Life of a Poet By Darian Wilson The Almighty sculpted us to reach millions. Like Michelangelo’s David, poets were meant to be revered, respected, and honored. Writing in all forms from hieroglyphs to alphabets. From the cradles of Kush and Kemet to empires of Greece and Rome. For me, it started with the Iliad and Odysseus' Odyssey home. You see poetry got in me early. I rolled with Dante through his Inferno and I never forgot Juliet and my boy Romeo. I am why the caged bird sings, why freedom rings and you still wonder why they call us queens and kings? I'm Langston's dream deferred, reheard. I used to want to ball, but now word is preferred. Poetry has a simple freedom nothing else can offer me, the freedom of thought. And staying true to the words is something I was always taught. But contrary to popular belief, what to write about is not what writing is all about. Us poets, we're just vessels. Our words flow from beyond reality's plane, but you'll never see it when it happens. It's a myth, sort of like the gods of Athens. This is true in my book of rhymes and in between my written lines. It's crazy when your fear is not having anything to say, but being able to have it all heard. The life of a poet is completely absurd. But I mean this poetry, I speak this poetry, man I bleed this poetry. It's in my heart. Better yet, it's my tap, tap, tapping evermore. I've realized now more than ever poets must be prepared for war. So I got my ink locked and loaded. On this mic, I'm spitting truth like verbal bullets. But this, this is far worse than any gun blast. I've vowed not to forget my past. I was conceived to breed that which has not been achieved by my ancestry. Which is why I was reincarnated in the name of alchemy. My life is a philosophical one, I'm manifesting a masterful one. I've separated myself from those who dream of success and joined those who wake up and write their own destiny. Minds matters intertwining to create documented scriptures rendered by eternity. And it may not be written properly, but trust me, I'm changing lives with this broken down poetry. I know sometimes I scramble looking for words, hoping that my soul is heard. Poetry is my only truth. Like going hard in the booth. Spitting it, hitting it
with full force. Release like mental intercourse. Do you still wonder why we say home is where the mic is? I'm only 19, but I know this thing is forever. They told me a poet's life comes without a manufacturer’s warranty. There is no return policy on this curse of creativity. They say ignorance is bliss, but this right here, this shit is a gift. BUTTERFLY By Christopher Roze a smell so sweet sweeps the street, she's cool as the tail end of a bird in flight, she's good as butter on banana bread at night, so if she's good; she's butter? so if she's cool; she's fly? I never heard the word or a philosopher ask why, why the people on the street call her butterfly? It was 3 AM. We finally decided No one at Wal-mart would recognize us 3 AM when our eyes dried enough to slip into the cover of a light fog and a deep blue sky that promised to keep our secret. You said “regret” and my car’s engine shushed you. You said “my fault” and roadside flowers quieted you You blamed yourself. I held your hand, trying to say something words could not. I was trying to say “not your fault, not your fault.” Even if you were drinking . You went to his room Tucked yourself into his bed You thought you were alone, and closed your eyes. You woke up,robbed of every feeling your body held holy. He’d taken every truth your heart believed sacred. It was not your fault. It was 3 AM. Sliding doors kept us from leaving evidence of our presence We took a walk through aisles of cat food and footwear, stopped to look at the baked goods in clearance as they wilted with our heavy eyes. You said you were ready So we weaved through the feminine products, passed the condoms you eyed with contempt and longing, and found what we were there for. You asked me to hold the box. I even offered to pay because no one should pay for the consequence of broken trust For a heart battered and beaten into disbelief For torn flesh that begged to be whole No one should pay to find out if they were carrying their rapist’s baby It was 3 AM. All you wanted, was to know And all I had to offer was a clean bathroom , shared tears, and an empty couch We waited in the dark for a little pink line to illuminate the shadows As if a little pink minus sign would subtract the pain, erase the breaks in your love Prevent you from giving up When it came, the single pink line breathed with us “all right” I sighed. It was 3 am. I realized I had nothing to offer.
