Scratchin’ and Survivin’ Part II (excerpt)

….When I was growing up, Aunt Retha tried to keep me out of the pool halls. I guess hustlin’ was in my blood though. Daddy would come over to Retha’s every once in a while and give her money when he remembered. Sometimes we’d go places together.

The only places he really knew were the “shooting galleries”, Smiley’s and the pool room down by 18th and Vine. He wanted to be a good Daddy, so because it was usually the middle of the day, he took me to the poolroom instead of the bar. He never took me to the shooting gallery. The pool room is where he taught me how to hustle.

“Chalk up too much and a nigga’ll think you ain’t sure about your shot.”
“Remember Jo-Jo, jus’ ‘cus a motherfucker’s drunk, don’t mean he can’t still shoot.”
“Boy don’t be one of them nigga’s scared to scratch on the eight ball.”
“Scared money can’t make no money.”

That was my Daddy’s advice growing up. It wasn’t no Ward Cleaver shit, but it helped me through some serious situations over the years. If you understand the code of the pool hall and how to work that table, there really ain’t shit else in this world you need to know.

Daddy taught me that sometimes you gotta shoot hard, sometimes you gotta shoot soft and sometimes you gotta put some “English” on yo’ shit. Most importantly, he taught me that if you always scared of missing the shot, you ain’t got no chance to win.

Taking chances was how he got the name “Scratch”. Joe Willie would take the most dangerous shots any nigga ever attempted. He never worried about scratchin’, balls flyin’ off the table, jumpin’ over balls or nothin’. When he was clean, it was some beautiful shit to see. When he was strung out, his ass looked ridiculous.

One time he jumped the cue ball off the table and broke out this big time dope dealer old lady’s front teeth. He had to leave town over that shit for a minute. Eventually that nigga Tut squared shit with the motherfucker so he could come back home.

Tut put this little underground tournament together. He was trying to make a big name for himself. He had the best players comin’ in from all over the country. Frisco, Memphis, Milwaukee, Buffalo, you name it. It cost twenty-five large to get in. Then you could take all the side bets, after hours action and hustlin’ locals you could handle.

The big payoff was $100Gs. If Pop wins he’ll be off the hook for almost everything he owes Tut out of his half. If he loses he’s gotta turn all kinds of tricks for Tut until they’re square biz. That’ll take him the rest of his life.

I hear the old man’s got a good chance though. I haven’t seen him play since I moved to Detroit a few years ago. The grapevine says he’s been off that “Boy” for a minute now and his hands don’t shake no mo’.

They say he was so strung out a while back that he was snortin’ “T’s and B’s” and livin’ in the back of Smiley’s. Then he met some church goin’ lady a couple years ago who put him up in her attic ‘til he kicked “King Heroin” cold turkey. When he’s clean he can beat anybody on the planet. Everybody came to win this motherfucker though.

I’ve been around the country with this pool cue. I’ve whipped just about all of these cats ass before. A couple I’ve never seen. The rest can’t be no better than the best though and I’ve beaten the best. Make no mistake about it, I came here to win. If Scratch ends up being the nigga whose ass I had to whip to get that money then so be it….

All Souls

I have no fear of joining the great gathering, that great gathering of all souls

To join the spirits of the quickened and felled, both those of the young and the old

For the reaper is a callous dealer and is no respecter of high station or place

Fame nor fortune buys his mercy and will not stave off his relentless chase

A King of peace can be viciously murdered; a small-town boy can be mercilessly lynched

A dose of medicine can be doubled and your fate shall be irreversibly cinched

An ill fate abides for the preachers of love, as well for the prophets of pain

Be assured that idolaters shall be randomly spared, while the innocents shall be needlessly slain

Should you doubt his random nature, observe the body of the poisoned priest

While the reaper spares the life of the child, bearing the prophesied mark of the beast

From out of the earth arise the tortured corpses, from the blood drenched killing fields

While obfuscators and confidence men continue to tantalize and cut their crooked deals

The dutiful nun in the cloister prays in vain and dies with her doubts unrequited

Yet outside of the order the whores scarlet lecheries keep lust’s fiery flames ignited

Your tears upon their graves are a puzzlement; fore your fate may prove to be far worse

The dead have made their final reckoning and they know that sweet death is no curse

For most their release from this realm is a comfort, the certitude of death brings them peace

Still some tortured souls who knew not virtue, still long for worldly gains and increase

While those who perished in service, live on through golden deeds and true love

Fore their illuminated souls have ascended the heights and fill evils void from above

Marcus and Joan (excerpt)

....For almost 600 years, Joan of Arc's story has stood as a testament to the power of faith, hope, strength and courage. The historical accounts of her story are all well documented and most have been proven true. One thing that is still a mystery is whether her visions came from God or from her own desire to see her people live free. Regardless of her motivation, her willingness to sacrifice her life for the cause of liberty is undeniable.


