I Keep Holding On...

When you think you shut down something in order to avoid a terrible mistake, you end up making more mistakes to add to the one that you thought you've avoided. That was destroying something that was already strained in the most fantastic of ways. So i can do what, exactly...avoid being dishonest? I made myself look stupid in my decisions in love, and now I have nothing here in this heart. Working has replaced my emotions. I can't muster enough to recapture what was, nor even spark what little I have left. That explains why my ass is up on All Hallows' Eve typing this shit to you all. But the title has its purpose. I must regain ground. My capoeira has been stronger and trickier than the old mess I've practiced. I have gained three jobs, one being an entrepreneurship. I have eaten and felt healthier. To conclude these revelations for now, I've finally learned how to say "no", without actually saying it! Thank egun! i attribute all of my experiences of this up and down "5" year to my ancestors and orisa, and how they've guided me through my tumult ans triumphs. Albeit there's a lingering love that I still carry for this person, I still recognize that movement happens when you initiate the move. I don't regret the situation. In fact, as much as it hurts to see her smile without me, it actually makes me happy to see her do so, knowing all of the things she's experienced in the past three years. I will continue to ask for more blessing for her family and their livelihood.

As for me...well, I plan on taking this new business further. By January, I hope to make it officially a running non-profit for this community. I made a silly assumption about how I felt and did not listen to the inner God about this person that made a presence after my ex. Thank goodness it was short lived and not a situation of presumable love. I needed true time after my ex, and I didn't give it enough, due to my weakness in accepting the relationship's downfall. therefore, my egun let me know quickly what I needed to do to return back to my higher self. Truth be told, I do miss my ex, but I don't miss the struggling. I wish I didn't have to split with her, but I think we both did so in order to be better people. Maybe there will be a recon or our souls or togetherness. Until then, we are reminded to treasure the good times that or emotions bring us. Funny how love works. I am reminded by Caretta Bell's song verse: "Love Lets You Be Free."

You are sure right, Ms. Bell.

Ifeanyi Okoro
10/31/2010

"Poem For A Poet-less Feeling"

I am struggling to find a beautiful world outside my window...again. Everything has unraveled due to my impatience and immaturity. The child inside hides in obscurity. I need security for my fragile mind. Cracking under pressure like a capsule and time be the hammer constantly racking my brain on note. Key the theme music stuck in my throat. I choke, but it isn't a Heimlich, I'm spineless with jellyfish moves towards my future, I sting my upbringing, financial improvements groove not to the beat. The needle is heated, and a fire's under my feet.

I need space for sanity but the universe is vast, so there goes my die cast into my problematic past. Closet cleaning proceeds to bring more up than swept rugs that uncover trouble that bugs me. Dust mites and ugly feelings. I keep falling into love that falls into potholes that form from the innermost sanctum of my soul. Been down this street before. Dare I ignore these warning signs like a crime in progress. Just asking moms from her higher seat to bring me all blessings and praises due. I'd a candle, too, but strike a match from all the funk that I've been going through? Shit is blowing me like a prostitute. Even my poetry has a magnitude of marginalizing my attitude. Family is separated like a chattel situation. Due to my occupations, I've been schoolin' cats but not geeting the lessons back from Heaven's Nation. Vacation coming. Somehow this seems a bat to similar to home. Being without one and garnishing the shit I own.

Friends are enemies and commdoities of calamity. Pit me against one another like varsity vanity. Showing off the anger and leaving me to deal. I cut the cards and get the whip appeal, you know, the lashes on the back with vegan diets or beef continued? What's next? My spiritual choice on the menu? I need a fix. Need a jump start, kick start, starter pistol. Shoot after two yells into the midst of madness. Run after happiness. Finish strong like James Brown. Stretch the smile like circus clowns. Getting down. Getting up is required first. Stop being candy assed and let my star burst.

What's worse? Even after this verse, I gotta still generate the scrilla before the first.


Ifeanyi Okoro II
Copyright 10/31/2010

Capoeira Angola Diary

Practica meu manginga...
Foi na beira do mar
Que aprendi a jogar na beira do mar...
Avisa meu mano...

