Monday, November 9, 2009

moment of silence

Walker-Hoover, an 11-year-old African-American boy from Springfield, MA, took his own life, in response to the bullying he endured everyday at school. According to reports, Walker-Hoover was repeatedly taunted for “being gay.”

can it be written
without being told
like the letters
swimming with
mixed vegetables in alphabet soup
interpretation left at the whim
of the glutton
no spell check or dictionary needed

with spoon in hand any man can
plan and predict as fools often do
concepts created and based on
fixed outcomes
loose facts
this and that
but sometimes i wanna chill
and not know or be led to believe

let me remain oblivious
don’t blow the element of
surprise like a cheap high
like the one where you
sucked dick
to get a hit and now
it’s all written with the
letters in a poet’s mind
ravished by wine and
anti-depression pills

i can’t make myself
not feel what that eleven year old
boy felt moments before he hung himself
or that lil gurl who was abused
and tortured to death by her step
momma and daddy
daddy’s little gurl
not in her world
hangers and dark closets
where the real monster
fed her
wife before honor

i honor you in this poem
this minute
this moment of silence

excuses excuses excuses

i'm all out of excuses
plum out
can't make up anymore
excuse after excuse
covered mirrors
dark rooms
unopened blinds
no more excuses about why i can't

flashback to dysfunctional childhoods
fondled in places by different faces
house key around my neck
working mom
absent father
excuses excuses excuses
i'm empty

like gas light on empty
like not one drop
kool-aid pitcher left empty
i have relied on excuses far too long
like why i haven't published a sentence
or taken a risk beyond my mind's imagination
living my passion

bad credit, lapsed insurance, i hate my job
i'm lonely, fat, and depressed
i can't make up another excuse

there’s breath in my body
blood flowing through my veins
toxic brains can be cleaned
the word value does not make it a meal
cheap now but later no deal
the shyt is real

processed meat with swollen feet
ice tea made too sweet
not sweet like a baby's kiss
but sweet like you run the risk
of having to buy needles and dialysis time
mental excursions no rehearsing this time
no excuse comes to mind

like calling out of work cause you're
feeling sick, can't stop taking shits
brown water falling from your ass
nausea, loss of appetite, knowing that
processed meat got you a soar seat
like sandpaper raw, u can't sleep
no insurance only home remedies
scrapping up pennies to
purchase pharmaceuticals
missing work boss stating the
rules to you
bring a note or
some type of excuse
bitch i'm sick what you want me to do
i can take pics of my shit and
text them to you or email them as
attachments from google

screw you fuck you
no more excuses i'm through
who's who
if i was working for myself i wouldn't need no excuse
if i was following my passion i wouldn't need no excuse
if i'm living life's purpose i wouldn't need no excuse
no more excuses
i'm all out of excuses
i'm through

Possible Book Cover

Monday, September 28, 2009

gratitude (Dedicated to Dr. Newton)

It’s in the midst of realizing you have nothing
But knowing you have everything
That God speaks

If you notice the distant chirp of a bird
The innocence of puppies
The cry of a child

The tranquility of a flowing stream
The bloom of flowers in Spring
The confident embrace of a father and child

In the darkness of my self imposed despair
The illusion of grandeur, only more bills,
The drive for more

For more this, for more that,
The need to feel complete,
Then God speaks

Through raging fire and flashing floods
Repossessions, illness, taxes, and death
Wealth offers little immunity to reality

In the midst of realizing you have nothing
You realize you have been blessed beyond measure
Testament of your presence; warm blood in your veins

Gratitude grants giving and grateful individuals the
Gift of blessings beyond measure even in the
Midst of nothingness-

In the midst of nothing
There is life and for life
I’m grateful.

physical attraction regret/ coke makes dare reality

like an empty bowl
next to a hot stove
i wanna write something
that will feed the soul.
i seek nourishment,
something divinely sent,
something i can chef up and put to print.

