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CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
The Calm Jul 2016
So as fate would have it they would have it they would take us from our borders

They brought us in as slaves so that we could toil for the hoarders

They put chains on our wrists til we rose our fists

No longer would this pain make our children slit their wrists

Times have changed but some things stayed the same

Some walk around unaware that they’re just wearing a different chain

We became the entertainers, we became the “ballers”

While our slavemasters became the businessman, still the shot callers

Just a monkey with a ball, On the rise it seems, but still we fall

What more can we be?

Can our eyes still see?

Cause when I look at my people in the eyes

I see souls that are satisfied

I see souls that have been pacified

Dreams once in the air but now on the ground

Look around my people, see who wears the crown

Cause our people continue to die and no one makes a sound

Can you say their names?

Can you feel the pains?

Can you feel the agony of a hundred thousand black souls lost for America’s gain?

Will you stand and fight?

Cause a Black America United oh what a sight!

Imagine the might! That we would wield?

With a fire in our hearts that could bend steel

Only then could our 200 year old wounds heal

Only then could we appeal and be apart of this nation under God.
A little American history, Hopefully American Future
Impulzez Nov 2013
It was just a Kiss
It was a fellas hangout
Why I refused? Still don't know
We were all there, ballers and players
Ian was always there, behind
Never fails to appear a Lover
Tonight she is a drunkard
No hold backs; No barrier
"How long Adelaide, how long?"
You can't kiss me in public
I am not your side-chick
No more , No more, NO!
I've done it all, everything
Come dear can we go home
We can talk about this at ....
******* Adelaide! Sit down
These are your friends, aren't they?
Tell them who i am to you NOW!
She's now the Boss, I get Bossed
For your information, giggles!
I'm pregnant and I'm not terminating
Oh! Baby... Don't baby me...
Gabby should have kept quiet
'Hm-mm Sorry can i excused?"
Shut the **** up Gabriel!
Are you saying you aint in this?
Giggles! NG Gabby has a child ...
"What! SLAP! Jeez! ***!
Its enough Ian! SLAP! Silence
Long silence.....
Tears, agony, wailing, pleadings
Guess its more than just a kiss
It always is Stupid...
Ian and Adelaide got married 6 months after.... Please don't try this unknowingly, it doesn't always work...
Callum Krause Apr 2014
Hate is a red pair of Jordan's

Jealous of what they can't have
Swollen with anger
Hate derives from jealousy
Alway wanting more
To fit in with the ballers
The 7 foot giants that they'll never be

To be cooler than an ice
To hit the game winner
Crowd roaring
Adrenaline pumping and coursing
Through aching veins

To have swag
To be like MJ
To be D1 bound
To make it to the league
To get buckets
The string music
Composed by the ball swishing though the net

But it just isn't as simple
As a shiny new pair of shoes
New shoe smell
Fresh out of the box
That cause all this violence
Hatred and ruthlessness
Blood dripping on the cold dark streets

A society where
Shoe game is more important than personality
We pass the
walled incline
of Barbour Park

during the day
a foreboding
patch…an open
air market for
the slave merchants
hustling crack and
**** drippin ****
that's been stepped
on so many times
its a wonder the cut
can still chide a high
out of a wrangled soul

the park’s
modest elevation
is an advantageous
lookout for
runners dealing
dimes while
petty ante
gangstas
daydream
gun blazing glories
of their next big job

not long ago
the park was
refurbed with
an industrial
strength plastic
Jungle Jim,
soon after
the park was
condemned
as a no go
zone for kids,
the litter of
hypodermic
needles and
mounds of
lead spiked
soil, deemed
a public health
risk for youth...
quickly
repurposed
as a crib
for ballers…

back in the
day, the shady
pocket park
lifted Paterson’s
citizenry off
the heated
pavements of
a bustling
thoroughfare

a respite from
the pulsing
tensions of urbanity,
a secular sanctuary,
balancing the urgent
industry of commerce
with the propriety of
residential life

compacting a
brief escape
from the clanging
metronome with
a viewing stand
offering elevation...
a heightened
perspective on
life’s parade
marching
up and down
Broadway…

this urban
oasis planted
at the center
of Silk City’s
grandiloquent
boulevard,
occupies
the most
democratic
equidistant
transit point
between opulent
Eastside mansions
of livin large tycoons
at one end….
and the
industrial district of
The Great Falls,
rising at Broadway’s
western terminus,
assiduously
manufacturing
dollars for the darlings
of fortune and
subsistence for
workers yearning to taste
the crumbs of
prosperity that may fall
from the tables of
opportunity

the park once a
pleasant face of
the landlocked
4th Ward filled
with homage to
a nation's greatest
citizens, Hamilton,
Rosa Parks,
Lafayette,
Madison, Fulton,
Montgomery and
Franklin has
denounced the
virtuous pursuit of
their aspirational
yearnings