Ifeanyi N. Okoro II

"French Disconnection"

"30 poems in 30 days" was a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create in anyway way, shape, or form, with no strenuous, strict rules, started December 15th, 2009, and ended January 13th, 2010.

#23 of 30

I am supposed to accommodate for your lack of patience
Your unwillingness to compromise
This overwhelming feeling to reach into my pockets and
steal from me
This disease you have
Fucking with others
And having the nerve to ask for something for your
pain and suffering
You've contracted from others
And I refuse to lay with you
Or your memories
And that giant ass fort you want to build
So I cast you out of my mind
And make sure that after this rift
I will rebuild
And you will pay for your
intrusion into my heart

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Canvas Caribbean"

"30 poems in 30 days" is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create in anyway way, shape, or form, with no strenuous, strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, and ending January 13th, 2010.

#16 of 30

Our sandy feet


We have been rolling in this amber-colored, granulated bed

Sweat and saliva and sweet smells saturate

This beachfront

We have recolored this paradise

Dabbing the joy and intimacy

With

Our sandy feet





Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Dusky Mood"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)
Here's #13 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx


In the idle night
Shades of souls tangle in sheets
Do not disturb this


© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Embattled Tastes"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)


Here's #8 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project


Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx




If I had it like you
I'd take out all enemies
All who oppose me
That they would be nothing like me
Not anymore
I wouldn't have a scratch or scar on my image
No.
I would be impervious!
Then again
What would I be
Someone soulless gathering holes
Where I laid waste with bombastic
Rhetoric directed towards
Unarmed armies
Greeting me with
A pedestal
An forgiving stares

If I had it like you
I'd invite the world into my circle
Welcome them with open arms
Legs jet set in running
Rounding the campfire in games and joy
Releasing the inner child
Out towards me.
No.
I would be impenetrable!
Then again
What would I be
Too happy go lucky
Stuck on Utopia
Uptempo upbeat beatdowns
Of sunshine happiness
Unequaled to somber notes
Played on sax and trombone tones
Of those who jazz on hopeless
Nose coked smiley pokes dreams
And Failures
But


What is it we desire to be...
Or have

Then I have it like...

mixed emotions in a bowl.
Spoon please.

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Clutter Heart"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)

Here's #6 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, TX

Finding items lost
When placed openly in front
Ideas and love
© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Final In Over Time"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)


Here's #5 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, TX


If one time wasn't enough
The heart dropped yet another close one
This time
No time left
Back and forth
Tied up
Close the whole time, now
Trailing
About a yard away
Sweat drips
Hands clench
It's in motion
Last ditch pass
One attempt
And
She
Deflected...
Me.

Game
Ends.

Love conquers.



© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Coated Spirits"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)

Here's #4 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, TX



A tongue tickle
Alongside your stomach
Feels good
Like spring rain on blazing gravel roads
Steaming, smelling like hard work and pathfinding
It's the greatest of tastes
To equate
Even in oddities
Cool/Hot

Dragging the bottom lip kiss
pressing on your back
Makes magic
Like cotton candy cumulus created in spins
Sweet and interwoven to the amorous eyes
It's the elevated elation
To attract
Odd in balance
Sticky/Slick

A hug forever
Connecting beating hearts
Underlines warmth
Like smiles and sorrow battling for souls
Joy and pain and memory confections
It's the wrapping unraveled
To purchase
With or without
Together or separate
Love/Life

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Breakdown of Words"

I am honored to participate in a flourishing exercise of "30 in 30". This is a challenge, not a contest, presented to the few willing to take it upon their duties to create thirty poems in thirty days in anyway way, shape, or form, no strenuous and strict rules, starting December 15th, 2009, through January 13th, 2010. (Twitter hashtag #30in30)

Here is #3 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project.