No way to fix what I had not done. No way to give you back all that he had taken. I had nothing but your hand and a moon A dark hour that never seemed to end Dominique Petty
"Saying Goodbye to Last Year's Thing" Gregory Ever have that feeling that you're old news? I'm that newspaper tossed in the garbage bin. I'm that old lady in the retirement home that's slowly dying, ready for death to arrive. I'm that bitch who's not getting horny customers and money for sex. I'm that crippled animal that the group has left behind. I'm that midget in the room of tall people no one will ever get to see. I'm that song no one will ever listen to again. I'm that ugly guy you'll never give a chance. But you know what? I'm that guy that will smile, always and forever. We Make Music By: Kentrell Washington We make music… My heart dreams of you and my soul sings along,, It won’t stop until you recognize this same old song, A concerto played against my veins, Like you were a soloist and you forgot your halo and your harp So I let you use me Use me how you like, just remember the return policy on this song No refunds - you get what you hear, As you used yellow rose pedals to play a sonata against my wrists You accidentally cut them open, And my arms screamed notes of joy At the feeling of having been able to breathe, Because my hidden emotions were suffocating them, I wore my emotions on my shirt’s sleeve but I wore a sweater over it, I heard a child say “love is nothing but a dream” and I wondered when I will get rid of this insomnia, Because I’ve been awake a little too long, I accidentally punched a hole into your chest with my words, The glass shattered singing harmoniously as your heart broke on the ground Chiming to every note of every syllable that came out of my filthy mouth, Sometimes I wonder if it is even pure enough for you, Even when we get into our moments and you feel us crumbling beneath your feet I will carry you on my back become the tectonic plates that hold this momentarily rocky relationship together, Rain from your eyes trickled on my skin And break danced to the melody of your sobs,
Melodic memories of us replay in my mind, Our melodramaticups and downs, We still stayed on key, The sky tap-danced against my window one morning And I tapped back In hopes of being serenaded in your rhythmic aura, If candy could talk it would sound bitter In comparison to your sweet voice, Your spoken prose poses on a canvas Only to paint a song, I could hear butterflies doing head spins in my belly, You are like a plane full of country crock See baby your butter-flies, They could hear the remnants of syrup hugs and molasses kisses, We stick together with flower in your name, We have pancake love I did a jitterbug to your laugh And the Charleston to the sound of your smile, An infinite symphony played in my mind When you told me how you felt, We make noise But They can’t comprehend the sounds, Because our music makes music, A message within a message Sometimes just close your ears And open your eyes and watch our music unfold, Reach out and touch every note, Smell the pitch of our sounds, Taste the sugary temptations of our duet And maybe then youwill recognize this same old song. Sessions
by: Ryan Porter
candlelit cannabis oowops ‘n herb sizzled in perfection I mixed my spice with hers a casual climax quickly getting slower oozing in the easy cherry light beholders fumes roomed with fumes and we all lived at once seasons changed to seasons and months were merely months pages flipped to books tocks turned to ticks vibrations sailed through airwaves though the clocks they seemed to stick
T-Shirts Ashley You made me love T-shirts Who knew the weave of threads could decipher my self confidence for the day? Low cuts slicing deep into a woman’s degradation Tube top strangling the beauty Letting it explode They call it fat I call it curves Sweaters to warm up the invisible Spaghetti straps to thin out our self worth The dress for easy access to our physical domain Without first praising the temple treaded upon A little more neckline Less tummy Suck it in, Twist to the right Chest popping check Pull the bra strap a bit tighter… Perfect Forget to breathe Might as well… No longer living, are we? Forgot ourselves in a simple game of dress up Mirror cracked and broken by our own self doubts. Threads woven by inspiration Labeled by fashion magazines Fed to beautiful girls Making them hideous. And then there was you… Simple… T-shirts. Not intended for any particular form Just to comfort To hold us together When the threads cut our flesh Into the bruised being we are. Reminding us we are too beautiful To let clothes with opinions hang their thoughts on our bodies No longer will I be the hanger for your design. Hangers don’t need clothes to be complete And neither do I I rather be naked Pure in the essence of all I am Nothing that can be woven or created. A unique piece That I design. A perfect shell of Snow flake skin Shimmers of hope Even when the world has gone cold.