now playas
feast on
the mead
of sustenance
harvested from
emaciated streets

commerce has taken
up full residency...
the wards cottage industry
cannibalizing
homes, hoods and
homeboys

as the
4th Ward
grows ugly,
the healthy
matrix of
bustling
street life
breaks down
the peeps
weakened
lay prostate
offer veins
to blood *******
predators
roaming
distressed
going south
neighborhoods

wise guy
knuckleheads,
get busy
gaming
the system
short changing
themselves and
hustling game
to get by
in the sweet bye
and buy of life

at night
a back lit
Barbour Park
floods with the
yellow haze of
blinking Fair St.
lamp posts
and the pulsing
halations
crowning the
Baptist's
of St. Luke's

sentient figures
shift between
park benches
flitting among the
black torsos
of skeletal trees
blending into
the faded
complexion
of abandoned
swing sets

I swear I see
Hurricane Carter
shadow boxing
dancing
around a gangling
Elm, jabbing
away, lifting
a sweet uppercut
working combos
of left hooks
and right crosses
hoping to drop an
intractable
presence
banging away
at a body politic
forming the walls
of taunting
inequities

Hurricane stays
busy delivering
body blows
to burst
through the
prison bars
surrounding
Barbour Park

Music selection:
Bob Dylan, Hurricane

Paterson
01/30/13
jbm

A fragment from extended poem Silk City PIT.  
Published today to honor the death of Rubin Hurricane Carter.
May he find the freedom in eternal rest that eluded him during his lifetime.
A fragment from extended poem Silk City PIT.  (Part 4: Funky Broadway)
Published today to honor the death of Rubin Hurricane Carter.
May he find the freedom in eternal rest that eluded him during his lifetime.
Autumn Mar 2014
Four Years.
Four years
of high school basketball:
has come to an abrupt halt.

You see, we'd swag into the locker room.
Pump up the tunes.
throw on the black air Jordan jump suits
and whip out the pre-game moves.

The three coaches walked in
We listened to the pre-game speech
Popped a couple altoids to "keep it fresh"
then slugged a bit of water

The warm up commenced
Lay-ups
Three on Two
Shooting

One more locker room run.
Jersy's on!
But right back on to the court
Where the fans anticipate.

Just a few more shots
Now one minute left
Time for the National Anthem.
"Gentlemen remove your hats."

Pre-game nerves suddenly sink in.
"Oh say can you see."
Thoughts about the game fill my mind.
I look at the crowd, and my loving team mates.

"And now for tonights starting line-up."
Names announced.
Team has last minute words
one. two. three. "swag" ....Tip-off!

We were so good.
So athletic.
A team with 8 returning seniors
we were such ballers

Conference Champs
District Champs
But we couldn't beat them
"The best team in the state."

We weren't sad about the loss though.
We were sad that we had to leave this team.
This team that we'd been with for four years.
We loved each other more than anything.

The final moments in the locker room were bittersweet.
Tears of sadness, tears of joy
We accomplished so much, but above all
It was about the memories we made together.
ohh I'm gonna miss this
Ayeshah Dec 2013
I never been on

Verses & Flow or Poetry Slam

don't get me wrong

I'd love to be

but me sharing like that on "mic"

scares the ******* life outta me

yet I admit

I want to in fact would love it

But right now-

I can only tell you how I feel
&
this is how I let **** out

express me&sometimes; let you in

so this is a poem I've made about this dude.

A dude whose comforting and new

a dude whose lenient

and beautiful inward & outward.

He talks to me of so many thing

and he has a mind that speak more

volume then money....

I've been know to deal with them  baller's

those who'd spend on me-

the moment I call em.

He's gentle and kind,

mindful of me & my needs

even

funny even at times

when he's joking round with me.

He lights my way and makes me see

not of everything physical,or ****** either

but of inspiring dreams

for me to do better

than what I've been told I could barely achieve

from listening to past assaults

and dead weighted-ended relationships...

To opening the ******* door

& letting me just be ME....

My hair weaves

he complimented

and my braiding techniques too

from my beautiful big lips

plus this luscious **** hours glass phat *** shape

he says baby your amazing

then kisses my forehead

like Taye Diggs did in both The Best Man movies.

When he touched my breast- not in a ****** way

I felt finally safe-

cuz I asked did you feel the lump there

he kisses me on my cheek

tells me it's ok even if my hair falls out

and all my weaves went away,

he's seen me without em,

seen me with out makeup too.

No need to worry since there isn't even a lump,

so he says & I smile widely.

but if it was I'd still be the most beautiful

this he promises me

and looks me right in my eyes.

This dude says he watched me sleep

sometimes until the early morn

and looked at me like I've never

looked at myself.