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, TX




There's a brainstorm of questions
Pecking at the door like trickling drops
An insatiable inquiry that involves three words
Rain pours with its facial cloudiness
And then comes the tears
And blaming
And hurt
And regressions
And forgiveness
And realization
And...
The ands
The ifs
The buts
What if
There was no such thing as affection?
What if we all played hide and go seek the meaning of life
Under trees made with lies
And grass growing on regret
Drink from the streams of lust when we thirst
This sounds about right, yes?
So why are we banking on pain
To invest in death
Stock up experience but
Do this shit all over again?
I am broke.
No expense for forlorn loves
I give no credit to heartache
No IOUs to ex-mates
But somehow
There's always ands
And there's always an if
If there is no but
Would there be a spiritual lift?
I think people use "but" with another "t"
To get in between a crease of insecurity
Or false security
Or just a piece
But
People misuse "and", replacing "n" with the "d"
So they could combat solutions with more animosity
Tacking on terrible histories to price tag memories
Too high to pay for mentally
What if "if" isn't "if"?
But these two are needed for a shift
If you doesn't feel right...get uplifted
If he cheats... he drifted
If you're clicking on all cylinders...this is gifted bliss
Relationships stay in neutral sifting through bullshit
But
Not all vocab is necessary when loving is in action
So
Satisfy your conversations
With no ifs,
ands,
or buts.
And then you'll see clear skies in each other's eyes
If that's what the weather calls for in your souls
But remember...
Keep you speech short
Leave these words here in December.

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Still Another Day (Reprise)" - Neruda's poem

I start to think of Pablo Neruda's poem everytime it rains.



"We the mortals touch the metals,
the wind, the ocean shores,
the stones, knowing they will go on,
inert or burning,
and I was discovering,
naming all the these things:
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye."



— Pablo Neruda (Still Another Day)





So I infused my own wonders of this quizzical feeling
and came up with this...
A reprise of sorts, adding a few elements of my own.



I think of the words of the Chilean
when mists massage heated Texas panes on my domecile
It sends me to sleep with the rain
I once read this poem on a bus stop, and fell in love with it.
That's what I like about poetry.
She likes to do what she wants, when she wants to...
but only with you.

She falls into your hands.
She comes through many vehicles traveling
through


Solano Trindade
Gwendowlyn Brooks
Langston Hughes
James Baldwin
me...
and the Chilean




I would love to stick my tongue out in this precipitation
gather all of the words poured out by the angels
and swallow the divine spirit of it.
Spit out their truths,
their pain
their adventures amongst us in flesh covered souls
out in these streets to repeat her verses, like

John Lennon vs. The Christ phenomena

Jimi Hendrix and that "stuff"

Open the Doors to See My Family Stone
sitting high upon these hills I feel...
drenched in the thunder and lightning
I'm under their tears
the Orisas grant what we only ask in honesty
so I watch as Sango and Oya pull back the curtains
showering me with love and poetry
and midnight insomnia
and silent dripping
these are my candy coated dreams that won't go away
Speech! In all it's damn glory I am falling...
another day, still another, I am crawling to bed
Angry at sandmen that promised me temporary death
and torture me with impending prophetic breaths.



Why give me liberty late night
and NOT A VISION OF HER?
I long for her love, for she is worthy to be praised
Like a Lord magnified and raised
I imagine her smile and laugh at her downfall...
it is imminent to slide on the wayside
bedside
beside our backsides
I am waiting to kiss the surface of her brown terrain
that layer her spine and lumbar
I desire to smooth my hands inside of her
blend when these celestial bodies are in her grasp
and planets are aligned with my libido

I am stargazing
Needs want to make it to her
Wants then need to bid farewell soon

But comets shoot across skies
to continue to destinations of forever



why

can't

I

She waits for me to call her on stage
I am of fright whilee she is away
It is written, she is scripted
on my heart, by the Chilean artist
He was just adoring nature
giving me a gift that keeps giving
for tomorrow



© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Still Another Day" - Poem by Pablo Neruda
(all photos used are not used in slander, defamation, nor crude and explicit forms.)

"A Better Life - (Dreams)"

This is actually a Tweet-turned-poem, originally posted Sunday, July 5, 2009 at 6:02 am.


