My Daddy My Daughter | Words In Motion

"The other side of water"

This will be my third book of poetry, due out 2008. I am preoccupied with thoughts of water, trails of tears forever stained on faces. Of omnimus seas in forbidden places, watery sheets cascading over rocky ledges. Thunderous waters racing over towering ravines returning cloudy mist, ascending to places where waters were once displaced. Frozen waters stilled by absence of time, blue liquid to sight, invisible to light, transparent undertow of earth's gravity. Waters roling along, or waters still, waters below, waters above, on secretive travels we know not of. I wonder of the voyage of drops of rain, venturing on journeys no two the same. I am preoccupied with thoughts of water, the taste of salted tears, for I know all waters are mineral laden, and are the tears of man perpetually cried since the existence of life.

Back of beyond

When I get away from all things man;

I'll trek the unknown, the chaste wilds of Borneo

I'll ferry the oceans, gliding above the abyss.

Go way back in time, to the back of beyond,

Back of beyond, yes to the back of beyond.

When I get away from all things man;

I'll traverse unmarked trails of the Himalayans

Explore caverns deep, unsullied, untouched by man.

Go way back in time, to the back of beyond,

Back of beyond, yes to the back of beyond.

When I get away from all things man;

I'll soar above clouds, where eagles dare not fly

And sketch across the heavens, a new constellation.

Go way back in time, to the back of beyond,

Back of beyond, yes to the back of beyond.

Then I got away from all things man;

I trekked, I ferried, I traversed, I explored, and I soared,

I sketched a new constellation, in the heavens for you to,

Go way back in time, to the back of beyond,

Back of beyond, yes to the back of beyond.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

The dark side of the light chaser

Demons that disturb his dreams as he sleep
walking the walls, shadowing shadows they creep.
Carrying out the instructions to exchange strife for life.
It's the soul they seek, so they speak.
Feeling everyday, closer to losing his mind.
Speak to me Father of all time and whisper secrets, ancient in kind.
Help me to hear wisdoms voice so I may also share in rejoice.
And
As the tall glass of all wonder, darken the mind
came such a clear opening of the night sky.
On his knees, angels heard his cry, and replied
"All things will manifest as time passes by."
He was told, "there's no reason to lose your mind
you will see something that will change our times."
"Look to tomorrow, not what's seen today,
the future is yours," he heard wisdom say.
"Thirst and hunger without reason or cost,
and peace with joy will make no pause."

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack and Markeeta Foster

Aqua

I am preoccupied with thoughts of water, trails of tears forever stained on faces.

Of ominous seas in forbidden places, watery sheets cascading over rocky ledges. Thunderous waters rampaging over towering ravines, returning cloudy mist ascending to places where waters were once displaced. Frozen waters stilled by absence of time, blue liquid to sight, invisible to light, transparent undertow of earth's gravity. Waters rolling along or waters still, waters below or waters above, on secretive travels we know not. I wonder of the voyage of drops of rain, venturing on journeys no two the same.

I am preoccupied with thoughts of water, of salted tears, crying away life's fears.

Of waters mineral laden, the essences of all life, waters docile, waters ravaging wild.

Waters traveled, waters never subjugated, spring waters emerging from below mountains, sparkling and pure waters, contradictions to laws of gravity waters, the giver of life waters, waters cradle and carry you through life, destroyers of life waters. Waters singular in concept, twofold in purpose, multifarious in duality.

And what of the tears I've cried, are they not the same waters I am preoccupied with? The essence of life, can I not cry me a river, or the rivers cry for me? The very tears of man perpetually cried since the existence of Terra Firma.

I cry Aqua.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

A Gift

I met this Angel on a flight to a place with no name,

somewhere so different where nothing's the same.

I watched as this Angel approached and sat next to me,

we greeted each other with familiar nicety.

Her face was familiar, had the look of and old friend,

as we spoke for hours, on a flight with no end.

As I was about to ask, she halted the words from my lips,

touched and silenced my speech, with her finger tips.

She looked as if she had the same thoughts in the sky.

She said;

"I want to leave you with a gift to remember me by."

"I want to give you a gift you can't get no where else"

"a mystical gift of our meeting, a small part of myself."