Mind you I know I'm fine

but barely was I ever able to know my wealth,

to even ******* know myself worth

or who I really was.

Sadly so beautiful but yet I'm so tainted & insecure

He's seen this about me long ago

yet I thought before him-

that love had to hurt

that the pain I've caused me-

from dealing with other types of "love"

from dudes due their share was somehow real

Other dude's who'd spend

and who'd **** me deep & put my *** to sleep

was what love meant

this "love" I was so used to-

was pose to be fist knocking back my head

eyes black in their sockets,

clothes ripped off

and me being slammed to the ground ******

and left bleeding

Left, deserted, abandon

and me sore bruised-

from ever part of me

cops coming once a month

or when he ****** his boss & I went the *******.

Or love was him- telling ole girl in Chi Town

how much he couldn't live with out her

while sitting on the toilet in my house-

in my bathroom after ******* me

and calling it making love.

Or love was pose to be in my head

when he let his cousin get away with ****** me-

yet I was the who got her *** beat.


I thought from

the age of 6

that I was pose to lay there

just spread wide for you

and let you use me

pinch

poke and rule me!

I didn't know this kind of man

so every time dude came around-

I'd chase him away.

telling him

NAW man I don't date white boi

(that's slang for boy)

but
I've dated the Italian and he liked them easy women

the ones he could change and manipulate

I've dated the Natives born of this "America" land

he showed me what my mother tried to hide-

like a drunkard father beating her at night

this was the Native

who wasn't taught how to eve3r be a man

Then there was Paul-

a mixed up race/breed Native too-

Apache yet Mexican and yet American

in New Mexico they're called Chicano's

so guess that what the **** he was

he had the short man complex

and couldn't bother to talk

he thought *** would be pleasurable

but sadly for me & him

his baby toddler *****

just didn't do the trick.

So hurting worded voices loudly spoke

caused me abuse,

I guess it's still my fault-

I allowed them to hurt me.

The smooth talker,

Casanova,

The Ballers,

The players with the nice whips

(That means cars y'all)

The man who could **** out my mind & my brains

get my ***** wet before he even got to my house


The Mr. Fix it-

whose good at fixing ****

but not for being committed

cuz his check wasn't enough to even put a dent in my rent

and his habit of scathing his *****

and calling me ***** just didn't work.

So these are them type motha fuckas

I'm used to-

like ole boy

who'd carry my books

and help me with all my assignments in college

for a peek yet talk and brag about the *** he hadn't ever hit

not me but that's the story he told

lying since his reputation depended on it.

Sorry but this was my thinking this was how it went

& how it was meant or pose to be

yet
the Egyptian had it best

on top of all these dudes.

His was the ultimate

because his lies where centered

by half truths

which I know

know were more lies

than his word sworn on a Qur'an,

he'd **** his best friends wife

then beat me into submission,

**** me- buy me....

BUY Me,

Bought me

like a slave from way back when

buy me

love me

then buy me some mo

He'd buy all kinds of **** to keep me claiming for me

houses, cars, jewelry,

and name brand items- I'd have a black eye,

ribs smashed to pieces,

but **** I looked real cute

limping round  in my new **** from

Sax 5th Avenue, Dolce & Gabbana, Prada & Versace.

**** name it & I maybe already had it


this is the same man who saved me from

being ***** by my foster father,

yet he became like the foster father

he saved me from

seemingly

after we've became husband & wife...

So when dude comes calling

I hold back built higher walls,

push him away,

fight and get in his face,

waiting for the monster to come out

waiting for him

to slam me to the floor or ground

I never believe a word he says

always looking for a reason or excuse

calling him lair and fake

telling him to ******* & go away

never really given him a

chance for him to be my man.

I be mean and I make him wait

but he says I know your pain

and together we can make it

just let's take it day by day.

He kisses me lightly,

caresses me tenderly

massages me to sleep

listen to my every word

and gives great advise,

has been a friend and part of the family

he has opened me

to expressing his own

pains trails & tribulations


never judgmental or abrasive

not even abusive

not even a little bit.


But
my ****** up mind is so scared

so afraid and ****** I'm worried

.

Honestly my hearts succumbed to his un-willful ways

but I can't fathom

once more being hurt

and I don't know if I even want to

yet I think I do.

So tell me help me please

explain

give advise and tell me

how do I say no when for many months now

he's been making me the center of

His Universe?!

Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®
This has a lot of cussing/swearing in it so if you're not into it or any other ****** language please do not read it thanks.
Redshift Jun 2013
finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses

arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers

stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts

school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers

limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity

it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners

our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are
oh, humanity.
Broadway B Dec 2011
Never from streets

So I don’t know what it’s like
To fight for every bite
To **** for my steals
To sell dope for hope

Naw I’m not tryin to be mockery
I’m just starting to realize that democracy
Is just plain Hypocrisy

See I’ve never been a fan of the man
White, Black, any of them

I’m so caught up being an individual
That I’ve become delusional

How can one day we’re all about supportin’ each other
And then the next
We’re all vexed
in each other’s faces
Throwing out words about different races and old time cases
Can’t we just erase this?

Times are changing
But what about our foundation
Under the words of our Nation
And all things by His creation

Have we forgotten about that?

I feel like I can’t connect to my neighbor
So honoring them doesn’t fit my favor
To my left to the right
By day by night
I feel like I don’t know ****
About this:

The Election
Personifying my Perfection
Finding a Connection
To myself to us

Can Obama STOP the drama?
Can they end all this trauma?
Of young girls being ***** out of their virginity
All these little boys out here actin’ all hard
Because they forgot about unity

Wishes
Broken dishes
Fame
Not getting’ paid

600 Billion Dollars?
All to support the white collar
****…they must be mad ballers
Sittin all high livin fly
Not even worrying about how they gon get by

Half of ‘em don’t even have to try

I want to reach out and hold my brother
Let me be his cover

Thru the brush fires, quakes, shakes, and floods
Not one blood
Our bloods

Coming together in a place of Brotherhood
Shaking every other’s hand
Construct a band
Of Solidity
Of Strength
Of Loyalty
And With this
We cannot foil
And the black oil
Bleeding into our conscious streams
Will find a way to cease
If we increase
Our bond

I just want to be United
And be in different States

I just want to be One Nation, under God, Indivisible
Having the Liberty
To give and have Justice
For all.

*God Bless.…I guess…
Matthew Harlovic Oct 2014
On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO  skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.  

© Matthew Harlovic
mEb Jun 2013
In a run-down business crevice way
Fallin' crumbled brick crumbs and scattered fate
I state, that I'm an iris spying crawlers
whom inspire to be ballers
I'm a staler, indecisively inviting
you can read me as the rarest
innocent as a terrorist
Compare it, find me waning in the red room
and waxing like a night moon
I hate the ones who spare me
and **** the ones who dare me
See it as you wish,
I won't pray and I can't stay
and if you've found me at the platform
take shelter, here comes the storm
mark john junor Jun 2013
inside their own penitentiary of thought
waifs await a quiet moment
when rare birds aglow with a treasure of color
may gather in the dusk.

The leather skinned waifs
and wayward hardcase eye ballers
pick the fallen feathers to remake their own
images into one of a leisurely glide from grace
into one of freedom from guilt
and with deft fingers peel away the last page
as i burn the next
with the hot ink of impatient ideas  
leaving only this page behind
under a spread of stars like a mastermind
madman's ideal tool of complete confusion
baffles the heart and soul by a scattering of kittens laced with poison eyes
undermines the self with overwhelming dark mirth
and leaves a river of doubts in the trenches between
you and all your loved ones of yesterday

Its this temple of repentance and reluctance
a brick and mortar remembrance
of a summers day delicate beginning
a spiders web thin mist
on the open water
and the dulled sparkles of fading stars wheeling overhead
rocking on the waves like in a mothers arms
safe and reassuring

this empty palace of the sun
brings me to my knees
to beg my worth in paper
and weight in coin...
measure the lengths which
i must go to find peace at my days end
and wonder at how long i must linger behind
to watch the ribbons of cloud chase each other across
azure skies
Dawn of Lighten Dec 2015
Life as we know it is a chance,
But require made hands to dance,
Then **** on everyone with winning prance.

Reading the moving lips,
Looking for people's reactive bits
And que into people's tips.

It's them ballers,
The high rollers,
With stacks of hundreds of dollars,
The ****** know it all white collars.

With them fancy cars,
Hanging in cliquey bars,
Swinging the club in many pars,
As if some royalty bloodline of a tsar.

But in a game of chance, owning a yacht means nothing without a boat!
All those credit cards mean nothing without the proper cards on the table!

Riches mean nothing in a table, nor nice clothes in a game.
Because even kings and queens could fall flat on their faces with those aces!

So let me tell you little bit about this game,
It's reading people to tame,
Where you grind the game without a shame,
Stepping up to no longer stay the same
It's a game recognize your name to a fame.


Just remember the high cards can get you far,
But get beaten by them deus in a bar,

The pairs are wonderful as it gets higher
jokers bring jokes to her admirer,
While the ladies yell "off with their heads!"

In the royal court Cowboys rule supreme,
But those pair of aces undo royalties like puddle of creme.

Two pairs are better than a pair,
And three of a kinds are better than a two pair,
While the wheel is super fair.

Straight line is common winning line
But Flushes them after a dine

The boat takes them for a cruise,
Quads will get them a bruise,
But the nutz are royal flush of hidden ruse!