I will attempt to dream a better life.
I don't think I've ever felt this before.
You know, the effect of love gone awry.
Not of this magnitude.
Or latitude, longitude, or longevity.
Even readings show confusion
As I commenced to cast last night.
Give me strength to fight the weakness of the flesh.
The depths of my inept love still left, for her...
I'm not understanding why she's still in my dreams.
Why I'm trying so hard to move forward
And my heart will not get out of park.
Pulling over in three lanes wanting to lose control at the wheel
Letting go gets harder
Because of my grip on the thoughts of her.
So I grasp no concept of giving up so easily, yet, I'm
Asking ancestors to ease my grip & pain.
I feel they're granting me only one to deal
My dreams are becoming more depressing in a way,
But more informative.
More deforming to my inner child
Birthing angst and worry pushing and contracting
Cutting the cord to sever something I sought that sweet
I'm but a baby in this new found world of hatred of self
Trying to find someone to hold me in this time, I'm cold
In this time I am shivering in uncertainty
In this time her love may be grasped by another God
I'm praying to ignore this.
My hands clasped resemble hers of closed chances
I'm only walking, crawling, clawing, salivating, crying, trying to be
A man
Her man
But this man is not what a dream is supposed to be like
Cause in this life you must dream big to grow
I am stunting my chance to grow cause she's grown on me so much
I'm wrapped with her vines
I am sealed with seven curses of admiration
I am crazy with no form of dignity when dialing
Calling the good sweet ancestors for help
(Not divine anymore I will try to be tomorrow, mama)
When I don't wake up without my dirt
My casket of her thoughts of me
My suit, (mama, she had a suit for me, did you see it?)
My love suits no other for now cause heartache is
Too big of a size for anyone else
But a man can dream, can't he?
And a man can feel can't he?
So I feel this dream dresses funny, so it can't be here, no
Not at this point and time
And spacial tear
And cardiac wear on shoulders so narrow
I want to feel her in my sides as we blend
Shower with her skin to scrub my soul
Suck her tears from her cheeks and blow sandalwood kisses
Back to her heart
I'm not eager to live with continuous torture
I'm overanxious to see where can I die in her memories
To be resurrected from the lips of hers as she speaks of my name
To sleep forever as she marks my tombstone with
Eulogies and epiphanies
Sleep, to temporarily see God in the works
I am in the works or creating a mess of myself, fix me
I love her, but I don't want bad dreams or thoughts about her now.
I will attempt to dream a better life.

I BeLOnG (2nd Edition)

So I was going over a situational conversation, of sorts, with my lady the other day, and she brought up something she said she saw in a movie, (Not sure what the movie was again, but I will correct this if found) called "The Test", that fit this predicament. A male named Johnny came across a female that he felt was very compatible for him. His friend, Honey, was overjoyed at his newfound love, but after a few conspicuous calls from his love to him, she warned him about a possible dishonest result in that relationship. Johnny denied it, and played it off, but (insert movie reference) it was noticeable that when he let her in the passenger's side of the car, like a gentleman, she stayed put, not opening the door for him when he cycled to his driver's side. I know what you're thinking..."What's the big deal?" I thought the same, but really that wasn't the doom for his relationship. Honey broke down the scenarios and wack-ass excuses she gave to him, and he still couldn't figure it out as quick...sometimes you gotta let them feel the pain, right?

One thing about this disturbed me on two fronts:
1: Are women and men STILL grading each other on tests, as if many have failed an exam on love or some shit? And,
2: Do men and women care about what women really think when it comes to emotional bonding?

The femmes are on this like, "Duh, this is a no-brainer! The first 15 minutes will decide if..."
Yeah, you got it. You're like a Rorshach or Litmus design now, cat! They might even put you in a bar graph. What's the purpose of gauging EVERYTHING, ladies? I've heard it from all sides whenever men and women get together about what women like or decide. I wouldn't blame anyone if it wasn't so much silly goals and/or "traits" needed. Wallet, house, and shaft size are the most popular choices amongst the trife women I've noticed. The more serious women minds and education, subtle, but firm emotions, and laughter. Sex is kind of a buffer, considering so many males have truly screwed this dynamic up (no pun intended).

The fellas here are like, "What's the purpose? They're unlimited amounts of..." Yeah, you guessed it. He sees you like you're a resource, or fish. What's the purpose of trying to collect numbers and addresses just to release your seed every now and then? I'm all for sex, but really, it's just stupid how I see the misuse of words and physical stimulation with women and their worth for a fleshtastic experience.

