#NaPoWriMo Wake up

Wake Up

hey bright baby

you fresh to def

black beautiful and magnificent

shiny star

night bright

wake up time

right?

hey lady

wake up time she said

Lion King that you are

Big Fish that you are
Twin Star that I am

Sunrise

and some brightness

and something sweet

because i’ve been in the night

but today is today

#NaPoWriMo beat me 11/30

beat me

you beat me

like hot steel

raw material. ore

refined. pounded into shape

sharp.shift

change I can

i am.

have to

change

#NaPoWriMo Springtime 13/30

Springtime

There are many, tiny pieces of your story. I find them scattered, written on fragments of speech, the way you time you take to talk.

 I pick up these small pieces, palm to pocket, and put them together in the quiet times we string together.

The sugar in your sweet smile, the smell of you on my hands, I sift you through my fingers....
I want to cast the stars around you and watch as the clouds gather at your feet.
I want to lay around and hold you the way the rivers wind themselves through the mountains.
You are my springtime...this is the season of renewal.

#NaPoWriMo descriptions of people i love

Peace,
I've been lagging on my #NaPoWriMo posts here, but not on my Facebook! So...I'll catch yall up.

descriptions of people I love

nigga got hands like hammers

hard and heavy

sandpapery and rough

and heavy

know he a working man 

 by the tough crush of hand

i aint that big 

on hand crushing

still

i grip his hand tight

nigga name sound dangerous

Damo

like.

short for “mind yo' mothafucking business”

back here 

over there. he

sold me some bullshit weed

back of the bar

in some city by the water, Baltimore or Philly

I can’t remember which

I needed to smoke to deal with 

that bullshit

poor though and Black

maybe it was Camden

she got bright purple hair 

and nails

everything done

Instagram Poppin

her shit fresh

but her kid 

is miserable

nose runny

snotty ass

kid with

socks but no shoes

or coat or bottle or snacks

Moms iPhone 6

68 degrees outside

is a betrayal

on my train,

a youngblood 

brown and beautiful

fly girlfriend who he will either marry or fuck over

or fuck over and marry later.

or marry and oh never mind

today they are in love

and today is today

they are young black and shiny

on the 38 Muni bus to the Movies in Japantown

sophisticated 

but still nervous

…please no cops

Ferguson

my beautiful black people

Hope Lynn Murphy Hoover "Old Black Lady" 1986

we could right now be in our springtime

we could be spinning magic from starlight

making love with sunshine

could be dancing on the Moon and Mars,

mapping Venus

mining Saturn

could be up

several clouds above this life

standing high

we could be shining

we could be at the end of our long hot summer here

in America

but nigga

instead we here dealing with this bullshit

we in August

and it’s hotter than ever

niggas is getting dropped

deader than flies

po animals

got more rights than us

1415-”When yall first started fucking with us”

1619-“Dragged us to this side coz yall was greedy and lazy”

1700’s-”White folks, stealing and killing”

1865-”Fought a whole war just so you could hold people in slavery”

1965-”Hundred years after the war, we still fighting yall so we can live free”

2014-”yep still fighting”

Dred Scott

no rights which a white man is bound to respect

So I know

we in this alone

aint got no choice

but to ride or die

because it seem

we just gon die anyway

finna drop any day

cops, night watchmen, old dudes

whoever

kill niggas

like flies

in Ferguson

no rights

untitled

It was amazing
...I danced for 1,000 years in the dark starlight of her love.
And wandered lost
For 8,000 more
for want of
her long fingered touch
her thorough kisses
Ne'er to be forgotten
her burning and luxurious gaze.
I hear her call
It is the same as my own
heart

I reach for her
to find
only flame and blade.
Only fire and steel.
...I have only these roses and cups of sweet wine
Only these silly ass poems

So I run
I retreat
I turn away
I go
And yet I love still

Black Love on Fire

Black love, on fire
Burns brightest
And then sputters
fails. Needs constant jumpstarts.

Needs nursing sometimes beyond reason.

Swaddling sometimes baby steps...

And then falling

Get back up. Don't quit ever.

