Rewritten History

Dare we challenge tomorrow’s history
by living today/proud
despite yesterday’s misery; shall we heal
the scars of slavery by understanding
and appreciating our ancestors bravery;

shall we recycle the ink dripping from the pages
of hero’s past; an ink that will outlast
the destruction of our streets where hope
is decaying fast or will we allow all the progress
to eventually fade into a blank sheet
of sacrifices made.

The chains have to be lifted off the brain
and allow our knowledge an escape.
We have to take the torch of might
obtained from years of hard fought civil rights
and write a new text
stamped into tomorrow’s manuscript;
a publication of strength, pride and survival,

and from the shackles of freedoms withheld
to the desegregation of equality victory spelled
from a dream that still breathes
to be upheld to the corrupted streets
where crime and poverty has upheld
we must heal past separation and become a new freedom
of integration as together we will be the transcriptionists
translating today into tomorrow’s rewritten history.

© 2009
© 2010 (revised)
Tarringo T. Vaughan

On Barbury Lane

The tender nakedness of love’s escape still remained
on the very pathway where the eyes of two lonely hearts
erupted in passion’s flame. And although the moment
could never be the same, the presence of her kiss
still fragrances his name.
They were two well versed souls
bonded by the exploration of connection
as two separated paths on the same road
of reflection discovering an emptiness instantly

                         filled
by the common touch of emotional surrender.
and now that she’s gone all he can do is
remember
how the temper of her smile acquiesced
the embrace of the poplar trees
and how her golden locks of hair breezed the air
causing him to blanket the ground
with the romance of his knees.
Oh how he use to adore the way her eyes
brought out the glow in sunset skies;
that poetic inheritance of heaven’s surprise
which made her twice an angel
and always there within him at their place
of invention.

A place where he has learned
to walk alone again and a place where
her memory still holds his hand
and as his tears began to rain
he knew they would be forever together
on Barbury Lane.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan

One Of Many

I am just one of many experiments who stand alone
in rehearsed crowds lost in a maze
of widowed daydreams
trying to find tomorrow
with transient eyes shut to the reality of yesterday.

It is when I open my mind that I – not only see – but recognize
that I am just one of many questions
who camouflage as the answer trying to find a way out
of the curiosities and possibilities locked and chained
inside the cages of isolated thought
with mental freedom being held hostage by the knowledge

that I am just one of many poets
trying to stand strong against the inertia of time
held back only by fear and the protection
of my own escape - desperate to rise
but sinking in my own environment of unreached
dreams that dangle out of reach but right there
for the taking,

but until I realize
that I am just one of many aspects
in an abstract world, I can only be recognized by literary progression
and the ability to aspirate through the suffocation
of a crowded maze of imitation as one of many
trying to find the correct path towards translation
of the mind and find the focus

to stand tall upon the concrete stairs
of creativity,
because without creative innovation,
a destination to stand apart only justifies
the paths leading to dead ends where possible dreams
remain uninspired.

And without distinction I am one of many poets
translating words into nothing
but just words
sculptured from meaningless expression;
an expression that can only defined
when I find that way towards transcendence
and step away from being one of many
into the spotlight where I am one in many
unlocking the chains of my voice
to become one me

© 2009
Rewritten 2011
Tarringo T Vaughan