Saint Jeanne d' Arc was a little girl who was not borne of wealth or nobility of title. In spite of her common origins, she possessed the courage to lead armies, the wisdom to convince Kings and the strength to resist an empire. In the most recent century, only one world figure even approaches the same level of ecclesiastical vision, humanistic optimism and inspired leadership as Jeanne d’Arc. That man is Marcus Mosiah Garvey.


Garvey launched the most ambitious and holistic program for liberation of an oppressed people that has ever been formulated in modern history. Words scarcely do justice to describe the boldness of his vision or his deep love for his people. Garvey's vision was built upon a forward thinking strategy of combining political organization, business formation, cultural unity and nation building in order to unify and liberate an oppressed people.


However despite of his accomplishments, Garvey is not regarded with the same universal renown as “the Maid of Orleans”. Jeanne d'Arc was eventually elevated to sainthood and is now worshipped by enemies and devotees alike. Conversely, Garvey’s legacy has been dragged through the mud by his enemies and has become the punch line to cruel jokes told by the very people he loved and sought to liberate....

Brotherhood of the Rock (excerpt)

Basketball is the most beautiful sport known to man. Every nigga who can’t play is jealous of every one who can. And boy were they jealous of me. I’m tall, slim, fine, good looking, strong and fast. I can jump over your ass, dribble around you, shoot over you, dunk in your face and there ain’t shit you can do about it. Then after I win the game your woman wants to sleep with me.

It not just all that stuff though. I swear to God, there’s something magical when you are out there on the court. Basketball players are special and everybody else knows it. They just might not admit they know it.

Football players need a coach or a quarterback to call the plays. Besides any fat bastard can do what they do. Baseball teams rely on a pitcher and the manager to run the show - the slowest show on earth. But basketball, man basket ball is 3 or 4 or 5 guys totally in sync, dedicated to one cause, playing with one ultimate purpose. Basketball is fast, it’s powerful, it’s beautiful – truly the greatest show on earth.

When it’s really on and poppin’, the entire team plays with one mind. Every man on the court can score. Every man on the court can win the game. Ever man can be a hero. At the same time, when the ball is in your hands, it’s like you’re the only man in the world. You can lose the ball. You can miss the shot. You can lose the game – all by yourself. But that’s what you live for. That’s what makes it beautiful....

Balcony Scene

How must it feel to stand on the stage????

To show so many love, yet fuel such rage

What must it be like to look in the crowd????



To hear the cheers, then jeers just as loud

How did you manage those long nights in jail????

Wife left alone to tend young babies’ wails

How were you able to muster the strength????

To take the great struggle to it’s ultimate length

Like Brother Malcolm before, your life soon to end

If you could see us now, would you do it all again????

Even though days earlier you gave God all your fears

Was it all worth the fatherless babies and widow’s tears????

Surrounded by friends you were their greatest hope

Yet hate held you focused clear in its scope

Legends and Legacies (excerpt)

....In 1974, Maynard Holbrook Jackson would take office as the first Black mayor of a major southern city – Atlanta, Ga. Almost immediately, Maynard would initiate programs to expand the Black business sector by encouraging entrepreneurship and increasing participation in municipal business. Although many people challenged such “affirmative action” programs at the time, it has proven to be successful way to create economic opportunity.


Atlanta’s example of awarding municipal contracts to “minority” businesses has proven to be a successful re-allocation scheme. A few instances of corruption, bribery and other criminal activities marred some of the success stories of this era. However, these are universal characteristics of similar situations where large sums of public money are transacted. Without question, the overall scope and activity of the city of Atlanta and the state of Georgia’s economies have been positively affected by the transformation that took place under the Jackson administrations. Without his visionary efforts, Atlanta would not be regarded today as a “Black Mecca” or the “Empire City of the South.”


