Just Me

Blind eyes kill the messenger,
quick tongues kill the questioner.
You question me?
For having real passion you can see?
You see, I can be
happy, with my own philosophy.
To get higher than any oak tree
with out the aid of weed, or LSD,
or contracting HIV
I can look in the mirror and see:
Hey, that's just me.

I'd really like to pour out some soul,
for Little Town, in my eye you put this
     little glow.
In hallways I like to act out,
because without fun I have all this clout.
The say Valium might fix it,
or I should chill and take a hit.
But I'll pass, because with that,
and a few tips of the glass,
I've seen too many artist crash.
So I know I've got a task.
But hey, that's just me.

I gave myself a green-light
because I have to stand in this fight
Just to have my own freedom.
See I've been called dumb,
and every other name under the sun.
Just because I'm black, dance, wear
     tight clothes
and everybody knows
the outside is really what shows.
See I've got this thing about my
     artistic expression.
On this stage, that box, this street corner,
     and my confession:
I think it's a blessing!
But hey, that's just me.

Addition to June 12, 2011's "Black Heron"

Living in a cloud of red,
white chariot shrouds
fake heavenly messenger.

Your conservative critics cease
to cover cases or close courts
that's the truest.

Glenn Beck will never be president
with Hannity at his side,
He needs a blue bull.

Bitter Christians cling to your
   guns,
But I, the happy Muslim
has his Quaran clutched to his chest.
Jihad Al-Sorah, GOP.

I'm not a man of numbers,
I'm a man of words,
cause words I can count on,
to tell  tales of fails & passes
of pips & glasses
of the individual & the masses
of hordes of Rasta men in the street
    singing:
"Deliver me Jah, my father!"

We raise our fist-
no more for violence-
but so we can take...
one...
     step...
          at a...
               time...
                    forward.

Control pt.1

I've never had dust, only lust in my eyes
So when porn became an addiction, it came as no surprise
Now, no I never had withdrawals from it
But physical pain is not the definition of addiction
So, even though I wasn't hurting, I was replacing my God with skin
But You are outside of skin and bones
So why can't I be when I'm home alone?
Just one click of the mouse and my soul
Has another tiny piece of itself torn off and thrown into the mud
I want to shed this body, but I'm only shedding blood
And this spirit's gonna bleed out soon, I just know it!
And there's no doubt in my mind that I love God, so why can't I show it?
Because I'm weak
And I'm getting weaker everyday
Because no matter how bad I want things to change,
I don't want to change
Because underneath it all I just want it to be okay
I want God to look down at me and say
"Whatever you want to do, you can."
But He's not
He's weeping and asking why I keep putting these nails in His hands
As if all of society hanging on to His feet wasn't enough
I have the audacity to smile and write about His love
Then cut myself open and bleed out His blood
All because I can't control my own lust
This is pathetic
How can He love this mistake He created
When all I can do is look in the mirror and hate it
As poisonous words leak from my mouth
And murderous acts leap from my hands
How can I stand here and call myself a man of God?
I can't
Honesty forces me to admit my identity
I am a sickness hoping to be healed
Because unless all of me dies, none of me is real.

Dim the Lights

Dim the lights
Until shadows engulf the faces of everyone
So that I can't tell they aren't me
Because if we lived in a world where no one could see,
Maybe we'd close our eyes and finally see
The pain and joy and truth of our "friends"
'Cause right now I don't see them, I just see skin
Blanketed in styles and meaningless trends
(I, myself, am blanketed in meaningless sins!)
I want to be the Man Without Fear
But it's so hard when my eyes control my ears
See, when the pretty girl talks, she's all I can hear
And like a man hearing a siren, I jump from the pier
But beauty is not skin deep!
Quite the opposite, actually
Skin has the limitation of only being pretty
Because only things of God have the gift of true beauty
This includes sacrifice and selflessness and love
So I'm bathing in gasoline and shedding my own blood
But when it comes time to light the match I panic
"Of course I love You, God, I've just got a better plan it
Leaves me broken, but still covered in flesh
(That flesh will be important when I'm having adulterous sex)
So can't we just try my way, You can still come along?"
You hang Your head, but never leave me alone
Why don't You leave me alone!
It's what I deserve
To lie in my filth and self-inflicted hurt
But instead You give me music and clouds and words
And a body and my parents and a family
And You
You give me Yourself!
Which is more than I have ever done for You!
So blind me, because I'm blind already
And these eyes in my skull are getting so heavy
That they're anchoring me to this Earth that You
Made for me to float away from.

Courric Jazz

Papa's deep, soft story
and mother's piano lullaby lull me.
But Pearl alarm clock and brother sax
are a stirring nuisance.

Sing on mama, sing!
and let sister flute tweet a
    sweet
         harmony.
Back papa's richness
so my dreams are intrigued.

As I push the snooze button,
and alarms melt to fleeting rain
soothing rain against my window.