fame and profit's nice,
but this is my life,
if i can share what i learn
then it's worth the price.
it's worth the mistakes,
the late night debates,
it's worth the pain and the
dirty stains and it's worth
getting wet in the august rain

it's worth the time,
worth the senseless crimes
though i never got caught
the lies haunt my mind
can't live with regret so i try and forget and
pray those marauding thoughts will leave me
like a morning shyt

like the night i lost a friend
on some stupid shyt
spit on his dick like a geeked up trick
working street corners tryna make a lick
it wasn't bout the coke
but that shyt ain't no joke
white sparkling rows on a mirror
like dixie crytals

blinded by the dope and
the hope of wanting he
but he wanting she
and she ain't me
i wrestle with circumstances endlessly
maybe a cheap thrill
would spend the wheel
pushing this heavy load up the hill

moon out
stars bright
room dark
but it went to far
i couldn't stop my car
like a falling star or being drunk in a bar
falling on my face such disgrace
we're forever scarred

words no longer shared
replaced with awkward glares
reneged on this dare
if i could disappear
like i was never here
like i was never born

vampires never see the sun
they stay on the run
never loving one
never coming undone
never misplacing pride
let the music die
i just told a lie

friendship means more than lust
in me you can trust
but the flesh was weak and
the lust was a must and
the trust wasn't trust
like the sweet pickles bus
it just never shows up

i leave the station
my final destination
the death of me will be my need
to fly with the breeze
to just live free

to rid myself of cravings for misbehaving for
contemplations mutual stimulation
simulating acts implanted in my
genetic code and
mental overload

the trauma of being birthed
with a loving soul
innocent and free
attracted to men like me
a masculine touch
is it much too much?
i don’t know, it must have been
cause we’re no longer friends be continued

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

When there's a mole in the family 090109

At times I feel like I'm being molested
Touched in places only I should touch
Places where I'm free
Like a baby suspended in a womb
My promise and my doom
Vulnerable to the fancy of others
I can only imagine the nerves of a suspecting mother

For nine months the protector and nurturer of another
A child
So meek and mild
She imagines the smile and wonder
If it'll bear the eyes of the father
Remembering that's what made her love him
Now stressed and sometimes confused
She wonders if she can take it much
Sometimes silence makes us stronger
In the end only you determine your purpose
Your strength your sanity
You're woman
You're mother

Did she close her eyes when
He touched her
Dreams of stability can cause one to
From shamble to mansion
He got a pension plan and the only
Man I know driving a convertible
And working at the plant
My sisters rant and rave
About how much money he got
Yeah, I know he talk crazy and walk
That man with money

I sometimes block out moments of my childhood
Polluted thoughts that soil my mind
Funny how compost can produce the most reddest roses
And sweetest succulent strawberries and pain can bloom
A hurting heart beating with passion like that of
An African drum beating with emotion
And treble voices tunes of hope and forgiveness
But somehow can never forgive the one who disappointed
Me the most
Like an abandoned toy after a child has out grown him
Like that Commodore 64 covered in dust and black magic
Marker under my bed
My father grew absent from me
Like the empty desk in a full class
No pictures of my family include he

I wonder if this is why it's so easy for me
To become distant, abandon myself from
Others like forgetting to leave a trail of
Stones while you travel so you can find your
Way back home like Hansel and Gretel
Maybe I'm conditioned
Being touched and molested mentally
I guess I get it honestly
For I am my father's son

Like birds falling from the sky
To the ground they die
Discarded seaman in latex condom swirling
Downward like a trout swimming up stream
I wonder if I should have made it
Planted it
Laid it in a womb with or without consent
Heaven sent looking like me

It's funny but I think I would make a good father
Despite it all, I think my brothers are
It ain't that hard if you and your partner
Work together like the way leaves of a tree grip branches
In stormy weather I'll even sing a song to you
And I can't sing
At least not well enough for any one
But you
I'm still looking for love

Touching others with or without their consent
Molesting them with a smile and conversation
Verbal elation, sensations, mental stimulation
Not like when your mother leave you with
Someone else' child who is mentally fucked
And touches you in a way that cause you to
Question your sexuality and mentality
So often that you eventually grow to like it
Every child craves attention and touch
Never too much
It was never too much

