There She Lay

As the sun surrendered to the horizon,

There She Lay…

Gazing at the sky through translucent lids, bestowing a hue of burgundy upon her mind…

The hustle and bustle of the metropolis drowned out her cries,

Like ocean waves drown out rain on a windy day,

There She Lay,

The windows to her soul tinted a hue of blue, By him.

That monster that she mistook for a man so many sunsets ago,

How she longs to gaze upon the sun again, with the same aw that she once did-

As a child, back when fatherless father’s promised fatherless daughters the world-

Yet merely left her looking upon the heavens thinking, why?

Why does no man love me?

Truth is, Some did…  However, when one is born in the dark, it becomes difficult for one to see the light, so…

There She Lay…

Her burgundy lids becoming purple as the only father that she ever knew, Father Time, starts to leave her… Just as so many others did…

This is the tragedy of her reality…

Little golden girl losing her luster-

Dulled by a world filled mindless gods than those with Godless minds…

There she lay, one last time…

Leaving this earth the same way that she arrived…

Cold,

Alone,

The only father that she ever had, Gone. Father time

Leaving her as so many fathers do,

With her mother…

There She Lay

With her mother, Earth.

Nirvanna

I exist in a place where all that is poetic is justice,

Sex is for lovers only, and all have experienced a love jones,

I exist in a place where life lives without anger,

Instead, we zone in a sentimental mood, serenaded by Coltrane, as Donnie sings a song for you,

I exist in a place where we hang in urban suites, and every man understands a true woman’s work,

Where our needs and wants are one in the same, and lust is the last emotion to emerge,

I exist in a place where the faithful dwell,

And beauty lies within the beholders eye,

And the only truths are those in which we believe, and fallacies are blatant lies,

I exist in a place where understanding’s conceived through intimate conversation, and where

Hatred and jealousy are created myths of the devil’s imagination…

I exist in a place where lovers love… and when where alive, we live our life,

I exist in a place where blessed emotions are felt whenever I look in your eyes…

I exist in paradise. 

The Demise of the Poetic

It was once stated that the ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr,

Hence, I didn’t write these words,

I became them,

Paper, my flesh…

Ink, My blood…

The finished product,

My soul…

With every stroke of the pen, it’s like a slit to the wrist, making my paper and life grow progressively shorter,

The more I write, the more I see the light as if the end were near,

Perhaps I am a martyr,

Who’s found heaven within his notebook, where I die every night for what I believe in…

Or perhaps it is my notebook where I am most alive,

Where the pages of my life are so eloquently scribed-

In pen,

Sometimes wishing that I could erase the past,

But I can’t,

So that makes this poem,

My life,

Who I am.

Selling Soul... Pt. 1

 I told her to play a love song…

She knew I loved the Hip Hop,

Needle touched the vinyl-

CL Smooth and the Pete Rock…

Black Griot like Aesop, she loved my fables,

My life is like a movie, I told her, No need for cable baby.

Cinematic, The black man Asiatic,

Don’t touch the dial-

Dumb, Deaf, and blind will raise the static,

I raise the status quo with this black magic flow,

Underground like in the basement where artist and addicts go

I took her with Blaq,

High like where Kilimanjaro peaks at,

Yet deep like the pages where Muhammad speaks at,

I don’t speak rap tongue, only that Hip Hop drum and when I beat it long enough,

She’s destined to come,

Clever lyrical,

Something like spiritual,

It broke her heart,

These minstrels top the chart?!?

She said, “Is this satirical or have we lost the art?”

I told her, “a little bit of both”,

Then Common Came out with “BE”,

Gave her a little bit of hope,

Yet in still-

I

Had

To,

Divorce soul, when she turned and married neo,

Breaking my heart and leaving me for ordinary people,

She said,

Rock was Dead and that

She had died with Marvin,

Donnie jumped out the window,

Renascence had died in Harlem,

So what’s a girl to do in this world to get some stardom?

Exploit herself to the top or dumb down and fall like autum?

She chose both,

To the disdain of what I taught her, She prostituted herself until everybody bought her,

Black girl lost to big business and fatter pocket’s, Mercedes Benzes, gold chains and Prada lockets,

My baby traded in old school for no school, old soul for no soul, fake thugs for real fools that forgot her story…

And fucked up her History, To the point that when she speaks, she no longer mentions me,

It seems by baby’s lost the greatness within her tone,

So now I’m afraid that I must divorce my soul…

 

   

Loving a Woman

From cocoon to butterfly,

She and I exchanged whispers of late night lullabies,

She is the truth amidst all the others lie’s,

The dream I see with opened eyes

My personal poet,

She showed me how to be a lover,

So in turn, to repay her, I now love her…

deeper than her thighs

More like heart and mind and soul,

My better half made this here brother whole,

When something was missing,

Now I feel more than lips touching when we’re kissing,

I feel her soul speaking and mine listening,

She makes my history her story, our story

She’s the muse for my music for my victory is her glory, and hers mine…

She’s mine and I’m hers,

As I hold her in the twilight,

She in turn holds on to my every word…

My nouns turn to verbs, making my thoughts action words, My nouns turn to verbs making my thoughts action words,