There was a column that tested us back when I was at The University of Houston (Go Coogs!) that mainly asked if we all got jobs, cars, money, homes, maintenance of our bodies and education, just for the "ill nana"? (Not in those words, exactly.) Surprisingly, the males on campus overwhelmingly agreed and didn't give a fuck. So much for uniformity in common sense. Women are not commodities, nor are they trinkets and towel wipes for your seed. So why so much rush to get the golden good when you cannot seem to be satisfied emotionally, you ask? Bragging rights. Like A college football game of sex. Who gets to the red zone and dominates? Who scores frequently? Who's number one?

Just imagine our ancestors screaming to be let go, while their oppressors raped them in bunches. Breed you with some random African woman. Put that into your mind. Where's your luxury tax now, brotha? In fact, all of this may even spur the white man's question of "Who's your daddy?" in so many terrible ways...chattel ways, even. After all, sexual deviance came from their mistreatment of us. Their scores weren't tallied by "how many" but "how often".

Women, masculinity used to be sexy when men used it used properly. Don't tear him down because of his failures...especially in front of the others. Build and find out how to resolve these issues. Remember, Sally Sue is willing to put up with his dirty boxers if you don't correct his stance. Nurture the emotions, but don't neuter his dreams. men, do NOT mistake your black woman for a run-over, neither a master. She's there to deal with out petty shit when we complain. Think about what the hell she's experienced since the inception of women! Don't compromise so easily and continuously, but be able to compromise when needed.

Not many men are gonna sit back and be honest about their sexual and amorous experiences and how they've truly messed over the femmes. Women, on the other hand, will spill beans to express their anger. The new thought now days are those of the women who consider themselves "not feminine" about it (misogynist terms - "bitching about it" or being emotional). The mentality some have to say. "I don't care, I was trying to get mine," is so dead. It's become a thing of novelty to discuss being a "cougar" and such, seeing that the men of the past were heralded as champions of the fairer sex, if they were elderly, unappealing, downtrodden, plump or rotund, nerdy, and downright promiscuous. Ladies all know too well the terms given to the opposites by the males (fat, ugly, man-hating, whore, slut, freak, and fuckable). Nothing desirable. Either you have light-skin complexion, or your "assets" are huge. Other than that, silly-ass fellas are looking for that good 'head' game, or if you will at least let him and his 'patnas' run through you like a football team does a cheerleader banner. That there is a test of true emotional compatibility. Do you like her nose hair? You mind his bad jokes? You want to smell her breath in the morning? Does you need to sport that lace front? (Sasha Fierce jab) Give men some credit. The good ones, of course. They will watch your children and cook you food if you give them the time of day, which isn't spent in the sheets. Trust, I have done so, (plus, I can cook)!

Jozen Cummings, (also known to his peers as "Jock-itch Jo" or "Jozie, the Two-Dollar Ho" - @jozenc on Twitter) if you choose to divulge in his shit), actually was interviewed for his ways on misusing women and how easy it was for him to do so. he's not the only one, and before you say "It takes two to tango.", one may manipulate the dance floor, music, sometimes the libation in any situation. Furthermore, it's a form of rape when you do it to devalue and abuse the rights of the woman in any way. Mentally, AND physically (said here, first). Karrine Steffans catapulted the outing of men (particularly rappers) in her book, expressing how men were in the bed, and what their characteristics were sex-wise. As if being a video vixen isn't demoralizing enough, she content in her path to becoming well known throughout the U.S. as "Superhead", not discouraging younger women from these perils. Then again, the book speaks for itself on her character. This African now? We're on that?

As I bring this to a close, I started to go back in my past to analyze how (or if) I have done this to any women in my past. As far as I can remember, I think I am in the clear. Depending on the mutual feelings and the time it happened, I cannot say I've been that way. Or should I? What matters is this, tests are not relegated to paper and/or evaluations on a visual scale. The true tests come when you are laying beside your loved one in the morning and say, "Wipe the damn crust out ya eyes! Oh yeah...Good morning, sweetheart!"

Unlock the door to your partners, side of the relationship.
More to come.

Polished.

