all he wants is mother
cool hair dark shades
crip color representative
who can never go back
eyes black soul pale
little child lost
on his neck and throat
over his hands and arms
details of alternative
birth certificate needled
in prison ink
the grimace a schizophrenic pull
dear boy who smiles for me
and cheeks contort
to hide the tears
of anger and pain
a story unraveled
Urban Life
international haiku day
just another day

just another day
there are things
that are meant
to he secret
there are codes
that are followed
and no one
knows the meaning
or how the
human drama will
be played out
perhaps there will
be murder or
the sale of
drugs there will
be money to
be made no
matter what the
cost of it
sing road

reach you stars
urban pad to launch from
man of money made
tank of thinking minds
streets crossed
intersection containing all of us
heads in the cloud web of world
stomachs of babes too hungry to sail
on ships flying out
through misery and doubt
3wordpoetpost
3wordpoetpost
3wordpoetpost
the other stars
at night with the party of stars
the stars in the sky i mean
i sit in quiet tender happiness
on the summer eve sidewalk of Sunset and Vine
my eyes scan the shoes
some old some new
there is history in the step
some style some regrets
at night when traffic dies
buses groan and open their doors
warm freon stink hisses
no one exits they just sit
my hands play
with blue Bic pens and loose sheets
their surface wrinkled tears
happiness of simple truths recorded there
at dawn barley curtains fall
the stars have took their bows
coffee’s bitter cocoa moan
stirs my knees and center
in the newness of the old city yawn
where i died lived and was born
onto this place where my soul has soaked in this world is my happiness
faces looking up
precious shards of angel tears
above the Staples Center skyline
a helicopter or two
green heavy military
did you see the angels’ lace
made of colors not yet named
on the ground concrete pillows
bricks pipes crossing lines
multiplying multitudes
faces looking up
to wonder
how the rainbow got it’s high
its virtue and its glow
xray visions time flows through
yet we don’t know
we are the spectrum of it all
August 26, 2020 Pomona Alley
Guest Post by Rob Banks the Pope of Punk