Poetry – Page 105 – Mecca-Amirah Jackson

Words, words, words

September 22, 2015November 13, 2015by Mecca_AmirahLeave a Comment

Words, words, words, See how the meaning of a word can lose its meaning after a course threes– trees are the source of our Socrates, our narcissistic and common-man-oriented Whitman, it was the physical that allowed us to become metaphysical and progressive in our diverse mindsets– it gave us innovations for drastic change and for [...]

Thoughtful

Holding back

September 18, 2015November 13, 2015by Mecca_AmirahLeave a Comment

Break away from the aching familiar and the chocking comfort of the genteel; a pound of flesh– thats hooked and jerked– nibbling at the scum–and loving it! Craving the fetid taste of phlegm of pretentious propaganda. ... Dense water, laced with a greenish brown paste– a latte, bubbling with obnoxious foam– floating, lifeless bodies, drifting [...]

Narrative, Short Story/Prose, Thoughtful

A Killer Who Became A Farmer

September 16, 2015September 2, 2022by Mecca_Amirah4 Comments

A man with distant and cold eyes once told me that he wanted to become a farmer.... I asked, "If you could live a life bereft of responsibilities and money were no object, who would you want to be?" He said, "A farmer." "A farmer!" I responded confused. "Does that sound so impossible that a [...]

Poetry, Thoughtful

whimsy

September 16, 2015June 1, 2016by Mecca_AmirahLeave a Comment

Whimsical- Astounding whimsy Silver threaded with crinkled cut leaves. A shaft of yellow-orange light- The Golden Arches of forbidding Blending-nourishing me as I take flight; A bud without roots to keep stable– Whoosh! High, tuned like a flute, Sojourning for the media-laced truth Embraced in the silver and blues Of the 2 in the afternoon- [...]

Fantasy, Structured

Foretellings from one of the Fey

September 16, 2015December 3, 2015by Mecca_Amirah4 Comments

A rustling in the shrubs Alerts me to astounding wonder Could it be a momma bear with her cubs? Curiosity strikes me like yellow-white thunder. The day had fallen and the moon hung- A silver smudge, a sickly sickle Behind the witchy smog, thick with mug A backdrop against my stark curiosity-tickles as a wee [...]