Not so many weekend getaways we had
Very few rose petals
But we say yes to lots of bacon and grits

To bedtime bowls and cheerios

We lost that
Now just weary and tired of
Too many lies and secrets and
Non prioritization

Too much rage and fear
Not enough time for redemption
Time and time again
Violation
Foul
No and no and no
Too many negatives

Beat me

you beat me

like hot steel

raw material. ore

refined. pounded into shape

sharp.shift

change I can

i am.

have to

change

A old jawn from 1994

Today's selection is a poem I wrote in the early spring of 1994, right around the time my son Aaron was born. I was coming from work downtown and I had just been paid. There was a lady drugged out of her mind on the L train going west. She had an open purse full of money and she was gone somewhen else. It was so cliche it was must have been a set up, except for no self respecting cop would let their undercover alter ego get that grimy. Wasn't no Philly white chick going to sign up to look methed out. She was just an old withered dope fiend about to get robbed. I feel bad now, I should have had more compassion, but back then I was just young and still very angry. I thought I was evolved, and in many ways I was, but I couldn't see white supremacy the way I do now. I had no compassion for her condition. All I saw was a doped out white lady on the train on her way into the hood.

White Lady On the "L"

Head back mouth wide open.

gaping tongue

and palate drying

open for my inspection

breasts sagging in polyesyterorangething.

cheap industrial denim covering withered muscles and cellulite

head back eyes fluttering

a mind diverted by some chemical/no substance

Pale white skin draped in drabness

on the "el"an elevated invasion of West Philly

purse wide open high. O.

She better be glad i'm not broke or mad today

download

download

i download distraction
pump up the volume another
7 decibels
fall into place
the space between
nuh-uh and non belief
impossible to disbelieve
just have faith
in the Force
im a Jedi Master
this I feel
the sun
runners
running on organics
i catch flights of fancy

caffeine
i drink

nonstop
got no time to stop

just pause on the road

my destination is as yet
unwritten

but baby

But Baby

“but baby, I love you”

he said suddenly shouting at the dial tone

heated and raging

he storms out

raining his hurt on the air outside

she is distant

red faced and crying now

afraid because

she knows he is on his way

he batters her door

she knows she can’t hide

stop herself from answering

he is there

dangerous

pained

hurt

wounded

even his tears are complex

she wants to console him

cradle him

kiss his pain

and scream on his weakness

all at once

he is there;

demanding

begging

needing

wanting

at 4 am

on her steps

and she kisses him

now he feels safe and loved

they fuck desperately

on the kitchen floor

sick and in love

On some why shit

Black love on fire
Burns brightest
And then sputters
fails. Needs constant jumpstarts.
Not so many weekend getaways we had
Very few rose petals
Lots of bacon and grits
To grow weary and tired of
Too many lies and secrets and
Non prioritization
Too much rage and fear
Not enough time for redemption
Time and time again
Violation
Foul
No and no and no
Too many negatives
Odd numbers of those do not result in positive outcomes.
Consequences are real.

Fresh Kill

Thought it was only supposed to be bad guys

that got killed like that

gunned down, bloody melon burst

brains and shit on the street

left there to die in the the death and stink and shit

on the street

camera phones can’t capture

the smell of

shit and fear

can’t catch the smell of

a pigs sweat and

cigarettes

House of Broken Spirits

I dwell in the house of broken spirits.

So much sadness, here in this house.

Shattered dreams hang like tattered curtains.

Chipped paint and peeling wallpaper on cockroach carriages ridden by giant mice

who snack on children’s spirits.

I dwell in the house of broken dreams where old ladies lie about past glory because no one is there to contradict them.

Here, babies are not allowed to dream because no one wants to see them get hurt.

I dwell in the house of broken dreams where I will do eternal penance, for never daring to chase a dream for being satisfied with great.

For being ok with way less than excellent, by someone else’s dream. I live in the house of broken spirits.

But I am not alone.

New ones come every day.

They always have and they always will.

When are you coming?

Don’t dream.

Don’t dare to chase a dream. Be happy with humdrum

I don’t want to be alone.

A few poems for Pops on a Friday

Me and Pops at the Nairobi Reunion 2000

Five shots

I made sure I was fully loaded

Before I left to go and see him

The first time in a long while

I loaded all five shots carefully and left

When I saw him

I shot fast and all five shots

Caught him

Center mass

Knocked his ass right over

One in the head

Two in the heart

Another in the lungs

One in the gut

All five shots caught him

Center mass

Knocked his ass right over

I Love You Daddy Always

1 2 3 4 5

Five shots

I am Hip Hop

My Dad is JAZZ

Blue, blazing saxophones in a smoke filled saturday nite. Heads nodding while the sweet musk of marijuana drifts amidst cries of "yeah" and "blow cat blow'hot and fiery nation music the muse of a woman's voice insinuating itself into ears and minds that know rivers and vast oceans of knowledge unwritten and unspoken.dissonant clashing rhythyms make, red black and green strokes in the air and blend together in an orgiastic celebration of Black life. The instruments call plaintively home to Africa, Cuba and distant Europe.