"Against Forfeited Feelings"

I'm gonna try something new here...inspired by two people, actually.

Regina Agu, and a blogtastic woman who's Twitter alias is '@slim_goodie'.

I am going to simply empty what comes to mind, within ten minutes or so, everyday. Oh yeah, I will not always follow the English?APA/MLA writing guidelines...so sue me. I'm looking to do this to jog the memory a bit. This might continue past the new years...who knows? I do wanna thank '@nubianwriter' for tweeting about poetry!


the face shows anguish that I cannot see
cannot hear unless it's in my dreams.
It's synonymous with dreary attitudes and
un-heartfelt kisses to the back of the neck
as if it's just a fuck

painting pictures of despair
pays enough for bus fare
a penny for your thoughts on canvas and
spray-tagged walls
graffiti on the bridge if not for spaghetti string dresses with
cling-on pasts and Teflon cares
they snag it from the air

Why sister gotta get no-good
Why sistas gotta bet on no-better?
Weather is whether you like to make it rain
fists and arguments
the affections of the soul and flesh
separated by church and statements of
Jesus working it out
testimony
after ya mans wore it out
test of faith
after ya moms bore you out of second class citizenship love
on the backburner of freedom expressed

by constant depression and distress

I confess,
even my female orisa got me twisted
Changing my mind after i see my queens give brothers brain
then explain the game to the shame he once called (denied)
his son...sometimes daughter...
sum of all things times double the trouble
equals mass hysteria
History repeats, wash, rinse, repeats, spin
doctors trying to work on your self-image without
really examinin' the in.
So pills now become a sin

you pray on Christian Brothers to bring you back again
Come again?
take time to dust off the seat, and not the seated
conceit is only leaving you defeated
i'll be damned if one hasn't sunk to new lows
and old heights of bullshit just to seek closure
or one more screw turn
shades of life isn't skin, or skins, or sags in skinnies
or bling and swag-brag
she can't date your car, nor brand name tag apparel

Man, brothers should be looking to the stars to earn
like astronomers
reaching for the sky without the blunt smoke stack train
off track, but you blow my high for the same damn thing?
what's your point? love/all
stop the racket trying to ball with no court in sight
net gain to maintain our light, right?
but...

ladies, stop trying to pull men's chain about
him pushin' a band on ya finger
marriage is in the mental.
put a ring around that
not a pole on it, for it
fuck it
nor forget it

this here...this shit right here???
is.
so how about that shot of happiness and laughter?
it's an open bar to be raised.
a toast to intoxicated bliss
cheers to no lingering jeers.
Hold on to hands.
on deck
of cards played...two of hearts


Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2009

"Miss Communication"

I am sick of Miss Communication
Driving me wild without a permit
Feeling comfortable ruining my day
Miss Communication
I cannot understand her convo
Constantly complaining
Inaudibly explaining to me about
Much ado
Nothing new
Just static in static situations
(When will my lover enter the damn conversation?)
She will change suits to boot the old clothes
Chew your arguments up and spit out bones
Without mail, computers, or cell phones
Alone, the talk is cheap
The meeting together is pricey
A high one to pay
But that is Miss Communication's way
I hate Miss Communication
She hangs around Miss Fortune
Miss Leading
Miss Deeds
Miss Construed
I'd like to dismiss the all Misses
Without really being rude
She needs to leave
So me and my love can connect easily.



- Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Star-gazing In Her Eyes"

I can only
wish upon plotted Dogon stars for you
In my dreams

Unwrap your sultry moans in my ears as a present
Feel you when your voice vibrates upon my soul
Touch you with my poetics
Massage you with my visual holds
Bandage you with my caring soul
I run through rainfall to get close to your climax
Meditate amongst nine scented candles and sandalwood to smell you
Taste tamarind to remember your flavor
Take pictures of roses and sunflowers concealing your spirit
You make me sick, and I like it...
I shall skip work
Stay in bed and be well rested
With you in my system
What can't I be happy about?
You leave a lasting impression on me
Running through my mind
Footsteps on the thought process
Vegan to my appetite
I wanna eat you raw
And be healthy in doing it well past a diet

Play Niagara Falls with lightning bolts

making a joyful noise upon an altar for you

Sacrifice and divine for the (ase) in your embrace

I wish upon Dogon stars plotted

And spiritual time allotted
To fold myself around your coronary muscle
Keeping you warm
All inside

But if these are dreams,
Isn't it a facet of real life?

