Launching the 2nd Stage   Leave a comment

For the eager, the patient, those intrigued and those steadfast, the time has come — the Second Edition of the Heartfire Rendezvous romantic adventure trilogy is finally here and available, on Amazon of course!! All three volumes are now at a second edition, incorporating shifts subtle and significant.

Book I – Destiny — 3483824

Book II – The Crossing — 348384

Book III – Culmination — 3483846

Heartfire Rendezvous romantic adventure trilogy is a broadly inclusive weaving of human cultures from ancient Egypt, Olmec and Inka to Dravida, China, Angor Wat and Angor Thom, Micronesia and Amerindian. The overlay of spiritual systems and principles exposes unfamiliar linkages, posing a fabric of communion instead of conquest as alternate paradigm.  Heartfire Rendezvous is character-rich speculative fiction spanning several continents and epochs of time.

The following resources are available on my Heartfire Rendezvous blog:

You can actually view pages of text on Amazon, to check it out, if you prefer. However, should you choose to buy, please use the links at the top — to my E-Store on Amazon — I get a better split.  🙂

Some have termed the writing “enthralling,” “couldn’t put it down.” It is a feast for hungers, some you knew, some you did not know you had. As author, I invite you into the Heartfire Rendezvous universe…..may your life never be the same…

the america unconsidered   Leave a comment

2 them
america is white noise
                clogging throats & ears
                marching to the beat of a broken drum
                marching to the beating of broken heads
                feeding on broken spirits

the banner of blood & blue
inspires a national anathema
topping a list of blights
in the rush 4 more

2 their eyes
the constitution is busted sintax —
a declaration of forced dependence

they hear no music
their hopes are assured of change
with none to spare
coining phrases of false content
with the vision of sightless justice
anonymous in their guilt
others donate pockets
that provide no slack
&    serve only to expand the emptiness

2 their hearts
relentless hunger demands
fear cannot compete
determined not to fade away
or                        be dismissed
the desperate are birthed ruthless
and death has no meaning

resentment puddles from its acrid rain
dams leaking
threaten the fruited plain
the concrete cracks
from the pressure of need
and all the king’s horses
&                       forces of greed
will drown beneath the flow

sidewalks shatter
beneath the weight of thwarted hearts
tremors ravage the city’s intestines
            agitate the urban rigor mortis
tremors from restless sleepers on city streets
            from the heavy treading of ceaseless walkers
&                 the rumble of shopping cart covered wagons
circling in the night

unconsidered and unseen
when determination shifts to desperation
bluecoat barriers will be insufficient
& the burning flood of acid malice
will be all that remains
4 the land of greed
& the home of the knave



© 1989

end the war   1 comment

mostly, when my heart speaks
joy flows
happiness glows
& the heights of my ecstacy tend to show

even when addressing instances of hurt,
                                  phases of pain and sorrow
I tend to shift towards resolution
avoiding pointed discussion
But I don’t hear that type of balance
in the poetry my sisters sing

This is no criticism
’cause to each their own thing
Perhaps they’re just more honest
and my way is less than true,
’cause if you breathe,
we’ve both done
&               been done by the deed
and know hurt & pain
hit each gender the same

So, like the sister said,
I was gonna write a nice sweet poem,
but truth busted my face,
               chased me all around my place
there was nowhere to hide,
not even inside
no peace, no how, no way

So if we are to face the truth,
                       be the truth
then we must know,
when we act out of fear
or                           pain,
we just create more of the same
it’s not just no win,
it’s both lose,
and if you’re seeking blame
don’t ask whose,
it’s yours
it’s mine
it’s both or neither, every time

I’ve been hurt
and         demeaned in many ways,
                                   ways I never thought possible
I hung in, and now understand
why abused spouses remain despite the pain,
praying for sun in the pouring rain

But each of us has a line,
                            a point we should never cross,
that place where rules go out the window
                beyond mercy
&                         compassion
’til rage is the only color you can see

Reduced below our humanity,
the animal rises
      war erupts,
and lovers become the enemy

Folks will say they have no temper,
               say they’ve never been that mad,
and even they know they’re lying
Some will ask if you ever loved that much,
and that too is sad

How do you stop it?
Where does it end?
With me, with you
by choosing not to begin
Because you feel is no excuse
to be out of control

Manipulation of any sort
is not an Olympic
or domestic sport
It’s competition for control,
which is the hidden underlying goal
If one wins, we both lose,
no matter the tactics or premise you use

It is so easy to forget
this is a three-way fight —
it’s between you, me, and we
If we,
if us loses,
   us dies,
then it’s just you
&     it’s just me
faking love and harmony



