Ink Spots

Suffering in silence is second nature
for people wrapped in hated skin;
your life under constant siege because
you are a scourge on sight;

a blight in expensive sneakers,
a member of a caste unworthy
of empathy but if you can
somehow Dinesh D’Souza
your way through existence,
everything will be fine.

The Stanford Prison Experiment
was a glimpse of human savagery
put into a uniform;
now state sanctioned violence
continuously batters black bodies
recording at 30 frames per second;

blood sacrifices in HD.

No wonder we have to Frantz Fanon
and Diane Nash our way in these streets;
there’s no polite way to take freedom,
especially when the playbook is rigged.

We must be born with King Herod’s
proclamation coursing through our veins,
the cursed sons of Ham
onto which all the ills of
Western society can be blamed.

Athleticism & entertainment value
makes us palatable and appalling;
phallic and hyper-sexual provenance
sparking unmuted rage.

No matter what continent,
confident we will remain,
walking targets
for those with perfect aim;
our eradication, chess moves
in an ongoing Endgame.

© 2020 Abruvanamedsly

Mear One Painting


(30/30) Aswad (After Nina)

The Prompt for day 30: write a poem about something that returns.

I am remembering a photo,
I could smell its blackness;

Duke, Raven and Cocoa Butter.

They coil together without apology,
courageous and thundering.

They were the shape of the universe;
Afro blue suspended in tangerine and
cotton candy nebula

voices like pineapple syrup
over pound cake.

I turn the volume up on
their beauty

tasting each note

touching their sound;

the want for this type
of love is

© 2020 Abruvanamedsly

Fortune Cookie

(29/30) Repose

The Prompt for day 29: write a paean poem.

I pull your lever,
you stretch my limbs,
my body reclines
butter soft material
massages my skin.

You’re a High Priestess
of posterior cradling,
a Duchess of comforting
the derrière;

your cushions, my concubine,
relaxing bones and my tired behind.

My pet name for you...
catcher’s mitt;

I sink into you,
you memorize my fit.

I can’t easily count
the nights we’ve shared,
the pain you’ve relieved;

you’re a throne of
calculating coziness,
when we’re separated,
I grieve

wishing death to
that morning alarm,
the countdown beginning
for returning back to your
welcoming arms.

© 2020 Abruvanamedsly

(28/30) Boarding House

The Prompt for day 28: describe a bedroom from your past in a series of descriptive paragraphs or a poem.

The first real bedroom
I had all to myself was

a 13 X 10 shanty town on the third floor
of a drab Federal style row house.

The walls were wood panels which
absorbed all natural light making

its way thru the keyhole of a window;
dull white faux stucco squares

masqueraded as a ceiling;
the wood floor showed its age

with each step, squeaking like
an elderly bathtub toy.

My bed was a queen-sized life raft
keeping me afloat in this ocean of dullness;

the spring time air greeting
this space, my aroma therapy.


© 2020 Abruvanamedsly


(27/30) Adulthood ★☆☆☆☆

The Prompt for day 27: write a poem in the form of a review.

The creative adult is the child who has survived.
― Ursula K. Le Guin

Adulthood is one of the worst
constructs ever created.

There are way too many responsibilities,
rules and regrets; cereal is not considered
a food group and there’s always more
month than money.

There’s no management to complain
to unless you’re married; you can’t
just randomly hug folks unless you
want to go to jail;

your muscles and bones betray you
just about every morning and you
become fluent in the language
of procrastination.

If I could, I’d give it zero stars…
definitely would not recommend.

2020 Abruvanamedsly 


(26/30) South East DC

The Prompt for day 26: create a poem based on the Almanac Questionnaire writing exercise.