It still is never too much at least that is
What I've been convincing myself
It is what it is
I never thought I would get this off my chest
Maybe it's this weed
But I am feeling so free right now
I used to fall asleep looking up at my fish
Swim around in their aquarium
Fish are the shyt
They saved my life
When I was drowning they taught me to breathe

We're all in this community this place
This world
How naive of us to be opinionated
And so self righteous that we place
Prices on others and things that the earth
Delivers for free in more than enough abundance
I trip off the Matrix because it really made some
Sense and so did the Color Purple and Blow
I block society's pedophiliactics- the disturbing
Tactic of conquering innocent minds and
Touching them inappropriately
Groping me with standards foreign to the righteous
Unnatural attempts at adjusting who I am for the
Benefit of others who have never read a book
Or painted a picture or dreamed of the possibility
Of making this a better place
By being a father to your kids and holding it
Down with them and the young woman that fell in love
With your eyes
Maybe she would have became better at
Being a more understanding and
Compassionate mother
Tough love don't always produce and a strong man
It may produce a sensitive punk who is to afraid to
Be the light of truth, their destiny
Maybe a little more compassion and understanding
And the mentality of, “fuck what anyone else thinks
This is my child our child
They deserve the best even if I have to give my last”
Sometimes I understand Joe Jackson
And it's scary
Forgiver them Father for they know not what they do
And someday father...(under construction; stay tuned)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

A New Birth: Born again revisited

I just wanna throw caution to the wind, not sure where I'm going but I know where I've been. Mistakes are a guarantee but how you over come them determines the need to repeat, loose sleep, no hope, sniff coke. I don't pretend to be perfect.

On the other hand, when you say "fuck it" and mean it, and just live for you with a commitment to becoming a righteous and conscientious citizen of this Earth, a protector of all things living, all creatures great and small; there is this something within that awakens, it seeks knowledge of self and purpose for being here, right now, this moment. It realizes how a rock, a river, a tree, a buzzing bee, and me are all connected. Relative; a new birth if you will, for lack of better wording.

This thing within will seek different experiences and different ways of perceiving both familiar and foreign situations, ideas, values, and convictions. It may cast out contradictions. "Right", "wrong", "good", and "bad", fall by the way side like a discarded soda can. Ideas you once held to, you question and possibly let go of, ironically, peace will be their replacement. Some may find it hard to let go, but I promise you, letting go and walking away figuratively, is the most righteous and liberating thing one can do. I know it's scary, the thought, because it's all new...especially since we've been birthed and conditioned to live in a capitalist society. I'm not sure if our ancestors used pacifiers to calm a fussy child, but today, I still believe this is why food comforts me. Maybe I'm rambling, then again, maybe these words are divine, either way, that is for you to decide.

Here is the test, see if you can go a week without the need to judge, label, criticize or form an opinion about anything. Attempt to live in the moment and meditate on just being. Focus on your breathing and the thoughts that cloud your mind, what do you hear? If you hear things like "you're worthless", "you're fat", "you're better than everyone else", silence them and replace it with "it is what it is" the world is good. When you strive to be naked and unashamed, when you accept a name is just a name, and God possesses and lives within everything, and religion is just religion, and Jesus was a man born again, awaken, committed to letting go of Earthly possessions or simply he just was, "I am that I am" you shall be born again. You must be born again....then again, who am I to make this claim.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Random thoughts 859

i never pretend to kid myself
about the risks in this game
Life, learning, loving
all while inebriated in
myths and illusions
becoming disillusioned
mentally mutated by
fast foods and commercials

the haves and have nots
the desire for
power, prestige
we no longer feel the need to
liberate ourselves from ourselves or
forsake our greed
i just wanna be loved

people make the world go round
and so does money
ain’t it funny how time flies when you’re
busy whoring yourself in the streets
giving head to your boss?
but bills must be paid

but giving head to random people
is something else, something deeper
steeper like internet phone sex
late nights in back allies outside
no pride just addicted to
the need to feel wanted and to feel something
another heart beat
you look in their tired eyes and wonder to self
“what if?”
but like all addictions no regard to post conditions
in the moment like a sky diver falling from above
the rush of an orgasm
a hit of coke it
numbs the brain
on your knees again
ain’t it funny

the solution is not
who what when where nor how
but why
why do we feel the need to dictate
who we give our love to or decide
for others

no holding hands with the person
who makes me blossom not only in my pants
or who makes me wanna make homemade pancakes
and serve it in bed
we said no they said no he said no she said no
I saY save me from this life

back allies and dark living rooms
back seats and couches with sheets draped across
all feeling lost, numb, for the moment
I'm here with someone who may never meet my mom
and she doesn’t know I do coke

