I think of an end, and it will appear
I think there is no end… and it’s the beginning of my life each and every year
I choose where I am, by having chosen where I've been
A number of wise decisions… with a lot of nonsense in between
Epiphanies hit me and I see life in a split screen
Shared blunts with street urchins, with no idea where the spliff’s been
Arrested a couple of times… in holding cells I have been
Series of unfortunate events unfolding… in short spells?
I was reckless and immature… I was seventeen
But I stayed on, believed in the blessing…
From above and realized that between God and Satan… one of them must have been testing…
Me
My resilience, my ability to learn from experience…
My brilliance?
I yearned to play in the big leagues with the main players
I could have sworn that I could see the future like Soothsayers
I was going beat them
Despite being riddled with inexperience
I tried once… tried twice, made a step
Tried the third time, another step
The fourth, a leap
And I’m still at it, hoping to reap…
From this artistic thing
These poems, this music… when I rap, when I sing
This is the breath of life to me… it’s more than just ‘a thing’.

‘tis but a thing she does
The female assassin
They say that poison is her weapon… maybe on occasion
But that is a level she’s surpassing
You see, what they fail to understand is that she doesn't take lives for vengeance
‘tis but a profession
The beautiful, tantalizing female killer
Her male victim’s obsession
One minute she’s a runway model… with her devilishly sinful grin
A smile so engrossingly enticing… full, red lips that cut across her face playfully
Against her flawlessly peaceful skin
One word for that…’killer’
Forbidden pleasures… blissful sin
She’s taken out big names… maybe even one or two heads of state
To dinners she’s escorted these men… and later on left them in their deadest state
She walks through the front door, but when leaving she can scale windows
Agility is her forte… ‘Man killer’ she is
The black widow…
In a red dress
You may be reading this thinking you can never fall prey to her seductive tentacles
‘tis an argument I do not even wish to get into
I digress.

And then I saw her
And she was beautiful
Stunning
Smiling
Graceful
And all I kept telling myself was ‘Nigel, do be cool…’
But it was too much and left me a little bit awkward
Like the new kid in school
She spoke with such ease… like she had no idea how amazing she was
I highly suspect that this was because
She knew
And was just basking in the moment
And there I was, calm and collected… on the outside
Mushy and melted… on the inside
I find myself still thinking about her a day later
How can someone be so enchanting?
If she has a man… I hate him
And I hate her
The previous line is not possible though
Her whole aura catches you off guard like a sucker punch
An unexpected blow
I saw her…
And she was beautiful
And as I type this a day later
There is no doubt in my mind about the fact that I want to date her
And I will.

It is written
That there shall come a time when all the great poets shall be heard
It is written... by me

It is written
That there shall come a time when all the greats shall achieve their destinies
It is written... by me

It is also written
That their messages shall reach all... by air, by land
And by sea

Patience young poet, it is worth the wait
Have some faith
Think of that which you have put on paper throughout the years
Think back and appreciate your unique and creative ability to express yourself
And be proud of you
Be proud of that which you do
Young poet
You are a legend
And you know it
Ambitous young poet
It is your world
You own it
Let no one tell you otherwise
One word separates you from the others... 'wise'
This, young poet you need to realize
Work on your art
Don't compromise
Let the words express the passion they see in your eyes
Young poet
I understand and can relate with you
Young poet
Know that it is genius because you wrote it
You are a lion, not a kitten
Stand up and roar, and if they ask you why you are doing it
Tell them 'it is written'.

This is the story of a man
The story of a brilliant man
Most men would call him a resilient man
A man of principle and logic
A man who’s principles may defy logic
A man from whom come words with magic
And illusion
The illusion is the man
The illusion is a brilliant man
The illusion would make him appear a resilient man
The illusion of principle and logic
The illusion of principles that appear to defy logic
The illusion is this ‘brilliant man’s’ magic
And deceit
This deceit that is the illusion of the man
This deceit that is the illusion of the man’s brilliance
Of his resilience
Of his principle
Of his logic
The deceit of his principles that apparently defy all levels of logic… that seem to be a notch above our regular reasoning
The deceit of his oratory magic that enthralls us all
Day in, day out
Season out, season in
You know who I’m talking about…
That politician that fooled us for too long, and very soon, will be on his way out.

I just want to say thank you
Thanks
Thanks to all those people that never gave up on me when I almost gave up on myself
Thanks to all those that offered a helping hand, you will always deserve my help
If you will ever need it
This piece you will know is about you… yes you
My friend, my ‘fan’… no one else will ever read it
When I write for you I do not just write, this piece I breathe it… I bleed it
That sort of support and faith in me from you… I realize now, I need it
Thank you
Thanks
You who pulled me aside at the bar… and said “I have never heard a doper rapper thus far”
You who said “That poem I read… the one you wrote, killed me dead”
You… my friend, are the reason I keep my head above water
The reason I don’t drown… word to my mother…
To my unborn son… to my unborn daughter
The number of times I thought ‘I’m done’
Then in the midst of a dark spell, a ray of hope, a light
A bit of sun
I am not a vampire so I step into it… I don’t burn
I allow that support to teach me, allow myself to learn
We all have at one point or another, danced with the devil
And tripped
But with your trampoline-like support, I bounce back
Yes
You show me, make me realize
I am more than well equipped.

