The Bastard:

Poetry & Writing 


Hatch or Rot 

You risk rotting in that shell...

Break through the latch;


Use your beak


You may miss the morn,

be born!

We long your song




The bad guys get to fight you,

And they may have their laugh.

But, often when they've wronged,

They've right you;

Put you on the better path.

And those with fangs

May bite you,

Make your fortitude collapse.

But, calamity can respite you,

And you're stronger coming back.

My Name 


My father  served Sun [Ra]
He was his drummer.

"If music be the fruit of love, play on; give me excess of it."

Dad, a devoted drummer to Sun [Ra]
Dedicated his only begotten son to Sun.

Dad ordained him: Ra’son.



He disregarded his daughters.

We carry his DNA but not the name.
Only suns and sons get names.

But "that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

So Servant to Sun [Ra] selects for me a temporary title. Not a name.
This title, my title,

someone else's son shall take away... soon.
So, my son 

 will have his father's name.

"By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to mysel

I have bloomed
with the imprint
Of resentment
Toward great fathers
and their suns they serve
and the sons they love to name so much.

"It is thy name that is my enemy"

It is my disdain towards a name
that damned me!
Sun did not curse me  
I cursed SUN !

"Deny thy father! Refuse thy name!"

I declared myself a bastard.
I rejected my father's name!
I denounced you servants to suns and sons!
As a result, I was cast out!

"For exile hath more terror in his look
Much more than death"

Stricken with smite
For a blaspheming tongue,
I have been banished
from the sun:

"Banished, o Friar, the damned uses that word in hell; howling attends it."


But I carry no name!
Freed by my bastardy,
I am not known.
Alienated from light,
I am not seen.  
Without name,
I am not bound
To sons, suns, and their servants.


Though darkness is chaotic:

I dodge left and pivot right​

I am called by that which I do: zigzag.

Addressed by my scarlet act of sin:      self-bastardy.



Let go of yourself.

Become someone else.

Personalities can end.


There's power in pretend.


Gentleness: Side Effect of Love 


I don't need your love to stay alive.

Single Black mamas  taught me

well how to survive.



I need your love,

because it softens.

And, so often,

I find myself with clenched fists.