Corporate Slave

Break these chains,
that confine me,
time clocks,
and alarm clocks,
that constantly remind me
that I'm not free from,
the grind,
the paper chase,
the rat race,
give me my freedom,
release the stress,
and the strain,
relief from this desk,
break this corporate chain,
set me free 
to write from
the right side of my brain,
Plot my escape,
Bureaucracies,
Hierarchies,
this corporate rape,
that encloses me in,
robs my creative,
and separates me
from my pen.

Practical Joke (For Harold) 4/26/1949-8/23/2015

Mayhem and Mischeif,

All rolled into one,

Seems all too brief,

But life rolls on,

Going for broke,

Time is a thief,

A practical joke.

You were the shy kid,

An artist,

A prankster,

Your hand hid,

Where your heart is,

No gangster,

I laugh,

To remember

Things that you did,

Just loved to have fun,

And choose it,

Sketch the sun,

And not lose it,

Pop rubber bands,

Throw eggs from a roof,

"Not" your pocketed hands,

Your face stoic, aloof,

You weren't the one, see,

As easy as Ex-lax, in coffee,

Without the runs,

A whistle on your lips,

A mindful of stunts,

A grin on your face,

You will pace,

The hallway of my memory,

Forever in short trips,

You were my ace.

© Vickie
9/12/15

The Manchurian Candidate

They have used up

all their aces,

now they're diggin'

from the bottom

of the deck,

for that Trump card, 

of a million faces,

The Joker,

of the Manchurian Sect,

a ruthless power broker,

to pursue a palace coup d'e'tat

His face a straight

flush as in poker,

His gaze of flat affect,

spying that queen,

with the diamond choker,

His words an assault 

in full attack

to murder America

and set us back,

to zero,

place your bet,

to hell with 

the more the merrier,

and to assassinate

the character

of the hero vet!

Victori7 Sept 1, 2015 ©

Revolutionary!

One truism in life

we all must die,

Either at a ripe old age,

or by the knife,

of a decaying plague,

or by the sword,

It's not how you die,

but what you die for,

so speak your voice,

this pen is my spear,

my weapon of choice,

these words my breath,

to live in fear, is certain death,

I refuse to die for the color blue,

the color of sorrow,

I refuse to be killed over the color red,

the rage of a destroyed tomorrow,

I won't die for a one night stand,

in the fit of passion,

I'd rather die for my fellowman,

in the line of action,

so choose your chosen tirade

for the youth my life I'd give,

it's those who live unafraid

who truly live! (written in 1984) © victori


Real 'istic'

Don't wrap me in those 'istic' clothes,

mystic vibes from centuries ago,

I am not material 'istic'

What are you surreal 'istic'?

You must be altru 'istic"

To come here messin' with me,

All I am 

Is all you see,

Just a girl yet to unfold,

into the woman I'll one day be! 

(written a long time ago) © victori

Do Somethin'

I might die,
if I don't do nothin'
If I don't do nothin'
I might die,
I might die,
If I sit idly by,
and don't do nothin'
and don't do nothin'
I might die,
who am I 
to see your plight
and don't do nothin'
and don't do nothin'
to not even fight
not lift a hand,
not shed a tear,
not take a stand,
not ease a fear
just sittin' here,
I might die
I might die,
to see another brother maimed,
to see another sister shamed,
I might die 
to see another mother cry,
as I stand there wondering, why?
I'll climb a hundred ladders,
to cause a hundred banners, to fly,
proclaiming BlackLivesMatter,
if it would cease the manner,
in which liberty lie,
I might die,
but if I remember correctly,
if it affects one of us directly,
it affects us all indirectly, so
I might die,
I might die,
If I don't do nothin'
I might die,
if my hand I give, 
but a person without
something to die for
isn't fit to live.

victori7 © 8/4/15

I want to live!

I want to live!

Live like you've never known,

turn a trickle into a river,

to soften each heart of stone,

I want to love!

Love like, what's never been shown!

turn a broken mold into a work of art,

and mend each broken heart,

I want to splash!

Splash hard to create a wave,

turn those waves into tsunami's,

be a buoy to each life I save,

I want to move!

Move obstacles from the way.

turn mountains to ant hills.

clear a path to a brighter day.

I want to stretch!

stretch my arms wide and long,

from Texas to Timbuctoo,

to unite the world as one!

I want to jump!

Jump high enough to fly,

from my skin into a star,

light the pathway of the blind.

I want to lead!

Lead the misled,

turn evil into good,

and dry each tear that's shed.