Piercing eyes deeper then oceans Freckles to mark the unmarkable So you never forget who I am Perfect As I am. You made me love T-shirts. Because they don’t hold opinions They have no pre- noted intentions Nor desires to sculpt me into their image Simple Silent Listening to all I am And wishing they could have my skin To wear. 2nd Decade Retrospection Stephen Strupp I remember my mint-condition soul, the color of dinosaur skin. (I miss my foreskin). Ever since sin tarnished my semi gloss complexion, I've been too sensitive. And my sense of inner goodness is unfastened. If not for a few well-placed rainy days and a hyper-extended guilt receptor, I would have forgot my mother. Lost on a cloud, lounging several lives away from holy or wholesome, I intend to wash my hands of these moments ever since I've been my name. Take It Back Now Y'all Karl Iglesias My hair cha cha slid around my scalp. Fresh bowl-cut, black as the soles of my sneakers. I'm 12 years old at a classmate's birthday party, with girls. I wish I could dive into the pools in my palms. I'm searching for a conversation in the strobing lights,
criss-crossing on my button-up shirt; sleeves inching off of my elbows. Birthday girl introduces her hips to the ones I don't have. Courage hiding. No rhythm. She steps away. My face, Kool-aid red, hides behind my boys. The voice in the speakers mocks me, "How low can you go?"
Jordan S. Gaines
Red Light Warning It had always been her favorite color; the liking she took to it should have been a sure-fire sign of what was to come. It should have been a red light. The first time I saw her she had a red Popsicle in her left hand. She smiled; revealing teeth of a similar color. Her frozen treat melted its hues down her face, gathering at her lips. In her current state of change, one thing remains constant‌ Her lips have always been red. Red never represented restoration of life for me. It only meant reconstruction; rebuilding little girls until they were stacked into cookie-cutter brick houses. From the first scarlet drop in her panties to her first ruby lettered grade, her foundation was being laid, red brick by red brick. I lost her with every building block. The technicolor thread that wove us together began to slowly unravel. She had crossed a threshold I was too short to see, she was in the land of the growing. The similarities between us seemed to fade. We were left only with matching expressions of curiosity and disgust as we stared at the other’s cherry lips, the result of two different sources. Our stomachs churned in simultaneous motions as we questioned if the other had the guts to handle the responsibility that was to come; we questioned if we were prepared to take on the transition. I feared she was not ready. I feared she would never come back, I feared the day I would join her. She feared the same. We feared the unknown. Wrinkled foreheads, wide eyes, red mouths, we were spitting images of each other. The last time I saw her we kissed goodbye, exchanging crimson lip prints.
She left red lip stick on the cheeks of her childhood, “Forget me not, for I’ll miss you.” While, I smeared red Popsicle stains on the powdered profile of my future, “Forget me not, for I’ll see you soon” She drove away, leaving behind rose tire treads and exhaust just as sweet. She lost her youth, but she gained momentum on a fast track to adulthood. I had lost a friend, but I gained perspective. Right then and there I made a decision… I would only eat orange Popsicles from now on. Justin Sparapani Untitled
Those in the high-class ghettos Look down upon those in the urban suburbans, Because those in the ghettos are doing much better. Point, blank period, In this poem, Black ain't that Sirius. I'm here to talk about The stereotypically delirious Caucasian teen. The stereotypically delirious Caucasian's clean. The stereotypically delirious Fake gangsta lean, Beause there's Snoop Dogg and Tupac on their iPods. In kindergarten, They lost their morality at Aesop. So all the girls let the guys beat up With their inner-Spartan. Don't know why, But the rest of the world looks at them like vanilla Martians. Some like to say we're the same, Because our race is human. Yeah, together we be zoomin', But the difference is, Caucasians got their car as a gift on Thanksgiving, And the African Americans, Through sinfully living. Those in the ghettos keep Sinfully sinning: No consequence. Caught with coke: No consequence. Hang a jiggaboo with a rope: No consequence. Well, in con-
