New One

a lover from the southside
he had a swagger so mean that his contact
upset the natural order of things

never wanted to crowd him,

you just wanted to be around him
sometimes his eyes hung so low you could barely tell that they were open
but you could feel him looking at you
his gaze was so sharp, so fierce, so sensual that it made you blush
like he was trying to see into your soul or something
and when he spoke
his voice caressed my being and making cheese me uncontrollably
I swear, my smile always made it there before me
he’s that guy
the one that your mother, big brother and anyone else that cared
warned you to stay away from
the one who makes you warm and tingly inside when he talks
makes the whole room stop when he walks
in
your smile disappears when he leaves
life ceases to be the same when you don’t talk to him
you know
the one that you want so bad
love so hard
but he treats you like shyt
however, just the thought of the recurring presence
his affection turns you into a trembling recovering junkie
who has given into that one last hit
hoping that this time won’t leave you
tapped out, losing weight, with bags under your eyes
with a love hangover
a blues gone hard
from jonesing so hard
over someone that you once thought slipped away
only to realize that his heart was something
that you never had

Sprung

I find myself in a haze trying to distinguish fantasy from reality
here I am
I am trying to learn to speak now or forever hold my body
because I'm afraid that in a few seconds
my vocabulary will be limited to softly uttered
sounds and syllables
my feelings will betray me and allow my heart to be
trapped somewhere beneath the midnight sky
I stare into called your eyes
this was just supposed to be a physical thing
the tips of my fingers graze the satin surface of your skin
air so thick with magenta temptation
that I can't hardly remember why I came here
even more how I am supposed to feel about you
instead I am left wondering why you are making me feel this way
it's funny because my girl says that you're like poison
I've got to be dying the sweetest death ever
leaving me with late night indigo tinted dreams of silent stares
heavy glances and sensual interplay
I'll be waking up off the late night
trying to stop replaying the moments
guess I am just addicted

The First Time

a pair of blackened brown lips attack a smaller pair with equal definition
it is the first time
uttering in hushed tones tender promises of everlasting affection
to her, his lady love
baby soft, sunkissed caramel skin houses the light brown eyes
that he only knows as his understanding
he listens to her exhale, her racing heart beat
as his being enters the depths of her innocence
it it is the first time

Blackout

Black out

Black out

cut the wires

cut the cable

cut the cords

of the vocals

that make us known

in another man's world

we struggle to co-exist

with an equal

that continues to justify

that we are unequal

ignorance continues to be bless for some

not knowing

that they can make a difference

not knowing

that they can choose to change

not knowing

that they don't have to live up to stereotypes

not knowing

that now is the time for

change

they wander aimlessly

pretending to be blinded

so that they don't have to attempt to

distinguish sabotage from failure

black out

surround us in darkness

place us back in the holds of the ships

that brought us here

not like we really free anyway

we're watching the world change around us

one by one getting pulled into the confusion

each one leaving a streak as they sink to the bottom

of the melting pot

Damn, I don't even recognize myself anymore

I used to be so....

but now I'm just

so conformed, orthodox, so conventional

I am just like

all of them

lost in the storm of racism

drifting futher away from our own

no longer loving our own

losing focus

when we need to be trying to find away back home

black out

take it all out

no more telling big black lies

or crying black tears from black crime

black in

put back in

the black power

black pride

in the black dream

UNITY

so we can end the self-hate

because love has to start from within

If you're tuning into this blog...

Let me first say thank you for taking the time out to read my poetry. This may be as close as I ever get to publishing it, so comments are appreciated. Some of it will be older works, that I have updated, but I am working on new stuff too. Thanks again and be blessed.

Three Fifths

Three- Fifths


only three-fifths of us exist
making us a minority
in a place
where we made a majority of the progressions
yet none of us asked to be
we just like ended up
here
the debt
we didn’t ask for that ish
never asked to be enslaved
never asked to be beaten
never asked to be hung
never asked to be made
invisible, invisible, invisible
never asked to be made invisible
to liberty and justice by all

everyday is a struggle
frustration taps us on the shoulder
gather around but stand back
be afraid to behold
the breakdown of a nation, a race, a culture
a people
the people that the foundation of all great things in history was made on
our backs, our blood, our sweat, our tears
but, we never made it in any history books
because only three fifths of us exist
we’re too busy trying to bling bling with rhinestones and fake gold
praying on pipe dreams and
things we always had
and things we don’t need and
things that divide us even more
while the world continues to make us more and more invisible

hello…I hear you but you can’t be seen
try again…next time…
try again…next month
try again…next year
try again, next lifetime
we are all up in Jesse Jackson’s business
sorry Ms Jackson, there’s a bigger issue at hand
an issue bigger than my hair, his clothes, her shoes, his shapeup, her purse, his Avirex, their beef or that broke down Lex-us
let us never forget
why Martin walked
why Malcolm spoke
why Medgar died
why Stokely carried a gun
why Speech sang “Tennessee”
why McWhorter is bitter
why our folks be tripping
why our grandparents prayed on their knees
to save us
to save us from a country in which only three-fifths of us exist
a president that don’t care
a group of people who are all about themselves
to save us
to save us
to save us from
to save is from…from ourselves?

Seventeen - for Zoomie

Seventeen-for Zoomie

warm spring night partying in someone's basement

pre-and post-pubescent bodies flood the dance floor

name brand covered hips gyrate to anything

and everything that they have heard at least once on WKYS

most of them too shy to spit game

so they let their bodies do the talking

on the floor steps a cinnamon colored princess

in her faves, stretch jeans, grey hoodie, with her Buttaz

she graces the dance floor with an associate

homie watches her move thinking "she phat as shyt"

two songs pass, questions make it thru lips

"umm..say, young, how old are you?"

rollin her eyes as a habit she says "thirteen"

his thug mug returns as he turns his back on her

actually wanting to be closer

in his mind, wishing he wasn't seventeen