The poetry of Robert L. Jones, Jr. Part 6
Bomani
Bomani-edited version
by:
robert l. jones, jr.
(osiris-ka/plutarch)
enough is surely enough of those wickedly
storming tempests and wildly contentious gusts
of blustery chaos, as they, (for the longest time),
have been angrily blowing and violently bum-rushing
at my peacefully discreet island of quietly sacred
refuge, and with the crazily hostile threat of some
madly vicious disdain they hurry on through so
tumultuously with a mightily thrashing agenda to
wholly uproot and to demolish [into utter oblivion] my
uprightly postured dimension of highly defining
selfness, as i still be strongly managing to
remain proudly steadfast (like the monumental
posterior of egyptian pyramids) in that humanely
sustaining ease of uniquely being the optimistic
embodiment of peace, be still; so there would
positively be no evident question wasting up
precious space within my wary psychology of
deeply mindful integrity, as i, [with that tenaciously
esoteric pondering of some calamity-resolving
insight], persist on bombastically with the
discernibly concerted assertion that i have
simply gotten just about enough of them wretchedly
scattered flurries of falsely impending disaster-and-
ruin, which be in the stupidly presuming attitude
of vainly predicating their raunchy raucous of
trash-talking pessimism, just so that they could
consciously bulldoze my ever-battling cipher of
keen sensibility with those mentally tender
entrapments of enrapturing intimidation and
child-likened fear, but i abundantly possess
that indigenous inheritance of some naturally
conquering esteem, which has been so blessedly
dispensed into my crimson riverbanks of
hotly circulating life from the regally endemic
veins-and-arteries of anciently powerful
kings and queens of yester millennial fame and rulership,
and within the modernistic era of some urban-
luxuriant soulfulness, i am justly expressing my
radically professing extensions of fitfully uprising
combat, wherewith the ceaseless fighter-in-me
be boldly hip to that inconsolable impulse to just
keep on scuffling and a’tussling throughout the
negritude hours and nigrescent minutes of sorely
encompassing nightfall, and these quickly swinging
fists of fireball(ing) defense will be swiftly
landing them heavy-hitting blows of jawbone-
busting destruction upon the bruised-up face and
blackened eyes of minority-oppressing pain
and suffering, and this ali-inspired overcomer of congo-
alarming awe-and-fierceness will be getting so
courageously together with that fanatically enduring
virtue of knocking out and punching into absolute
defeat that stoned evil contender of outrageously
atrocious harm and brutish maltreatment, and in the
championing spirit of boom-ba-yay i shall hear
the supremely elating cheer of hip-hip-hooray
as a dynastic right hand lead would
suddenly kill the perversely perseverant
evilness of that wildly antagonistic loser
(from the abyss), as he will immediately fall
hard and would humbly succumb to the
unfavorable descent of laying cold and lifeless upon
an off-white canvas floor of abhorrent
desolation, and with the greatly manifested
stance of a heroic soldier after he returns on home
with the opulent spoils of ever-prevailing conquest,
i will certainly be having more than enough of
them heart-aching situations and those problematic
antics of psyche-crucifying agony, to the
point where i may encourage myself to lift up a
victoriously upraised arm to the observant
heavens as a beneficial witness to the prestigious
testament of how this here righteously defiant
boxer done fought long and extremely struggled for
that divinely prizing recompense of some richly
rewarding honor, respect and brightly magnifying
regard as a truly phenomenal male with all of
the perpetual potential in dominating-and-ascending
above all of the many effectual woes and agonizing
sorrows of this utterly flawed and short fallen
environment, and now is that amazingly celebrating
occasion to step right on up and to boldly take
back my heavy weight belt of relentless triumph
like an undisputed vanquisher standing so vividly
superbad and charismatic before the worldly
masses of both endearing supporters and cynical
critics, and finally, my protagonistic image of
vindicated grittiness will fearlessly leave
the rope-a-dope(ing) confines of a bloodied
boxing ring, and with exceeding gladness i will
continue inside of that shonuff irrefutable
groove of being a newly successful master
of my happily favored future, until the
eternally cordial portals of a celestial exodus
call me on home…