Turned off the music
Tried to concentrate on my work
Before I lost my groove
A wall rose in front of my mind
With a stern permanence to it
The writers of old
Their determination flows through me
My lungs recite their eternal insight
Oh wall, damn you; fall
Have you no purpose but to oppose those who want nothing more than to express, evoke and excite?
I will go and become inspired, enlightened as it were
My half occupied note book and my almost eraser-less pencil
I will live, learn, remember, forget, move on, go back, get hurt and realize
Then I shall return
And give you a sermon of life, death and the balance of the universe
Along with the prolific beauty and devastation of the human soul
My chant shall bring you down
As it has before
four hundred new macabre tattoos
dance up & down my thigh.
my whole life made up of untruths
it's not necessarily a lie.
and maybe I love you and maybe I don't
I haven't decided yet.
and maybe I'll live and maybe I won't
I'm still trying to grow a set.
forever's forgotten when right now is too much
some things have got to change.
my lover, Yesterday, has the strangest touch
like holding fingers over a flame.
tomorrow's a sigh
today is a burden
living is but a joke.
blink fast, don't cry
nod through the sermon
shut up & light a smoke.
the depressed dr. seuss.
Unbending, in the sense
that she was arthritic
in both hands and hips.
And upright, in the sense
that she kept her secrets in the eye
between blasts of truth-telling,
leaving her free to work while others slept.
Yet resigned, in the end,
to a projection of life
on the television screen:
steeping slowly for silent hours
in memories incessant
as the drizzling rain.
I loved her from the day she died.
She was a sermon to an empty church.
She was an impromptu bunch of chrysanthemums.
She was an end to an unfair fight.
She was a mother burying a child.
She was a glass of sherry to the new year.
She was an old bible, full of voided words.
Interview with Malcom Triple X7, Jamaica, N.Y.
SNOOPPUSSY: Welcome to Reel to Reel, a weekly show
highlighting the best of the contemporary African
American music scene. We have as our special guest
tonight the king of the raw Mecca-rappers, fresh
from his tour of the Nations of Islam, give it up
for Malcom Triple X 7.
XXX7: Sup, Puss!
SNOOPPUSSY: A'ight. Tell the folks out there about
your def new album.
XXX7: It's called 'Bitchslappin' My Way to Medina'.
It's got my new hit cut, 'Khadija Had It Coming'.
SNOOPPUSSY: I hear you've been getting flack from
the feminists and what not about beatin' on
XXX7: No diggety. I was just keepin' it real. She
was beseechin' to be slapped, giving the Prophet
lotsa' shit about coming home late every night. The
niggah be spreading the Koran by the sword like a
Shaolin warrior -- he can't be home on time for
dinner! Big shit, what did he miss anyway? Some
falafel balls deep fried in a goat's stomach.
XXX7: Yo' niggah, don't be bogartin' the Buddah
blessed hoota -- gimme soma' dat boom. Mmmmmmm. I
can't be here long, bro. I'm double parked and the
jakes may slap some paper on my new lowridin' Acs.
You gotta' check out my whip, brah, it's got
spinner D's and eleven video screens.
SNOOPPUSSY: Shit, niggah, whatcha' need eleven
video screens for? That's wack. I see just fine with
XXX7: THX for the eyes! You ain't seen 'Scarface'
until you've seen Tony Montana with a chainsaw do
the Columbian necktie on eleven separate screens.
So, whaddaya' wanna' axe me?
SNOOPPUSSY: You see the Passion of Christ?
XXX7: Shit, niggah, I wasn't even near the accident.
Just fuckin' witchya'. Sure, I saw the flick.
XXX7: That niggah sure got his ass whooped big time!
Those flamboasting hymies with the duckey ropes and
headgear be struttin' about Big Willie style using
their juice to dog the niggah.
SNOOPPUSSY: I thought it was Pontius Pilate and his
simp posse who Jim Kellyed the niggah's ass.
XXX7: Syke! Where you been, Iraq? Tune into
Farrakan for the real news on the Jews. The rabs
nailed the niggah. The I-talians just put the
Timberland tracks on his black ass. The Jews be
lampin' in the wings and pullin' the strings doing
the preying Mantis rapture and shit. They're the
chulos with the liver, not those bama cannoles. They
had no beef with the niggah.
SNOOPPUSSY: So, why did the Jews dog that niggah?
That niggah was all that and just trying to
represent, ya' know. That Sermon on the Mount is
high fly, straight up. It gets you through the
hectic gangsta lean goin' down in the hood. Why was
the niggah perceived as such a threat?
XXX7: Bust this. The nigga played himself by
speakin' the troot. That's why it's really important
for our kids to eat their greens and know the
hardcore about our great Egyptian ancestors like
Cleopatra and shit. The Wu-Tang clan got it right.
Mel Gibson and his peckerwood Mad Max devil cracker
crew are trippin'. You can't pull a Casper on the
troot. Everybody knows that niggah was black. Word
SNOOPPUSSY: Jesus was black?!!
XXX7: Ay yo trip. The Jews just beat the black off
SNOPPUSSY: Like an oreo turned inside out.
XXX7: You blunted, blood -- hittin' that pipe too
heavy. Didn't hear the good news? Allah is black.
SNOOPPUSSY: Are you saying God is black?!!
XXX7: That was my beeper, bro. Gotta' go. It was
great. As-salaam alaykum.
SNOOPPUSSY: Hey, come back, that's my blunt! Shit,
it was my last primo. Well, that raps it up folks.