Almanac Questionnaire

Weather: overcast and breezy
Flora: false indigo
Architecture: post modern
Customs: courting and marriage
Mammals/reptiles/fish: Eastern Gray Squirrels/catfish
Childhood dream: to be an astronaut
Found on the Street: broken flip phone
Export: Hip-Hop
Graffiti: Cool Disco Dan
Lover: 3AM
Conspiracy: cashless society, microchip vaccinations
Dress: t-shirt and sweats
Hometown memory: Go-go Live at the Capital Center
Notable person: Petey Greene
Outside your window you find: chirping birds
Today’s news headline: 1-eyed squirrel with Instagram account is returned to nature
Scrap from a letter: te quiero mucho
Animal from a myth: Minotaur
Story read to children at night: llama llama red pajama
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: broken windshield glass
You walk to the border and hear: sirens
What you fear: stray bullets
Picture on your city’s postcard: Ben’s Chili Bowl


(26/30) South East DC 

Overcast and breezy wrestles with false indigo
invading the feet of postmodern structures.

Eastern Gray Squirrels catfish red maple trees,
their tiny legs exploring the space in between

decaying bark like curious astronauts.
Colorful foliage starts courting then

decides on marriage to the wind.
A broken flip phone beat-boxes asphalt

as Hip-Hop music from a passing car’s
speakers causes it to jump.

I glance up at a Cool Disco Dan tag adorning a broken lamp post; it sparks memories

of a graffiti mural being spotlighted at 3AM.
Cashless society echoes and whispers

of microchip vaccinations dominate the
Twitter feed on my phone.

I think I made a mistake coming
outside in just a t-shirt and sweats;

Go-go Live at the Capital Center blares through
my headphones; I wander my neighborhood with

chest out like Petey Greene on a Sunday morning.
Chirping birds sing songs of the 1-eyed squirrel

with an Instagram account who is returned to nature; zephyrs do background vocals.

I continue surveying my surroundings
mouthing te quiero mucho to the sky;

a leashed pitbull strolls past me;
its stature is akin to a four-legged Minotaur 

I llama llama red pajama myself pass its menacing gaze; broken windshield glass eats glints of sunlight.

Distant police sirens wail like a mass choir,
stray bullets have made another ghost;

damn, I want a half-smoke from Ben’s Chili Bowl.

© 2020 Abruvanamedsly 

(25/30) Grumpiness

The Prompt for day 25: create a poem based on a prompt developed by poet & teacher Hoa Nguyen

I fell asleep again with the laptop on my legs
the low heat of its battery
warming and waking skin;
the screen displays incoherent
ramblings in Times New Roman;
temporal travel done in secret,
weaponized 5G bats starting a new pandemic,
neo Hitler ramblings finding an audience.

My eyes try and focus
they are stuck on a shadow
crawling across a yellow ceiling
the vibrating of my phone
refocuses my attention
to the day
the hour
the minute.
I read a text message alert
it tells me to get my punk ass up
I refuse the command.
My stomach yells for pancakes and eggs
my energy level settles for a bowl of CoCoa Puffs.
I’m trying to decide what I like most,
the taste of these bites or watching
the milk become chocolate. 

While reading the back of the cereal box,
I contemplate the future;
the vision is crimson red with splashes of Nutella.
I wonder if I put out
a do not disturb sign on my window sill,
will these loud ass birds read it
and shut the hell up.
Why is the sunrise so loud?
Getting older is really ghetto
I’m over having to pee all the damn time
and maintaining a 700 or above credit score.
My co-workers are so eager
for things to get back to normal,
but they seem to have taken to
temperature checks and wearing PPE
like it was second nature;
this is not the normal I envision.
Words from Noam Chomsky’s
Manufacturing Consent flood my head,
thoughts swim in that ocean.
I check out the NaPoWriMo 

prompt for the day,
A thirty-four-minute poem????
Fuck that.
See the way my attention span is set up
I’m just playing,
I listen and read anyway.
James Schuyler’s voice is putting me in a trance,
I learn something new today;
I start my poem with
I fell asleep again with the laptop on my legs…

© 2020 Abruvanamedsly



(24/30) Shape Shifter

The Prompt for day 24: write about a particular fruit.

This shape-shifter
hides in plain sight;

it can be either 

a bread

a pudding

a muffin

or smoothie.

It comes with its own
carrying case and changes

color like a month
changes days;

a true burlesque dancer,
always anxious to get

out of its skin. 

© 2020 Abruvanamedsly