My Mom is SOUL

Some sweet sisters crooning lost loves,losing morebittersweet wine easing bitter livesnotes soar around rooms whispering 'sex' and 'seduction' betrayal and trustenchanting and romancing young lovers and old haters. Silky soulful mystical melodies making sticky elastic black magic recalling mother tongues, land long lost, grandma's hands and sweaty southern juke joints.

I am HIP HOP

Slipping and sliding,multiplying and dividing myself constantly redefining my definition. I'm cutting and scratching away at liesrevealing basic truthsasking whyhard beats drive me into lyrical, mystical frenziesheads bob and shoulders weavegiving kids a brief reprievefrom the concrete they meet outside the doorcrowds screaming for more and more the beat ebbs, where am i ? i'm not sure for a minute to elevate, translate and transcendeveryday, anyway distilled like a potion into pure physicality and emotion.

and she saw the God in him

New birth bloodshiny
brand new big head (bloody veiled) African boy
Brenda and Jack
had said “his name will be Malcolm”
and I am
the struggle took Jack
he wrestled with men, drugs, the system
but mostly himself
Brenda was his Angel, his lifeline, his life preserver, his beautiful Leo Firestorm.
Jack was her Man.
and young Brenda saw the God in him
took him and the pain in
took it in and made it lovely
them young and shiny

and black and beautiful
Dashiki black leather jacket Afro Mamas and Babas and Brothers and Sisters
Red Black and Green Flags
fists and baby raised in the air

we new Africans
torn apart though

by our own shit
and the bullets from the pigs
between our shit
pigs bullets
the motherfucking government
and white hate groups
aka the democrats and republicans
we got delayed somehow
forgot some shit
but now we back on point
see ferguson
see Bed Stuy
see Florida
see Oakland
see us
rise

Brenda
aint never seen a smile and a Afro
like my mama
famously brilliant
and beautiful
and completely fucking insane
ask the Dean of Students
how one little black lady
turned into 5 big black dudes
and beat the shit out of him
no words

ask a 12 year old
how his Mama wouldn’t take no shit
or lies
and he got choked the fuck out.
ask the lady who Brenda carried the machete for
behind and beneath the drivers seat in the B210
ask her

ask my Mama how she can take all that
beautiful brilliance out of her head and make the world obey
and fit her mold ?
ask my mama how she take starshine and moonlight and magic
and spin beauty
and beat that
and beat that

Brendah creates beautiful things out of the basics.
shit
love
envy
anger
bitter
life

My Mama hands….magic
simple and beautiful magic
but sometimes what she touches turns to shit
like me and her
can’t even talk
no one loves me like her
no one loves her like me

there is no one who has cut me deeper.
I bleed and love my mother for kissing the wound

her smile disarms me
her hugs heal me
all the time she is preparing to raise that knife.

john sidney

my Daddy
like Black Superman
John Henry hammering
imperfect and flawed
but perfect
my blueprint

my daddy taught me how
to fight
white folks
bullies
the power
pigs
and him.

and him
the same hands that held me
shook the shit out of me
knocked me on my ass

picked me up
and held me close
one hand holding me behind his legs
the other smiting

the same hands
that held me first
that hold me still

Crazy
just like him
look into the mirror, see his face superimposed over my own
same wrinkles
different scars

Angry and wounded
tearing through life
like some angry comet
but really just wanting to shine like the stars
and not burn out, crash to earth, tumble over and over, break into a million pieces

Just want to shine.

a poem for Funky Rat

these streets were not designed to carry the soul weight of our young men and women.
this asphalt and concrete laid out to carry trucks and cars.
not the gentle soft feet of young ambition.
streets is watching.
waiting for you to fall, fail, return
to tell you
"I told you so”
and
"your tiny ambition is worthless your dreams are shitty and useless"
 why?
Our souls are heavy with failure
 this is why we simultaneously rejoice and cry when one of us ascends
“either to fame or death”
“he made it”
“yo.he DID that shit”
yo. he did it he got it
fame and fortune
but in the end he died alone
he didn’t deserve to die like that
so young ½ century
he should have been surrounded by those who truly love him somebody should have been there to massage his weary feet to cradle his head in their lap someone should have been there to tell him that it was okay to go