Popup Passengers

Life is one hell of a trip and I think walking takes too long, I mean we’re supposed to enjoy the trip but I feel maybe I have never found a home. “Popup Passengers”, I’ve just been flying along with others waiting for something, to be welcomed?

To my fellow passengers who wish,
who pray, that ask God

will you catch this?
And before he can even nod

jump of your own accord
traveling on the hands of a clock, the days of a calendar
hoping you don’t fall forevermore

into Superman’s arms.
Entrusting that your donation

in truth, justice, the American way, in all its charms
will get you to your final destination

Which is… do you even know anymore?
Your own heart’s parameters
as if this is what you came for

an inch, a ticket, a page
telling you where to go, on a pen tip

flying from its cage
not knowing where you’ll be at the end of it.

Only escape is its own reward
or at least higher than the Challenger
Can you afford

the mental rent in the minds of men
a window seat

asking again and again
when shall we meet

my Sweet Lord.
In this life, in this can of worms
what am I moving towards

like so many others
where will my life begin

for I am no Wright brother
watching autumn leaves in the wind.

Welcome aboard
All my fellow passengers
Don’t know how or why but watch how I soar

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Little Green Man

Evolution of man, or just a change in the weather, it’s still hot these days and so am I, but I wish I didn’t feel like such an alien in my own world. Little Green Man, well more a simple black man but why do I dare to dream?

What of those leafy greens?
Popeye and his can of spinach,
and if I could be like him
for being a man means

I will not fall, I will stand tall
but what kind of man would I be
if I could not be me?
Break the wall

like Samson, the Hulk, or Hercules
a child of God
or to Apollo, I’d nod
asking please, please, please

race across the sky
because how many wishes will I need
How many stars are there indeed
superman may try

to count, if I could believe
that I wouldn’t miss a single one
I’d be done
as autumn leaves

getting in my way
like the best thief
of my sanity, asking how might I keep
The man I am today

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Wright Height

Clearing my head but men dream of many great things I believe, well one and all other thoughts just sort of circle around that during the day. “Wright Height”, I wanted to be a pilot once upon a time, I wished.

And who was the first man to believe?
Was it he who ran the numbers
or those who became art lovers
who painted forbidden fruit on the trees,
until it was so conceived?
Maybe the Wright brothers,
to the man that pilots the space shuttle.
that Autumn leaves

left much to be desired
The dreams of boys to men
Going where no one has ever been
How much higher,
cause no one told me about her,
making me wish I was a little bit taller…

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Nut Up

As Lenny Kravitz put it, I want to get away, I want to fly away, and if only I had the money, the sweet temptation, or the cojones just because it sounds better in Spanish? Nut Up, I am aware peanuts grow underground for those in the peanut gallery.

Here’s to growing up so nuts
that I believe I can fly
up, up and away like Superman
playing insane in the membrane
so I will not grieve

as autumn leaves,
flee the trees, and I ask, what
can’t you even say goodbye?
Still, I try and understand
even though it’s such a pain

that I take solace with Mary Jane
because who would want gravity
when all everybody asks is, what’s up?
The forbidden fruit, that’s a mile high
I might land,

fall, crash, will I ever be able to stand
another Pina Colada and being caught in the rain
or even the sun shining
hard enough, rich enough, am I tall enough
to talk to God in the sky.

What if he says why, why
with red eyes I planned
to dream, the impossible dream on this airplane
Well, I believe…
only the stewardess says but

sir, I’m all out of love

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Stilts Not Included

I don’t think that word means what you think it means “stilts” but anyway the way some women are elevated, the way some men elevate themselves to be worthy sadly. Stilts Not Included… cause’s she so high above me, they all are, to be honest

When all that need be built
was not the wheel reinvented,
but gravity itself circumvented
something so unprecedented
like teaching a man to fly
Though once it was the biggest castle
a mountain’s hassle
there be dragons here, a battle
hands to hilts

Troy or Greece, or some ilk
we fought, we made the sun divine
Jesus enshrined, we signed
papers, take pills for more time
and don’t we all know why
Bone Thugs, that’s why I stay high
Can’t look her in the eye
So I wish on every star in the sky
just so the world can tilt

the trees wilt
autumn leaves
fall and I finally believe
what so many men strived to achieve?
Jokes on us *sigh*
That we have climbed and grown enough
knowing we must
fall, land, or ask what’s up
To the pretty girl, no escaping our guilt

Being Men

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Weatherman Whether

Just ask your weatherman, that was a dream once upon a time and so was being a pilot during my days in the Navy, but my eyes didn’t have the right stuff, oh I didn’t mention being an astronaut either. “Weatherman Whether”, some men have taller dreams