It's the mastering of perception,
Made hands with repercussion.

Because life as we know it is a chance,
But requires made hands to dance,
And hold onto your winning chips by ******* on them with your prance.

When you have nothing, there is nothing to lose,
Because Hold'em no limit is the purest form of living a life!




,
Became psyched by rewatching the cinematic classic "Rounders!"
Mike Hulstrom Sep 2017
See three dimensions, the vision is blending, not to mention
Never prepared for funerals he pretends he’s attending

Scatter thought; chatterbox, planning mad hatter plots
Like neighborhood ballers posting up on the block,
Flood the hot-spot and set up a rock shop,
Got gems and minerals with more in stock
The lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, can’t be stopped
Because three more always grow where the last head chopped

In his lair, tearing through the rarest of known tomes
Bloodied, preparing, bearing home-grown pheromones
While atoned-postponed rambo reloads ranged ammo
This ****** Stallone, left alone, changes the channel
He’s amorphous on his own
His thesaurus is his zone
Choruses to juxtapose
It’s just gorgeous when he glows
Like a broke back mat smacking crack to the dome
The knick-knack paddy-wack gives this dog a bone

One of zero ***** given.
Proposition; my vision
Requisition:
Mass transmission
Free the minds imprisoned.
Send them off christened,
Eyes bright, glistened
Blood thickened, muscles;
tightly stiffened
Sick with bliss, concisely conditioned
Well provisioned, and on a mission
Kids’ just wishin’
Fishin’ for dishin’s
Switchin’ positions like politicians

With destination anticipation
An explanations is all they’re craving
Get what’s deserved for misbehaving
Even adulated need saving
Jolly Rodger’s what’s left waving
Until the tomb needs engraving
El Dorado:
Yellow brick road, gold pavement

Just let your will blend from birth to urn
Cause I have to spend some worth to earn
Just like the
Sun comes round the bend come burst and burn
Me and the Earth, we’re both cursed to turn

Mind in a mutter, from the throat-cutter utter
Off cluttered, from sputtering up soft butter

Projectile vomitin’
Simple sad homonyms
Bent ones that haunted him
**** ones that taunted him

Crash, fell bumping a paladin’s ballad
Yelling from the cell, a hell that’s padded
Plain scabbard belt fastened
Brain splattered, well contrasted
Gotta face it, it’s just a facet
Haphazard basic *******

Dazed, he laid lazy in a field of daisies, crazy
still failing life in spite of praises, does not phase me

Never fully try, never fully fail, never succeed
He smokes **** ‘til his failure’s guaranteed

Somebody makes the calls; Atlas shrugged ‘neath it all
Pedestal built too tall; perhaps the world will fall

Out in the desert Kashmir looms like a mirage
Or am I breathing exhaust fumes in the garage

What good is my happiness, my reason, justice, or pity?
I don’t know why you’d ask me this, but I guess it’s all ******

Fight my battles rolling downhill,
Sit back while my verbs and nouns spill
Words not meant to astound, but still
Chill

I’m palm stroking broke minds
With ****** soaked rhymes

I can occur just like a canna crop trafficker
I infer with calipers; as amateurs get massacred
Like melon to Gallagher
A gallon of palaver
What else can you do but take the beat and ravage her

Precision thumbs commissioned this slurred-dumb, late ***
With blood, sweat and tears smeared on the surgeon's apron

Brazen, boring, shameless; facetious
What a ****** thesis to teach us, I mean, Jesus

Witness the riots;
Sit back in silence,
Eyeless; In a crisis
Righteous, feeling timeless

I’m a weak witted weapon without suppressants
At my peak, spit blessings that best luminescence
Testing, expressing questions;
a primordial presence
Learning lessons of the essence,
Leaning in ******* obsessions
Now back to the digressions,

Enchant the mic and pass her
a wish to go follow gets a focal fracture
By the aficionado postal slasher
My vocals compact like a dope oil extractor
Spoke, spat, and risen from the earth like the rapture
Lyrics locked in; like ‘final answer’
Do a vinyl transfer
Sample and enhance her

Burn sweetest flowers hourly
The meanest greenest sour D
Take a bouquet the day he take a dowry

Fine divine entwined nugs
Unwind with the kind bud
And when it comes to this composition;
Just try it; succumb
Peel open a dub, recline, combine lovely drugs and paper.
loses loose shrubs, keeps his grip: shrugs and taper
Lick with the spit on the tip of the tongue, and savor
Chip off the old lungs, word to pops, mums and neighbors
Long lasting, juicy like a fruity gum flavor
Meet your maker, brute ****! Astute *** behavior