Black Heron

Absurdity is not what you've seen
but what I've heard
and what still gleans
in my minds eye.
Frightened children disturbed
without a mother.
And a son at 219 with no father.
A head on a marines stick can't compare
to the hungry bellies and dirty needles
that fill the veins and minds of those he oppressed.
A lousy crap shoot left cousins on Crenshaw
as former kin climbed the crack costumers
conceived ladders.
As in our own county i co-opted into college.

Jihad is the whore of holy wars.
(the truly internal conflict of
God's truly UN-infernal servants.)
And she is smacked repeatedly,
until the brown face is streaked with red,
darkens to blue,
and is bandaged with white,
The doctor is a bastard,
that heals her but leaves
her crack addict sister a across Sinai
to bleed.

Absurd is fathers fucking daughters,
and 12 year olds with their Gats
at mothers throat.
Digging comic book villains as bad guys,
while Marvel mean them to illustrate
N.Y., L.A., and D.C.
P.D.
The Sly FOX asks "whats freedom?"
Freedom is the pen!
Freedom is the mind!
Freedom is your bottle!
Freedom is your pipe!
Freedom,
is the flight of the black Heron.

Rest in Peace
Gil-Scot Heron
April 1, 1949-May 27, 2011

What Does that Make Me?

Peter, don't You know that rocks sink in water?
You must have forgotten when you jumped off the boat.
I have faith but I walk on land,
Hand in hand with a security rope.
I keep giving Him dirt, but He keeps giving me flowers
And hiding the water behind His back
Then I scream nonsense from my Babylonian tower
Then sneak away and try to grow my own plants.

You are my anchor, but You are my ship?
Every second this makes less and less sense.
And You are the captain, but You need no crew
And You are the sails (and the winds that blow them too!)
So what does that make me? What else is left?
Perhaps I'm a rat, creeping below the deck.

Silence

When a tree falls in the forest
And no one is there to hear
It still makes a sound
But it's much quieter than this

Children are crying
And mothers are screaming
But still no one hears

An army marches
Building the steady beat of footsteps
Beneath a symphony of desperate cries
But still no one hears

The birds screech in the trees
And the jungle bleeds
But still no one listens

So we hush
Because in a world where screams and sirens clog eardrums
With monotonous indifference
Silence is the only thing that's loud

Sunday Night Fever

She fell Tuesday,
the night street splashed,
a crater cradling a smooth stone
     statuesque.
A monolith carved by Costa after
     being redeemed.
She was painted
     by the Sistine artist himself.
Olive walls and a door of Ivory
     prepared for passover.
The two emeralds shown so deeply
     naught but greed was incited.
A chestnut bushel of silk draped
     atop a summit entangled my fingers
and entranced my senses by the smell
     of the holiest anointing.

Alarmed, but only at my obliviousness,
for not until I graced the plume was I told-
     I was-blessed.
My fire tipped spear hailed an Ecstasy
   to prove St. Theresa cold.
Handfuls of feathers concocted sins,
     not even Bernini's chisel could carve.

Ballad for Mary J.

Mary J. is my mistress,
though we never kiss.
Naturale locks, littered with stems.
Never fail to draw me near.

Mary J. is my temptress,
wrapped in a skin tight dress.
or dancing in a diamond fireplace,
tantalizing airs asking for a taste.

Mary J. is a whore.
Slung from every corner store.
Pimped out to every man, woman, and child,
taking jobs, homes, and minds with moods so mild.

Just blaze in hell Madame Kush.

Let Them Be Heard

25 years two shadowed giants have warred,
25 years armies have left the heart of the
     motherland scarred.
And all this time we stand oblivious,
to small black bodies who can't call to u.s.

Stealing away at night from a monster named Kony.
This Joseph doesn't dress in a coat of colors,
but hides behind a robe of raging intimidation.
Cloaking a nation in a darkness no government,
     or church
          or baby's laughter
can stop.

His Holy Spirit fuels a resistance,
but who's holy morals cross a distance.
Becoming the serpent not using temptation,
but burning Eden after Eden,
and dragging with him,
the Youngest creations.

Young ones drafted with mounds of dread,
and their general never ceases,
he is a disease thats spread.
For 25 years, across Africa like a weed.
From Uganda, to Congo and Sudan his hatred
     naught but a seed.

Carlos Andreas Gomez asked 'whats genocide?'
Just ask 16 year old Nabirye(1),
face slashed for not sleeping with a soldier.
Ask Dembe(2), 12, who watched his own mother beaten
as he was dragged to the ranks.
Or 8 year old Namazzi(3),
shot at, set on fire,
burnt,
and burnt.
and still ran with her life.

So open your eyes and see Uganda.
Open your eyes and see the Children.
Open your eyes, and let them be heard.