She’ll never meet all my friends
Maybe because we were never friends
She and i
Not friends like classmates and those
blessed to you by “hello” or coincidence and not birth
the kind you can tell anything to
and not feel the weight of judgment

Disappointment and regret
Advise and guide don’t despise and lie
Understand and love and hug
Don’t point and scream and suck teeth and
sigh with grief while rolling eyes

We make it hard for ourselves as a collective
Just check things out from a different perspective
And trust that God don’t make mistakes
Life is just as good as a bowl of Frosted Flakes
With cold milk and the feeling of love and belonging
And being free to be the best you you can be

I know it’s cliché but sometimes that’s not a bad thing
It’s as simple as whistling Dixie backed by a chorus singing
I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family
with a great big hug and a kiss from me to you…think about it...

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

My Response to Beth...

Love you to.
I could apologize a million times
Make this go on and on
like one of those long Prince songs
You know, like the ones we
used to enjoy listening to
When the sun seemed to always shine and
rain only fell into frosted glasses
tasting like strawberry lemonade
yeah, i could say sorry for ever
but just know i never
meant to hurt you
sometimes the ego can be
venomous like scorpions hiding
under rocks while you're searching for
your hero in random places high and low
my verbal sting to you was to
distract me from the truth
the guilt of knowing that
i hurt you and that i let you down
i was being a enabler instead of a
protector and a friend
i don't doubt that it's hard for you to
forgive me once again
but I'm glad you do
i'll make an effort to
never hurt you again
just promise me you'll
make me some brownies
and make me laugh after
your glass of wine has you buzzed
or talk shyt with me while we're
kicking ass in some spades again.
I miss you dawg!

Random 070409

i sometimes wonder about saving dolphins
their plight their struggle
cans of tuna
is it worth it?
Is it important enough?
I mean it's relative- we're all connected
all things big and small and living
what if dolphins lived in buildings
would their plight have more meaning
like saving cities, neighborhoods, and communities
trapped in nets and webs of
capitalist killers convincing
consumption gumption
conjunction junction what's your function
purpose destiny fate
it ain't too late
if you can relate
can't make it more relative
than it already is
not like 3rd and 4th cousin relative
your mama's sister's brother's kids
but relative like
same womb same room same tomb same mushroom
like smurfs sitting in church
eat pray and work
where is the love you said you'd give to me
like smoking good weed
christmas trees
goldfish and puppies
ain't no more pet shops in our communities
ain't no more May Day celebrations
no more candy ladies nor freeze ladies
something's shady
young mother feeding ramen noodles to baby
call me crazy but sometimes it's
hard to remain focused
abracadabra hocus pocus
my mind's playing tricks on me
is that what they want me to believe
like whales swimming in open seas
only to be snagged by hidden nets
like that fine print at the end of a loan or
promissory note that you signed at 18
not knowing what it really meant
just that you could finish class
the one you barely passed
for worrying about books, clothes
something to eat and how you would get home for
thanksgiving too broke and pre making a living
only to finish in the hole with garnished wages
each pay check no federal return and
no warning the risk in
doing what they say you should
no warning labels
like the kind on the side of cigarette packs and
Little Debbie cakes never warn of getting fat and
no written warning on crack
smoke with the hope of never going back to the
pain and feeling of being slained
caught up in nets and snares of defeat
loose some teeth no place to
eat and skeet too sweet like candy with
tricks and treats
cash rules everything around me
they don't care it's all about the money
ain't no sunny days when your situation is
defined as poverty
monopoly on top of me
no feeling free
it ain't sunny
only cloudy days and long lonely
stormy nights
dreaming of what it's like to be
older than human time
pre crime pre war pre poverty
pre definitions and pre meaning
just chillin and being
like trees in a forest
singing songs with no chorus
like this is the song that doesn't end
when will it end
the desire to spend stressing
poor men and
the killing of dolphins
to the point of their end