Okay
I know… I know
I know that I hurt her… and she isn’t the first
She wants me and I want her
And this feels different from lust
But I know that I hurt her…
Broken heart reattached?
Can that happen? And if so… Can I stop being so detached?
I’m really not sure, I have tried that before
I don’t see myself getting over this bad habit in a hurry… not that fast
Sadly, not that fast... if I do it will be slow
It’s as a result of everything… The future, the present, the past
Still I know that I’ve hurt her… oh, believe me I know
She doesn’t deserve this, she cares… but she’s not the first girl I happen to have made tear before
But it’s kind of unfair too for me to be stuck in between…
“Are you going to play this macho *******? Do you want to be alone?”… And “Are you going to let me in?”
Sometimes you see, I hurt too… In fact one could say I’m pain prone
But I have my process, which usually involves being alone
It’s just what I’m about
It’s just how I was built
I’m not trying to shut her out, or to haunt her with guilt
I’m emotionally damaged; numb… a lot of nerve endings killed
Understand
It’s not pity I want; it’s in the past see
The milk has already been spilled.

Just like most Christians
I believe in the Bible
I won’t know when the world ends, but when it does
For my sins, only I will be liable
The Apocalypse will sneak up on us in a sense
It will sneak up and flip our lives upside down… That’s intense
Intensity in a lot more than ten cities
Then money becomes just paper, no awe at the sky scraper
And all in an instant, a fate that seemed distant
A fate that you blew off, becomes so significant
How come we’re not cautious of such horrors atrocious?
It seems we got born… and from our ‘morals’ got torn
We live and we sin… Though He’s not surprised
He knows what we are all capable of…
Good and bad
No shock in His eyes
But I sit back and ponder… I wonder sometimes
Am I predominantly good or bad?
How do I appear through those eyes?
I don’t fret about ‘The End’ so much… you see, everyone dies
We all have our views and beliefs… even the atheist his
I’m in no position to judge him… I just live mine, and await my surprise
But sometimes I wonder, just a bit… but I do
What if the Mayan’s prediction of the last days is true?

I just need a minute
To express the sadness
I felt when I read about this crude act of madness
The innocence of a child... doesn't deserve this
This level of violence on a child? God will not forget... the memory, He preserves this
Whoever you are... whatever your reason
A fate worse than hell... that fiery prison
The shooter deserves this
A child
That is who you killed... a child
An innocent soul... not a Crip, not a Blood
You will never see the day when you can get rid of the stain left by a little one's blood
I just need a minute... to write this
May God give those affected the strength to fight this... injustice
And to the madman... it shall haunt you beyond the grave we know
Poetic justice
But nothing we write/say/do can undo this unnecessary act of violence
However, let's just take a minute to pay our respects
Let's have a moment of silence.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
Dry bones of Moses painted on my button down shirt screaming,
“to be or not to be” is not an English word.
In the daze of the thoughts of Neurology, I saw a man kick a bucket full of Starbucks giftcards down the avenue street. He screamed in pain as he watched the bucket tumble and roll down the street, blessing every Bohemian with a slight cold.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
I dreamt about a land before man where the Oxygen that sprang from the pores of flowers
sang a sweet death. Where dishwashers are saints, for afterall, man will not be if not for food.
Where books are written not to be read, but for the sake of Orange trees that will grow in the future.
I once wore a poker face to a funeral and laughed at the man in the casket because the souls he had underneath him were two left feet.

*We all once had naked pictures of God on our nightstands but lost it after Einstein  
Lost the fried chicken war of 1812 to Isaac Newton.

My ruby looks on stones to see the light.
While amber stars are flashing in her mien,
She forges facets with her eyes and mines
A rocky grave.  To bear as such, the sun
Un-sung, she could caul parhelion to dust
And still doom to shadow those fireworks
She alone ignites.  Here then lies a truth;
My ruby looks on stones to see the light.

In my garden, feral and overgrown,
I bear with branchings of the apple,
Hunched and grey, laden with fallow
Fruits, the tired, knottted fingers die
Each year, under which are baubles
Of sourness and stray, poorly drawn
Circles of fodder even hungry deer
Will not graze upon.  The elder tree
Slowly casts itself into Bonsai stone.

Down a valley, in the grades of sun,
Lay a stand of madrones in redden
Fire, with deepest eyes of burnished
Green leaves, some immortal Gorgon
So beauteous, in form and branches
Divine, of Olympian flame, held, atop
Heavenly escarpments by the loving
Skies.  I see it for what it is, my love,
Your body and hair, so tawny, so fair,
Though, ever lost to me but in dream,
Are dearly those red branches, a fable,
Your eyes, green as sea, those leaves.

Water nymph, you are the gentle wind 
Bursting the daisy, your eyes, are bells 
Of blue echinacea spiriting the light—
Echoing sound which water makes, ring
The laureled forest leaves in cathedrals
Newly sprung of pews, meadows, spark,
The dance of bees, who trace your honey
Scent in combs of ambrosia and sunshine.
The miraculous waters are floored under 
Your white, lily petals of feet, your nests
Of hair are embracing tendrils of the wild 
Grape, wine and sweet, long forgetfulness.
Maid of the wood, daughter to the moon;
Are you of Elysium or temptress of doom?