Faulty wiring in our brains
Exalt me as I complain
Are we just Abel's and Kane's, soon to be slain?
Perhaps maybe just a tune to be played?
Who keeps the balance of pleasures between pains
Who breaks silence for treasures? Who’s blood stains?
Dang

As I think it through, inhale and breathe fumes
I fail to read moods, but still I’ll seek tunes
As the green room’s groove looms
And the smoke plumes perfume
He unleashes leeches,
the deed is; eat his wounds
Behold San Gabriel!
the far mountain is
stunningly ascendent
the city's smog
dissipates into a
a welcomed hiatus
white glaciated peaks
bespeak nature’s regency
a City of Angels’ crowned
in a mystic halo once again

Thunderous roads are silent
highway death tolls nose dive
life expectancy for the driven grows
Mother’s cry a million less tears
Tollkeepers palms are left wanting

For the uberites
the celestial scales
of supply and demand
have tipped gas prices in our favor
A litre of petrol costs but a few pesos

cars roaring down side streets
coating curbs with
noxious exhaust has stopped
Street running stick ballers eye
2nd base manhole covers
as safe to steal again

Some have been granted
A reprieve from a harried life
vexations of frenetic ways dwindle
The welcomed respite of downtime
Salves a bruised and battered soul

We’re invited  to dip our toes
Into small pools of leisure time
Escape to a hobby’s fascination
luxuriate in childlike frivolity

Time has opened for families
An evening’s repast
is holy communion
The wholesomeness
of a home cooked meal
Manna from heaven our daily bread
We share a sip from a cup of salvation

Climb up slide down
some shoots and ladders
Gingerly remove a funny bone
Without the red nose buzzing
Spend time in Abuela’s old kitchen
Learn her secrets of family recipes
Passed down from ancient
Borinquen forebears

Challenge creative sensibilities
Let the muse whisper a song
Into your willowy ear
Draw a portrait of a loved one
wash a buena vista watercolor
Compose a poem of perfect simplicity
record the glorious fictions of family history
Place yourself at the center of its epic struggle
Go noodle a tune on the old upright
Dust off that old guitar and flash some new hot licks
Take out the bongos and bang away
The blues are routed for another day

Sing a family circle song
where Daddy sings bass
Take an afternoon nap,
let the cat purr you to sleep
Enjoy the escape
of an afternoon delight
Than walk the dog afterward
in warm eventide twilite

The skies are resoundingly silent
Gushing engines contrail plumes gone
Jets blessedly overthrown by
silhouettes of crows on the wing
Listen to a new meditative lullaby, the
splendid symphony of avian adagios

Plug in to your body electric
Learn to breathe as deeply as you love
Listen to the rhythms of your heartbeat
And fine tune the condition of your soul

Eschew usurpations of politics
And tyrants that cajole to oppress
Seek solidarity in common citizenship
Take refuge in the courage of integrity
And dwell in the unity of the holy spirit

May a pandemic of love consume you
May your crisis open a portal of grace
May the closeness of friends and family
Restore you to a much better place

San Gabriel Mountains beckon
His halo crowns us all
stirred by the trilling trumpet
Wholly affirmed and filled
We answer his call

Bob Dylan: Thunder on the Mountain

Puyallup WA
4/21/20
jbm
pandemic downtime affords some time to reflect and open portals to new places....
Vice D Krashdif Apr 2014
a thinker, an inker, a provoker,
but why are they so much better,
ballers, batters, singers, dancers, stars,
why am I not that good
liars, stealers, rule breakers
maybe who I am is ok.....
King Bacon Oct 2014
I slipped upwards through the cracks,
I went places I was not allowed,
Now I am falling down,
Homie I walk through the tops of clouds,
With a Caine I am able to find heaven’s doors when the day is over,
When I came down I choked on my halo,
Chains are outdated,
They are blindlessly outrages,
The cages got replace with complantancy,
See I waited oh so patiently for happiness in all the wrong places,
Traded it for a higher state of mind and higher wages,
The races and the wages,
raised the question of waging war,
I haven't ask them yet,
and then I ask what I was waiting for,
Never paid it to much mind,
I was faded with the flow,
of the highest to know they come,
with their tie under their toe,
Nobody thinks oh no,
they think that they think,
and they go where they go,
and they blink when they blink,
and they speak when they speak,
and they drink when they drink,
There's a kink in the sink,
And I think its in the brink its the end,
But my friend if you rather just pretend,
That its fine, and find more money to spend,
I mean nothing in life is free,
Society is slily,
So the sly in me has realize that they lied to me,
I have realize that I can breathe,
Without paying the slightest fee,
But I will surely die,
If paper takes the life from trees,
But the grass is green,
The family van is filled with gasoline,
The dogs and cats are fed,
Even the trash is clean,
Cookie baking families,
7 Digit salaries,
But there is no imagining the damaging,
At first glance it seems everything is happily,
Look under the mask you will see that,
That’s a fantasy,
I am no longer impress with the best of the best,
You know big ballers don’t respect the bench,
But theres a lot going on top,
That people tend to forget,
From the breath of breath,
To the depth of death,
You know its coming soon,
But no one expects it yet,
Heaven steps just led to an electric fence,
Find the balances,
Between the projects and the palaces,
The process of progress gave my hands calluses,
Prospect of objects that obstruct the abstract,
Concept of happiness that I want to have back,
Expecting more from heavens door,
This fantasy is upsetting,
Hell is more a metaphor with unangelic settings,
You just pluck the strings,
Until your ******' fingers bled,
Forgetting all the wild,
But everything is in your head,
and no man is more wicked than the one who thinks he’s righteous,
And there no black and white here,
Only shades of blindness,
The road to happiness is easily mistaken,
God works in mysterious ways,
but so does Satan.
Sometimes I'm good
But now I'm even better
I can't control my feelings
When I break out into sweaters