Monday, April 27, 2009

Untitled possibly "the beauty of being free"

break away just when it seems to clear
drink your big black cow and get out of here
before the tears begin falling
down my fevered face
what a disgrace
feeling failure in life’s race
laps behind
wasting time
doing lines and petty crimes

lies and rhymes
no longer home for the holidays
no place to stay
dirty drawers around my waist
fuck class and taste
ain’t no shame in my brain

living each day to numb the pain
a hit away from disappearing
sorry Mr. West is gone
ain’t nothing clear
conditioned to seek answers
instead of just being

just seeing
like cows in pastures living for the sake of living
feeling for the sake of feeling
no need for healing
cause stress is non existent if we are persistent
in the pursuit of breathing

not reading into forms or labels or identity
ya see - that’s the beauty of being free
you just be
you just be

to just be
is why junkies junk jobs
robbing parked cars loose change converted
to medicine for the veins
insane it seems
desperate by any means
like chewing off a paw
or walking from Georgia in the
darkness of night
dark like me

dark like urban streets
the sacrifice of being free
the sacrifice of just to be
ain’t nothing clear no more
synthesized and
manufactured mess like
rent and “relationships”
people out for self

your own health and wealth
me me me
state of the universe don’t matter
mine mine mine
living blind don’t wanna see
the shyt being done to me
the shyt being done to we
i wanna be free
free from it all
if only for an hour
i have twenty on it

no, there’s nothing you can say
so get away
get out my face
i’m leaving this place
on a train ride
the tracks of my tears
in one inhale are
replaced by tracks on porcelain plates
one breath
in one moment
sorry b lamont is gone

Thursday, April 23, 2009


it's when we become tired of the lies
being told what to think
altering what we see on tv

it's when the capitalist pacifiers have been snatched from our mouths
plasma tv's rims, louis v bags and timbs
it's when the mortgage can't be met
when checks stop coming when
empty cabinets are common

when stores are closing and
instead of bringing home candy in her purse
mother brings home pink slip
after thirty-five dedicated years with the state
too late to wait no debate

it's when gas is both limited and expensive
it's when you don't wanna be bothered with anyone
it's when arson is better than foreclosure and death is better than lack of wealth
sacrificing your own life and health
it's when we become so damn mad and and pissed and decide that we've had
enough of this shyt
will we see the people's revolution.

prince of peace

preying pastor pursue
powerless poor people
pretending pity
preaching promises
pathetic pile of prayers
purses and pocketbooks
praise praise praise

placing polluted profit
in polyester pocket
parachutes pulled
pleasure palace
prince of peace proclaiming
placing porridge
and playgrounds in the projects

peeps pretending
pressure’s plosive
penny pinching
prescription purchases
prayer perfect
performing procedures
purple pews
what would jesus do?

pushing private pillars
passionately protecting peace
planet's perilous plight
populations plumage pridefully
producing poisonous pollutions
powerful polar pistols
positioned perfectly
ready to combat the evil man do.


our purpose is to

the revolution has died and
we no longer know what it's like to want
we are satisfied by quick fixes
rapid refunds
slim fast
a gun
a grant
a loan
mobile homes
new bills
new loans
new stress
no rest
new blunt
new dime
new zest
ya'll know the rest

when we look at that ghost in the mirror
that hallow shell of a person
who is it that we see?
someone we hate soo much that we
fuck without condoms
drink without care
pop pill, snort powder deleting our nose hairs

when we look in the mirror
who is it that we see?
someone that we hate soo much that we
tell our boy his rhymes are wack when in actuality they are really good
tell our girl that she is wasting time with school, she should start stripping with you

who is it that we see?
someone that we hate soo much that we
come to poetry jams hoping to find
something in some poet's rhyme
that will help us to finally define
who we are or
who we should be?