1-meaning mother of twins
2-meaning peace
3-meaning water

Heaven's Birth

When existence writhes and kicks in growing pains
As its limbs expand and extend
And its roots rip from the earth
There will be no law
Mathematical equations and concrete numbers
    will stretch into thin abstractions and be
    replaced by theories and art and myths
Textbooks and bibles will become one and the sky
    will be our teachers and we will breathe
    living words and bleed fairy tales
Until everything is truth

Knights

He told me to put on my invisible goggles
So I could see the dragon
Then with our tobacco stick swords
    and harmonizing battle cries we
    charged across the front yard
We slashed and stabbed the thin rusty
    fence until he decided the monster
    was dead
Then we sat around the fire and celebrated
    our victory with smores

My Women

My women create generations:
My brothers, sisters, cousins,
all of God's creation.
Vagina's that could birth a nation.
Through every light and darkness and rust and gold
life, crosses those lips.
Lost ones, disobeying, but some raised right,
for some whip, some spoil,
and seeds fail to keep it tight.
But my women stay prayed,
and their love and lessons stay
to the light.
Why suffer at the hands of children's hearts so coarse?
drug dealers, cash stealer's,
and ones too young already off course?

My women are resilient.
soldiers against every illness hell sent.
muscle loss can't stop,
cancer might make weight drop,
and though every joint is replaced,
a massive heart beats on top.
Aunt's lost her mind a gyre,
left a sister at a child's conniving,
left her to perspire.
none keep the health,
but none ever lose the fire.

Me?

I hope I'm blessed to be able to keep adding to this.

Why me God?
Why me to be called who I am?
Why me to be the son of a teacher-
      and an humble factory worker?
Why me to want to be better then that?
Why me to be born a in 1993-
     and not '33?
Why me to pass a stereotypes-
     and live in suburbs?
Why me to make a living dancing-
     and not dealing?
Why me to lust-
     and love?
Why me to be dark-
     and light-
     and of the redman?
Why me to be intelligent?
Why me to be oblivious?
Why me to read and write-
     sing and dance?
Why me to walk out of heaven,
     and see my age in hell?
Why me to drive off in a car,
     and them to be led inside wearing shackles?
But, Why me to be in your image
hideous,        beautiful,
     hateful,            loving,
          chained,            free?
Thank you-
     for me.

a Dos Moi

Woman from a distant land,
why a gaze so cold?
Beautiful Blonde, never bland,
but i still at every advance-
     shoot back hatred so cold

Woman from a distant land,
Something I'll never know:
your kiss was sweet when i once
     held your hand.
I skirt away yes-
but why, yes, why,
Is your heart as your lands snow?

War

Patriot
"Come on, Gabe. This is what you've been training for."
I try not to talk to myself but in some situations, you can't stop it.
The mind needs some persuasion from the mouth to force the body to walk towards death.
Trotting along the road of sand and bullet casings,
I tried to remember "home"
Anything to help drag my feet forward
Mom's cooking filling every Sunday with mouth-watering smells and satisfied silence
Dad laying back in his bulky maroon chair reading new books that all looked the same
Elisha's smooth lips brushing against my own
PKIH! PKIH!
Gunshots to my left interrupted my thoughts
Trembling, I walked forward, determined to do anything necessary for the freedom of my family and country
And muttered a soft prayer
"God, forgive me."

Enemy
"Come on, Jibrīl. This is what you're here for."
I tried to stay calm to avoid a panic attack, but I could feel my hands shaking around the gun they held
To remind myself of why I was there, I tried to think about home
Which was only a few yards behind me, curtains shut and doors locked
Umm's cooking filling each day with mouth-watering smells and content discussion
Ab laying back in his small wooden chair reading religious texts every evening
Alyasa's soft lips brushing against my own
PKIH! PKIH!
Gunshots to my right interrupted my thoughts
Trembling, I walked forward, determined to do anything necessary for the freedom of my family and country
And muttered a soft prayer
"Allah, sameehnee."

Minority

I was once a slave to ignorance,
Oblivious to the pain that ideas could carry and words could inflict.
Thankfully I had Collin and Chris to keep me from falling into a steep pit of racism and prejudice.
I've been judged, but I'm not gonna bullshit or pretend I can imagine oppression in it's most primitive state.
So how can I have any kind of pride in "my people" when they're the ones who have caused the pain?
I can't.
So I take pride in the new minority.
The one that crosses through imaginary lines of race and religion.
The one that struggles for survival each day inside the merciless slaughter house of society.
My people are the ones who think.
The ones who realize we are all equal.
The people who steady their pens enough to write for peace, though their hearts scream for war.
The ones who would rather live as slaves for a lifetime than think as the slave drivers do for a day.
The ones who have been killed for not fighting for things they had no faith in.
For writing about truth, even if it means being "obscene".
My People are the ones who refuse to be another fucking machine.
My people are the ones who know love and show it because they know it won't be shown by the majority.