Another similarity to post apartheid South Africa and the emerging “New South” of the Jackson administrations, was the opportunity to cure an adversarial and untrusting relationship between Atlanta’s majority Black population and the city’s law enforcement community. Atlanta’s segregated neighborhoods were not exactly comparable to the “Townships” of South Africa’s urban areas. Yet a similarly acrimonious relationship between the legal system and Atlanta’s Black residents did exist.


The presence of police officer’s in neighborhoods such as Vine City, “Sweet Auburn” and Mechanicsville seldom incited feelings of good will and warm feelings. Maynard realized the need to assure and secure the integrity and fidelity of the police department and the legal system. He spearheaded the appointment of a Black police chief, public safety commissioner and judges. He created an environment of safe communities in which all citizens were assured of fair and equitable treatment. Jackson understood this was essential to creating an environment where talented people from all walks of life would be allowed to thrive.


After the fall of the South African system of Apartheid in 1994, the country faced similar obstacles and opportunities as Atlanta following the “Jim Crow” era. The iconic South African anti-Apartheid activist Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was eventually released from prison and ultimately became President of the Republic of South Africa in 1994. Twenty years after the ascent to power of Jackson in Atlanta, Mandela would confront similar issues that blocked the people's pathway to empowerment.


Although the “Jim Crow” era of the American south had ended, this parallel system of inequity had managed to drag on for another thirty years in South Africa. This fact alone makes it obvious that although the situations are very similar they are also very different. Mandela, despite his international reputation and magnanimous renown, could not achieve the same degree of success in transforming South Africa and empowering the Black population as Jackson did in Atlanta....

Clocks and Mirrors (excerpt)

....My Dad had a bearing and countenance about himself such that no teenager would dare address him as "Homeboy" or "Playa" or "Pimp" or "G" like some young people are accustomed to greet "mature" men with these days. However, it's not just an issue of respecting elders, what I seem to observe is that men of a certain age that used to take pride in the responsibility of teaching young men respect, wisdom and all the other various life lessons of being a man, now take pride in the fact that younger men see them as a peer, a buddy, or a "homey" and would be more apt to smoke a blunt with them or drink a beer with them or hook up with some young girls with them, rather than teach them the lessons of respecting young ladies, saying no to drugs and mentoring them through the frontiers of getting an education, planning a career or starting a family.


I must say that, I have never really felt like an "adult" despite the responsibilities of high pressured careers, business ownership, home ownership or even being in a position of mentoring younger people. I think this is partly an assertion of our youth obsessed culture. Yet it is also a larger symptom of my generation’s conscious aversion to the community, family and organizational responsibilities that used to guide men and women through the maturation process.


It used to be necessary for men to "put away childish things" because they had serious commitments and responsibilities to community, family or "the Struggle". It seems nowadays that people have been taught that their only responsibility is to self fulfillment, self gratification and self satisfaction. We (I) seem to be in a constant pursuit of pleasure and self gratification rather than any other higher pursuits....

Ritual

Soul Mates....

Coming Closer

Like Two Ghosts Playing Chess....

Who Will Make the First Move This Time

Complex

Facts of Life: A Family Vignette (excerpt)

....The father, who was sitting in his favorite chair, tilted his head up slowly from his Essence Magazine. He looked over the top of his reading glasses at them quizzically, yet he was also somewhat relieved. He was so proud that his bright young creations had come to him for answers.


Yet at the same time he was very concerned about sharing this new and powerful knowledge about sex with them and the affect it could have on their lives. He pressed his finger against his temple and rested his firm jaw upon his hand for a moment. He began to think some more about what he would say to them. After a few more moments of reflection, he decided it was now finally time to dispense his well considered and sage advice. “Son, pull down your pants and show your sister your thing” He said.


“Daddy!!!!” His delicate young flower of a daughter exclaimed “I’ve seen his little thing before. We used to take baths together when we were little. Remember???? My God!!!! I don’t want to see that thing.”


Her father slowly rose from his chair. He looked his baby girl straight in the eyes. He gave her a look that only a Daddy could give. She knew he meant business.