I listened as she explained how this gift was gonna be

I listened intently hoping, she wasn't lying to me.

As I peered out the window ascending through the clouds,

She asked: "Ever been to places where mere mortals aren't allowed?"

Then she pulled me close, we were in forbidden spaces,

we were soaring to magical, and mystical places.

Elevating, upwards in uncontrollable fashion,

uplifting my soul in ecstatic passion.

I'm not talking about physically, rather,

undeniably, foreboding, and mystically.

I was taken to places, that seemed peculiar,

I wasn't alarmed, because they seemed familiar.

Places I've imagined, but I can't remember when,

haunting old memories from way back then.

No words were spoken, as I tried to take it all in,

and gather my thoughts, with my head in a spin.

Then we descended back to earth, floating ever so gently.

I tried to understand what happened, I tried to valiantly.

As I looked out the window, I tried to speak, my words had no sound,

She asked "Do you understand now, why Angles are not earth bound."

I smiled as I thought to myself, that I would be remiss.

If I didn't explain, that this was just a memory of a kiss.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

Punishment

I remember that teary eyed day,

I sat at the front window crying,

I hurried to wipe my face,

I didn�t want my girl to see me crying.

Because that's not what little boys do,

so the big boy I had to play.

I saw you mouth the words, I strained to

hear what you had to say.

Then you began to write on my window,

the frost, was biting at your finger tips.

I tried to hurry and read, I couldn't hear

the words coming from your lips.

Mother was coming down the stairs,

because I was on punishment.

I messed up really bad in school,

and we all know what that meant.

As mother yoked me by the scruff of my neck,

this beating will be worth it, so what the heck.

I strained to see those words

you wrote on my pane of glass.

"I missed you coming outside today,

guess I'll see you tomorrow in class."

By Wesley Allen Mack

This house � The hatred lives

The doors still remain open to

A home that is forever broken

Windows remain eerily shaded

Dreams within forever jaded

Four cornered rooms featured gloom

The lives within only knew the doom

In this house love was never shown

Kinship went undeveloped, unknown.

A home should be where the love is

At times

Lurking deep within the hatred lives.

Never the sound of children's laughter

Would be heard among the rafters

Imprisoned in a ticking time bomb

Joyful noises were never in aplomb

This secluded house in the heart of love city

Hid horror, and terror, and fated a pity

Where went the love, sworn to one another

In this house, Odium, replaced the other.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

Fences

I seem to always find myself straddling fences

perched atop them, not wanting to come down

for fear that the choices I make will be wrong.

If I take the right side, sometimes I'm left wrong,

so I take the left side, hence I can't be right.

I should have stayed on the fence all along.

So I retreat back to the fences I know so well.

I seem to always find my self straddling fences

perched atop them, not wanting to come down

for fear that the choices I make will be wrong.

If I stand by your side, when you are wrong,

I'm wrong to stand by your side, what's right?

I should have stayed on the fence all along.

So I retreat back to the fences I know so well.

I seem to always find myself straddling fences

perched atop them, not wanting to come down

for fear that the choices I make will be wrong.

If I listen to everyone because the majority rules

I am ruled by everyone, so I only listen to me.

I should have stayed on the fence all along.

So I retreat back to the fences I know so well.

I seem to always find myself straddling fences

perched atop them, not wanting to come down

for fear that the choices I make will be wrong.

If I choose not to participate, the way others live,

I can't live by their leave, I'm not participating.

I should have stayed on the fence all along.

So I retreat back to the fences I know so well.

I seem to always find myself straddling fences

perched atop them, not wanting to come down

for fear that the choices I make will be wrong.

Off I go to delight in you, not to fight with you,

I came down off my fence, finding only the fight.

I should have stayed on the fence all along.

So I retreat back to the fences I know so well.

Wesley Allen Mack

America took that from you and me

America has a love affair with the black man :

That can run faster

That can jump higher

That can lead the fast break

That can distribute that rock

That slam dunk over the opponents

And oh yeah, he has to hand out assists.

We have a love affair with the black man:

That can gangster the verb

Destroy the spoken word

That can make the music jump

That can make girls shake their rump

That can smile with grills in their faces

That can shove Bentleys in garage spaces.

I remember a time when the black men actually lead

By example unafraid even when their blood was shed.

