A new list

In detention 

The books slams down to a random page 

An essay due in two hours 

The dictionary his nemesis

Every word

Strained his mind and wrist 

Oh well, 

Hi carpal tunnel in the 3rd grade

In the midst of a new sentence he tried to make a fist 

But struggled

The pain wouldn’t subside until dismissal

He looked up at his teacher 

Her concentration on grading 

She was such a pious jerk for Jesus 

Smirking at a new list of words 

The pain all but forgotten in his wrist as he read out loud, Titillated

What a thrill

  • Source material for this piece is Michael Jackson’s Thriller
  • For my 300th post I wanted to go big with a legendary song and my take on the song and iconic music video. Enjoy

Through the graveyard

Emerging from the tombstones mist

Limping on loose limbs

Staccato zombies step

to a midnight symphony

A thriller no mortal can escape

Hunger grows

Their horrid faces moan with slim dripping down the chin

Her eyes frozen to witness the horrors taking place

She’s a fleeting image

With nowhere else to run but an dilapidated house

Their blood hunt intensifies

as the bloodless moon shines

Cornering their prey helpless

They see she’s ready for death

Skeleton hands grab her to take her on a dark fantasy flight

Awakened to normalcy

His towering image

a mirror without reflection

Faceless death

Consuls her from her fears

but you see he’s a dream weaver

creating nightmares from her memories

Related image

You’re dead my dear

Storm warning

lighting strikes tombstones

charging undead smiles and scowls

I witnessed her rise

An inky black mirage that I couldn’t look away from

Fully blackened eyes held my attention captive

as I watched her lower her head

Tears began staining her once beating heart

I wondered what saddened her but

She remained silent, her answer only a stare

And in one swift motion

She slashed her wrists

Telling me to

Drink deeply my dear

Life seeps into nothingness

There’s no romance in death

Only darkness is eternal

Mesmirized I obliged and she finally died feeding my need

’cause love was deaf to my callings during this lifetime

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup


Switching directions on the map

Sights elevated onto a new plateau

Thousands of feet above a grounded sanctuary

I could hear untold passions whispered

Quivered breaths

Of excitement

Of anxiety

Our dimensions altered under rigid glass

An exhilarated child hopped on that glass to test its strength

But I stood tall staring at blue moonlight with courage

and the gift of life between the stars

Low Angle Shot Of Buildings

The Wanderer

Sometimes I wonder
if anyone’s watching
how despair torments
 the lone wanderer
  Under the quiet moonlight
  a currency of shadows
  encircles him
  sinking him deeper and deeper
  the surface of life is on the verge to seal shut
   He watches those around him
  carry the same strangeness
  dreadful in the shallowness
  of their damaged hearts
  One thing was certain,
 The morning storm
 couldn’t distract him from his voyage

  The wanderer cries silently
  not for the loneliness
  that accompanies him
  but for the pity that rains his soul.
  Embarking on his darkest chapter
  the blackened clouds
  the only compass
  he can trust

  Profoundly engrossed
  In his own self-styled
  ethical standards and ideal religion
The wanderer takes no notice
 of the wheel works of rays
 in the sun that shines brokenly
 or the moonlight that hides his identity
 His heart moans for hyperactive temptations
The Wanderer knows that there is no easy path to happiness
So for now he’ll endure the dangers
until the end of time

Desert crossroads

The war for everyday survival has a new playground,

In the past he found being surrounded by light as a blessing

but now life is a burning gift in swollen darkness

His dark cloak wraps his languished bones

The desire to continue to reach the end of survival in time

has his hunger for victory unsatisfied due to exhaustion

But this wasteland warrior must move forward by any cost

Because these desert crossroads are unforgiving even towards the most courageous

I am sorry (Collaboration poem)

  • Aston Kamunde, @https://astonkamunde.wordpress.com/
  • featuring RhymeRula of Real Free -Flowing Words
  • Check out Aston’s poetry blog to read the wonderful poetry he expresses on WordPress. You will not be disappointed and make sure to give him a follow so you can continue reading his great writings. PEACE and MUCH LOVE


(Aston’s Stanzas)

She wanted to plead

For forgiveness

For love



Tears of shame

Bared her self-hate

Oblivious of the smell

Of the earth and rain


The fog of mystery

And hushed emotions

Stood between them

The sky dead and overcast


She had broken him

She had betrayed them,

Had poisoned her loyalty,

Their past, present and promises


She was a small fly

Caught in a mesh of thorns

Needing to speak only three words

But “I am sorry” felt so insufficient


He was everything to her,

Many colors of passion

Her whole world,

Her magic


How could she say all these things?

The quiet was hurting her,

His eyes were cold deep

And quizzical


(RhymeRula’s Stanzas)

Envisioning the requiem for a reconciliation,

Forsaken by a cruel distance,

Exhausted as she pleads for forgiveness

Towards the ones she neglected,


The same rhetoric repeated through every phone call,

Your “sorrows” are not accepted here no more,

Nothing to show for in a world full of karma

Except being cursed with a swollen heart,

Rupturing to the point of no resurgence,


Limp in her dying moments,

She stared at the full moon as it graced multiple presences,

Only the illumination would capture her last blink,

Finally relinquishing a dying apology that never came full circle



A handful afterlife (Darklines)

The hands that covered his screams.jpg

  • I came across this image from one of followers on Twitter who tweeted how creative any viewers can be with writing a poem about the above image. I gave it a try but was stuck on where I was heading with it, but eventually came up with one and I hope you like it. Leave a comment if you feel the need too. Peace