“That is the only one of those things you've ever seen, Right????” He asked with a gentle sternness. “Oh my God Daddy!!!! Yes, that’s the only one I’ve ever seen. What’s wrong with you today????” She shrieked.


“Well good then.” He said. “Because let me tell you right now, them things don’t do nothing but make you fat. They're a big pain in the ass. They try to make a sucker out of you every time. Every time you see one coming, you’re going to have to clean up after it. You hear me girl?!?!?!?!”


The young lady was now so perplexed and bewildered by what she just heard that she couldn’t speak a word. When her dear father asked her to raise her skirt and show her brother her’s she barely heard him, but she did as he asked without question like any good daughter would.


“Now boy” he admonished his son “You see that thing there???? That thing right there’ll take all your money. I mean every goddamned penny of it. It won’t leave you any time to play with your friends or play by yourself. Every time you think you’ve got it licked, it’ll just leave a bad taste in your mouth. It’ll always have you going to the doctor. It’ll even have the government taking money out of your paycheck. Do you hear me boy????”


His two lovely children affirmed that they indeed had both heard him loud and clear and would heed his every word. As soon as he finished, they quickly asked if they could go to their rooms now. As they ascended the staircase to their rooms, they kept their eyes fixed on their father the entire time....

The Wooing of Maryanne Pureheart (excerpt)

....The two gentlemen arrived once again at the same time to present their fateful gifts. It appeared that Ian was empty handed, but he informed them that his gift was outside. The curious ménage all three, preceded alfresco where wrapped in a red ribbon was a shiny black Bentley Continental GT - a very phat whip indeed. Marryane was quite thrilled and almost overcome with joy. It was now Truth’s turn.


He would surely have to be up on his hustle to top Ian’s bold display of mad skills. Much to Ian’s surprise, Truth’s heart did not pump Kool Aid and he stood his ground unvexed. From behind his back he brought forth a white box bound by a much smaller red ribbon, which was of curious size compared to Ian‘s big package. Marryane pulled out her platinum Tiffany scissors, cut the ribbon and opened the simple box. She gazed upon the beautiful red roses and silently read Ian’s heartfelt card. She was genuinely moved to tears. She tucked the note into her Prada bag and wiped away both of their tears with her pastel Versace handkerchief.


She chose Truth.

Ian was outraged. “I am reproached fair lady and I dare say Good Sir I shall demand satisfaction.” Ian exclaimed. “I spent a whole lot of time and hard earned scrilla trying to woo you – What’s the business baby?!?!?!?!”....

Transit

….Black, fat and ugly - Do she have to be eatin' them bright red hot sauce drippin' wings on the train too????
Please let yo’ li'l girl have one so she'll stop cryin’ – Pleeeeze
….Grease all over her mouth - Lookin' like ghetto lip gloss
Jus’ had to sit next to a White man too - makin' us all look bad….
Lord have mercy Jesus
Y'all try not to look at her - Please.....
….Look at her - Leanin’ all up in her seat like she want you to see her.
Jus’ a hot mess….

....cd's...dvd's...cd's....dvd's....


….I bet she one a them “College Girls"
Them ho’s ain't shit – Steppin’ all over my new shoes!!!!
What she doin' on the train anyway????
I bet that ain't her real hair
I can't stand them ho’s!!!!
They thank they all that
I'll be glad when she get off this train
She bett’not look at me again neither
Forgive me Lord
....I can't stand them ho’s!!!!


….oils....incense....oils...incense....


….Lord have mercy, I can't wait to tell my roommate about this hoochie here
Blue hair, pink nails and a red thong
I can't wait to get me a car and get away from these Black folks
Child they a mess
Ain't no tellin' how many babies she got
What's that smell????
Lord please let me off this train….


....socks....footies....socks....footies....


….Lord, Please don't let that Nigga sit next to me
Damn!!!! Why every day some dirty construction job Nigga gotta sit next to me????
Where all the men with the “good” jobs at????
No I don't look familiar, so please don't ask….
Lord, Please let me get to my stop before another Blue Collar Nigga try to talk to me


....got that green....got that hard....got that green....got that hard….


Po' child, his mama must didn't see him leave the house this mo’nin’
Lord why don't that child pull up his pants????? Draw's all showin'
Look at that - the girls got they tails all hangin' out too....Oooh child - a thong
….Don't they mama's teach 'em nothin' no mo'????
"Oh….Thank you baby - Mama sho' do need to sit down today"
I’ll keep prayin’ for 'em Jesus, they still yo’ chillun


….cd's.....dvd's....cd's...dvd's....

