An Assemblage of Artists: First Wave
With DYNAMISM
Dark chocolate skies speckled with marshmallow memories swirl in my mug Cocoa cosmic brew My eyes sip because tongue wouldn’t understand Only soul can taste the richness of infinite, taking part in this conversation of awe Thought, word, and concept fall short Unable to understand silent dialect A flavor of expression given to all, yet tasted by few How about you? Are your soul’s taste buds well-versed? There’s a chance each night to clear palette and dine on sacredness An invitation to shut mind, open soul Savoring the warming sip of now Will you attend and embrace or pass for a later date? No matter The invitation stands politely in wait Until then, I’ll leave this here A hot mug Cocoa cosmic brew just for you No pressure, of course But if you decide to tip the sky into your eyes, then let the stars become them
Dirty, dank, precarious, unstable not a place for the weak of spirit or body. Don’t walk there alone at night. Gothic and beautiful. Dangerous and welcoming As many graves as inhabitants To walk around the French quarter brushing off the powder from café du monde feels lucky Lucky this place wasn’t drowned in 2005 just washed off the map Resilience is the best word, maybe southern pride Founded in 1718 the transportation act brought thieves and murderers to her shore Native Americans were desperate to keep their sacred lands Blackbeard was killed in the waters of North Carolina the same year The country was in conflict all the colonies against each other and slavery the norm Same year San Antonio was founded but it lacks the spirits and creole magic I love New Orleans early in the morning it is awe inspiring My favorite thing to do is grab an ice coffee and visit the ancestors Watch as the night owls sleep deeply in their dens. Morning workers grudgingly go about their business It is not a city for the faint of heart it takes balls to love it If you open your heart and embrace her with all her vice and foible you will fall in love
Society is an executioner. A stealth assassin aimed at human targets walking a path groomed by their killer. Weapons of ideology loaded with vengeful munition fired in resentment and ejected in ignorance. The trigger pulled by a governed finger artfully manipulated by scorn and power. Born with unlimited potential But conditioned to merely survive as our executioner tells us to despite all else. Offered only controlled choice to fall in line and believe it is sovereignty. Blindly living by misleading standards our assassin established. Regulated media exposing only what they’re told while hiding truths behind every story. Silencing the nonconformists, the self-willed, the insolent. Methodical constraint of free thought while twisting intentional truths to create a world so despairing we kill ourselves so they don’t have to. Suicide by the aegis of influence and forced dissidence mocking our right to be content. Martyrdom for beliefs blended with injustice. No longer able to live in a world void of compassion. As though it’s not enough to get through life unscarred and bruised by experiences that leave us alone in reflection feeling obsolete in emotions devalued by others who don’t share in your convictions. Euthanization by separation. Crowd manipulation. Suicide by invitation. Society is an executioner.
If I were me I would scamper across sizzling volcanic rock like a frog evading a net If I were me I would scale white birch and hang over the side like a napping sloth If I were me I would feel grass and earth tickling my skin and the rock burning my soul If I were me If I were me my heart would beat in time to rocky waves rolling on the buried crust of time If I were me I would pick trailside berries bittersweet wetness sluicing down my eager tongue If I were me I would fall asleep under night’s curtains the stars of the heavens playing out on my mind’s stage Instead taking a final bow as dawn turns up the house lights sending the audience home Oh, If only I were me
Will you hold my hand And help me cross the river I have been waiting, in agony, For the tides to die It’s rising and falling Finally mixing into the oceans Its existence in question From where it began to where it’s lost But I am still here Questioning Where do I belong? Whom do I belong? Questioning my existence Like the lost rivers I need a flicker of hope A ray of light I need you to pull me From the darkness That keeps on swallowing me In it’s abyss Are you listening Or just lost in the wilderness? I am calling you To pull me To hold me To gather me To protect me My tears are flowing Mixing with the rains Getting lost, for no one to see Yet it’s still there Waiting to be wiped By the hands That will hold my hand And help me cross the river
If only I could recognize
The tears falling out as lies
My heartbeat surrounds me
Standing alone, hands cleave
A tongue turned to ash
Pulled golden from the sash
Casting crowns of thorns
Ever since I was born
Wounds poured rivers of red
Hate created me with dread.