Ifeanyi Okoro
Coppersoul © 2009

"Upon Sleep" - (Inspiration)

She that knows the certain type of knock upon the window
Rain is familiar
Visits her when it comes
Pouring in with greetings
Meeting her beside the moon and cloudy skies
She wants the wind to be still so
Rain won't be so scattered when it's talking to her
Tapping on the scales of the upside down floor above
She sleeps with Rain
The one thing that gets her wet with excitement...
Matches her color of blue and grey
Like war with her wiles isn't civil enough
Rain comes and goes...she doesn't mind...
Consistent in seasons...no dry spells
Volumes
She sometimes doesn't know how to come alone, so when
Rain comes, she doesn't mind
Strumming to the rhythmic drops drumming the panes
Get her flowing like the streams are down the street
And she moans so like the wind
When it isn't still
She is tilting like so many stars illuminating the black canvas
Rain isn't gonna stop.
Why should it?
She likes to stick her tongue out and taste Rain
it isn't a sin...but a savory tease.
Rain doesn't judge, just leaves a track of love via mud
It seems she doesn't know if Rain and Wind would ever budge
From her space.

But she still felt as if she slept alone.

She doesn't recognize this knock on the window...
On the door
unknown to her usual views of those appearing to be trife
He flashes upon her presence like lightning
Sprinkling compliments and adoration
Swift mind and stronger passion than gale force
Takes hold of her in his nimble, nimbus soft hands
Caresses her like the black canvas sky does the planets
Blanketing the universe
Making sure that he's warming her first
She likes his colors...brown and black
As if he and she weren't proud enough of their flesh
Verbose and humorous
His shadow encases the tiles of the upside-down roof of the house
She was afraid she'd lose herself in the maze like gazes
She doesn't want to sleep with him.
She knows not where he may chance
He reassures his arrival is not a
not a rain check romance
The embrace was electric
The kiss was static
The mood was thunderous
His hypnosis: emphatic
She didn't want him to come...
Not yet...until she came
With reasons to make Rain
Scatter again.
But Rain accompanied their heartbeats with a pounding of its own
With gusts following behind to match their sighs and love tones
Surrounding the house with harmonious fall
And what she thought she would never experience inside
Rushed in storm front fashion out
So now, there is no drought in her soul
Rain was here for a part of a season or so
And he was here for the whole
Upon her slumber
Together
Alone



© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)

"At Midnight"

At midnight showering
there are winds found
tickling your ears

blowing through your locs
kissing your cheek
rolling up in our hues, so billowy
my lips smoke the passion upon yours
at midnight

At midnight dark
deep
there is a howl at the moon...
a breeze or coyote
a high like peyote
this here is a feeling of jazz
an emotion of nocturnal emissions
by sleepy eyes that dream and
release
REM-like streams across the reverie's scope
impregnating creativity
Giving me hope
at midnight

At midnight blue
we sing in sheets satin and purple by notes
lick and saturate
stick together...push and pull apart like gears
greased for years of work ahead
like tightening a relationship
or a hold of arms around your soul
beaming at the brightest of the dark's cracks
electric violets light our backs
we wrestle with flesh
to control our desires
at midnight

At midnight moon
dancing is but a glimmer away
dawn's steps in patterned ripples

painted alongside ocean waters
showing an escalating path to tomorrow
or the next island
where palm trees pencil in love on sandy beach paper
a yearning for nothing but you
the whole 'you'
and nothing but you
so help me God
I judge my spirit guilty of assault
with a deadly weapon
I raised my hand to your heart
and struck gold
I am not remorselful
at midnight

At midnight hope
someone will be reading this poem and
cry
or laugh uncontrollably
better yet
critique its meaning
and for those very reasons
I will bury this under the clouds
so the angels could
capture the capsule memories
of our blending
together
at midnight

Ifeanyi Okoro II

Coppersoul © 2009