Prose Poetry

A Fragrant Word

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

We miss you two

Though we are where you see us


Some people like to tuck their shirt in

Some drummers like to stay in the pocket

Steady grooves

Some like to ride waves and rock boats

Some climb trees

Some climb mountains 

Of questions

And some prefer to take their chances

And walk across burning coal

Because they reason that their toes are still on solid ground when Achilles loses courage

And all of them have a reason to believe in the way they wear their hair


Why?

A One night sit
Sipped and swallowed

A bitter pill Washed down with stale saliva

The taste of luck on a blue Monday like those kisses that seal red letters


Then….

Guts in a whirlpool while you hide in the chaos of the clutter that describes your hobo life in a suitcase

Packed with emotion

Thrust with desire A strike that holds you down

Captured

And eyes to watch you slip through the four fingered tension that lives between your slender shoulders

Thrust with desire


A fragrant word sent to exile in the dreams where your fears escaped from love….

Damn!

King Of The Crackle

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

He who wears the paper crown is king of the crackle. Unproven.

Brandy eyes see undressed lies in bed with contrived laughter. Soberly and dripping wet.

Reconfigured finger pops the luck. Guns drawn before Dawn has broken, down baby, damned lady, seated upside out, beltless, love bulging, bursting, with tenderness, lust and found in distinguished denial.

Choice?

The one you use when you say everything in the noise of silence.

Crackled grief and textured tears, too salty for truth, takes you hard and easy when you cry below the waist…ed words of indifference.

Yours.

The one I use when I am merely your reflection without my beating heart.

Open

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Wide shut while you were open. Wide open while he was shot. The trojan Horse is led to water by the willing eyes that woke the fears that do not sleep. Needy eyes. Too open to see. Too close to everything that distracts their vision and attracts their confusion. Order out of chaos. Death controls them. Annointed eyes with the oil of sleep. You fear what you can’t control. Love.

Mud

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Metaphors provoke the page, that words might march the field of battle to muddy the water of our discontent. 


Eyes roam across the cold grass in search of the pearls that fell out of our mouths as we ran into wonder.

Discreetly. Ever so slow to open that door to right now. I already caught you, when you fell head first into my heart.

Throne

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Found a throne for the uncommon man. A little rough. Greener surroundings are healthier than the hours unlived in hospitals full of throne rooms for the chemically altered, wired up to one level of existence. Parks do not service the bottom when the benches are occupied. Since I now operate on my own state of mind and manage a life of some worth between centres of healing or the placebo factories of private alternative health care, I spend what time I have accessible to myself to run errands for loved ones and I cook more than I ever did in my past life. Not too shabby. Not too clever. I like this throne. It digs into the bottom and thats as true to life as it gets.

Honour

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

I fell into you. A lucky catch. You caught me before my eyes landed on yours. Wide open. Iris to nose. I was born wild before I lived in you, but I was so eager to escape into a world with more breathing space to fail. Now when you crawl on your feet to get a word to me, I crawl on my knees to serve you. 

Teenage

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Teenage dreams were purple, I wore blue and saw red when it got to me. Temper the beast with green, and watch it grow on the other side of the grass I inhaled. Roll without it. Like luck. Washed out. Like denim. Once or twice. Leaves and lies.

Teenage love was letters sent to her mother’s address, with words that spied on her thoughts. She thought. And she’d reply in kind and cursive, signed with a four letter promise of peace and hair grease.

Teenage fears were dying young without knowing that I ever was. I stole and ran, got caught once. A cast hand was clutched by desperation. Who writes poetry for a mute heart? If they didn’t kill me in Harlesden then it wasn’t my time.

Teenage hope was a prayer and a song to quell an asthmatic larynx and shoot hoops to high school glory. It was trying to master lessons of speech therapy and fulfill the prophecy of a Physio. A narrow Queen’s Park corridor was a palace of practice to double dribble and carry my fate quietly.

Light

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Perhaps the light knew something I didn’t before I walked into studio C without a plan. Just loose ideas and the accumulation of years lived. The life I’ve been privileged to endure and delight in, tells on itself on such occasions as this one. Both sides of a coin put in a bid for what my heart subconsciously knows. I’m still learning to speak an old language.

Cello

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Your mind drinks the sound of rain. Nurtures peace. Paints possibilities. Come take your bow and find your sweet music in me. Play your song as tender as a mother’s embrace. I won’t leave you for treasures of Gold. We are bound as one. Night and brown. Round in tone. We chase dreams for fun. And when I hear your voice speak through the hollow of my body, it resonates in the realm of the unseen. A language for healing hurts. We escape into the melody. A step ahead of the drift but not too far behind the beat. The tempo of my heart quickens when I see you smile in C sharp. Your joy dances across the strings that keep me sane. 

In a world of sand papered expressionists. Of clowns with crooked faces, and shiny knights made of Marzipan wishes come true, I find you in those quiet moments when the noise of grown ups fades into the shadows with your tears. I’ll never leave you for Emerald and Sapphire.

Play me again when I’m old and despised. I’ll be in the hollow waiting for you to release me from the indigo silence, that we might travel once more into new colours unimagined. Brighter than we ever sounded before. Lighter than the weight of careless words aimed at us. Stronger than fear’s hope to bring us down below the groove of love. Not for Ruby and Amethyst

Play me

Not for Diamond and……

Play me

Lady Luck

Posted on by Napoleon Dozier

Lady luck rides the train, we’ll meet on the overground, an octave below the humming that signals a new day. Arise with expectations to make new chapters with crayons and chalk.

Cheapest words are spent on most precious things, food for your thoughts is washed down with red wine for your fears.

Her imagined lover mutes his tongue and silence screams his adoration, even the trees hear his sighs and cover their ears, too loud and violent, a howling in the sly and murky wind. Long may she reign, a Queen of hearts who played the hands of time and chance.