uplift through the cracks of shattered sidewalks

where footprints of promise have faded…

and there are always fields of inspiration

where one finds the golden gleam of sunlight

shining down through gray skies of tears.

Standing on those sidewalks and in those fields

is a young boy who is chasing dreams.

You can see it in the spirit in his eyes

and within the language of every step he takes –

even in times of suffering and pain;

during times when a broken education system

challenges to sink him deep down into failure’s embrace

There is always a smile on his face

because that young boy knows he can catch those dreams

you can see within his hidden feelings of pain

on those dark days when the world

empties down upon him the wrath of poverty’s rain

and cast over him past shadows

of inequality’s seemingly unbreakable chain.

But he will never be broken, because that young boy believes

and will never stop chasing dreams

as within his heart there is pride standing tall

and beating through the vessels

of his mind

is courage paving paths of strength and prosperity.

He’s going to be somebody – that young boy – he’s going to be

the prize in tomorrow’s eye because within his soul

determination lies and within his spirit there awakens

an inspiration that will reach high and above his own limitless sky.

© 2016

Tarringo T. Basile-Vaughan

Poetry @40

“A Different Kind Of Blues”

Art By Antwan Sargent, www.i-d.vice.com

Voices silenced;

minds hypnotized, stereotyped by violence –

HANDS UP, DON’T SHOOT

the injustice of equality no longer paused on mute.

I write America

begging you to see, that even as an educated

black man the sirens of brutality still scream towards me.

At just the young age 12 police targeted my skin

not because I committed a crime, but simply

for being at the wrong place at the wrong time;

that was my only sin.

I fit the description – questioned

just because of someone’s fear and fiction.  I was accused of being

trouble even though I was not one to step outside

morality’s bubble.  I had dreams, but at that moment

I realized what hopes I had could be dashed

in a flash if that someone decided I was the one

that was the description; any chance of a future would’ve

been slashed.

I was presumed guilty, but what they never assumed

was my innocence, because I was –

I was just a child coming home from school;

A poetic dreamer who wasn’t even considered cool

I was a mama’s boy studying to find a way

to escape the inner city of poverty and rise up in a world

that was constructed to hold me down, but in their eyes

there was nothing I could say.

Now today as I look back I frown, not because I was accused,

but because I allowed that moment to abuse

the mission of my mind to achieve and the intuition

of my heart to believe; any goals I had almost drowned.

I allowed that moment

to temporarily halt my desire to be a somebody.

Luckily it didn’t shrink me down into a nobody,

but it could’ve —

and that’s what scares me.  So I write America,

not for your sympathy or even your empathy–

I write to give you an example

of why the lives slain on the streets

matter,

of why those suffering daily just to survive

matter,

of why dark skinned children in failed education

systems matter,

of why those who fall victim to the cycle of welfare dependence

matter,

and most importantly why Martin, Malcolm and so many other’s who

marched on the streets of civil rights lost their lives

so that today’s Black Lives could Matter…just the same.

I write America — to give the ink of courage and equality

a name.

Tarringo T. Basile-Vaughan

© 2016

Poetry @ 40

Those who accept simplicity
have never walked on the same side
of the street as me.
They’ve never watched grown folks cry
when hopes and dreams slowly die.

They’ve never seen single mothers struggle
or heard their cries
around dinner time
when food is scarce and not enough
to feed hungry eyes.

They’ve never heard the knocks of homelessness
from those working two jobs
just to survive;
beaten down by life’s hardships,
no longer able to strive.

They’ve never felt poverty’s wrath
scattered through neglected streets
where tomorrow’s children play
with no funded playgrounds
and empty promises that end all feats

and they’ve never had to make strides
and leap over adversity
or come face to face with challenge
because those who accept simplicity
have not had to see life’s complexity.

© 2008
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Everyone knows him but no one knows
that there is something about Seth.

He sits alone in a crowd with desires handcuffed
by inner feelings locked away behind the barbed wires
of non-acceptance.  He struggles and turns his back
on his own recognition, peeking through the eyes of a dream
for just a space to be able to live freely –

for a chance to be who he really is.

He lays in a bed of confusion/ distanced
from those close to him.  He speaks
with words that have no meaning/ listens
but no longer hears love.  He is afraid–
stuck between societies vision of him
and the real image he is inside.

He is not perfection so he locks himself away
but there is a need to kick down a suffocating closet
and take in the air of self acceptance and pride;
their disappointment no longer matters:  attitudes
that will threaten to deflate the oxygen of his happiness.

Everyone knows him
because in his eyes is familiarity and through his heart
is a recognition for acceptance.
He is someone’s brother; someone’s son and someone’s
friend who hides behind the mask of discovery

and everyone knows him, but no one knows
that there is something about Seth;
something in an identity yearning to be loved.