Whether man was meant to predict
the weather, he tries,
why he looks to the skies
becoming blind to it
As with God himself, he could confer
and know in a phone call
where he takes her, he takes her

or such is the nature of man, to rule,
so some men become wise,
still, others will buy the lie,
a one-way ticket is that of a fool.
Only he becomes so sure
that he would run, walk, or crawl
he goes, he takes her, he takes her

supposing he was like Superman himself
for he succeeds, he flies
like a leaf on the wind, surprise
watch how he soars, and there is nowhere else
He makes her a jet setter
Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall
while he takes her, he takes her

far, farther, so amazingly far
autumn leaves, return, apologize
how, when it must be a mile high
An unreachable star,
dream deferred
Yet I will stand tall
knowing he takes her, he takes her

Above It All

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Fall Better

Maybe there was just too much Fall stuff at work today, maybe my yard is just in a mess, and it’s no secret that God and I have had our problems, I have problems with everyday people. Fall Better, personally I wish we could just go straight to winter

And it was better, twinkle, twinkle, little star
but a man put them in reach
with a son of a preacher man to teach,
that I should not go too far.
So God did endeavor

to make just the only one
morning star, Satan was his answer,
man-made cancer.
It was better when I just called it the sun
God will you make an effort,

like asking the leaves to stay on the trees,
only didn’t we all fall down?
Every color better, green and white, yellow and red, gold and brown
Autumn leaves…
Come on God why would you ever

I mean was this another dare
for me to curse you, curse her, say something?
Made in your image a caveman grunting,
can we not be better, here and there?
Because God you gave me the letters

before the pedestal or the big mouth
My voice before my courage
These feelings only to discourage
It was better without a doubt
Tell me, God, why I met her

You know maybe, just this once, I can do better…

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

High Off Confession

Gripes are supposed to go up, not down, so why do people get low, why do people get high, strangely enough, I was neither writing this, angels aren’t real right but people have airplanes. High Off Confession, would I really need a priest for this one

What goes good with confession?

Perhaps a side of God?
If my words could reach so high…
But would I rather keep my secrets,
to make my regrets the sod
freshened

with so many tear stained letters
that I ask, can you stop the rain
cause I’m leaving on a jet plane?
Only you’re the jet setter
A new profession;

and with my warmest regards
or sincerely
However, may I say it clearly?
Louder as my heart breaks apart
the question

can you, will you, will she?
No erase
backspace
when she pressed delete
That’s my prerogative but her discretion

Not the wind, the speed, the sky’s color or hue
even the air to breathe
someone get me a priest
for if I am to drown on a word or two
this concession

To live loud, slamming doors,
fist, the beating of my heart
Maybe a confession is not so smart
selfless, brave, honest or kind, anymore,
better my impression

of the sound of silence
Regain the spirit of the caveman
wondering not how any man
learned to fly, speak, or become giants
Yes, my regression

Because with my confession
would come another transgression

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Vial Rage

Is it always fair to rage, I see fire and yet the heat it gives off threatens to burn me from the inside and whatever could douse it, sweat, blood, tears, ink, cannot extinguish such feelings. “Vial Rage”, I think I shall not rage

And I would call it a plague
how this fever infects
me, I sweat

summoning up the blood
which can never assuage
the disgust, the dirt, my name is mud.

Better though, tears for fears,
than this need to purge, to clear.
I lock the monster in its cage

the white walls of the page.
A mad world of ink,
kink, mystique, doublethink

Don’t rage, rage

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Silence Rocks

My heart is stone, unfortunately, they use it to make pencil lead, does that mean it’s getting smaller, the words are definitely running out I suppose. Silence Rocks, it was the usual state of things but then I wanted to talk more and well *sigh*

With so many footsteps, what was my crime
Not my hands but opportunity who knocks
What did I say, what was it this time?

Was it friend or foe, no joke of mine
that took my tongue and made me Avox
With so many footsteps, what was my crime

It was a breath of air, that crossed your line
running my mouth has made you fly; a bomb I can’t stop
What did I say, what was it this time?

My own death sentence, so let me sign
Giving Atlas a breather, the world weighs a lot
with so many footsteps what was my crime

Wouldn’t crawl, walk, run, how to reach cloud nine
Here I stand and here I stay locked
What did I say, what was it this time?

For everything, there is a season and for this one, I will pine
Silently as they all kick rocks
With so many footsteps, what was my crime
What did I say, what was it this time?

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.