Monday, August 30, 2010

To be or not To be... Free

I want to say something to ease the tension of this poem, but really I'm not apologetic that I wrote it or that I'm sharing it, if you have a problem with it, you are probably either sheltered or a very good pretender that things like this doesn't happen. Either way, enjoy...

It was late, I was coming from a vigil for two slain officers

Depleted of energy, I was feeling sleepy, when sirens and blue lights awaken me

I pull over, so does he.

6'3 220 lbs former marine killing machine steps from State Trooper unmarked car

I swallow, take a deep breath, I've been in this situation before

"License and registration nigger" I look, swallow my pride take a deep breath.

He demands again, this time hand on holster
"license and registration nigger" draws his gun, points it at my head,

"Get the FUCK out of the car" heart racing, too much pride to be denied my human rights but too many stories of brothers and sisters murdered.

So reluctantly, I put my hands up, out the window, not moving fast enough so face meet steel then pavement.

This was way too familiar to be a case of mistaken identity.

APB says "black man between ages of 18-36 , 5'6 to 6'5, light to medium dark complexion, driving car commits crime." I fit the description too well mouth bleeding, being beat into submission, all I kept hearing was "stop resisting" not noticing second unmarked car pull up and pick up where first officer left off.

"Your black ass ain't making it home tonight" sounding just like this isn't the first time they've done this. Face numbing, can't figure out what I did to deserve this lesson in social status. No help in sight I'm fighting to hang on to life. I want to see my son again. I want to tell my family that I love them.

See I was charged with a DWB (driving while black) and no drugs on me to warrant a conviction. See racism hasn't been reprimanded in our society, it continues to run rampid like AIDS in Africa uncontained and slowly killing people who look like me.

Three months of recovery, two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, a fucked up hip and multiple contusions is what they left me to remember them by, along with a lifetime supply of day and nightmares anytime I see the boys in blue or state troops.

Don't think this can't happen to you, ask Rutger's women's basketball team, ask Oprah, ask your parents.

This is not a disease, its an epidemic and its only a matter of time before it happens to you or someone you love. Every scene isn't as graphic as the one described above they are just as degrading and humiliating from the boardroom to the courtroom, you're just a nigger to them too.

Ask the judge, ask your lawyer, ask your boss' boss

Don't be confused when they tell you Imus' views came from our culture, how many rap albums do you think he has?

Imus was a sexist, racist biggot way before Kool Herc plugged his turntables into a lamppost.

I realize a lot of the music is reinforcing stereotypes and degrading women but rap isn't the whole hip hop culture, its just a scapegoat to make you second guess yourself when your boss' comments turn into a slap on the butt or the guy from Enterprise is bullshitting you about renting a car and deep down you know its because of your race but you don't want to catch a case. That's just the things put into your head to make you think racism is dead but it ain't, ask the residents of Johnston Mills, ask Katrina victims, ask your secretary of State, shit ask your VP he's a bigger crook than I'll ever be and he's still your VP. Ask your president resident advisor of those advisors who advise us that we're not that important

Friday, August 27, 2010


Ok so this poem comes from a very personal, frustrated place I wrote it a few years ago and read it to one of my co-workers and he wanted to give it to his then girlfriend to break up with her and he said this expressed exactly how he was feeling. I revised the ending because I couldn't find the original and wrote this from memory until I couldn't remember anymore, so I had to write a new ending.

I'm sinking in this re-la-tion-ship of despair
I just stare off into the cosmos indulged by the night blue sky
Why, questions are always answered with why
Love just ain't the same as she used to be
Incoherent phrases raise answers whose questions have not been posed
I'm supposed to be who I want to be or who you want me to be
And I've been trying
I've been dying for you to accept my prose
But I'll be damned if I'll damn my soul for your acceptance
Who do you expect me to be?
This poem doesn't have any stanzas so where's the break-up?
Make-ups are made much easier when we aren't always right
And I know I made a wrong turn somewhere
My navigational system has flu-like symptoms
And I haiku my passions on paper, excuse me,
You're still infecting my immunity
Your low dosage love just isn't enough anymore
I need you in higher quantities
Spill-proof my heart so if it drops it won't break as easily
Where did we go awry?
How did we board this ill fated ship destined for its destiny
This trip was never intentional
These high seas of hopelessness have taken over my course
Plot me a map that leads to your direction
But this isn't poetry
Where are the rhyming words?
That's what you think of me
Words that rhyme, not an individual expression
And that's what I'm sick of
Being mis-read
Don't read between the lines, there's nothing to interpret
I'm a walking mis-conception and you're a walking contradiction
That's what makes you good for me
So I'll sink until you save me
Because concrete doesn't have much buoyancy
And this two ton boulder hasn't yet been chiseled into who I pretend to be
So I'll keep pretending
If that's what you need from me.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Consistent Inconsistencies

Where do I begin? So many things have happened since I last posted. I was realeased, I mean laid off from my job because of some underhanded, I mean backstabbing, I mean because I "wasn't a fit" for the role I was in and they had no other positions to offer me. In my time off I've had more time to write poetry and music, though I haven't been making the most of my time and mostly I've been able to get my face back out there in the various scenes around town with the goal of being more involved. I've decided that I'm going to get back into this blogging thing by chronicling my days so that I can see what I'm actually doing with my time and how I can do things more efficiently.

As for this post this is a poem I wrote around the time after hurricane Katrina and the incident involving Sean Bell. Its untitled

I only want to write music and poems
Poems for the words to be heard, music for the soul to be stirred
Confusion lurks on the horizon of understanding

Not standing under false ideologies or false idols
America still worships the almighty

Dollars make sense to Presidents but not residents
of inner city concentration camps who can't comprehend
Why liberation always seems to slip their grasp
And we wonder why they grab guns
And why revolutions and revolutionaries these days are uncommon

But 41 shots are all too common,
51 shots are all too common
We are all too calm when city council condemns public housing
Because private condiminiums mean bigger paydays

What are we not seeing?

Just because evening news no longer views New Orleans devistation
Doesn't mean Katrina's catastrophe isn't firmly embedded in the memories of her victims
How quickly we forget

Someone's mother is still missing
Someone's father is still missing
sons and daughters aren't coming home

Many are still homeless

I wanna write music to inspire muses
that inspires movement without moving
A Song For You
Unforgettable, Irreplaceable music
That moves with the sound of the wind when you
Pray for the departed,

Amen music that transcends and resends love
To start a love movement
See we need more love in our music
And not that "let me buy you a drink and think that will suffice to take you home tonight"
I'm talking about that Sam Cooke
"Darling, you send me"
music that soothes the soul

This is a soul movement
I wanna write music and poems, poems for the words to be heard
Music for the soul to be stirred