Sequence, I spit this long-needed gospel. You act like Little Rascals, But you're twenty-one, So those things just make you resemble an asshole. I wish you could see, But moles and pale faces must be close in relation. Sure not getting any, So jocks need the masturbation. Everything is handed to you; Don't need the concentration. There is such a financial difference, I wish this was imagination, But this is reality. This is the, "Save it", Don't know where you're layin', Brought over on a slave ship, Neo-Nazi, Mason, Type sh-It hits you with Blitzkrieg. Siege needs meed. Future: Hoods up! Hoods up! Iraqi Christ bleed! I'm getting caught up in the seeds of hatred. Blank folk, If there's anything to hate me for, Then hate this. By this time, you probably think I'm a racist, But look at yourselves, Wearing shirts that say, "Certified Atheist"! And yeah, You're a big spender On the crystal meth and Oxi Conton. The urban suburbans are festering with filth, Yet the Caucasians are the ones who're rotting! No one wants that shit, So take that back to Notting. All that money you spend on alcohol, drugs, and material things, Is making you worth nothing! Fuck the television, Because Jersey Shore trends will leave you dead. This MTV lifestyle is holding you by the dreads. Dreads, really? Okay, okay, So just think about it, Billy. I know it sounds silly now, But work hard To become a big grosser, And whatever you do, Don't return to Wauwatosa. CHILDHOOD GAMES
Elijah I hate seeing little girls play dress-up Masquerades of mascara secretly massacre the minds of their magnificence They paint faces like natives to be like mamas and feel more like ladies but look like baby Geishas Draped in curtains of dresses hallways and stairwells become catwalks of fashion tailored for failure “Oh, let her enjoy her innocence” From lip balm to lipstick get them used to applying and removing their innocence from dicks Always playing "over-dressing" to get used to being pregnant trying to walk in mommy's shoes will leave them constantly falling in love and heels don't heal his Nike boot abuse I hate when little boys play cops and robbers because there areusually no parents watching usually no father It ain’t that mommies don't bother they're just too busy in the closet being clothes models for their daughters so little boys watch Maddock & Bond Power Rangers and Batman Beyond Cops and robbers was the personification of hero and danger TV disarms little boys’ books and arms them with Nerfs reprogram them to be Hero-Killers and Killer-Heroes instead of nerds "Pow-Pow-Pow! I'm gonna getchu!" Water guns get them used to quick reloads of the pump and the pressure from the trigger the power of the blast and a wet shirt as the aftermath soon goes from water battles to blood baths I hate when parents practice silence whenever a childhood game is in progress history repeats itself and playtime is the best time to tutor and expect progress “STAND FOR SOMETHING" Everybody wanna be about something tryin'a stand when they stand for nothing Everybody wanna be about something tryin'a act hard when they know they frontin' what guarantee do I have besides my death in this life? Nothing is what it seems like, it's all appearance and lies, Half truths in disguise, now let's rise! and quit being the reason of our demise I'm tryin to make it while you're steady taking away from my sights Don't try to change it, just face it It's my life
With this ability, can't match the agility freely with stability will murder you infinity times before you get to mimic me Wise words pretending, offending, hope to break my escape too fake for who's defending, the sightless become heartless, Unknowing I'm all I know, for those who want me to go unwillingly you can't control, can't even trust me to redefine the way I'm living Pray to be forgiven for the unjust corruption of feelings if time has caused the heart's dealings I know that yesterday's here If everyday is a new beginning, just know your end is near. -
SYPHER SQUAD
James I never asked for the story book sequence Never wanted to be known, Never too grown to out grow the moment of mere giggles In playground setting areas But I was encouraged to outgrow my childhood and forced onto places where fun was only during happy hour Those nights where what you consumed and what you wore made a statement on who you were . . I was always that boy with a smile For the world gave me a mile to figure out My place in this society, where the route of others Was blocked and my own was pushed upon me Not by force, but by choice I was skeptical That where I was going would be legendary and the road of smooth sailing was left back in those sandboxes and swimming pools . . where my peers deciding to travel not where I didn’t’ want to go but, rather, where I didn’t want to end up I always considered myself an individual blessed with the opportunity To create my own path Set my own records and live my own life Would not be shadowed by the world of evil and I would never fit in to stand out But stand out to fit in In a world where dreams Cut short by blades of ignorance I never saw myself in that movie Never pictured myself in that comic book and Never could vision myself in that dream I always seemed to have more sense than that I was raised on the basis that Deams never expire, Visions never go away and your comic book could say whatever it is you wanted it to say