And colors stand out so much
And then also I wear some collars
People think I have it made
But I feel jealous of ballers

And people who live with others
And people who live with brothers
And sisters and then their covers
Hide all of their different lovers

But hiding is not one way
They take them and then here's what hurts
There's one thing and then another
And I might just be a pervert

But I can't avert my thoughts
I would love to be in a circle
Spinning a bottle hotly
And making my face turn purple

It turns red! And white
But I want more social pressure
Not the keep-me-up-at-night one
But the one that seems much better

But it can't be fabricated
And it can't quite be sought out
And it won't happen to me
Because I have too many doubts

And shrouded beneath my mouth
Is a superego completely
Controlling my every move
So how could someone ever read me

And be comfortable or open
When my mind is like the ocean?
I go with the flow but know this
I can take you on a gross trip

And by that I mean a lame one
Where your boat is somewhat closed in
And you're trapped with me and feel some
Unappetizing emotions

That's the mood that people's faces
Take on when my mouth is open
And then I go out and chase them
But my heart just feels quite broken

And I used to think it was them
which is odd since I often blame me
But then my new realization
Made me wake up to the new key

See part of me loves all people
And part of me holds myself back
So if I could just now solve that
Could I live how I want real bad?
This is unorganized like my thought when writing lol
Wk kortas Nov 2017
He is, to his way of thinking, the only one wearing shorts;
The nine young men with him, baggy-wearing and body-pierced,
Swoosh-adorned from head to toe,
Sporting something which seem close kin
To blown-up Bermudas or women’s culottes.
Back in the day they would have been laughed right off the courts,
But it is not his day any longer, as he is constantly reminded;
He wears shorts that merit the term, old leather Converse All-Stars
Cracked and faded as the berm of the back roads
In this out-of-the way locale,
A faded and decades-laundered jersey
Bearing the name of a long-defunct auto dealership.
The kids call him “Jumping Toyota.”
Yo, Toyota—no dunkin’ on us tonight, OK?
Hollering and laughing as they dap and jump-and-bump,
Mimicking playground ballers in cities
They have never been within three hundred miles of,
And he smiles in grim resignation,
Knowing he might get a fingertip on the rim on a good day.
His game is strictly cerebral, horizontal now,
The muted, pastel joy of a solid, timely pick
Or well-thrown bounce pass
Has become his vehicle of blacktop epiphany,
And he eases up now and then on the offensive end
To provide succor to tendons and ligaments
Which, in spite of admonitions to himself
That at your age you need to take it easy, *******
Will still register their protests a very few hours from now
Leading to tortured grimaces and the occasional audible grunt,
As he holds his place on the third-shift line at the Alcoa plant
Bringing his co-workers to ask him,
In that hazy place between bemused and stupefied
Man, don’t tell me you’re still playin’ ball?
Once in a while, though, he will still drive hard towards the tin
And, eighteen again for the a snapshot of a moment,
He will stop on a dime and drop a jump shot
Making no noise whatsoever
Save for the whispery snap of the bottom of the net,
Sound every bit the same as it was
Before his knees and ankles went rogue.
Outside the chain-link fence, a young man plugged into his iPod
Bobs his head in time to some unheard song
As he leans in an approximation of nonchalance
Against a great old elm tree
(Branches bedraggled and drooping,
Giving it the air of some old warlock gesturing in mock-menace
Though his wand has gone a-gleaming,
His magic having deserted him as well)
Which bears a large painted orange circle
Signifying its imminent destruction.
Yenson Feb 2021
Is it all the doubts twittered To Marcus
that makes him do what you all cannot do
is it all the doubts rained on the gifted brother players
that earns them fortunes and cruise around in Rolls and 'Lamborghini Aventador
Is it all the doubts you generously feed the youths
that make them stab and **** each others over post-codes
is it all your doubts
that stems from your own insecurities
your inadequacies and your pitifully ignorance
that makes you mean hateful and divisive
or is it those niggling oppressive facts
that you are inadequate talentless insignificant nobodies
just a bunch of deadbeat clogs
scraping what you can in dead-end alleys
finding solace and distractions in ***** cheap meaningless ***
drugs and venting on talented foot-ballers
and all those that are enterprising and successful
or is it ever doubtful
that all you can be are contemptible
cowardly no-mark soap-dodging bullies
Is there any doubts about that
King tut hat, keep a stash of that, graveyard green hatchback,
Brace the throwback, clover land soldier with the thick bands,
See where my hands land, amongst the fans caught the glands,
Of a fish I kiss, dismiss the fakest watch me intake this,
Cannabis spinning like the wind chilling, amongst the building,
Lay bread for my children,
Cold villain, **** playing a hero I'd rather do a true killin,
Like the microphone spilling, out the lyrical mud blood,
Young thugs I was, learned the game from Uncle Eazy, keep the toolie
Yours truly, lay paths with the unruly, raw as Paul Mooney,
Hush that, raw base cut scratch, ***** ya nose, visions tunnel, thoughts spin to a funnel,
Got a girl name Chantelle, she freaks it well, cast a spell,
Never fails, she's all out, watch the wanna be ballers fallout,
Re route ya cake, more clips than Nate, dogg issa true hog,
Industry humpin, no dumpty on the walls, grab my *****,
Cristal by the walls, catch a pause tighten ya jaws, applause,
Insert the verbal savagery, on ya embry, strawberry kiwis,
Keep em in the sun for fun, that's on the one, genie a bikini,
She lookin- good, young face Hollywood understood,
Mistakes always makes it ways, back to the original says,