© 15 march 1994

from river to see the ocean of me   4 comments

in the silence
darkness of sound
grinding flint teeth
flexing sinewed jaws ignite —
                                        a voice
                                        a flame
                                        a stone in the still pool of night
                                        a cry in the canyon
                                                soaring above crested peaks
                                                above whispers of cloud

a cry
calling Names
ancient Names
evoking lifetimes
&       memories
suddenly flooding to the fore
and what is more
the tangible presence —
the brush of soul on skin
                fire on flesh —
electricity arcing between fingertips like synapses
your heart inundated
              suddenly immersed in ancient oceans of experience
                                                                 love and legacy

all this
all the force
    the flow
rushing from then into Now
and the question of how…?
                         what goes where?
                         who is we?
                         is it all me?
                         does it ever stop…?
this is just the beginning…..

each life
a river
a water finger
gripping earthflesh
reaching for the sea
            from streams of consciousness
to the ocean of me

contrary to cliche
night removes illusion —
the illusion of size
               of distance
               of detail
for the purity of principle
    the divine abstract

was that a twig breaking
or          a limb snapping under a heavy foot?
is that a star in the distance
or       someone striking a match?
is that deep voice in the dark a menacing giant
or       a baritone dwarf?

in the silence
        darkness of sound
        absence of light
night beckons us
source of mystery
haven of history
brought to light by memory —
spirit-whispers to our inner ear
words of conscience
slaying hidden fears…

the fire of spirit
blazes darkly across the night of our soul
heart surges
flushing us clean of dusty despair
               with waters sweet and enduring
with wisdom
&    fortitude
consciousness cultivates the fertile mind
aiming for more than an intellectual harvest

night gives birth to day
spirit suckles soul
consciousness nurtures mind
Self rises with heart
            brilliant in the darkness

a star is born



© 5 april 1998

Posted September 13, 2010 by Jamal Ali in Culture & consciousness, Esoteric, Poetry, Uncategorized

Music ’been always…   1 comment

music ’been always
a part of our history

Drums running rhythms cross country,
us singing in the language of the birds and trees
roaring with the lions,
humming with the bees
But that was long, long ago,
long before Jericho
Many a man’s come a-tumbling down
once the Word was said, and got around

There was magic and message always in the music —
we would talk in song,
passing the news along,
singing semaphore spirituals
“gon’ steal away, Jesus,
steal away home…”
and spiritual, we slipped away
training on the underground railroad

Now, spirituals we sang from slavery,
and you know slavery gives you the blues
It works the same
on every man,
no matter which name you use

The blues was a feelin’
then it became a sound
It wasn’t new,
weren’t no mystery
’cause music ’been always,
a part of our history

When I came along,
started working the trains,
the blues was growing,
Black folks was making gains
The blues came to the cities,
by road,
by rail
it grew hard like concrete,
they made it cold like steel,
but when we was playin’,
you knew it was real,
which music ’been always,
a part of our history

Rolling, running,
wheels ringing on the railroad,
songs rushing on the wind
As twin serpents of iron
snaking cross country,
pulsing arteries of iron energy,
breath of smoke & steam,
the click-clack clackety ricochet
kept the rhythm throughout the day

Horn and whistle wailed sweet jazz,
the train was a giant harmonica,
moaning the blues as it moved,
and through the night,
you could hear jazz giants playin’
blues masters prayin’ in the key of G
And all the while,
that engine kept chugging,
pulling us onward,
up that glory road,
pluming smoke and steam like a shiny saxophone

We used to get all the crew —
Prez, Bird, Dizzy, Monk
and of course, Cannonball
Fats, Satchmo, Fatha Hines,
Bessie Smith sending shivers down the line
The Duke and Count was royalty,
and we had Lester and Lucky
Miles and Morgan was always hornin’ in,
and with Mingus among us
kickin’ up a ruckus,
you’d look up, and it’d be morning

We took Dame Holiday, Dorothy D.,
sisters Sarah, Ella, Nina
& the only Lena Horne —
cross country by train they all were borne
singing              swinging               swaying
changing minds with their music
healing the blind with their music
kicking behinds with their music
— like magic,
which music ’been always,
a part of our history

But the last one I remember,
a young fella on horn,
’played like he hit the floor runnin’
a relentless rhinoceros,
blasting through mountains of silence
to explode
roaring out of dark tunnels,
man & horn as one, alone,
a wailing soprano saxophone,
changing minds with his music,
healing the blind with his music,
kicking behinds with his music,
as music ’been always,
a part of our history

Standing at the station,
his music made me see light in the distance,
his music was light bridging the distance,
it brought a shine to my eyes —
made my spirit smile
’cause then I knew my Trane had come in —
’Twas time for my ascension
training on the spiritual railroad

So you ask me now,
what’s to do,
what with this new music,
the Social Rag and you?