Am I Black Enough for Ya???? (excerpt)

....In a March 7, interview in the lowly Torrance, CA newspaper The Daily Breeze, former Democratic Party vice presidential nominee Geraldine Ferraro made a statement that has set an ill wind to blowing. In reference to the candidacy of Democratic Presidential front-runner Barack Obama, Ms. Ferraro stated that, "If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position," she continued, “He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up in the concept." This statement about the possible first “Black” man to be nominated to challenge for the presidency, has blown the doors wide open to discuss the race factor in Obama’s run for the White House.

The Obama campaign itself has tried to down-play race as a factor in his run for the White House. Mr. Obama has not ascended to the heights of power the way other “Black leaders” have, which is to say he has not been a lifelong crusader for civil rights, voting rights or even squatters rights for that matter. Because Obama was not groomed and mentored into his position by the “old guard” civil rights movement power structure, many powerful Blacks are opposed to him becoming the first Black President. They claim that he is not Black enough.

Barack Obama was born of an African father (a Kenyan national) in America (the state of Hawaii) and he looks like any “Black” man you might meet. So that surely means he must be an African-American. Cased closed. Well not so fast. The question is whether he has a sufficient amount of “Blackness” to satisfy Black voters and powerful Black people who might endorse him. Ay, there's the rub. What then does it mean to be Black?....

BB Shot (excerpt)

....Most young Black kids did not go down to the basement and start Punk bands in large numbers. The lure of the thrashing guitar was not as strong as the booming call of the drum for most of us. However, R&B and Disco didn’t provide much of a platform for expressing the ideals of resistance and rebellion that many of us felt within. The agenda in “Hardcore Nation” would continue to be set mostly by bands of young White kids and populated by their peers. However there was an active minority of Black Punks.

Like all of the American musical forms that Black people created, it just so happens that the band that is considered the best, most talented and most influential band of the American Hardcore Punk Rock Music scene that started in California by skateboarding kids, is a band that originated in the "Chocolate City" of Washington, D.C. This highly influential band featured an entirely Black lineup of accomplished musicians. The group was called Bad Brains.

The Bad Brains were formed in 1979, out of the remnants of a Jazz-fusion band named Mind Power. Their roots in Jazz provided them with skills that enabled them to explore territory that their peers {who typically were not skilled musicians} could not venture into. Despite the fact that they chose to play a style of music that was “alien” to their cultural roots, the Brains wore “dreadlocks” and were practicing Rastafarians. The band itself was all Punk though and regarded by their peers as the band you never wanted to follow behind in a concert lineup....

Billie, Ella and Nina

When the silence breaks, make no mistake, you shall remember what you've heard within these walls

This divine choir is rare, so be thankful you were there and well worthy to be here in this hall

I know the hour draws nigh, but these great divas are worth the wait I assure

Perhaps they’re still convincing the Duke, to play piano when Ella sings Azure

The ladies are as excited to be seen as you are to see them, especially Miss Lady Day

I understand, if you have to leave I won’t stop you, but you’ll regret that you did not stay

I would still be here and would sit here all year, to hear sweet Ella sing just one song.

No sir I did not say there would be only one, listen carefully and please don’t quote me wrong

With my own eyes I have seen them all three, though Miss Simone hath just arrived of late

Will she sing Mississippi Goddamn???? Well I suppose she will, if she finds herself in that mood or that state

Just be patient, they have some catching up to do, you must admit they’ve all paid their dues

“....Yeah girl, they had this skinny broad playing you and called it “Lady Sings the Blues....”

Alas, I can hear them laughing, it should be just a minute before they appear right here on this stage

Sir I’m sure if they take requests she’ll do Strange Fruit, but be warned, it still may send some into a rage

Pres will blow Tenor, Chick will play drums and Nina may play some piano if she so feels

Does Billie still drink? That’s not your business I think, did you come for the spectacle or their skills?

