"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

"Confessions of an Aquarian" - Part I

I couldn't pronounce "Fuddruckers" without switching the f and the first r around .



I had innumerable nicknames that I've given myself.



I lied to protect someone telling the truth, facing a devastating penalty.

Guess what happened next?



I loved Prairie View A&M University, before I found out it was part of the Texas A&M University System...in which, became my favorite college.

I attended the University of Houston.



I used to eat paper.



I sniffed Elmer's school glue just to see what the result was.

I'm fine.



Oral sex is bothersome at times.

It doesn't mean I don't like it.



My dreams involve every type of human being and their lifestyles...

and whatever I dream is just a version



I flirt with danger, trouble, and bankruptcy, but...

women are purely innocent and not on purpose.



Suicide was a choice after my mother passed...

and when I break up with women...

and when I breathe.



Tears For Fears and Depeche Mode are some of my favorite bands.



My longest love for someone was also my crush.

Turns out the one thing we had in common was barely seeing each other.

We never dated.



I am a night owl, more than an early bird...but I'm still both.



I love kissing more than sex.

Sometimes it's a tie...a tongue tie.



I prayed for older women to take notice of me when I was in my teens.

Since then, I have only dated two younger than me, and the rest were at least three or more years older.



I'm a Toys 'R' Us kid that worked at his favorite dream job...

and...

was accused of video game theft.



I have had a gun pointed at me since 1998 at least 3 times. Some would say, unless I'm in a gang, or a police officer, maybe even in the service...

That's too much.



I've never been shot at. I have been threatened....

by my father...

I still wonder if it really was a glock or a BB gun.



My mother and father didn't tell me much about sex.

I saw it everywhere. Late night...

On accident

When you're bored and you walk in to your parent's/aunt's room unannounced...

In Disney films...



In all seriousness, I thought girls had penises when I was young.



I purposely tried to talk deep, ruining my singing voice, so I could talk like the "cool boys" in church. Turns out, puberty punished me.



I have done sexual acts that only trail rape as a unpopular decision to go through.



I have written final notes and poems to people that have totally bamboozled me, emotionally, in relationships...

One person gave it back with the flowers I sent...

In the things of mine she shoved out.



Virgos are HIGHLY magnetized to me. If you're a Virgo, well...

It may have something to do with my Astrology chart having Virgo in it, heavily.

Every class that I've entered at least had 8 Virgo children enrolled.

I have a love/hate relationship with Virgos.

My cousin (rest in peace), my uncle, the school-children, poets, Posdnous...



Even after a woman has exclaimed sex with me was excellent or great...

I don't believe them much. I'm not confident unless they are tapped out. Pun may or may not be intended.



I've used and loved Totally Tulip.



I like more female high-spirited songs than so called R&B songs.



My dad was a great DJ.



I was the last to know about my father's affairs with other women until I came back home from college.



I don't give a fuck about the English language.
That's why I hope to learn Igbo and other African languages.



I don't trust elder bald men.



Was crazy enough to bury my ex-'s underwear in the ground near my old apartment because I wanted her to stay.
Some months after the eviction, I received calls from her to hang out.



Cruelty, as I got into a bitter argument with an ex, and even got to the point where when things got out of hand, asked for the toys I bought for the children back.



I am downright eccentric.



I'm a "breast" man.



I quit my higher paying job to work back in the 'hood.



I adore black women...sometimes I compliment them.



I ate three large boxes of pizza from Pizza Hut.
Even took the tip off of he table and gave it back to my parents, thinking they left it on accident.

I'd originally wanted this to be a poem.


Ifeanyi Okoro II

"From The Womb"

"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.

#24 of 30

I'm just wondering
With all of this help that is pouring in
for Haiti...
And a quiet down of aid to Africa
One can only wonder
Who will thank the mother for
teaching her child
How to be the young man
he was in order to do the things
She had to do to keep him alive
or relevant.


Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"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

"Without A Leg To..."

"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.


#22 of 30

One brick
One beam
One slab of concrete
One window seal
One wall
One tree branch
One door threshold
One column
One pillar
Cannot make anything stand
Will never survive without any foundation
And will never make one whole house

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Sky High Definition"

"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.

#21 of 30

What I need to say
Is displayed in front of you
On the big screen
Near the cashews on the coffee table
In the ancestral lounge
Daddy Burl and Miss Odessa
Preparing another table full of food
With distinct voices
And Budweiser cans near his favorite La-Z-boy
And her pearls in her hand
She calls you in to help her with the pecan pie
And Daddy Crutch comes in after work
Bearded and full of husky laughter
Talking about the Cowboys game with Everette
You are just smiling...
Reading this poem
On the big screen
Handful of cashews
Laughing
Crying
Shaking you head at my poem
That didn't seem enough to me
On this day where anything
Was enough to just mention you.