I was born to break chains Of those days where the rain got so deep and The pains were so overbearing that you couldn’t hardly explain what was happening I was slain with the world’s problems Poured with more garbage than you can imagine But I still kept my passion to write Still kept bangin’ and boxin’ my passion to fight and with all my might I was refusing to lose this one . . no not this one . .not this one so I fight everyday to make sure what I’m maintaining is mine and the world can do nothing but imitate what God placed me here to do and that’s to Live MY Life! James E. Blacks AKA JB Wordlife
Exhibit DK Written and Performed by: Dukalion Verse 1 This that Earth-defying shit, David with Goliath's strength Product of filial piety and my environment Tryna repent from a lifetime of minor sins But can't find no solace in the lies Pastor's slidin in I'm the renovated pillar holdin hip-hop Villain of the village, pump adrenaline to disc jocks Vivid when I pen it, Hemmingway mixed with Hitchcock Kick the synonyms that y'all be feeling, filling like a pit stop Minister of mishaps, mayor of the riff raff Cut the plate, then switch the fader Bring the kick back Tryna bring the flavor you get faded to and kick back Kickin ass and leave with my favorite kicks in tact British Rapidshare, to yo laptops, I send tax (syntax) Vengeance for these vociferous senators that bend facts I blend Black & Milds wit that green and high octane Cuz I've never lived a life fly enough to mock pain Tell the crew you came with to find a boulder and crane kick Repetative niggas using an endangered language Mary Jane melts the brain from insane rips From goblets of fire I sip, lettin the flames drip Tarot cards told me I would be the next Pharaoh
So til then, keep ya eyes on the sparrow Verse 2 A wise man wit grey eyes prophesied my demise Follower of clouds, he said the skies never lied Told me I would fall with the tides on the rise And said he'd meet me on the other side as he died It left me shook for a second Til I realized the blessing that he left once his body went breathless It put me on the time clock in this chess game Mentally prepared, so it's easy to suppress pain Supercede any threat that projects a flaw Never forget dawg I'm Imohtep, wit Sun Tzu and Ben Frank as my council New World ordered by the Old World scoundrels Some niggas do dirt, some got a mound-full Some niggas anemic, some packed with pounds-full When you this fly, don't abide by the ground rules Or spit some bullshit just cause it sounds cool So to the world, Goodnight and one love From the Bubonic Buddhist, Black Adam from above....
Astrological Dorian I am astrological I sit on stars dangling my toes in constellations weaving worlds, and imagining imagination I saw your bloodshot eyes but angels don’t cry unless they fall from heaven and scrape their knees Or did a boy make you cry I dont blame him, but I don’t blame you either We're only human mistake makers, and chance takers, so forget him like memories, cause people are memories, When we grow old we forget 'em but the best ones remain and I think I’m getting Alzheimer’s Think I’m losing my mind If you’re losing yours too, I think I can save you I think I can see you I think human thoughts when I close my eyes and breathe slow I’ts funny how a desk can smell so much like a girl I used to hug daily but I change for the better or worse I stick to my decisions or else I wouldn’t be a man so I kiss you on your hand, apologize for my mistakes Am I crazy
or am I so sane I’ve come to grips with reality or am I plugged into this matrix where everyone is stuck on real-fake debates and who’s got the flyest shoes This cant be humanity at its finest I remember what I learned in history classes: the Greek, Egyptian, Chinese, and the Inca, they mastered raw elements, made the world theirs, I imagine I’m one of them, I imagine the blood shot eyed girl's mine I process you with my optic lobes and taste you in my mind bleed you in my heart chambers, breathe you in my nostrils, you're tangible With you, I never feel crazy or odd or abnormal I imagine life without mistakes, but then we'd all be perfection with no variation No structure So I imagine you imperfect because I wanna argue every now and then I want to admire your minor blemishes, and rub my fingers over your smooth skin, I imagine our world sort of common, a splash of your thoughts and sprinkles of my ideas, my heart I think we intertwine like cosmic dust, nuclear fusion except there’s no explosion Just life sustaining vapors and precious metals and stones, and I think your eyes are bloodshot because you know it’s true I imagine you know my intents aren’t malicious, You know my my words are true I think it’s strange because I never come down I never thought love would occur in dream form, so I dream of you, I think I’ll step off these stars and say hi to an angel today, because if I keep imagining my dreams wont come true...