The Captivating Poetry of Rothya James

Wish I had a nickle for all I've never done I'd rake up the money and give it to a fund Wish I had a dime for all the things I did I'd take that money show people how to live Wish I had paradise at the drop of a hat Wish I hit life's curveballs with a gold plated bat Wish I had the good times and none of the blues Wish the world was all good friends and everything was cool Wish I had a tight squeeze to leave the porch light on Wish I'd see that smile of yours each morning with the dawn Wish I had a real wish a wish that could come true The wish to wish one wish and I'd wish that wish for you © Rothya James

Might we be all so many raindrops rushing for a place to fall. A spot to burst and smear into one watery raw atmosphere. Are we by law a drop in the storm apart so small yet collected in the lull a rainbow’s charm. © Rothya James

Did you ever see a brown lizard? Chances are the green one you’ve seen is one and the same. I sometimes wonder why people can’t change colors. Or if they would if they could. Or if they could if they should. Or if they should if they would. I sometimes wonder. © Rothya James Patterson

I’m sorry, my dear, in the waste we made while knowing each other. It’s all so clear what it took to discover that our fears were afraid. I cooled the heat. You crashed the scene. What can I say? Or do. Except the next person I love this way is you. © Rothya James Patterson

nocturnal lovers; blurry nights red ball crimson colors; string along kite reel the comet into flight feel a nudge towards deep height touchy, tacky, wacky light liquid loving, virile might thrusting, busting, sucking thigh thick with syrup slick and tight struggle like it was a fight sting it while you scratch and bite stuff it inside out of sight magic mystery, healthy hex it’s not love but sultry sex © Rothya James Patterson

For so long now I’ve nourished a thought too distraught to relay or betray with myself what ought not be so revealing and if that thought remains dominant I’ll be despondent in the moods of my nature the nomenclature of things are so redundant just a bushel of laughs passel of tears a tisk task batch of fears some miles of glory and a string of years © Rothya James Patterson

I count the ways I love you my fears I count those too I count our moments of rhyme our time in time our mind to mind I count on you I count the women I’ve known all the stones and moans love and lays and many ways I love a woman true in this I count you too I count the bread I break the stake I stake the cake I bake with you I count all this never have I counted bliss young woman in the way I love you this day © Rothya James Patterson

Alone. Sitting in a bus stop at dusk. Detached from the noisy hub-bub of the city and its task. A heavy air smells like trash and rust while you dream on being alone. The active street ignores its hustle and cause your feet to seem in the way of all the bustle. Somewhere a radio plays violins and you recall the tune. It makes you think of Solitude. That breathless island which quiets inside. A temple for intuitive grace…ful secret of hope and a nook to hide. Twilight in the dawn you stretch a yawn and take another toke of simplicity. “It’s not so easy being wretched,” cries a little person who dwells within you. “The city likes to kill… Shuu! Listen! I think I hear,” Still. Like some desert sunset. Such silence almost hurts the ear and captures the wit. You seem to forget the wicked pain and fear, and dusty crowded looks from passersby. “There’s no motion!” “How odd it feels to have still,” says the little person with a sigh. “But I must remember, there’s a bus to ride.” © Rothya James Patterson

Girl, smother thyself with blankets of fear? Ah! Thou shalt perish by weight; kept to bare. Thou wilt die inside, slain by thineself dear; denying thyself a world, a world’s care. Look, what folly there is in taken heed at every nice smile or a reaching hand. While a stranger is just what thee may need to break thy spell; such deserted lone land. Quit thy fears! Cast them at careless wisp wind; let them tumble and toss thy heartless thing. Know that thee hast found in me a good friend, that love may bend; as winter doth for spring. Least of all, let thine have this fine new day to spend in beauty’s charm; love falls that way. © Rothya James Patterson

Developed from magic yolk And creamy stuff I scratched a beginning Through nature’s womb And stripped to a bluff Struggled to be strong and smart With a conqueror heart I won the claim In deadly grace I laid waste Strived to raise glass towers Without humility or humanity Locked on pointless stones I forgot the bones And focused on selfishness Then stumbled to incomplete bliss Driving silicon roads With false hope The air became foul Coast to coast The beat wept to a howl While knowledge took drugs Loaded from no regret It swirled to remember honor Then labored to a forfeit The test was failed The memory stained Shackled with fear Recycled tear To a cost-free future of bane I evolved to meaningless With no heart and soul Left to spiteful bearings Spirit shells on the go Tracking green paper While gaining small comforts I lost my way I squandered the day Dislocated and disenchanted A fantasy recanted I run in circles And stick to decay Mankind, USA © Rothya James Patterson