LONEWOLF'S CRY
By Guichard Cadet

My Shadow's Tears

My shadow,
My past, the cover of me,
my book.
Offers a look at a
grave.
Situation:

The sand is hot,
The tears cool, yet plentiful.
A red sun fades over the horizon.
over the turbulent sea water,
         it is beautiful.

As a set of melodrama, horror, etc...
It tells not fiction,
         but truth
Of a youth following,
a shadow drowning
in the blood of yesteryears,
the battle of today,
and the bottles of 2 morrow

Hence the cycle called time.

My shadow's tears pour like un cyclone.
during the Haitian August:

The trees leave their root.
The shacks crumble,
and the chocolate colored habitants dash for shelter.

The dirt, moist with hunger
yearns for corpses, not seeds.

When the mourning comes, and the sun peeks
To sea
if all is OK. My shadow runs.
The sharks turn away.
(Even they want not a hungry child).

...{more}

The Hollow Daze

You could sense one a mile away
even if he or she is drowning in deNile.

We stand near lamp posts
and boast of ventures read,
but we never dwell
on the reason why we, colored
the devil, red.

Our smiles are scened, then viewed
through infra red structures, they eye
our good buys,
our good guys, they're all dead.

We stop traffic. We're not shallow;
We will never allow
Our sacred vow, to be broken.

The Hollow Daze did not faze anyone.
In the beginning, they were alone.
Like sand particles being lifted up a straw,
they walked with their heads laid low;
         they feared the law.

Constantly harassed because their jackets were leather,
They said "What the....."
         And began wearing the feathers of the duck.

Goose down.
Loose talk surrounds his mound:
"Brothers on the block gave Curtis a pound"
For making Def sounds with the beat box,
Jersey cops pull us over.
         To try to slam the locks,
         they throw West
In front of Indian, instead of Americans.
Call them, Red.
Call them from the dead
And tell them you've been broken
         by the law,
         the hunters of Sitting Duck.

...{more}

A Mother's Pain

A mother's pain is countless.
It's from delivery room to honey.
moon to sun,
the only one who has felt
the crushing blow
of a son who had to go
to a cell
where a gag clogged and sank
yet he claimed when released
that he was hard in jail.
The pain is there
even in the middle of nowhere:
When two, three, four cuties
beckon the call
in order to stall.
At seventeen, he is a fa'ther.
Went to his uncle's
so he can 'arm himself
with an educational grant;
so he can be all he can be
In the desert,
ashes fall
off the walls
where bombs blast
"you got that ass",
but who has a past.
The future.
To see a son try to start over.
while child support kicks,
he can get no closer.
Next one on the way!
Mom's been daggered.
No blood,
but the son has staggered
into a hole of hyperbolic dimensions.
Time to mention the regression.
...{more}