Ls400 lexus, banging my ***** in texas, who could plex us,
Dont get nexted, cask fit, blessed it,
Kiss a sky rocket, sockets,
Closed ya eye circuits, serious with these cuts, guerilla strut,
Pimping never limping, suckas still simpin', ya money crimpin'
Cold brew sippin, at the top chillin, with my feet to the ceiling,
Boss ****, mob president, true wills only to my testament,
Yo black Humprey Bogart, bogard these wanna be game sharks,
Narcs, love to sit near the park, only to catch a spark, sprinkle
Gun powder, watch the dynamite make em clam chowder,
Smack ya, own will thy mills be done, destined for legend,
Pledging, my self to the universe one song one truth, one love,
All above the wings of a dove, taking heights to grave above,
Amazing half temples grazing, flashback of the payback,
QB snaps, watch for the center sneaks, kin the reaper,
Puff slow ******, greet cha, only with the real Roman caesar,
Rap emperor, never made for inferior yosef the last superior,
Conservative mind state, activate demo hates ****** tapes,
Victory Cape worn, yo a star is born, word is bond bongs,
I twist more metals, than heat to kettle yo never settle,
For less minus stress, let the tears from the cloud speak loud,
Embezzle my soul, the awakening spiritual, lay for crucial,
Tiffany Merkel Sep 2017
The prince of Romance or a Duke of Hazzard
He heard
She heard
We heard
This is obsurd
Give me three quarters and He'll give you a dollar
No smaller
No taller
We are what we are and what you are is a popped collar
Popped collars and ballers all gather round
Get up get down and take your bow
No time for foolish games fooling fools fooling around, drooling clowns and skateboard towns
where are the gems of the season hidden behind reason
The reason for the season is you and what you are is not this treason
Be real be right be left be anything but this silly game they all play
All night and all day
Just tell them to go away
Stay you stay true and the real us will know the real you
So don't doubt who you are or whether to walk or take your car
Be yourself and rest assured you are who are but only thus far
nyant Sep 2023
Sitting still in the silent sound of crickets,
Ballers catch me out as they hit the wickets,
Looking back on my life in snippets,
Who can save my bones so rickets?

Idol of my heart is self image,
crooked and corrupted by a hidden shame,
fig leaves in my finances,
failing even on second chances,
cover on cover i hide,
don't get too close it's dark inside,
rather fake the mess,
running from nakedness.

Mama, papa i ain't so innocent,
and i can't buy my penitence,
who can look past our misdeeds?
A righteous king who's blood pleads,
always living as he intercedes,
cold recitals of apostles creeds,
won't free us from sin's disease,
we need a change of heart from stone to flesh,
we need to cease from works and find our rest.

So i look up to that cross,
Carrying my shame, my pride, my fears, my lies.
The holy lamb of God crucfied,
And count it all as loss.
Genesis 3:7, Ezekiel 37:1-10, Philippians 3:8, Hebrews 4:11, Ezekiel 11:14-21

— The End —