I looked back on a poem that I wrote called life.

Tried to figure out what it was that made it so tight

Or, was it just hype…

Something about the rhymes and the lyrics

Made it so that those who hear it

Just don’t relate

They can create their own reality…

I ventured into the lines to dissect the script

And slipped into a wonder-like state

For every line just ate at my heart strings

Cuz things contained therein

Weren’t just things that I felt, but things that I’ve dealt with

You see, every line was a rhyme

Composed of time, and represented a climb

From boy to man

Every stanza had my hands up

And every period seemed serious…

Funny thing was,

I saw my momma in every comma

Causing me to pause before the drama

Saw my father in every line that could be farther

From the truth

Proof proved useless because truth and all its uses

Was contained in every line

Every time I saw similes, I saw me and my enemies

For like synergy, we fed off one another’s energy,

An amenity spurned from our enmity…

It was a symphony of love songs

And all wrongs seemed right

Because through it all, keeping me tight

Was IC, all on my right

I saw Grace in every space

Where lovely lines were laced lyrically

And I felt spiritually,

That this poem was connected to God

I stepped back from my work

Exhausted, but not hurt

And worked up the courage and the like

To say satisfactorily, that this is my life…

~The End~

I looked into my street and saw my reflection

Looked past it and saw a section of block

Frequented by cops

And feared by lots.

I saw blood stains

And disdain from higher classes

Matched by an indifference from equal masses

I saw similarities in the realities

Of my street and the personalities of my hood.

They’re both hard and rigid

Not frigid to the eye,

They both lie in the dark

And are unnoticed in the light

And like one another, it’s a fact that

Backs bore weight, no slack

In fact, they are both the same, in that,

They both have a lot of crack…

I figure my street has seen things,

Human beings, mistreated like scenes

From a bad movie

Things that may move me, fell down to my block

And I can assume, that many a man fell down on my block

So I can imagine, my block has seen lost souls

Black on black crime

And I bet it saw a lot of prejudice,

Back at that time.

And in a land that lacked rhyme

My block brought poetry to the outline

Caught God’s tears to help furnish his design

In an attempt to outshine all blocks       

And when tall shots rang out

And foolish thugs decided to bang out

My block caught fallen soldiers

And even when I fell,

Like a grown man’s broad shoulders

My block held me until I could get stitches

And now as I stand,

As a man, too big for his britches

I can thank my block for enduring

The block pitches and the societal glitches

The prostitutes that constitute the latter half

The shower baths from heaven’s skies

The shallow tear from momma’s eyes

The dreams and aspirations

Spurned from the bottom of a nation

The bell bottoms, the khakis

Capris and the Lees

The barbecues, the cookouts

The crack spot, the look out

The hobo, the wine-o

The jeri curl, the soul glow

The first of the month, the last,

The broken bottles, the glass

The crass and the conceited

The dejected, the defeated

The air forces, the skippies,

The OGs, the hippies

The new trends and at school’s end

The school kids now witted

The black gloves, the fitteds

And ALL the birds that shitted, on my block

This is my spot, my home, my sediment, my throne,

I thank my block for caring without exception,

Being a vision of perfection

And for holding my past, present, and future’s Reflection.

The tender lyrics of my favorite love song

Float systematically into my conscious

In an effort to serenade this

Imageless figure in my mind.

The fine lines whisk me off into a half death or contemplation

Plagued by degradation of my ego

Due to deprivation of what we know,

As love…

But, as love evades me

This song plays me a somber tune

The likes of which I hope soon,

Are to be forgotten.

I unconsciously nurse a fascination for infatuation

And pay for it duly,

Blocked on all sides from what seems to me,

True love, surely and truly.

I search for a cause

But the answer remains lost

Like seconds within a pause.

A plausible explanation seems sure to be hidden

In the melody of our song,

But so long as I listen to it by myself

The message is decoded all wrong

And seems to help me none

And I find myself, back at square one

Patiently waiting,

Stating life is all wrong

Debating who it is I’m faking,

Dating lyrics to this song.

~The End~

...excuse all this "conscious" stuff lately, been reading on Sigmund Freud...lol.

As I wait for your call,

All my insecurities curl up into a ball

And like handball in an empty room

Pounds nonsense fourfold into my conscious

Subconsciously anxious

I fling myself aimlessly at every

False reflection of a ring.

The thing is...

All that this cluelessness seems to bring is

Foolishness…

Causing me to become unnecessarily frantic

And in the absence of semantics

Forces my mind to grind all sense in to the antics

Of a hopelessly hopeless romantic.

But in the absence of romance,

I glance by chance in the mirror

At a hopeless reflection of a man

With plans in his hand of possible projected dialogue,

A mental soliloquy, so to speak.

So to speak would in essence signal the peak performance

Of an imperfectly perfect play.

But day has become night,

And still my sketch bears no star which the knight

Can presumably pursue.

That’s theoretically where you would come in,

My unseen friend who undoubtedly bears the resemblance

Of her whose trance I am assuredly in.

I urge you to come into the shadow of this dark room

And help to develop light amidst the lack of it

To which I am soon

To be enveloped.

~The End~

I let your sweet kisses melt on my cheek

And as the heat seeps

From heart to veins

The stains of our past

Clasp the very matter of my soul.

I remember our long talks of old

The long and playful nights

But since you left, cold has had to suffice

For my warm dreams

It seems like you’re happy with him,

And I’m glad

But those lovely kisses that previously had

Fueled my hopes,

Now poke fun at my hopelessness

If it’s possible to feel less blessed,

Then indeed I do

I’m in need of you,

And my eyes aren’t afraid to admit,

So if it seems I’m sick,

Then peer inside these windows to my soul,

And right by it,

Should be a picture of you and I

It’s for you I cry

And for you I lie

With my face to the ceiling,

Peeling paint with my eyes.

My cries might have fallen on deaf ears,

But death hears the petitions of my heart

So as I part with my emotions,

Delivering my dreams unto death

I step slowly, hoping your kiss

Coincides with my love’s last breath…

~The End~