Son, a word can change your mind,
a song can change the world
ask the Beatles or Quincy Jones
Why not give it a whirl?

If you can make a difference,
and won’t,
who’s to say you wouldn’t have died today,
if you had just believed…
..but ya don’t!

Folks is finally waking up,
it’s the Lifeline Express!
The underground railroad is pullin’ out
The band’s on board,
and they’re playin’ your song
Are you goin’ to jus’ hang around,
or is you comin’ along?!



© 1987

in the desert of our lives   Leave a comment

in the desert of our lives
    the apparent void of juice and passion
exists a niche
        a haven
sheltering the sacred spring,
             the unfettered effervescence of our percolating hearts,
and there arises a sense
that the void,
      the sense of isolation
is not wholesale
but the unintended result of our own amorous efflorescence —
                                     a sensuous conflagration
                                     heartfires flaring in romantic rendezvous
                                     souls come full circle
                                                                in a cycle of self…

..and the enduring selflessness
which is the essence of family
and      the anchor of generations
becomes a beacon
in a wilderness of values
across the cultural wasteland

the rising presence
                         of whole over self
                         of service as exaltation
rekindles joyful waters
&         clear visions of a greater we

amidst the desert of our lives —
forty times forty, and the trek has just begun…
through the dry and soulless canyons
hearts, the water-bearers,
          through their meeting
                    their merging
          are urging us to emulate their example —
the children of Obatala arise again,
                               pointing with their hearts
                               embracing truth recognized
                                                     hiding in our eyes —
afraid of what we see within…

the mind is dry
without heart
the heart lush
and       undirected without her bed
                          without a head
                                              directing one another…

from the dust of dreams
our hearts produce the fertile mud of our imagination
nurturing Ori’s seeds

we are our own spiritual harvest —
         the first fruits
         life in the desert
         remnants of a forest of hearts
         ancestors to the new forest
                         the coming harvest —
                         the rising living dreams of those sacrificed
                         the new unknowing of their course,
a people thick with promise
their direction threadbare
and              wind-driven
a crop in need of cultivation
that their hearts may rise,
                             bear wise fruit
expanding the forest family
linking our lives to the land,
a land we may someday remember
as the desert of our lives…..




© 31 aug 1999

sacrifice & surrender   Leave a comment

shreds of paper skip the pavement
slow wind mourns a melody
lyrics of sacrifice and surrender
now etched in memory

I stumble through your garden
magnolias hold no mystery
your petals are stiff and empty
of the scent I once could see

I feel folk songs moan,
whimper blues harmonica
wheezing fragments of what-if’s
over tequila-salted wounds

makes you wanna wonder
’bout prisons of used-to-be
&    strait-jacket suits
of wanna-be dreams

I barely sniffed the cork
of champagne desires —
effervescing wishes
melting shadows lost to breath

I hear a folk song chorus
chanting hallelujah
anguish goin’ church
in convulsions of regret

tambourine just a-tremblin’
my tangled tongue is speakin’
pleadin’ for wishes
I know will never come

’flicted tremors wrack my body
and tears no longer flow
grief’s blindness broke my hand
on walls of my frustration

I just wanna testify
wails runnin’ ricochet
along freight cars of abandon
’til I lost the will to fight

whistle moans harmonica
guitar is just a-stringin’
I don’t wanna feel
but the pain is just too strong

makes you wanna dance to glory
’had my hand upon the rapture
all she did was shrug
and her smoke slipped through my fingers

harmonica, cry now if you wanna
guitar, sing if you’ve a notion
the storm inside my chest
is pulling me out to sea

beyond the surf which brings tomorrow
&       waves of destiny,
my heart will sail me safely
until horizon is lost to mind

my eyes linger in the dimming
watching sun retreat from night
drifting slowly down
into whirlpool of despair

words catch on teeth of anger
tongue knots in strangled fear
my future crumbles, abandoned
in cold mists of used-to-be

her words walked right out the window
                       across the hill
                       out of my eyes,
extracting comfort by the roots
’til I was silenced by her choice

long, long
the refrain will always echo
strong, strong
the love I had to leave behind
wrong, wrong
the reasons given for the ending
and I will wander wondering,
how it all came undone


© 7 march 2003

Posted April 24, 2009 by Jamal Ali in Love, Music, Poesy, Poetry, Relationships

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