An infinite onslaught of hands

Began to swarm and asphyxiate his every exclamation for help

His last meal smothered with an unfortunate deliverance of angry bitterness,

Every hand impairing his sight

While pulling back his thoughts from manifesting,

In the midst of the excruciating pain, the thought of his revenge lingered throughout

every bullet that were crafted by his enemies,

This would be the siren for his demise,

He began with a broken life but after getting

the taste of the fast life he had no intentions of slowing down

Until this very moment,

Attempting to desperately plea for why his life should be spared,

A handful impending afterlife that he perceived to be his judge, jury, and executioner,

Missed calls by his older sister filled his phones call log,

Unable to listen due to his ears

being plugged by the barrage of crawling fingers,

Fighting to withstand fading into oblivion

On the verge of flat lining into the crossroads,

As the hands of the surgeons release the tension of his dying thoughts

“Call it in” one of the trauma surgeons said, because the time has arrived

When the stench of death taints everything we do or say,




The Walk Home


  • I was searching for hip hop storytelling beats and came across one with an amazing animated film that I felt compelled to write about. I added some of my own details to it, but stayed true to the premise. If interested in visualizing what I wrote watch the video in the provided URL link.
  • https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWcGc3DbKM4,
  • The Walk Home, a film Steve Cutts, Music by Decibel Lirical
  • If you read through the whole story, YOUR A REAL ONE. Thank you and peace.

Verse 1:
Regaining consciousness
As his languished body lays flat on top of a rusted car
Praying to the heavens for clarity
His right eye swollen shut due to being beaten senseless daily,
He wanders the treacherous streets as a victim to the daily destruction,
Brushing shoulders with death on every corner while coming across
Morning greetings by rapacious souls who live on borrowed time,
“Hoppers” selling them their morning fix
As they shout one at a time!                                                                                                          Addicts forming a straight line as if they were buying movie tickets

Down the avenue casualties blood turn ice cold from a close range blow                               While two streets down hooded reapers do drive – by’s at noon
So no fun or hope of a community
Will ever ensue,
He frantically takes cover
Wishing for a safe passageway home,
Thinking of his family so he needs to make a return,

Picturing their grieving faces if news came back to them of his tragic death,
Amidst the struggle he never looked back with nothing in his pockets
After being robbed and almost slain with a pocketknife
In an dark alleyway where it all began for him
Which is now his guide to find a revelation to the promise land,
So he uses it as a shortcut as he takes the walk home
Knowing he’ll do his best to return before evening
Whispering through his parched throat “I can’t stop believing”
that peace will find its way to these streets

Verse 2:
He yearned for peace if only he could find the strength to scream for it
This was his reality a day filled with so much pain and death,
In complete frustration he tries to break everything around in site                                      But exhausted limbs prevented him from taking action,

Powerless to control the chaos
and deadly detours became a reoccurring cycle,
Even though these circumstances were unstoppable he knew he had to eventually
Stand tall against the evil forces,
Racing the sunset as he finally reaches the intersection his house is on
Relief sets in, but it didn’t take long before the group of hooded reapers now on foot

To form a circle around him,                                                                                                               In shock realizing he had no chance of surviving these combative trials,                                 He surrenders
As he makes eye contact with one of them,
Paralyzed by fear
Moments of death so near and clear
Bowing his head down, he couldn’t find the strength to hold back his tears
That he withheld all day as he stood there and said his last prayers,

Looking down at the concrete pavement where his body would perish,
Suddenly his tearful left eye caught a glimpse of a hot white light                                      levitating towards him, a possible savior in sight?                                                                Time froze still as he looked up realizing the white light were the slain souls of the streets past,

Forgotten names that made up the city’s crime graph,                                                                  None of them found their way back home past the rampage,                                                    Their white eyes inching closer as they took his hand                                                              Using their collective powers through heaven to obliterate the evilness                                that stood before him,                                                                                                                  Restoring and healing him with the entire city in the process                                                                                                                                                  As he finally understood that they acknowledged his survival to bring peace to the streets,                                                                                                                                            Informing him they were listening and watching over him as he recited prayers while stumbling on his feet as he took the walk home,      

Clarity returned to both eyes                                                                                                            as he looked up to thank the slain souls of the streets past, but there were gone,                  Surviving through a deadly journey that resulted in the rebirth of a city,                              As he now stands in front of his house door looking through the window                        realizing no one was home,                                                                                                              to top it all off, earlier in the morning he was in rush to catch the school bus                         resulting in the house keys to fall out of his pocket which now lay on his bedroom floor                                                                                                                                                     DAMN…

*The path to peace can be a dangerous one,                                                                                                                                                                will you allow obstacles to cradle you with a grave or find the strength to be resilient so you can live to see another day”?                                                                                                                                                   

The choice is yours*



The-Walk-Home spillwords photo.jpg



Night Woman - Garon.png

Approaching ever so closer, defenses up

Behind her a shadow dancing on midnight darkness

Silent streets the only audience at the scene

a massive shadow nearing towards her

limited options as she senses the shadow suffocating her thoughts from forming

Refusing to allow any force to break through her boundaries 

Unbeknownst to her due to blarring earphones

A voice calling out for her attention

As the shadow keeps up with her pace to only be halted by being quickly sprayed in the face with pepper spray

witnessing his dark shadow lay still sinking into the cold pavement in agony

In shock as she sees her handheld pocketbook

she left on the train his hand

As she stood still, drowned by the devastation

The harsh reality of trespassing boundaries without warning
















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