I want to change!

Change the world that is,

from a rock into a pearl

change sadness into bliss.

I want to give!

Give the children a better try,

turn their problems to resolutions,

I want this bad enough to die.

and that is why,

I want to live! 7/9/15 © Victori7

Self C O N T R O L

C O N T R O L
the violent
tendencies,

C O N T R O L
the silent
mouth,

C O N T R O L
the one behind,
the gun,
a weapon of

C O N T R O L
as lethal as
the tongue,

C O N T R O L
the aggression,
C O N T R O L
the reflection 
in your mirror,
C O N T R O L
the ignorance,
C O N T R O L
the media,
demon of the air,
C O N T R O L
the mind instead,
with Xen, meditation,
prayer,

C O N T R O L 
the message 
taught the young,
C O N T R O L
the racist plot,
C O N T R O L
your very thoughts,
C O N T R O L
what prevents
you speaking about,
a wrong,
C O N T R O L
your doubt,
C O N T R O L
yourself to
get-a-long
or get out.

C O N T R O L
the demon of 
C O N T R O L
who tries to
C O N T R O L
the soul
C O N T R O L
yourself.
and train
your children
to maintain.
a locus of
C O N T R O L!

by victori 6/27/15 ©

For What its Worth

           

            1
Feeling a bit jaded 
by what is left,
the remains of the day,
discarded like an abandoned theft,
that's been tossed by the way,
robbed of its valuables,
its purpose and worth,
robbed of what's salvageable,
this refuse litters our earth,
with environmental decay,
they even depleted the very dirt,
why do they treat our earth this way?
They cut down our rain forest,
and poison our seas,
then send up emissions,
which poison our breeze,
and blights our visions,
they ruin our atmosphere,
by cutting down trees.
             2
This day is done,
stricken by incurable disease,
an era whose carcass rots in the sun,
like a fallen beast,
we must resurrect and reseed, a better one,
Even animals fall victim to our greed,
killed for their tusks, to boast man's vanity,
When will cruelty to animals ever end?
stop the insanity!
we dish up our dysfunction,
and feed it to man's best friend,
without any compunction, 
isn't it our duty to defend?
all creatures great and small,
If elephants never forget,
doesn't that speak for all,
don't we owe the world a greater debt,
to end their extinction, even yet.
                 3
Then what is worst,
on the edge of tomorrow,
it'll be our children who inherit this curse,
at their feet we place our sorrow,
and man's inhumanity to man,
haven't we had enough?
time to reverse the plan,
stop the violence and replace it with love,
stop the bias, and the bigotry,
enough is enough!
This day is a wrap!
This day is done!
let's pull the shade.
and tomorrow make a better one.
or we'll be singing taps,
and salute our lost with twenty-one guns,
for the death of another sun,
and how many more sons
we will have to lose,
to the heavens above,
at the end of the day,
before we choose,
 to LOVE!      Victori June 7, 2015 ©

Under the Illusion

In his presence she drowns,

gulping down shadow and shade,

in his silence, she sounds,

like an echo, slow fades,

In his arms she's bound,

like a hangman nooses' braid,

In his absence she's found,

like a discovery that's made,

upon his arrival she abounds,

like a departure which stays.

victori ©

For Joseph

Conversation never spoken

"Sleep now,
and we'll speak tomorrow,"
last words ever spoken,
and a promise never kept,
"It's with our sincerest apologies,
we must inform you,
of our deepest regrets,"
I hear the words,
but there's no meaning,
no metaphor, no moral,
no rhyme, nor reason,
no diction, and no depth,
even with all that missing,
the burden of sorrow,
still, weighs heavily on my chest,

Is this all that's left?
The weight of it.
The wait of it,
for a conversation interrupted,
and silenced by death,
just sobs to feed the silence,
and so many tears,
a silence so greedy, so empty,
that to feed, could take years and years,
and would still be bereft?
and the lure of conviction,
to hear that promise kept.
would pose a moral restriction,
that requires ceasing my breath.

Please do not comment,
or SMS me on the subject of this post,
I'm not suicidal, morbid or morose,
but these are the thoughts,
I can't help but host,
and so would you,
if you were in love with a ghost,
A person whose very voice,
once lifted you from the abyss,
A person whose only noise,
was jazz, and sheer bliss,
who could silence a quarrel,
just by throwing a kiss,
If a moment I could borrow,
I would tell him just this,
"I love you," <3 and seal it with a kiss,
recite sonnets by Keats and Pablo,
But sleep now my love,
We will speak tomorrow.