simple muthafucker
think for yaself
learn yaself
know yaself
blow yaself
touch yaself

get off that shyt and get off that shelf
that you allowed them niggahs to place you on
with that ninety-nine cent price tag on your ass
“will fuck for attention” sign around your neck

selling your soul to a jesus that you think you know
when in actuality you don't know shyt
not even what it's like to want
because the revolution has died and we now
drink from same fountains
learn at the same school
attend the same churches
swim in the same pools
riding at the front of the bus
living by the same rules, or so we think

but ask that eighteen year old brutha in ga
who sits in a jail with copies of his college acceptance, football scholarship, and invitation to the university's honor's program letters taped to his wall
ask that brutha
who is that he sees when he looks into his stained mirror
ya'll ain't feeling me

the question is rhetorical
the answers are simple
liberate – your soul
educate – your mind
encourage – your fellow man
provide – for your home
solve – your problems
love - yaself
heal – your wounds
live – your life

and remember this my bruthas and sistahs
angels don't crawl, they fly
and gods and real men aren't afraid to cry
and “black is beautiful” is not just a saying but a fact of life!

Monday, April 20, 2009

wake the f--k up

what time is it when
levees leak and bridges fall
when jena 6 ain’t protected by laws
when seasons seem out of order and
local taxes are placed on bottled water
when prisons seem a rite of passage for little black boys
who can’t get to school on time
cause mama didn’t value time
cause daddy couldn’t stand the test of time
leaving her in welfare lines, bus line, cheese line,
clothes line, loosing minds and wanna kick a
bitch’s behind cause it’s about time we find time
to figure out what time it really is

what time is it when you can’t rest
life’s stress got you feeling less
than what you really feel
to heal you smoke a blunt, do a line, pop a pill
hoping to sooth your aching soul
lonely like polar bears at the North Pole…
you just wanna blink yaself away
lord forbid they call you gay
you just wanna scream
cry out, throw punches at God
time out time out this poem and these words have gone to far
we have gone to far
what time did you say it was?

it’s hard to tell
since wal-mart started selling bee-bee guns
ain’t no street lights on in my neighborhood
and I’m feeling grown cause i got a house key
mama no longer waits up for me
so i’m free to run the streets, learning shyt i ain’t
suppose to be
past my bedtime and i’m smoking weed
peer pressure all over me so i’m feeling the need to run
up in virgin-hairless-pussies cause that’s what time it be
at least that’s what i see on tv or when i listen to brother’s cds
or on them tapes he hide under his bed
su-per head…what time is it?

hammer time, tool time, lunch time, bed time,
time won’t give me time
And time makes lovers feel,
like they got something real,
cause you and me we know
We got nothing but time,

my momma used to say,
take your time young man,
my momma used to say
don’t you rush to get older,
like sands through an hour glass
these are the days of our lives
our time is nigh

when levees break and bridges fall
when our brothers and sisters are still being raped by laws
when our kids are learning things they’re not suppose to be
when prisons become warehouses for misguided kings
when aids continue to consume our heart-broken love-seeking queens
who don’t wanna raise a baby alone
cause a house is not a home when there’s no one there
to hold you close and hold you tight
on late nights ‘til morning time
time to pay rent, time to pay energy, time to pay peter time to pay paul
damn what time it is ya’ll?
…time to wake the fuck up.

so much to say

i got so much shyt to say
ain’t no lock big enuff for my diary
scared to hire me
state wanna fire me
cause the secret wired me
toxic seed
laws of attraction be inspiring me
gotta set me people free
i’m the light they see
a different breed
wicked seed
slowly smoking weed
be the thorough breed
that they need
mouths to feed
i take the lead
check my speed
hoping people follow me
see what i see
cash rules everything but damn if it’s ruling me
i’m a different beast
not a messy minor i’m major league
relax and breathe
i know what we need
leadership lost like car keys
cell phone or photo id
seeking peace from wicked western philosophies
my apologies but its true indeed
our souls will never rest until all my brothers are free
locked up as a side effect to the hypocrisies
it’s a damn shame when it’s not cool to read
i’ll proceed cause the ADD be side tracking me
at least that’s what they convincing me
cause it could never be from them drugs that they injected me
when i was just a seed
mama could read but the white man knows everything
it’s such a shame when in my brain i know the game
to claim the fame immortalize my name
like lines of cocaine the rush helps ease the pain