Did run faster, because equality he was after

Did jump higher, because mountains were insurmountable

Did lead the fast break, someone was always running..

Did distribute the rock, we all needed a solid foundation

Did slam dunk even the tallest of opposition

And oh yeah, did hand out assists, because we all needed a lift.

Malcolm removed the blinds, the ties that bind, to clear our minds

Martin's dream was a metaphor, a means to allow a people

To rise with self esteem, to stand united with dignity.

And America took them away from you and me.

The �Hood� thing

I remember a time when the phrase "no child left behind"

Wasn't a political statement. Hell "no child left behind"

Wasn't even a statement that needed to be stated.

A time when the neighborhood was watching, we can all speak

To the old lady who sat at her window and watched everything

That was going on. When every grown up had to be respected,

every child was accounted for, no child was neglected.

Children played in the streets (pause), yeah children actually

Played in the streets, and the streets were safe, and the neighborhood

Was watching.

Yeah it was a treat to be allowed to play in the street

And the streets were a blessing after finishing your lessons

And by lessons, I'm not just talking about 123's or ABC's but about

Life lessons, about who you grow up to be.

And America took that away from you and me.

I remember a time when the phrase, "the streets are watching"

Wasn't a call to raise up against your own Neighborhood, hell

Who took the Neighbor out of Neighborhood anyway, and all we are

Left with is Hood, Da Hood.

I remember a time when grown men sat on their steps and porches and

Oversaw all that he surveyed, allowed the streets to be safe and secure.

As our children played in the streets, when the black man was the block captain

Organized cleanups on Saturday and accounted for the streets action.

Block by block the Neighborhood was kept, every man, woman, and child

Got up washed and swept their steps.

Yeah and America took that from you and me.

Because:

America has a love affair with the black man :

That can run faster

That can jump higher

That can lead the fast break

That can distribute that rock

That slam dunk over the opponents

And oh yeah, he has to hand out assists.

We had a love affair with the real Blackman

That didn't entertain us, but he did claim us,

And America took them from you and me.

Wesley Allen Mack

Submit

Stillness of the night air

Blue hazed mist rolling in

To again chastise my soul

But alas

The wronger, you will witness

I am the stronger

No longer will I avoid you

No longer paranoid of you

So when next we meet

Extend my hand to greet

The fear no longer known

Stillness of the night air

Blue hazed mist is stayed

My soul is mine to keep

And alas

The wronger, you have witnessed

I am the stronger

I've faced my demon

Forged my allegiance

To one who stood by me

To one who allied with me

To topple the unfriendly

My sworn enemy

The fear no longer known

In the stillness of the night air

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

The other side of water

Miles beneath the ocean beyond the reach of man,

nature has begun to spawn new life as only she can.

Beyond the existence of man new life forms materialize

lay in wait, to leave the seas, and perpetuate existence.

In the depths of oceans never promised to man, life will

evolve from the water and roam upon the land.

Begin the process of life anew, the rise from out of the blue.

Walk upon the earth, a new species to affect a new birth.

Water is the key to all life, in her all things earth thrive.

It would have been nice, if the earth had told us all her secrets?

For in oceans lie secrets of life, an unlimited aurora,

witness secrets of the world, by the aquatic daughter.

The seas will once again rest upon dry land,

and alter the landscape, a new earth will reign.

If only waters spoke in a language we could understand.

It would have been nice, if the earth had told us all her secrets?

Death valley and so too the Sahara will again submerge,

and bring forth new beginnings new life on the verge.

All man's great monuments will topple the way of Atlantis.

Mother earth will regain what was hers, and nourish the mantles.

We will never miss the waters; they will never run dry,

or the air we try to grasp and hold, even as we die.

A new earth will reign and span for years, numbers untold.

The beginning of a new history, will then begin to unfold.

Water is the key to all life, in her all things earth thrive.

It would have been nice, if the earth had told us all her secrets?

For in oceans lies secrets of life, we can never understand

as we come from the earth, water will return man to the land.

The chosen will give homage, to the ocean and sea

and the New Era is ushered in, our grace is with thee.

If only waters spoke in a language we could understand.

It would have been nice, if the earth had told us all her secrets?

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack