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.