Black Man

*Short Poems


Is every black in America born

to a waiting crown of thorns...


Each of us can help to change


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For a Moment, Remember Me Again


I wish I knew what I want to say 

I wish I knew what to do

The truth is I've been at a loss

Since I lost you 


It's the gap, the absence, the lack 

The introspectively shaped hole 

On the right side of the bed 

That I realize tonight 


The truth is

I can't move on 

I don't even want to 

Each moment that goes by 

I'm starting to miss the days of my life

That I thought I was sad 


I don't just love you, I need you 

And I hate the fact that I want you 

When you've moved on

I don't want to haunt you 

But I miss your smile and your laugh


So for a moment

Please remember me again



Caught In-between Toxic Thoughts








Caught In-between Toxic Thoughts


Please don't fade away

the Color of jet-black shirts

Tumbling through washes

Forever stressed, stretched, laundered

Just to clean impurities

Author's Notes/Comments: 

 Reedited 07.11.2019, 07.08.2019; 07.03.2019; 07.02.2019; 06.26/27.2019 (for general grammatical &/or semantical errors, misspelled words, & ambiguities/clarifications):  


This is, indeed, just another "tanka" exercise.  Like most of the other tankas that have been published here, for the same stated purposes, they were also primarily intended for me to learn from the get-go.  That was the surface reason:  in understanding my own notions of the poetical distinctions between a tanka & a haiku (&/or/versus other poetical forms, their fundamental use as a vehicle for expression in classic/modern/postmodern literature; still considered as modes of expression anyhow despite the varying adaptations even up to now, especially in my investigations of the "indeterminacy of translation", Quine).  Nonetheless, I do not intend to make anything more out of them other than that which was stated, i.e., the didactic part of it.  It neither means anything more than that which was implicitly explained nor anything else that may possibly be assumed (assumptions that may also be expected, which might precede these developments as they get showcased or self-published).—Because it is also a learning experience, so to speak a synonymy of a learning objective, I solely wanted to learn (& relearn the essences) about how language(s) (or theories of language, in general) are distinguished in respect to its many contradistinctions/aspects/properties/use/etc., ie., descriptivism vs prescriptivism, how those [said features] interrelate to meaningfulness/meaninglessness to either myself or others, & penultimately how the Japanese, themselves, supposed to have intended their own expressions/ideas to mean—in relation to my "own" usage).  Of course, that could still mean going to back to historical accounts of their own systematized body of knowledge in its foundational knowledge (as pertains to literature & those multifarious factors that have mainly contributed to those movements (i.e., in their art forms).  I know of the basic premises..that there must exist, either metaphysically or empirically, a divide between two cultural traditions and how my poems could be considered too synthetic, by comparison.  An intellectual's pursuit (e.g., his intellectualisation about anything, or for the matter at hand) can be only deemed so (a so-called "claim", even by him); one may even seem to appear megalomaniac, because like a maxim, that's how intellectualizing may look like (e.g., that's how it may appear to work within a particular linguistic/phenomenological/logical system).  But more than this, there is still an overriding principle which is my aim, i.e., to further analyze the philosophical distinctions between them, as well (when observed through a wide-ranging lens or purview/scope which also could mean its "analyticity" in regards to theoretical analyses that span intersubjectively, e.g., trans-/inter-/multi-/cross-disciplinarity).  Pretty much how Quine have been said to have arrived at one of his theses about translation &/or his ideas on synonymy—as by having his pragmatic stance on one of those said theses (versus, in what I've studied so far, e.g., logicists/logical positivists vs. the continental philosophers' take on Linguistic Philosophy & other sociolinguistical concepts and theories which I will mention in the next instance when given a chance).  There is no definite goal to be achieved right now, but for my own self-discovery of my casual use of language by its direct/indirect applications (about effective communication/communicative action) and for enhancing my unripe understanding of the dichotomies involved in  semantics/pragmatics/syntactics/semiotics which could be one instance alone of that exercise in my daily application.  It is, in fact, a part of current curricula in Sociology & Psychology (according to one of my co-workers).  In an English-speaking world, where English is predominantly taught as primary subject matter in most learning institutions, my self-directed studies may be deemed significant by my own standard of measure due to it has given me a good start to align certain variables versus many other linguistic factors/phenomena (social phenomena) & other traditions in the Western analytic tradition (in Philosophy, as by the use of the English language or its translations from German & French or Latin/Greek for use in both Continental & Analytic Philosophy).  Howsoever, this concept that I just had formed here may be deemed insignificant by others, e.g., in another [specified] way or contrastingly. It is both a phenomenon and a noumenon (e.g., if one should go by Kant's basic descriptions of such).

Hey girl

Hey Girl.. Yes you the black one.


Looking at a halo graphic time lapse of my life makes me wonder what was my parents thinking. Who thrives to give birth under distress and demographic struggles? My mom did, her green eyes unlocked many doors but her skin tone kept many locked. My daddy raised with a Tuscaloosa odor of sweet corn and okra kept me on track physically but mentally I was getting my ass whooped. Who am I? A mistake? Should I been a mystery in a wash cloth after sex or a prayer of please god get me pregnant? I pick neither. Tethering the pain of can I make it in society or will God stop me from taking my life like my cousin Aaron. Closed eyes with open ears delegate my daily path while I squeeze my amethyst crystal of love while I hold my fake laughing Buddha looking for wealth. 


I think God hates me!I’m struggling as a mom, wife, daughter, cousin, aunt and lastly friend. I exchange my faith for love, I use my love as a guide to protect my faith. I watch television of wants and small waists that causes me to look for a cheap plastic surgeon. Who said it was right? I can’t blame society, this is a God issue. I was told don’t question him? I was told just respect and love him. My heart is seeking what you are speaking of. My brain is thriving if illegal stereotypes that is killing my soul. How can I make it in society without being an Nigga stereotype. Oh that word! That word is just an Ebonics connotation of life long ignorance. Did you pray for me? I prayed for you, but I don’t know you!. See that metaphor do onto others as you would want them to do into you. I’m a helper by nature but my gate is silent with a creek that slowly lets you in. I’m nothing to a class of 23, I’m nothing to my six kids, I’m nothing to my husband, I’m nothing to society, I’m nothing to the world but I am somebody to myself. 


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I Held Back


"It's been a bit,

since I've written real words, 

real verbs, letters lined up 

to litter the page 


with alliteration, 

metaphors, hyperboles,

other devices that help gain

your undivided attention.


It's been a bit,

I almost quit,

because the last time I was on stage,

I felt like a tripped.


I felt like I didn't perform, 

I knew I was pulling punches, 

because there was much to consider, 

but now it's got me a little bitter.


I held back.


I held back,

lowering my tone,

juxtaposed to my actual voice;



I held back,

because of the 

familiar face

In the crowd.


I held back,

instead of letting it rip,

taking people on a little trip

to recount how one's lid


was flipped.


I held back

because I was scared

that I wasn't hip

and I wasn't hop, 


when I was raised on Wu-Tang 

and Nas 

in a place where 

where rain constantly drops,


and I know how

the beat drops, 

the mic rocks, 

and how rhymes can make time stop.


I held back 

because the tone of my skin 

has people guessing 

wrong my ethnicity, 


if you think I'm white,

you're not right, 

and to be honest 

that's not point.


Because I come from a place 

where I was too nerd to be brown

and too chale be white 

and too polite to be hanging out 

with the gangsters 


stealing cars 

and shooting at other's backs,

and if you think

I'm talking about blacks


that's the problem,

assumption causes caution, 

because not only were those 

want-to-be thugs


of fairer skin, 

my only friends

were much darker kin.

In the Marines,


we call ourselves green,

and you're either 

dark green, 

light green,


and there's no disillusion,

you disagree? 


perhaps in the Army.


And yes, 

the Navy too, 

there's no turning back, 

I'm no longer holding back,


what I'm saying is true. 

The point of this piece 

is to bring peace

to me,


that I was wrong 

to hold back, 

to withhold from the reader,

because how can I call myself 


a poet

if I'm not painting a picture? 

With your mind as the canvas,

and my words as the paint?


I watched poets come on stage,

deliver works of art,

things beautiful, 

and I saw a beautiful, torn heart


put her hand up in the air

to an artist work,

like it was gospel in the church,

with thoughts on me! I saw,


but I held back,

and what I provided last time

was a finger painting 

of child's skill.


I need to be real,

paint a real picture,

my motions and emotion

the finest paintbrush, 


now fluttering about

all over your mind, 

hopefully breathing to life

that I, 


a man,


am more than some accusation,

of being mean heart.

Of being a relatable object,



to a poem so eloquently put

'he broke my heart,

and called it poetry'?

Get out with that


hand raised in the air

while another poet

spills out her pain,

and perhaps next time


I won't hold back,

paint a picture 

of how her heartbreak

did become my poetry. 


Yes, I'm being specific, 

and context would make

for a much hotter piece,


but I'm over this, 

over being scared, 

I've conquered mountains

and crossed bridges.



I respectfully submit,

give me another chance.

I won't hold back."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I had an open mic a few months back. A good friend of mine asked me to perform at her show she had built from scratch. I was eager to help, having performed at her show before (see 'Other Life') and had performed with (see 'Corpse Pose'). Anyway, I was there and I choked. I held back. I instantly wrote two new poems and read one decent poem, and another, lacking. I cursed myself for doing so. This poem is about that hesitation.

a talk with Mr. Black

a talk with MR Black


I came across something that got my attention
its name was Herion, I guess I should mention.
I said hello, can you answer a question?
I have friends that just love you
why is that? whats so special that you do?
I waited a minute, to hear its reply
it answered back, because you ask, I wont lie
I give my users a sense of peace
I take from them pain and give them relief.
if you do me, I make things feel right
and I'll never leave you, morning or night!
I'll give you a way to escape your pain
I'll help you hide from lifes game.
Now doesnt that sound like I'm a friend
Remember, I'll stay with you until the end.
I thought for a moment...and said thats sounds fine
But about the stories, I hear all the time
How you ruin lives and take some away?
he just smiled and said... sometimes you pay!
Yes its true, I can ruin your life
but... if you love me like a husband or wife
I'll never leave you, and if you try leaving me
I'll give you such pain, you'll beg me please.
you'll do anything to stop the pain
you'll even sell yourself in my name...
I take from you all you got
and my friend, I wont stop
I'll take any love that you might have
I'll take away your kids, your mom or dad
I take the friends the you go and see
I dont want you thinking, you can live without me
I was shocked by what I heard
he wasnt lying, or being absurd
Then I ask, why would you be like this
it answered back, I can give you bliss.
Just try me, and you will see
I'll give you whatever, inside a dream
you'll do me and then you'll nod
and while your out, you can be robbed
Robbed of all your self respect
robbed of a love you'll one day regret
your self esteem will fade away
and you'll convince yourself its okay
I could not believe what I just heard
Black was true to his word
he didnt lie, or hide his sins
He knew that many would welcome him in.
he had taken some friends, which made me sad
I turned away, disgusted and mad
I thought about a woman I loved before
She had chosen black, and died on the floor
Her needle laying next to her side
the thought of her death mad me want to cry
She gave up our love and loved black instead
because she loved black, she now is dead.

as I turn from him I heard him say

I treat your kids, one of these days


©11/05/2016 Paul (ChryWizard)  Posney



Author's Notes/Comments: 

I had to write something about this topic.

This drug was almost in the trash along with

cross tops, reds and yellow jackets... however,

it has came back with a vengence.

I have lost 3 friends to this drug, so here

is my take on it....

(Btw. no I dont)

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Black Fever


Painful and fatal disease

Not of this world...

Drawn down by Surama

Former priest of Atlantis.


Surama was a mummy;

But back restored to life

By a necromantic ritual

Performed in North Africa.


Wisdom and power

If the disease was spread.

Disgusted with this idea,

Surama left the humane.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mythos poem.

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My grammaw y tu abuela fueron primas...a lifetime ago, se jugaron en la tierra cojiendo al Sol
Con las ideas of unity y amor, sin las tareas de miedo y valor
Our grammaws were cousins when life was simple and jewelry told a story
We are blessed since then nothing steals that glory.
For I still have the heirloom that if we are in the same room you would recognize
The healing of a heart and the sight for sore eyes
Los braceletes que se cambiaron todo 
Anyone who laid eyes on them would know
Que solamente si lo vieron, todos se pudiera quedar en casa, embrazando sangre esperando a sus abuelos a venir. But they did not notice or didn't care, shipped them off to live unknown fears. 
But the game they played to try to evade their destiny is the reason why we have been fooled all this time. I am your blood and you are mine,
After all, your abuela and my grammaw are cousins, look how our smiles shine mirror reflections time after time....

The Black Rose Of Hell

Tell me 

If I was born a demon 

Would I be damn to a life of sin 

Would the bloodline that I bear 

Condemn me to a world

Full of regret and a false sense of joy


And if I knew this truth. 

That I was bound to the lowest levels of hell 

Tell me 

Why would I hesitate to spread the devil's dogma

You see 

Not all that are born of a dark nature are evil

Some souls are just curse with a malevolent outlook 

But I believe  that If an angel can fall from the grace of God

Then a demon can raise above his own eternal damnation.

For a black rose that blooms in the pits hell is still a flower unto God 

~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~

My Blog -

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