There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing Where You Used to Live
My mind been so fucked up as of late—
once thought to be a mastered thing
now it’s very much a life of its own
a tempered topped tethered ticking time
BOMB
...
Upon first thought it’s a sneaky unrelenting numskull
I’d assured future we’d be rid of you...
RIPPING!
Slashing!
Chemically altering the state —
one of these,
ONE OF THESE must work!
There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing Where You Used to...
and it’s a bit poetic honestly
candied situations tasteless for the cook
soured actions base for the /book
..Living isn’t focal much anymore for sure
lost the joy
lost the thrill
lost the power
lost
when the dandelion comes out
taproot is a strong denial
a long burrowed spring-ing head of the class
demeanor —
and you want to take up arms to eradicate?
what can kill the life-giver
aside from poison to the head?
coming for the Lion’s tooth it’s better off
youuuu
knocking them ALL loose!
There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing...
and in wonderment
on what was sacred burial land
an herb with medicinal connotations lay as favor-
who thought they could bury food?
who thought they could bury the power?
There ARE Yellow Weeds Growing Where You Used to Live / and it’s a bit poetic honestly.
In the MIDDLE of SURVIVAL(with retrospect from Shawn)
“You can’t be cold to human suffering and love God.” - Shawn Burrell
—-
There’s a moment in my life when EVERYTHING
was a fight!
FIGHTING to die—
an exasperated lament turned into a death-mantra
speaking the carcass of existence into this realm
FIGHTING to be seen—
a talent goes as far as the one who holds it/
for a long time an inadequate technique caused delay/
everything about me is handsy to the abusers /dismay
**meaning, I’ve got control of EVERYTHING about me NOW.
FIGHTING to stay afloat—
a strong current with a Sag SUN
lay the rocks & part moon an invaluable treasure
surely the gold of intentions:AROSE
**if I must explain, the value of your soul much like dough RISES to occasion!
Discernment is 20/20 like hindsight
(I told my girls I was gonna fit this line in a poem)
everything about me is LIMELIGHT/
bursting, basking
action packed-HIGH VOLTAGE,
CRANK!
Gon’ head and give it a/YANK!
In the MIDDLE of SURVIVAL this is a casting of nets/
much like Father & Sons of Matthew 4:21
a mending session/
a minor restoration of a full body of work!
a fight AGAIN.
A FIGHT to LIVE.
FOUR ROUND exhibition match/
CALLING all who dare/
this affair/
trancing and the pool from the eyes is a blinding rebuttal/
during /scuffle this is your chance a MOMENT
...you know we fought thrice before/
and indeed my friend, what’s the point of:
fighting to be seen/
If you ain’t gone SHOW OFF at the END?
For Seasons that Move Minds
I’ve been thinking often about death and dying.
a slow dance with mystical charm...
an exercise with the beefy skin of:
throwing dead weights to the mirror of self..
Who can carry the ache for this long?
Unnatural.
Winterizing the bod is all determined with stability
One misstep/
the hard work of fur lining to build heat
WILL catch rouge-fire/
a pressure toppling high-rise
unless properly trained for such events...
Can you see the outcome?
Uniform.
Suffering Summer with sweat pulsing terrain
met with the disdain of baking treats/
gluttonous behavior for mans /dozen
sourcing from a faulty well
galloping ingredients towards receptacles
How can we push the product?
Unsure.
I’ve been contemplating the masterful job of:
crashing into the abyss of nothingness
MY GOD IT SEEMS SERENE!
A magazine of detachment—
cause holding bullets is becoming deafening
each muscle is an uncurling equivalent/
clipping the nape.
What’s stopping?
Up.
Sharnell Tull, AKA Sista Big is a Poet. 2x Author. Orator. Teacher.