Victori June 2, 2015 ©

Reverie

Probably won't ever wake up,
now that I met you,
find myself struck by a dream,
broadsided by an illusion,
traveling 90 R.E.M. per hour,
wind up in traction,
immobilized by sleep paralysis,
so deep, and so comatose,
that the electroencephalogram,
would begin twitching like a seizure,
activated by the high voltage, electrical,
impulse of your smile,
causing my heart to flutter,
until your tongue roll of mine,
like a sedative and reduce my heart rate.
Probably won't ever wake up,
after you've kissed me,
test my blood for barbiturates,
declare me brain dead,
use me as a melatonin donor,
as I ingest the narcolepsy,
that you're injecting,
soon I'll be be two-stepping to
your circadian rhythms,
moon walking, altered levels of
consciousness, hypnotized by,
the touch of your hands caress,
Probably won't ever wake up,
once you've touched me,
find myself catapulted 
into a sleep spindle,
capsized by a brain wave,
floating upon a reverie,
foraging the darkness of your melanin,
for the light of your DNA,
reaching through the depths,
of your eyes for a love,
that's not there and,
a love that could never be,
so pardon me if I 
open my eyes now,
and turn away from you,
The alarm of reality reminds me,
That I'm in love with another man, and
I'd better wake up now, that I've met you!  Victori ©

Mumblings of an old lady...

Damn! superstitions what a laugh!

The number 13 never done me no harm,

I've crossed black cat's in their paths,

beautiful, cunning, strong,

they don't intimidate me,

jheri curled, afroed, dreadlocks,

whichever breed they belong,

walked under ladders,

even stepped on cracks in the sidewalk,

where I live that cain't be avoided,

sent mirrors crashin' to  the floor,

be lucky to survive seven more,

Been hit by brooms,

beat by fist, and kicked,

but never been  to jail,

Once, I crossed a lady twice,

still haven't burnt in hell,

'course I live there anyway,

My palms been a itchin'

but money never come,

left eye keep a' twitchin'

and half moons risin' on my thumb,

still don't got a man,

or chirren' of my own,

and if it wasn't for these cats,

I'd be livin' here alone,

twelve black cats,

have been my lucky charm,

so the thirteenth one,

won't do me any harm.

victori-©

My Poem

My Poem (Version one) written 1984


Upon conception you were my only thought,

 the fertile portion of my being,

I felt you grow in the womb of my mind,

from a tiny syllable, a quick thought,

and then develop into words,

long sentences from the heart.

I longed to caress you,

Once you traversed the birth canal,

I cut the umbilical cord.

I fed you metaphors,

until you were fully weaned on rhymes,

And once you were I composed you,

my love, my word, my poem,

and sent you away into the world,

a perfect reflection of your origin.

by Vickie Bass ©

My Poem

MY POEM

 (New Version)

Upon conception you were the focus of my attention,

the modem of my soul,

proud to be the mother of your invention,

proud to be the locus of your control,

I've felt you grow, within my brain,

from a syllable to a phrase,

Your pulse beat a soft refrain,

and your heartbeat twelve tonal arrays,

you developed in three-quarter time,

from a minute to a few days,

Once you traversed the vocal cords,

I wrapped you in tempo,

rocked you in time, fed you metaphors,

until you were fully weaned on rhymes,

I composed you,

my poem, my words my allegory,

dressed you in prose,

and sent you out into the world,

 to tell our story.

by Victori April 9 2015 ©

Unseen Inspired by God 9/28/2008

Do you know who I am?

If I stood before you in a hurricane,

or the wing span of a duck,

on a quiet lake, near a rock,

in the spark of an eye,

in a cup of brew from Starbucks,

or within the sincere intention in a lie,

or the adrenaline in the effort of a try,

Would you know me then?

You look for me in superficial things,

like cars, and chains and flashy bling bling,

I have come to you 

in the form of a  woman, a man,

This poet's right hand,

even appeared to you as a lamb,

once in a burning bush,

and you still don't know,

that I am that I am,

No mystery here,

I am the spirit 

that animates your soul,

And when three or more of you,

gather together in my name,

You partake of me whole,

I am that teardrop, on your page,

Am those wrinkles,

That show your age,

Am those volumes,

that speak your peace,

am that scream,

Your frustration release,

I live forever and never decease,

You kill my young prophets,

then send them home where I wait,

And I birth out another, just reincarnate,

You can't silence me I'll never be damned,

As always I am that I am. ©