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Title:Harlem - June to November 2015 I am a child to Earth living side my peer, in a concentration in a night, I see... not from the Sun, many moon, shining ... many voice yell in the sky no horn or four horseman ride remind, a faint glimpse to a god kicking a free moon by know why, not I Out from the quiet Harlem Where the trees recall yesterday South from the modern Where the lights shine away... from the old song in the street Is a raccoon family Waiting for sapiens to segregate Tis a wait insane Waiting for: fish fry, jass, or roof... parties Them can not survive: mixing, security, or real estate But a darkling notice the scene He provide a path in the shade Just to a few from Harlem past... to find the Black Bath Walking outside, I ponder, where is wisdom, when the Sun can not wake me to see it, and... what can be seen from apartment 2B? concrete sequoia, surround every pane, even the baby thrush, needing parental sustenance, can't be known, and... we all ask, where with all is hope?... can I know in 9C? can enlightenment be, where no butterfly roam, even if I live or write every poem?... may I live near 2B... only down the hall, where you live in 4U, and maybe you can see or know, if you own, a pane or more from hope... will it sing, to my craft, as I walk... apartmentless, in the public dark The Trees or the Churches, are all that will stand Where is the tree that remember the land Does a church know where, the skulls from the first, was planted The collages from modern mancraft is disorganized, most ignorant I heard from one collagent ... The Pigeon who climbed a whole hill do not forget a sky never needing, to walk to one again ... do not forget an earth while sleeping to fly truly fly... to a rose beyond any sky do not forget a time when two sunflower , grow at first glance for one grow a short... distance yet, the shades them can not see prove:sky, earth, or time in chiaroscurhyme and!...this dummy still stand! pondering a turncoat dove ponderance I am comforted in knowing their finiteness though, I know a clear sadness for the collages everborn pretelling I will never know where stand the skulls, or the land What if a green speak to you one day do you think, it will speak to Giants colored grey or multicolor dirt from an annual day I say they are not signs... from the urban green not like those southern trees who know the bloodiest luxiery A salvadoran Rose, through my mind, once spoke to me We look at each other through a lens that is the moon after in the afternoon, a bluejay hope to find hopping up the fire escape to the top floor, why?! a rainforest on the third, or higher than Everest on the roof or maybe a query from the terrace fleur How do you find a place beyond time, is it galaxy wide, or smaller than an eye? Does a green, the Moon, or an avian know where it hide In a deep autumn night I think, what deep thought from those once cargo or more than likely, threw off did they saw life as hope, or a wrought did they trusted in nature, used her time as I have born in summer, a plethora from light... this fall beginning I was unwised, lived on the obvious prismal abuse suddenly pondering, why I suddenly dream to you you are not in a thought yesterday think yesterday has nothing from you? now nearest to the future what will winter be, these questions do you feel the sunlight when i do do you feel the rain are you surround between the night stars do you block their speak ... or the mirror to chaotic reality... silent fantasy from Richard Murray 2015 Check out my ebooks- the free one is noted, please read/enjoy/give me your response:Sunset Children Stories: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/sunset-children-stories Looking West and West: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/looking-west-and-west Janidogo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-janidogo The Gospel of Joseph: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/gospel-of-joseph The Nyotenda FREE : https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-nyotenda Includes a comic. The following link is an excerpt LINK

Yes, judging by these names, African women seem to be the flavor of the month for the publishing industry. To me, African-authored books could almost be a genre unto themselves because they all seem to be serious, character- driven books whose protagonists are struggling, solitary, sensitive souls on a mission to rise above their circumstances and liberate their inner goddess/warrior. Of course this is pretty much the standard formula for any novel by any sex or nationality but I've been there and done that and have outgrown all genres of fiction except mysteries ala James Patterson. I know, I know. Shame on me! But my defection to the non-fiction arena stems from my late life desire to read bios and books and documentaries about real people and historical eras. (Could be why I'm close to even losing interest in my own book.) However, I am always glad to see women get ahead and do well, so to all the black sistas out there, scoring book deals, I say a hearty "you go, girl!"