Don P. Hooper

Orphaned minds

Orphaned minds
emaciated
knowledgeless ideals
abandoned by truth
and the milk
that brought life
now sour’d –
dreams
aged in miss-perfection
rise
to deliver
adulterate nature
begotten
by sons
without the ability
to speak
in wisdom
cannibalized
a lack of mental passage
the rite
no longer theirs
seeks
a cradle
a bosom
a warm touch
reminiscent of that
which never was.

-Don P. Hooper
(August 2007)

For Mike and Katie:

Breaking Ground

An echo in the night
Woke me from sleep much disturbed
My right hand, an unmarked map
The left -
     Clenched a Dream Deferred.

With chest ignited
The barren heart to be filled
I crossed Many Waters
And forsook all that was given.

In the land of great deserts
Reborn to the world with no plan
I wandered for days onto years
My past buried in sand.

Forced back to the nest,
Diminished images zoom by
a forgotten home long since empty.

I set out with purpose
A new life left to slate.

Marked Map now Unbound
The risking sound calls to me;
Forward whole and complete
Clenched treasure in my left
I look up to the sun
On the day I broke ground.

-Don P. Hooper
(August 2007)

Today was one of those days I had to remind myself why I do what I do – why sacrifice is necessary to be happy. To which, I turn to Langston Hughes’ “A Dream Deferred.”

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Reaching Up

Between thought sputtered canopies
Insecurity’s Abyss enveloped my mind.
I searched a shell shallow’d;
And Found myself barren.

The heart crushed branches of yester’ untold;
Lay fettered in doubtful grotto.
The dust laden key rusted,
Bread unbroken with ages of mold.

Now awakened-arm extended to thee
The soul’s transparent lens
Free to fulfill self-forbidden dreams
You are my key onto eternity.

Don P. Hooper
(2006)

A publisher contacted me today about short story submissions. So I started digging in the crates (figuratively, though once in a past life I did DJ), and stumbled on to some poems I wrote waaaaaay back “when i was knee high to my father’s kilt.” Well my Dad’s not from Scotland, nor anywhere remotely close(we’re Caribbean) but he did let me watch Disney’s Ducktales (That’s a Scrooge McDuck quote if you didn’t know).

Anyway, I digress. I found this poem. Figured this is myspace so why not share.

Nightmare

She awaits my return,
Offering the shelter and comfort of night’s rest
Laying down my defenses, she takes command
The cradle guiding my dreams, rocking me to sleep

Eyes close she takes command
R.E.M. the signal, she gives body to my thoughts
Controlling my brain she twists emotions
Breathing life into my fears

Startled I arise, waken from slumber
Grimly she reaps her spoils of war
tears of sweat the seed
She awaits my return

To feast on sweat born from fear
The pillow ever mothering my nightmare

I look within her eyes
Glimpsing Sheepishly for love
But amongst teased voices
her sweet beauty ended

-Don P. Hooper

Light Skinned

I’ve lived my life between two worlds
Too light to be black
One drop and not white

It isn’t acceptance I seek
But the chance to be accepted.
The offer of bread to be broken.
Instead it is relationships never made
Because of blood born broken

It was written that my life should be thus
Not by self, but by decisions made before I was
Those choices, and Love from Above
My strength is birthed from their struggle
Though the path I take is my choice and my struggle

-Don P. Hooper