© 2011
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Somewhere out there, beyond the deep blue of summer’s eye,
are futures ready to be found and voices ready to share
their songs written through the many questions of poverty.
And somewhere out there are dreams awakening
into aspirations and freedoms of achievement where possibilities

fly high and the obscenities of crime slowly die. I know
the world hasn’t found perfect as the rise of violence
continues to filter through our streets and communities where children
strive to survive on their own two feet and starvation
holds hostage many families who call for help
through the sounds of their hunger but—

somewhere beyond this blue sky of dreams is a reason;

a reason to hold onto the evolution of change.
© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

In their hearts I feel the blues; single mothers
standing on street corners because
they have nothing else to loose. Selling their soul
for survival just to stop the heavy beats
of starvation from silencing their young child’s
future ovation.  They do what they need
just to find a way to feed as poverty
has become their song
but their tears have dry strong
because in this world everyone strives
to find a place to belong.

I hear in their voices the echoes of many cold
lonely nights  — some are familiar strangers
lost and confused and others are old
searching for something out here to feel and to hold.
No amount of spare change
can heal their minds because they were left
without a home as alone
they stand as a song
but their tears dry strong
because in this world everyone
needs to know they belong.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

A poem is a celebration of life’s sacrifices.

A poem is the victory of a smile. As I write/I see a young child
lost on the playgrounds growth. This child has no gender as this
is any child seeking and visualizing a world where difference is embraced
and not bullied by the rough, brutal hands of judgmental freedom.
In this child’s own fantasized kingdom is a dream where individualism
is not a corruption of the mind’s plagiarism
but a reality of escape into a sky of celebration. This child smiles
while writing in chalk on the black top of life. The poetry
becomes a liberty to grow, to live and simply to be.

A poem is the linguistics of tears. As I write/I see an old man
walking slowly down the side streets of modern destruction.
With his fading cane he walks/he remembers/he whistles
of his time as a younger soldier on these same streets. A time
where ambition was worshiped and obtained instead of shot down
and stained. He sees deterioration around him and he hopes
within each stranger he passes that there is an answer for a tomorrow
he may not see. He hums the stanzas of transgression writing
through his eyes his own thoughts of progression.

A poem is the journey of emotion. As I write/I study
every stare of heartbreak and memorize every sound of a laugh.
I worship every poet as my hero as in their words I master
the influence to share thoughts that are no longer shadows
and a vision that is no longer blind to expression. As I write/
I live these words/I live their words because the heartbeat of a poem
never shields behind the mind and hide. Poetry lives inside.

© 2011
Tarringo T Vaughan

He is somebody’s child as in his eyes are the tears of a childhood lost/
hidden behind the interpretation of graffiti stained walls
and beneath the silence of empty playgrounds where innocence
has deserted and left him swinging freely and exposed
to the winds of crime that slowly blows him down a path
he is too young to witness…too young to understand
and too young to find his own way out because

he is somebody’s child out there roaming alone searching
for something to recognize as a dream.  He hopes…but finds
himself on the daily hustle because he feels he has no choice/
his cries have gone unheard and there is fear within his voice
as his heart echoes to be held by the hands of love;

and he is somebody’s child wishing he had a place to call home;
a place where his thoughts are defined and his tears
touched by meaning; a place where he is embraced and a place
that recognizes his face

all he wants is to be seen
because he is somebody’s child…he is our child.

© 2011
Tarringo T. Vaughan

I want to reach out and heal her, she who suffers
the pain of failure. I want to show her how to rescue
herself from the chains of self/denial
and become a witness of renewal
for in her eyes is the vision of revival.

And I want to reach out and become them, they
who dream the dreams that arise from the future
of their souls. I want to show them that there is reason;
a reason to become who they desire to be
because within their smiles are the echoes
of tomorrow’s freedoms
for they are the foundation of hope’s arrival.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan

And if I wrote the best poem in the world
I would allow my fingers to become the voice of dedication
as my ink tells the stories of the many lives captured and awakened
by the reality of dreams like the little girl who
sits alone in her bedroom afraid to turn on the lights because
the reflection staring back at her in the shadows
whisper to her that she is not good enough to be beautiful
so she cries hides her since of self until the day
life lifts the mask off her heart and the spirit within her
becomes a new voice of beauty and pride and now she is a girl who
walks past mirros with her head held high
because she found the stength in self to reach her endless sky
and through her inspiration a new fragrance of worth is embraced
as she walks past the boy who
sits on blood stained stairs lost in his own home.
He looks down at the scars on his legs from the abuse
of a father who is barely there–
afraid to share his tears because the world
doesn’t want to hear a young man’s cry. He feels empty
but inside of him are words/many words of value
and his thoughts begin to flow out into streams of strength
as he becomes his own man no longer unwritten
because he now fits/in this world of achievers and believers
and yet another verse italicized in the best poem
in the world; the poem called life where progress is more than just
an unfulfilled dream.

© 2011
Tarringo T. Vaughan