I want the sky to press its weight into the dirt, where rain stitches through moss and clover, where redwoods breathe in slow surrender, exhaling into the damp. Let the fog take its time, bury the hills in its quiet, the way I wish the world would do for me. Rain falling with intent, filling the wounds the earth won't close -  where roots pry apart stone, where nothing hurries to be whole. Then the sun, too soon, too sharp, peeling back what should stay buried. Let the gray settle deep, let the air stay thick and certain, let it keep me here, held without name, without need.
you weren’t deep but at least i wasn’t your friend like WITH her that i truly wanted who labeled me with that bitter declaration and like the other ladies in the dorm on my 20th birthday, 20 such female friends took me to dinner celebrating their male buddy who hung out watching General Hospital and listening to their emotional waves but i was young and it was spring and my balls ached to find contact in deep furrowed halls and then i met her at a party and with lubricated vision we came together in a sticky pun but with each dally these wordless encounters with beer-fueled encouragement i would ignore the whispers at how wrong this was until we went into the city park vast enough to hide pleasure-seeking college students questing our place with blanket in hand and the bitter taste of psilocybin mushrooms and as i worked my awkward arts on top of her the magic kicked in and instead of seeing the one who i cared less an old lady appeared below until a death mask took the final show neither vision too juicy to keep the act up and i withdrew from the cavern like Plato’s cave of illusion and we saw each other no more
When the orb of the moon
blotted the sun and cast its shadow across the Wyoming
roadside where I was standing (the world went) still—
*
*
*
*
stars emerged, in all the wrong places; the veil of blue
faded to reveal the firmament. Crickets and frogs sung
their evening songs though it wasn’t yet lunchtime, and
for a moment, I ceased scanning the ditchful of tallgrass
for the rattlers I feared were there. You said they
didn’t scare you and squatted near a discarded railroad
tie to pee, as if to prove it, covering yourself with a
poncho; we watched the moon’s shadow slowly
take its bite out of the sun’s
disc. A chill twisted its way through the blades of August air,
rattling our flesh and fingers and lingered (for just a moment)
on your cheek, a fleeting kiss. In those three darkened minutes
we saw each other clear as day, but the harsh midday sunlight
returned to slice a shaft through the darkness, the sun
newborn and crowning,
slid from the moon’s shuttered aperture, burnt its
image onto my mind. And on the long car
ride that followed, we watched
the sun slide slowly beyond the
low buttes on the horizon
—the stars appeared, in their proper places
in the firmament,
and we rode silently in the dark.
the words are busting so fast i cant type scrambling to catch as they scurry away fuck i lost it like beads from the bracelet the baby broke that i i was finding stuck in my toes 2 weeks later and all that it took was Faulkner Toni Capote some Steinbeck, and Shelley—thats Mary, friend, make no mistake. just one page from Ernie is all that it took! like a net slashed wide open to sea, sweet release swimming swimming keep on swimming! but lord—on my knees— must we always be frantic or faded? why so extreme?? my heart hurts slow it down i cant sleep man im tired but the words wont stop coming and coming and THIS may be the best thing ive felt in my LIFE! I’m scaring myself now i need to go pee dishes are reeking forgetting to breathe And...
Thump-thump, thump-thump, All is fine within my chest. Deep breath in, let it out, Maybe now I can rest. I’ve been too hurt to sleep, Since the pain of waking up. Nothing kills the agony, No matter what’s in the cup. Things I see when my eyes are closed Bother me more than what is real. My imagination creates a show Out of the anguish that I feel. The gas, the lights, the flame, the pain… The countless nights it was all the same… The breaking down of my soul and my brain… The futile attempts at staying sane… Thump-thump, thump-thump, It still beats, at least it seems. Deep breath in, let it out, Even my silence discloses screams. Years were compounded that should have not, In people invested I should have abandoned. The fire in my soul losing its brightness, As it’s smothered by the things they demanded. I can’t believe it’s measured in decades. How did that happen to me so fast? I only longed for love and connection. Now my youth is a thing of the past. The dreams chased, the realities instead… The pain in both the heart and head… Every hope has long since fled… While new casualties frequently bred… Thump-thump, thump-thump, It still beats, despite skin so hard. Deep breath in, let it out, Another day for a heart that’s scarred.