At last the lights have been cued, the curtain will rise, we shall hear an angelic trio for the ages

We should count ourselves blest, to hear the three best, to ever grace this or any other stages

The Letter S (excerpt)

....“Yeah girl, I’m goin’solo, no mo’….I’m gonna hold on to this nigga…Is he fine??? Girl please, and you know this…How long have we been talkin’????? Since last Monday, but shit I already know….His status???? I don’t know how much money he makes. He works in systems sales, so I guess he makes pretty good money…..HIV status???? Girl what the fuck is you talkin’ about, that nigga is clean from head to toe….Yeah I know you see all kinds of different people down at the clinic, but he ain’t like that….Ok, I will girl….Allright, I said I’ll ask him, Damn….I’ll talk to you tomorrow girl…. Shiiit, I ain’t gonna lie to you, I’ll probably jus’ call you Monday, 'cus tonight I know what it’s gonna be and tomorrow I gotta get up and go to Sunday School….Okay girl, I’ll talk to you later.”


Sheila and Stan, young love in full bloom. Hot quick sex at lunchtime in the office building stairwell, wet and wild high times on the living room sofa and late nights spent making sweet love under satin sheets. Then all of a sudden, there are phone calls unreturned, no noontime rendezvous, no late night soul sessions and no early morning moanin’. Young love can be so fleeting. And so it goes.


…..“Stan!!!! Stan!!!! Stan!!!!, I know you in there, answer the phone, it’s Sheila!!!! I can see your Suburban sittin’ outside. I bet you up there fuckin’ some new skeezer. My girl Shirley says she saw you at the STD clinic. She says you got that shit!!!!....Stan!!!! Stan!!!! Stan!!!!”….

The Murder of Tupac Shakur Considered as an Illegal Street Race (excerpt)

....It may be irrelevant that the winner of the race is still in question. The fact that the great Tupac was felled is not in question and was witnessed by all. The void he left in the sport after his departure has yet to be filled by anyone. To this day, none of his rivals have come forward to acknowledge their triumph.

Some of his fans were inconsolably affected by the outcome. They have taken to imagining he is still racing.


The race results will continue to remain in question. As is usually the case, there were no officials present when the race was decided. When they were asked to get involved in the disputed issue, they did not make much of an effort. They were rumored to have been paid in secret beforehand, to stay clear of the streets where the race took place. Others speculate that although the officials secretly enjoy these races, they have little regard for the participants that the sport attracts....

Agenda

Tell me what you are trying to build, not what needs to be torn down

Tell me what you believe in, not what you doubt

Tell me what you love, not who you hate

Tell me who is right, not what is wrong

Tell me about your plan, not about your plot

Tell me about your leadership, not the betrayals of the past

Tell me who you will follow now, not how far we've come

Tell me about your organizing, not the conspiracies of others

Tell me about unity and culture, not political science and urban studies

Tell me who I can believe in, not that I should vote just because

Tell me what you’ve learned, not what they were wrong about

Tell me about your triumphs, not just our tragedies

Tell me what you did right, not what they did wrong

Tell me about our bright magnificent future, not the dark gloomy past

Who Responsible???? (excerpt)

....Black Americans are in the unique position of being the only people on the planet whose sole agenda is to help another race of people to rule the world. We do not seek any power for ourselves as a group, nor do we aid in the empowerment of our own people abroad. We have no homeland. We are entirely at the mercy of our other peoples plans.


Our complacency with and complicity in this situation leaves most of us unable to recognize this as a problem at all. We consider ourselves solely as “Americans” because some of us have realized the “American Dream.” We don’t feel any connection to Africa or any other Black people in the Diaspora. Most of us feel that those other people must have either organized improperly to secure their liberties or that their “Great Emancipators” must not be as warm hearted or industrious as our American benefactors.

I will not debate America’s influence toward restraining the growth and prosperity of other nations and consequently the creation of their oppressed classes here. However, I do think it is worth noting that this is not the first time a “minority” population within a prosperous, Western society find themselves in a similar position as “African-Americans” in the twenty first century.
Prior to the “Nazification” of Germany, Jews enjoyed economic prosperity and legal equality, similar to and in some cases superior to native Germans. They settled into a certain complacency, satisfied that they were indispensable to the German way of life....

Mojito Sunset (excerpt)

....The women, coming from town or market or work, walk miles on cobblestone streets in high heeled shoes. They walk with their backs straight as boards, gliding on legs that glow like bronze pillars. Yet they never falter or fail.