Turning my potential kinetic with her’s…

I’ve made her old soul hip hop again and she’s made my rhythm-less blues

funk infused…

Jazz for that ass that would leave Thelonious Monk amused,

She’s the Stella that gave me my groove back,

My fine wine in a world of cheap cognac,

Late at night I sip her,

Drunken off of her vibe like lovers of liquor,

She speaks to me,

While these other girls bicker,

When she’s gone I miss her,

Late at night, Distant Lover listener,

Rose pedal picker,

Honey suckle sipper,

That turned this female fanatic into a hopeless romantic with simply a whisper,

Go figure…

All this time to become a brother all I needed was a sister,

All this time to become a man all I needed a was a wo-man…

A misses to become a mister…

These girls couldn’t do it…

Didn’t have the depth to inspire my music…

Nothing more than empty riff’s,

Shaped like a treble cleft she takes my breath when she moves her hips,

Shaped like a treble cleft she takes my breath when she moves her hips,

She is my star,

Our celestial bodies intertwine like procreation of Venus and Mars

In my dreams she and the heavens are as similar as similes are…

In my dreams she and the heavens are as similar as similes are…

 

When she’s afar,

I speak to her in soliloquy bars,

Talking in tongues spiritual drums beating from the heavens above…

My mother earth blowing breath into my lungs in the form of a morning breeze

Exuding the beauty of Michigan, autumn, Maple tree leaves,

The most beautiful hues, I envision,

As she dances and entrances my third eye vision,

We communicate in the language of love,

And I listen…

Entrance me, sister in that sundress,

 

With skin tone’s of African Sunsets,

 

And the scent African violets

 

Vibes to make my sun rise, like one of Angelou’s best,

 

With her moon,

 

Being an inch from my queen is of equal distance from heaven for she’s my ticket out of this monotonous hell,

She showed me to rise in love, forget those others who’ve fell,

Fallen for the superficial,

She completes me as my pad completes my pencil,

She’s etched her hieroglyphics permanently on the walls of my heart with her stencil,

Etched her hieroglyphics permanently on the walls of my heart with her strencil,

 

Inspiring the passion of a Coltrane instrumental,

 

Look at her,

She is my soul… no need to gaze through my  windows…

 

For when you see her, you see my soul coming,

 

You hear my heart?

 

You feel my soul drumming?

 

When I touch her,

 

You feel my pain numbing,

 

If ever you feel this…

 

You know what it is to love woman… 

Untitled

I’m stylish with the stylus,

Vocabulary longer than the Nile is so small talk is useless,

I speak on that level that’ll confuse Confucius,

My angles cover all bases as if obtuse, it’s…

The type of shit that’ll spark a revolution,

Guevara with the pen searching for a revolution,

Living for the moment, to hell with the conclusion,

Motorcycle diaries with kush inside my Cuban,

Turn up the music, my words beautifully human,

Nat Turner 2007, nuance the movement,

Revolutionaries keep a hammer in the tool kit,

Ain’t too many that move with the force that I move with,

I’m far from a nigger be it kin or racial slur,

Spit hotter than Lucifer wearing an exclusive fur,

I’m out of this world,

Got a sister on Jupiter,

I call her my old earth,

Penny for my thoughts, don’t insult my words worth,

My diction is priceless,

I’ve nice with the mic since Osiris loves Isis

 

 

The Chest of Hip Hop

In the chest of hip hop, there lies a hole…

Gapping like surgery of the open heart type…  African Drums, tumble and crumble and rumble, like mumbles of thunder in the jungle at night… 

You emit a light in the world full of darkness, never lost blackness,  never lost passion,  never lost facts,

Its hip-hop,

In the,

Purest form, deep like bass is… to make microphone fiends high like treble…

In the chest of hip hop lay the rhythm and the rebel,

The good, the bad, ugly,

The god the human, the devil,

 you wordlessly spoke on the truest of levels…

With the passion of a manage… You paint a collage that would make Picasso blush…

You touched us with pro-tools the way he did with brush…  You made love to the track, while others simply lust…

See, “You are love… You made it unselfish, made us feel empowered at the same time helpless…”   your ruff draft is beauty,

 beauty like black is…

how you empower the weak and made the underground respected by the masses, like Joe Luis did and in later years Cashis,

you spoke to, proletariat, so serious , soulquarians, Aquarius,  in the chest of hip hop there lies a hole, dripping wetter than aquariums,

You filled that hole with the soul that can’t be sampled, can’t be contained, can’t be handled by anything earthly…

You welcomed the world to Detroit then took us on a fantastic voyage through the village of slums,

with more muse than the middle passage… and because 1 wouldn’t do and 2 was not enough for you no…

You worked as a slave to the art…

Your plantation?   The studio. 

You made us go nut’s in this age of shining rims on donuts, you hit us with the soul of The Shining then Donuts…

Hip Hop, you never sold it out, yet and still, you sold us,

on that which some pronounce deceased,

Yet, even though you’re gone and it’s gone… you and it still lives through your beats…   

 In the chest of hip hop, there lies a hole…

When you passed, so did its heart, but you left us with its soul…

But where’s the love????

There’s no love…