"We Are Watching"
Place pennies next to rappers
who can't wrap their minds around hip hop;
choking on the same cake
the first Poets burned at the stake for.
We are not the last ones.
We are the first to view the worst
in a world where chivalry is thirst.
We are the apex where texts mean rough sex.
We observe the dark arts:
the very savagery of hidden fantasies.
Well placed tapestry this generation calls "Thirst Traps."
Hear the claps?
You won't hear many because
they only clap long enough
to distract us from their envy.
We clip their fishnets at the seams and crush gleams.
We also have the glimmer of sinners;
but the differential is when we clap hands,
we aren't taking a chance.
We sound without our pants down.
Resound without night gowns.
Bra straps popped
in front of fitted cap merchants
who champion their sermon
while praising the vermin.
We stand as the first ignored and seldom explored.
We write sex and cause bandwidth wrecks.
We say how we feel
and you say "That's real."
We see the truth but you want the stories.
We fall victim to perception
but we are not your categories.
Skim through it all and crawl.
Before you can scrape, scratch or sprawl,
you're taught how to "catch the wall"
against those who only stand tall
to deliver to the giver.
We can see the black water
gushing from the river.
You gorge forcefully;
ready for more slight in refreshment
to infect the connected.
We are free to pay homage
to those who were in bondage
yet we swiftly trade in the reins
for shackles and chains
like the untamed for fame.
We are not the answer.
We are not protection.
We as Poets know
that most questions need direction.
Know who leads before you proceed.
He who sows the seed
cannot neglect the garden.
You have killed our roots
but the heart must never harden.
Far then, but closer to you still.
If you've had your fill,
stand with us and state your will.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Idle Thoughts Part 1: First Glance"
Strobe lights capture playful glimmers
Every time the liquor shimmers.
Bypassed sharing dessert
To skip in after dinner.
Music playing loud,
waves move through the crowd
Like soft hands through drunken clouds.
…………you just sit there.
The bar top an appealing mixture
Of colored glass and solid oak
Provoking a brief stare
Because the glass sits there.
Bottles are only passed
To fill flutes and flasks
For those requesting more
Before new faces grace the door.
The floor a sea of sweat
Washing away any regret,
Extensive stints of sorrow,
Or concerns waiting tomorrow.
Shapes bounce and break in rhythm.
Limbs find exuberance in bass.
One's vantage point is lost within them;
But I can still see your face.
Long, dark hair with a heavy sheen,
Skin pristine. Milky vanilla in hue.
Directly in my view.
Legs crossed beneath resting hands.
Fingertips reflect your glow
Like sunlight crossing snow.
I sized you up so slow
That I forgot about the show.
Paid for it in advance
But couldn't rob you of a glance.
Saw my money wasted
but found my suitable replacement.
Placement so concise
that I feared blinking twice
should your presence be removed.
It was as if you behooved
In your dubious enchantment
That my heartbeats chant with
The cadence of your grace.
Such rhythm in a still face?
This drink must be heavy.
I've had so many
That the bartender befriends me.
You whisk away quickly.
Slipping through this maze
In a daze of bewilderment,
Chilly air cleaving my pores
as I inch closer to the door
That you just stepped behind.
Barely straight lined,
My mind desperate for focus
Among this freelance flock of locusts
That have become this crowd,
Speakers still blaring so loud
As I lean against the brick...
...was this a trick?
Your silhouette fierce yet fair
And a soft, inviting pair of eyes
with lashes dark blue in hue
Silken hair in every sinew,
This from far I have observed
And what surely strikes my nerve
Is this newly apparent fact:
A motive accompanies that swerve.
Concerned barely,
You tarry far from grasp
Yet close enough to fawn over;
Only glancing above your shoulder
To make sure that I still follow.
Hollow your discernment
over your shame, my anger
Or some impending danger.
So what am I to do?
1:52 and I'm near you.
Who is tracking who?
Why this intrigue?
What of your mystique?
Will I incur a change of heart
if I continue to advance?
Should I chance this first glance…………?
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