Join us next week on Real to Reel when our guest,
Beyonce, will dis Wittgenstein's Tractatus, slam
Sartre's existential dilemma and share boo-yaa
dieting tips for the career girl on the go. Later.
My mind is adrift
Waves of 3 am Lap at the shore of an isthmus called psyche
There between the seas of reality and dreams
Three shots deep and diving,
I drown my better judgement in a pool of fireball
Music blares, but the words melt as I listen
White noise in a black night,
One more drink,
One more drink
The fire in my throat is burning
Like the fire that purifies the gold
The old verses ring in my head,
And the pastor spits a sermon over dr dre’s beats,
A prayer in the dark murmurs through drunken lips,
And then at last track ends, the priest descends from the pulpit
In the deafening silence, I leave my drink on the desk, still not empty
I stumble my way to my oblivion
And pull the covers up to my neck.
Now I lay me down to sleep
And languid waves wash me out to sea without a shore
The nightly giliad of a lonely druckard
Sipping steel in an empty room,
And talking to the voices in my head
Lost on a road with no lines
Lost hold of the iron rod and see no signs
To guide me on my way
And so I float away on a magic carpet
Seeks the genie in that bottle with only one wish
The only one it can grant me.
And only when every prison
in the police state has
an art gallery
only when hip hop
sounds like a revolutionary
only when Congress disbands
itself for lack of moral conduct
only when condoms
are jammed tightly
into high school backpacks
only when free speech
isn’t subject to search
only when housing projects
get gated fences
only when college
athletes use pi
to find the circumference
of a basketball in their spare time
only when food pantries
exist in old NRA hangouts
only when Monsanto scrubs clean
every black cloud
only when Noah comes back
two of everything to
a protest movement
only when a protest
into a diversity celebration
and only when the U.S. government
writes a 5,000,000 page
apology for every rape,
murder, and Bill O’Reilly
will I even consider having
I heard your soulful cry, my queen of sad smiles,
so I painted my Kingdom yellow, your favorite
colour that siphon ecstasy from the channel that
plug into heaven, I tried to imbibe harmony or
rather sermon, you called it spreading the gospel,
I tried to be your surgeon, fixing your repeatedly
impaled heart under your broken ribcage, but
you termed me amateurish, so I besought poetic
justice, all these tears for you, and for what? I can
only translate my feelings in writings, now you
call it going Adelle, all in all you are a living
documentation of beauty and its manifestations,
and I love you.
which breaks the faceless crowd
a gush of blissful warmth
soothing as autumn sun
fiery as raging storm
the earthiness of fields
and scent of blooming slopes
the wilderness of sky
a bustling city's soul
she is the riddling key
hint of a dreamy life
window which breathes the sun
blesses my being with shine
a nebula of birth
crucible of synthesis
my sermon on the mount
my fall into abyss
complexity of life
simplicity of smile
the fleetingness of wind
purposelessness of time
a father's solemn wish
a mother's selfless prayer
immortal as the sea
lover's listless despair
patience of dormant seeds
the certainty of death
innocence of a child
preciousness of breath
vapors of firmament
helplessness of loss
a tease of sun and clouds
the curiousness of God
she is the judgment day
a dream of languor warmth
the solace of my pain
cast in a fervid form
for she is all there is
and all there'll ever be
an era of romance
the reason for my being
as tranquil rainbows dim
and stars bestow a treat
my muse forever sought
i yearn the day we'll meet
as inseparable as liquidity from water,
as heat from fire,
vastness from sky,
dream from a sleep,
tranquility from a starry night,
as love from life.
one of my work colleagues
is getting ducted AIR conditioning
installed in her new home
every BRANCH on the plum tree
was beautifully adorned
with crimson blossoms
Mrs Watt has COOKED
may fine ginger nut biscuits
in her Aga stove
several DUCKS were seen
waddling along the river bank
it is always so ENTERTAINING
watching an episode
of F Troop
the post mistress
keeps her FEATHER duster
under the counter
during the summer season
GRAPES are plentiful
in our green grocery store
does anyone remember the days
when HOT PANTS and flared trousers
were all the rage
when I went to school
had a glass INKWELL
likes listening to JAZZ
on his Hi Fi Stereo
KIPPERS on toast
a delicious breakfast
stance dance valance chance
glance trance and France
all rhyme with LANCE
there hasn't been
a MOUSE plague
in our district since 2009
at NIGHT the bush is so peaceful
and the skies
underground OPAL mines
can be found in the township
of Lightning Ridge
Mr Baker enjoyed reading
on the lavatory
QUEENIE quizzed Quentin
about his friendship
the approaches to some RAMPS
on outback roads
are very rough
my sister often tells me
that her SPELLING
at 6:30 am this morning
Ian boarded the TRAIN
as the weather is staying dry
one shall not be needing
the VICAR was well pleased
with the four page
sermon he wrote
to the WEST of here
there is a large
our local hospital
has an antiquated
my neighbor's Fox Terrier
never stops YAPPING
once there was
know as ZURDIDOIT
Eleanor rigby. Picks up the rice in the church where her wedding has been.
Lives in a dream. Waits by the window,wearig the face that she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for.
Father Mckenzie writting the words to a sermon that no one will hear.
Looka at him.working.darning his socks in the night when there's no body there. No one comes near. All the lonely people.
I look at all the lonely peopple.
The lyrics stand alone as fantistic poetry.