesive glue meets matte paper indulgence of a photo frame desire upon a memory book. your pages did not last i can not escape the mere thought of how seven little images can capture a few months a few weeks, a few seasons, a few years.... perhaps we did not like to snap the photo did not like to capture what was supposed to be free capture what was supposed to not be exposed capture