i wanna impregnate the world today
not strap up
not pull out
just let myself loose in the world’s warm wicked womb
it’s silent soul
smearing steamy seaman
deep inside
can’t hide
won’t lie
i’ll try
to impregnate the world today
with my self my love my words
a toe-curling
spine tingling
mouth screaming
where metaphors swim with the swiftness
of fighting seamen
for life
fighting to come alive
only a champion can survive
can’t hide
won’t lie
i try
to copulate and create
no mistakes cherry milkshakes
and puppies dance in my head
orgasmic pleasure forever
that’s what love be like
don’t abort it
or fear it
pop a pill the day after
then smear it
from the lips of your wicked womb
i presume you assume
it would be to costly so selfishly you
proceed to implant fear and greed
in the minds of my kin people
ya lost me
love can’t ever be too costly
yeah i’m bossy
sorta saucy
cause my roots be from folk who worshiped
the sun
the one whose
kisses cause the leaves to grow on trees and blow with the breeze and come back next spring but the perplexities of the life brings more days therefore new skies
new tries
new cries
open wide i wanna be inside
just let me ride
can’t hide won’t lie
seaside B side
i share my verbal DNA
with the words i say
the poems i slay
the songs i play
verbs i spray
and with my love hoping i can birth some different shyt today
cause i got so much shyt to say

Mercy, Mercy, Mercy (Some Step Daddies)

his dick smelled like rotten tuna
and he told me to suck it
if i didn’t he would
not let me go outside
not buy me the train set i wanted
he told me he would hurt my mama

‘til this day
i don’t eat tuna
but i am still
sucking dick

Thursday, April 16, 2009

the sacrifice

this poem was written with no interruption
phone off the hook
computer off line
living room blinds closed
front door locked

this poem was written with no interruption
television unplugged
playstation non existent
puppy walking himself
risking life and health

but sacrifice is necessary
if one is to carry words with the
power to cause buildings to fall
screaming kids running down
dirty school halls hands rubbing against walls

classroom restless with stresses
about krebs cycles and fetal pig livers
dissecting kittens but no woolen mittens
but what will their hands feel when facing
the will of Winter's furious chill

light bill interrupted cause mama's struggling
cause daddy couldn't interrupt that bulge in his pants
wanting to dance and romance with someone new
something borrowed something blue til death do
us part will no longer do

kids pulled from home with picket gate to section 8
staying out late no china just paper plates
fitting in making friends with other interrupted children
times are hard on these grassless yards
wasn't no lawn in front of my house

cold mornings smelling of kerosene
and vaseline for ashy faces and dry lips and scalps
no cereals and pop tarts thank god they serve breakfast
at school gold meal card guarded with my young life

brand names ain't matter i was clean
no holes in my jeans we were on a different team
rich kids pulling up in volvos with book bags and lunch boxes
polos and swatch watches duck head and white bread
deli sandwiches like on them louis rich commercials

my bologna has a first name it's not oscar but
frosty; last name myers but i never grew tired
of those sandwiches just wished that variety was
more prevalent in places where the candy man and
freeze lady reside full of pride blue crabs on picnic tables outside

my childhood wasn't sad it was just necessary
i still cringe when i hear someone say faggot or word nigger
both carry the power of a pulled trigger but not as much
a lot of the shyt i used to worry about don't bother me at all
cause there's not a person walking this earth without flaws

i won't write anymore poems interrupted by laments of my childhood
and imagined family dysfunction because sacrifices aren't imagined
like passing ufo's in the sky but real and necessary if character is
to be birthed into those who must someday testify of the goodness
and worthiness of living and life; this is why poets must share what they write
and why life ain't life without sacrifice.