Darkness descends, rumours collide into a starry sombre sight, I almost fall asleep, deep slumber roars from my inner thigh. <<Say what now?>> Hush…[[ keep still ]] Dancing shoes and tingles of impressions? <<What rules? I know, I know…>> To sleep is necessary and inducingly impervious. I soon fall into deep REM, oblivious to all sounds. Alas! After a while of wooshes, I am awakened with a hush of ||| ratatat ||| Rain slowly, forcibly starts ranting its secrets, pouring them out. Cold air bites when I open the window, oh my! It all explodes into a billion shards of glass! There’s sadly no snow to soften the night. So many uncertainties parade in and out of sight! This January rain is unique, undeniably unfolding its wet tears. Shards of disillusion remind me of gratitude traps, << Do this and that every day and you’ll reach new heights.>> Vicious vindicative compulsions, New Year resolutions in action, Abandoned to inner doom, contractions, Some unwritten, undreamed, untamed. Uncompiled, unraveled, insane. A fantastical gloomy rehearsal to watch This January rain is my soul’s way of painting the night. Are you ready to swoon and manifest your sovereignty, To manifest your infinity among the energies divine? The Gods are ablaze, in a haze they follow all your hopes, Wanting to swiftly fulfill all your wishes asap, ***Ooooor is that rather another sort of trap?*** Mischievous stillness forsaken to flounder, Instead of fluffy flakes of wonder, there’s that — Just a dynamic dance of droplets, and another hush of ||| ratatat ||| Hear hear! Or … ***would you rather feel the chill with each falling drop?*** Get kissed by January winter’s cold sharp shaky hisssss Under its misty veil searching for a bride, Soon to collide into inner refractions of light.
Fresh, tickling air
tacking on wind whipped eyes
saltwatered hair
curly, all tangled up from the mornings summer daze
wide eyes looking into mine,
you can tell she's smiling
because the corner of your eyes catches her upturned lip, the little dimple that moves a half inch when she's beaming
telling jokes over the
hunger, roaring water
indulging in its sweetness
licking the wet dew drops like puppies licking their chops
words a humble tune, in between
giggles like schoolchildren
passing smoke rising, falling from our lips
snaking under the pebbles we pick, skip, feed into
glassy water, wailing for its bluer days
at night we gaze up,
tiny little stars dot oblivion
i squeeze your hand to remind you we are really here
“after all" you say
you ask if i can still hear the roar
i tell you it was always there.
she sipped fire // sacral chakra
behind her navel // a winter
pomegranate // i never imagined
you // like when i call you that
To have the sky on speed dial: please more stars, less rain; please more wildfowl in a skein, less death, less disarray. To text one river and get a thousand replies: there, from the mountain, rushing white, there in the throat of the sea, salted like blood, there, sloshing against temple steps, marigolds and prayers circling with the fish, there, around her delicate feet, like a soft cloud fallen, in a hurry to get back home. To talk to time, to slow the dawn, to hasten yesterday, to swirl into a lost moment, to gather minutes from different hours like logs for a pyre: to know the duality of so much silence. My dreams are darkening light, forcing forward the moon. When September comes, they will sit like ancestor crows on the fence, cawing for ritual oblations. What constitutes meaning? What is another word for life? What is the flight path of a dream? To have a solitary bird, fleeing its first winter, beak-first into a fog, still knowing, still knowing, mapping the way.
I arise to pay respect for the decisions I have made Each moment alive will be a meditation I remember the lessons source has taught me I remember the pain I experience daily do you know what it feels like to have no one read your words can you understand the frustration of using your art to communicate and no one cares so why do I wake up ever yday to a blank canvas Is there a reason I create with no audience? possibly I cry over the pages because I want you to hear my creativity doesn’t care I continue my path with self doubt at my side my creativity doesn’t care beyond the blocks and further past this artwork spills from my soul it pays no mind to the medium I use The art simply wants to be free these are our gifts a blessing bestowed upon us Will I erase my fear? Will you walk in faith with me I realize there is only one path The path to becoming your true self the mark I will leave with the world is my own I can finally be free Let my tears be the paint Let my joy flood the message The darkness is where the light grows another day done I close my eyes to meet with my higher self we descend.
© All Rights Reserved for each respective writer. Black Coffee Poetry cedes copyright ownership of the above work sans email header and title.
Many thanks to the sweet sixteen scribes in this collation! Due to email length constraints, I couldn’t include every amazing email/DM submission, so I’ve heralded this group as the First Wave.
An Assemblage of Artists: Second Wave is an option for interested writers? I could run another community concept post in five days or so.
Let the coffee flow,
Edward Swafford
Let the coffee flow, indeed. So much talent in one page, my brain's ready to burst.
Wait, let me have another cup.
Thank you for including my words in your post full of amazing poets! I am honored - and so are the misfits of society.
I read through every poem here. There are so many amazing minds out there 🖤