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"World Cup Runneth Over"

"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.


#20 of 30


"N'kosi Sikelel' iAfrika"

A toast!
Heineken and Michelob aroma pours along the veins of her
Datsun and Peugeot smoke racing through
Naija's dark roads
That's not a glitch, it's another outstanding outage
That's black power...or lack there of
Or an ox-hauled oxymoron
De Beers and Jacob's congratulates in hand claps
Louder than the rocks falling
And the pick-ax clanging
For their work in the Congolese cradle
Verwoerd and Meadowlands invite the souls
Of the Xhosa tongued seeds back from their forever slumber
To crawl on their land
Renamed for their conquerors
Roadmarked with bullets and bones

Yachts, slave ships, cruise liners and tankers sing in unison...

In Dutch
In Ye Olde English
In 'Vichy' French
And louder in Portuguese
To drown out the pollution-mutated wailings of

Somali fishermen and their pirate fathers
To the beat of the clink-clank of

Dragging feet and hand bonding chains

Mutilated and muted from the yell of a war cry
To write another hymnal in Christian Lay
Taking pictures of their past workers and once-owned property
Why be like Mike, when you could be like
Taylor or Idi Amin
They once had idols...or something like that
Called
European influence
How else can you explain
The Congolese and Sudanese taking flight
Becoming Twitter fans of twitching dead bodies

Exile from Theirspace, into Ourspace

From what they called "Myspace"
On Facebook with lacerated faces
Armed with G20 and G8
And aid packages that come from the metallic sky god
With grey arms and spinning wings
With a UN birthmark

We don't need no water, let Rwanda - Burundi burn

Says Reno

My kingdom come
Thy work be undone
On Mother Africa
As it is in hell
Over here.

"N'kosi Sikelel' iAfrika"

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Newsworthy" (Derrion Albert's Epilogue)

"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.


#19 of 30

I can't imagine getting my head stamped on
Sent to heaven
Express mail by ruthless teens and
Faulty, fucked-up adults
Who thinks this city
Should be repping
Five rings of the world
And the current leader of these states "united"
once surveying this greaat Windy wilderness
Shits on a royal throne nightly
Reading the paper
With my name
"Derrion Albert"
Featured...
In the Nation section...
folded over neatly
Behind his funnies colums

I'd laugh too,
But I can't clear the blood from my throat.

Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Resident Evils"

"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.


#18 of 30


My color is nigger
My language is Negro
My heritage is monkey and part baboon
I am defined by my tail and black magic
This here is my census mark
The casted freedom papers that spark a debate
About my kind being able to talk
Walk
And work
as 2/5ths a machine
A laborer of the day
A breeder in the night
I have a degree in Drapetomania
A graduated form of escaping
Fever pitch presentations
I shun my job
Which is I
In so many ways
I am holding the whip
I am destroying the ties on the spikes holding the boat
On this land
I came willingly to get my ass beat!
Here!
I am full blooded-outcast
Biblically proven!
My possessions were taken, thank God!
(Or Jesus, what you may prefer I pray to now)
The lashes match the cross I kneel to
My scars show the miles I've gone
Or at least tried
My staple is pig innards and lard
My song is your contradiction to our release and personal will
My thank you???

A fuck you.

Is this what you want me to accept, oh "New" America?

"Land of my ancestry"?

That's my vote in the election.
Forget throwing my hat in the ring.
Hang me over the ballot box.


Have it your way!
Because my soul will have NONE OF IT.




Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Irresponsible Reggae"

"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.





#17 of 30





Somewhere inside this dusky incense-laden domain
I'm grinding with this she-spirit
And it's a mutual agreement
To wind both of our waists
And grab
And push
Together

It's a beat that is forbidden in my dreams
Hidden in my fantasies
Just under the cuffs of her pant legs
Tucked inside her short, multi-colored cutoff...

A rhythmic thump and she won't stop
Licking my neck for salt
Accompanying her malt
My head buried in the dip of her shoulders and collarbone area

Steady...

It smells like sweet lilac and lusting eyes
I'm trying my best to stop our twisting
But you cannot deny God
His matinee
He paid for it
Creating four Ifa days
Saving this one for his rest and entertainment

The lights dim
The smokes erects into the atmosphere

It's is divination
Divine dancing in a hedonistic mindset
I'm basically
Penetrating
Without proper protection
In comes music
I can't stop its rush

The heart beats accelerate
The skin retracts
The needle reaches the end groove
Thus producing the
Birth of desire

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

"Beautiful Breeze"

"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.

#15 of 30

These winds
remind me of you
Kissing my cheek
Holding my body
The trees be my music
The steel drums my background landscape

And you are a drink of rum
With hibiscus tart and honey swirl
I can only imagine you blending with
The sunset, crystal waters
And astounding silhouette
As you blur my vision
And intoxicate my heart



Bottoms up!




Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Found Amongst Blank Skies"

This poem was oriniginally made for "30 poems in 30 days". I decided not to do so, and gave it time to matriculate into a well of words instead.

What color is discrimination?
Shade of unemployment?
Homelessness under the census origins?
Better yet, immaturity where you sign the dotted line?
Missing the point with no direct finger to use
And the more self-righteousness we collect
The lesser self-respect used
We the people
Turn into miniature gods of Cyndi paupers
And silent killers of fat-cat tycoon slaves
A calendar with letters as days numbered
Like blood types created on seven accounts
Drinking from horns of religion
Eating the bread of Nero's gluttonous downfall
Stereotyping as if one tapped their digits against radio
Broadcasting a thought process
On deaf minds
Brainwaves be rough, crashing against shores of truth
Trying to hang ten, or break loose
So we surf for knowledge and find halfway colleges
Online like Greco/Roman formulas
For brother/sister/homo/animalhood
Sprinkled in their sparkling pimp chalice
An African staple and fables of fame
Stamped with tribalism, categorial shame
Shit, half you mafuckas don't even know your own name.
Yet...
We know the color of...











Ifeanyi Okoro II © 2010

"Sleepwalking"

"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.

#14 of 30


Every dream that takes a stroll
Across my lucid landscape
I wonder what it holds in its hands
I wish that it would give me a
Birthday present to erase the past
From behind its back as it hides
Nice surprises I'd already know about
How to fix pain
Patching the torn fabric of a union
Only to
Torch that sumbitch again...
With the right liquids and flame
I don't want too much help
Dealing with my fated future
Band-Aid hopes and repeat apologies
Given due to martyrdom and fault grabs
Throwing my lighter up
Pushing my history of bad relations down
Into a barrel rusted and named
"Ifeanyi"
And let that shit burn inside
Until the ashes reside down in the
Bottom of my heart
And I'll smudge the outsides
With artistic thumbing
And make my desires
Of memories and reveries
Black and proud



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

"Self Unshevled" (Two Parts)

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 #12 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx

Part 1

My heart

My soul

My spirit

My love

My life

My thoughts

My skin

My desire

My drive

My will

My power

My weakness

My future endeavors

My past regressions

My pain

My anger

My despair

My grief

My struggle

My blaming

My faults

My fears

My apathy

My vengeance

My troubles

Part 2

Funny, it's not really not about me, is it?

I must realize things aren't always what they scream

The needle in the hay stack dream busts through my seams

And the theme isn't a motto, find the points, tips, unhollow

To correct and lead forward, the lesson and rules I must follow.

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"Smiles Around My Area"

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 #11 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx

i am rethinking my whole approach

wishing that i could have been that father

loving

caring

cradling

helping

her

and so

here i am again

approaching thoughts

being a fatherly wish

hating

scolding

dropping

denying

myself

finally

here i will always be

with wishful thinking

a father of unborn futures

mixed emotions

separated actions

trying to be truthful

with my heart lying amongst pain

doing what's needed

to blanket her soul once again

here...

i am

where

is she?

Hopefully safe, laughing, and in comfort.

© 2009 Ifeanyi Okoro II

"At The Hour"

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 #9 of 30 of the "30 in 30" project

Ifeanyi Okoro II (CopperSoul)
Houston, Tx


So we give thanks to those who wear
The coldest apparel with the general flair
Soldiers with those black boots
Lead by the orisa with that royal red suit
White trim, wielding the ax like he was wired on Grey Goose
Nights afire when lightning bolts get loose
This ain't Santa, it's Sango
Dark like the Congo
Called by the bataa songs sung like the bongo
Tapped and relaxed on the throne like bones
Chaperoned to the ocean floor with revenge to be honed
Left alone to be hung and return like Redeemer
Seen as a crafty one, some say the schemer
Scheduling the scene to be torched to the crisp
Blowing Osun a kiss, but it's Oya he misses
Others think he was born on just December 25th
Misnomered, honored by people frontin' folks with gifts
No wonder the try to confine his entry through the chimney
Simply cause they smoked the history of African memories
Entry to the logs of computerization
Numbered and blogged to synchronization
I'm hatin' not even our own wanna give him praise
Then wanna cry to Christ when all hell gets raised?
This nation did a good job, adorning the door knob
With the "Do Not Disturb" sign near the fresh floor mopped
Of ya past, trashing your ancestors with imagery
Of a pasty male, impaled on a fucking tree
Lucky me, I awake eyes open to mockery
Stopping the utter recycling of hypocrisy
And not to be outdone
there's always gonna be a sound shoutout to those
Who recognize the sun
Coming unfroze...but celebrate that bullshit I suppose
Give me the Nubian-nosed King in the crimson robe
And that's dope.

Kabiyesi Kabiosile


© 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