Tag Archives: Jackson 5

UNhappy Birthday

this is a poem i had in my backpack for a year, but i ran into a wall and could never finish it. then two things happened: my homeboy, who lost three children, was expecting another child, but the mother got an abortion against his wishes.

two days later i came across a song “happy birthday”, by flipside, about abortion (excellent song btw). just the inspiration i needed to cap off my piece, and gave me the perfect title! Flipsyde, you da man!


we exist among the living loved

the unwanted

the dead

ill-timed arrivals send souls

sentenced to join the unworthy

plummeting down the endless canals

of our otherwise welcoming walls we



brutal finales

fatal finishes of long-awaited

happy birthdays

never to arrive

maybe you, but not me

i am the side effect of love gone awry

or conceived too young

or unsure parentage

sucking away at shallow pockets

of lifestyles that beg to be maintained


you can see me in the empty seats

in kindergarten classrooms

laughter not heard

smiles not seen

tender touches never felt

only in the dreams of the mothers

and fathers

who regret

my death

wondering thoughts of what i

might have been


though it may appear my name is

“not yet”

am i a boy or girl?

only God knows

was i to be a momma’s boy

or daddy’s princess?

have her eyes

or his nose?

i am the gleam in a grandmother’s eye

or the shame of an unwed teen’s cries

found in toilet bloodclots

ultrasound blots

i loved you.

my small hands and

pre-formed fingers

too underdeveloped

to defend myself in this warm

watery womb-world

that fed me

nourished me

gave me a glimmer of future

for 8 whole weeks

i would have been

a good son

faint, distant screams drowned in

placenta violated by instruments


cries of

let me live

i would have been

a good son.

but my ill-fated,

ill-timed arrival gave the false reassurance

of a “later time”, yet

i won’t be back

and we exist in the

profane presence of selfish minds—

a memory

fresh from God’s own hand

clumps of miry clay

left behind to dry

never the apple of your eye

never got the chance to breathe

or smile

or crawl

or walk

or talk

or jump

or climb

or run

or pray

or grow

or laugh

or play

and me?

i never even had a name


and because of “free choice”

i never

got the chance

to be.

happy birthday, babies…





“unhappy birthday”

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“Child of Innocence”: Poetry by Michael Jackson

I just got to see a copy of Michael Jackson’s book of poetry, “Dancing the Dream”. It goes for around $600. Just try and get a copy.

So, I discovered that MJ had a lot of talents that many of us didn’t know about. He was an awesome poet and artist (check out the drawing). His self-portraits were picture quality. His poems really told you who we was as a man, as a brother, as a son, as a child. I enjoyed all of his work, but I would like to share a short one. For you poetry heads, this one was written in a style called an “elegiac stanza”–a series of two couplets per stanza (aabb). Besides that, it has renewed my interest and my understanding of every kid’s “big brother”. At least my generation. Enjoy.

Child of innocence, I miss your sunny days

We joyously frolicked in extended plays

Ever since you’ve left the scene

The streets are lonely, dark, and mean

Child of innocence, return to me now

With your simple smile show them how

This world once again can respond to your glance

And heartbeats flutter to the rhythm of your dance

Child of innocence, your elegance, your beauty

Beckons me now beyond the call of duty

Come fly with me far and above

Over the mountains in the land of love

Child of innocence, messenger of joy

You’ve touched my heart without a ploy

My soul is ablaze with a flagrant fire

To change this world is my deepest desire

“Child of Innocence”, by Michael Jackson


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Broken Hearts

Written on the day a certain big brother of mine died. I’m sure he was your big brother as well. Or Dream guy. Or hero….


they are the broken boys and girls

scattered pieces of arrowheads

paths detoured and pot-holed

fractured homes and barren souls

mishandled by life’s hand

they litter our lives

because we misunderstand


discarded during raging storms

colorless, but beautiful

empty, but fruitful

seen, though invisible


we fill voids that pulse their malfunctioning hearts

and bring sunny days to moonless nights

awaken the lives of these romantic zombies

their illness cries out insatiable hunger

a pain that never subsides

it begs to be bandaged

blackness that could never be bleached

severed in spite of your face

run off despite your race

-this is the pain that kills-

pills fail to quell the ills

it sleeps with all who will hear its cries

where it resides until it dies

and we throw them to the waysides


they are the refused souls

trapped on the sidelines

misjudged, masked in joy

made jokes till they close their eyes


they are the broken little boys and girls

we left behind

Peter Pan punished

pretending to be immortal

cause he never grew up

our Prince of Pop prescribed

a life of longing for love

beyond death dare we part

like the armies of broken childhoods before him

it magnifies


on our ability

to love.


“Broken Hearts: IM, Michael Jackson”



Filed under Poetry