Category: Poetry

sometimes i feel happy when i see you cut avocados,
listen to Heavy D and Vaux Diop.
i heard you talking to one of your
friends the other day;
you were teaching them breath.
you gave purple nettle and mullein to her pops.

i saw you staring  out the window –
you were looking at the trees.
what did they tell you?
she knew how to speak to trees also.
i saw her too.

remember when you ask me to protest?
you put black tape on your face and held up your fist.
sometimes when i think back, i feel happy again,
like i said something good.

i watched you with him,
he had on your shoes
like you had on mine,
you were teaching him food —
and i smiled. 

by K. Osei

making space 
finding grace
for two,
the three of us
divided by trinity. 
 

lifes place
without waste,  
just the union of particle.

change be not strange to evolution,
persistence be not resistance, 
struggle is transformation.

my reflection in your face,
barely a trace, 
yet i am here.

a thousand years gathered
to this moment.

temporary finality, 
imposible ending,
continuing through space, 
a race away from time. 

https://youtu.be/5qf9WygDTBs

by K. Osei

no matter how i try, 
i can never do justice to a tree,
at least, 
not how mama could see.

the way the sun reflects the sheen
of their assorted hair styles,
such calm creatures i’ve ever seen. 

harmonious and ease,
a symphonic flow
of morning breeze.

they never complain, 
surrender tears
to ax, borers or pain. 

the artistic, often animated patterns of light
and shadow at play as scintillant streams 
twist and shimmy through the canopy, 
coloring the canvas floor.

never do they cease to bring forth 
their prostrated crops 
of geometrical shape each season, 
habitually chased by grand conspiracy 
of sublime blush at summer’s end, 
until their ever graceful death.

my perception is unreliable, 
less i behold myself. 

how splendid you are, 
even in your death
i am covered and warm.

you extend my sight and ear,
with vision to hear.

by K. Osei

i know where God lives. 
in the room at the top of the stairs, 
open the door, you’ll see him there.

in the morning he do yoga — writing and shit,
sometimes he travel right where he sit.
i still see him, though he’s not there,
just a hologram fully aware.

a window in the room
open to reality.
when i look, i’m not sure
if i see him, or i see me.

yesterday he smoked a j
and did taiji the short form way.
through a crack in the door
i watched him fling,
twist and step with Cheng Man-ch’ing.

i know where God lives.
he’s in the room at the top of the stairs,
just open the door, you’ll see him there.

he loves to laugh without a grin,
delights his own presence,
redeems his own sin.

on a tree i hung,
he watched me die,
then shouted hallelujah
as i cried.

he wiped my tears 
and tried my eyes,
then gently commanded me — rise!

by K. Osei

we are who we are said i; 
is the saddest hymn sang to me. 

relinquish hope and give up try,
for this is your destiny!

never nay ever was the voice
 in response to thee.

i am who i choose, 
all else is pretend – you see? 

imagination is the real, 
of all that can truly be.

by K. Osei