Cuban women are hot and cool at the same time. They ooze sexuality, while simultaneously they command respect. They have a certain poise that makes them all the more beautiful. I was as captivated by their full switching hips and long batting eyelashes as much I was touched by how they bore their endless struggles and countless burdens with dignity.


The old women are just as beautiful. Yet they are possessed of a certain melancholy that is not found in the young. They teeter through the streets carrying heavy bags in their hands and the weight of yesteryears sacrifices on their backs. I watch an old lady stoop slowly to play with a baby in her path. The innocent child caresses her wrinkled skin as if tracing the history of their country in the lines of her face....

Escape

I was so high I had to do something

So I outstretched my bare arms, jumped in the air and landed on top of Kilimanjaro

Then came back to Earth and made love to Aset, on a fragrant bed of Nag Champa and Collard Greens

I sat on the Ashanti Stool at a platinum table and ate barbequed pig feet and drank passion fruit Alize in the presence of my enemies

I tore off a piece of Dead Sea scroll, so I could roll me another biblical blunt.

Then I flew up to Heaven again, but did not enter.

I just put my ear to the sky and listened to God laugh for a while.

I then began to think about regular men who appear similar to me, who go to sleep at 11, wake at 7 and go to work from 9 to 5.

Le Feu dans le Ghetto (excerpt)

....I witnessed these phenomena firsthand over a decade ago while living in Aubervilliers, a suburb of Paris. I was there trying to carve out a niche as a hip hop impresario, away from the competition on the other side of the pond. To be honest, I didn’t get the sense that Jacques Chirac….don't like Black people when I traversed the boulevards of Paris itself. However, when in the boondocks of Aubervilliers, Neuilly and other places I frequented, you definitely got the sense that there were tensions under the surface that might give a better explanation of why Meursault killed the Arab.

Upon entering a café early one morning to enjoy a smoke and a cup of Joe, I was asked politely by the barista behind the counter “Did you know this is an Arab café.” Don’t get it twisted, the Black man has made an impression all over the world. Conversely, one night while scenery set trippin' in the wrong 'hood, I was followed by some young Arab lads who were looking to stick me for my paper. It was then that I realized that I was in the ‘hood and not all of Paris was a postcard.

I was told by my roommates that this was a big problem all over the city. Many people had been stabbed by poor little Aladdin-like jobless youth in pursuit of their purses. Despite these warnings, I continued to encounter various French youth of the entire plebiscite, of all genotype and phenotype. As ominous as the situation with the youth and the ghettoes were depicted to me, when you can see the Eiffel Tower peaking over the high rise buildings, the situation doesn’t seem quite as menacing.

Most of the young men I met didn’t have a job and were on the dole. On the other hand, some owned skateboard shops and clothing stores. Many of my friends back home were involved in some kind of dodgy business involving slippy money also, so young niggas hustlin' just seemed normal to me. Besides, I could hardly tell much difference between the Gallic B-Boys I met and their coal Black African émigré posse-mates. It just didn’t seem like anybody was less well off because of their skin color. It just seemed like none of them cared that much about money.

As far as the music goes, I did not ultimately find the next Run DMC that I could market to Francophone Africa. Yet, I was exposed to the urgent cries of Supreme NTM, Assasin, I Am, MC Solaar and my favorite Timide et Sans Complexe. These French hip-hops rapped with the ferocity of NWA and the urgency of Public Enemy while still remaining essentially French.

I must admit though, that despite their earnest cries of desperation, at the time I thought they were merely mimicking what they’d heard coming from their cousins in Compton and Brooklyn. Although it was hard to tell, my new friends insisted that things in Gay Paris were not quite what they seemed. Even back then, they insisted that the streets of Paris were poised to run redder than red one day....

Kings of Crunk (excerpt)

....When people hear the "Crunk"- they can feel it deep inside. They like to pretend they don't though, because they went to college. We know they feel it though, because "Crunk" is what’s deep inside the Black Man - at least the ones who love themselves and don't give a fuck what nobody else thinks about them. No matter how many acts, bills and laws are passed to protect our civil rights, down here we know a man isn’t really a man unless he has something he’s willing to get “Crunk” for....

The Ballad of Young Robert

Young Robert was quite lazy and did much to avoid work

Many hung around him, yet most thought him a real jerk

Young Robert’s looks brought him some attention and fifteen minutes of fame

Young Robert had nothing else of substance, no other honor to claim

Young Robert would steal for profit, or pocket an item for sport

Young Robert would tell great lies and even perjure himself openly in court

Young Robert covers his emptiness with silk linings and patches his holes with purple labels

Self proclaimed "the Great One" hero of tall tales and magnificent fables

Young Robert values old friends like the immortals value life

Young Robert cheats in business like he cheats on his gullible wife

Young Robert’s big house is empty, with nice cars in the drive

Greed is what sustains him and gluttony keeps him alive

If you dine with young Robert, you’ll oft have to pick up the check

In business he’s no better, his work you must carefully inspect

Young Robert says there is no God in Heaven and surely not here on the Earth

His pockets are swollen with borrowed money but his life has no worth

Scratchin’ and Survivin’ Part I (excerpt)

....Uncle Curtis kept asking him if he’d gotten "some" yet, long before he knew what "it" even looked like. When Mama’s boyfriends met him for the first time, they would always comment with a mix of surprise and disappointment that he was big enough to be working with the men down at the stockyards. He noticed they seemed a little scared of him too, even though they were grown men and he was only about thirteen. Mama used to repeat their words about going to work sometimes when she lost her patience with him, which always seemed to be after she lost her job or between paydays.

That first girl called him "Lover Man". He was only about fifteen, so he really liked that. It seemed like she wanted a Daddy more that a lover though. Her mother even treated him like he was her “Special Man” too. It seemed like she couldn’t wait ‘til they were all one big happy family. She really just wanted “A Man” in the house that she didn’t have to be bothered with, but who could pay all the bills.

The girl used to tell him that her Daddy had left them because he wasn’t much of “A Man”. When the girl got pregnant, she realized that Tut wasn’t ready to be much of “A Man” yet either. The baby came too early. Thank God she lost it....

Nation Time!!!! (excerpt)

....Mental Note: My School Days – circa late Post Jim Crow Era, P.O. (Pre-Obama)

“…We refer to this sound as a Tarzan yell. Class, this concludes our discussion of African history….” The schoolmarm pronounced definitively.

Memoir: September 14, 2035 (continued)

I once saw a picture in a Life Magazine of little African boys going to school. They had on navy blue short pants, crisp white shirts and blue and orange rep ties. They looked so European that I could imagine their British accents jumping off of the page.

I was looking rather Euro-American myself in my Izod-Lacoste shirt and some Calvin Klein jeans. Yet I always remembered how much I was affected by the man wearing the blue Dashiki who brought the big drums to class for show and tell. I was so excited by the soul stirring sounds they made, that the teacher had to tell me to stop acting a like a fool and quit dancing. I felt something that at the time, I didn’t really understand. Something shall we say - Behind the Music.

As much as everybody tried to literally and figuratively beat the "Black" out of me, I always felt the call of that drum, even though there was no place for it in my world of advanced placement classes, debutante balls and Baptist church junior usher boards. So I made good grades, did what I was told, stayed in school and didn’t act a fool. I finally marched down the graduation aisle and that Summer I partied a while. Then I went to “the House“.

Here I would try to make my mark amongst the most progressive young minds our race had to offer to the world. “….Dear old Morehouse…Dear old Morehouse…”

“….Can you tell me how to get to the Liberation meeting my Brother?”…

“Naw man, but I can show you how to get to the career placement office.”…

“I am sad to announce that Jesse Jackson will not be speaking tonight because we could not pay his fee….On a brighter note there will be a CIA job fair after chapel services have ended, so please tuck in your Africa medallions… and don’t forget the Greeks are stepping tonight.”

The Greeks are coming?!?!?!?! The Greeks are coming?!?!?!?!

“I must have read the wrong brochure....”

Blast fo’ Me

You believe VOODOO is "Spook"ee
And Hey-Seuss was "WHITE"
But if I told you
I saw some Darkie walk on water
You'd say I saw no such sight

The B.i.b.l.e. says Moses passed for Egyptian????
And Simon was a genuine Coon
But if I told you
They got virgin Madonnas in every ghetto
You'd just think I was a loon

All-U-Can-Eat Fried Catfish and Cornbread
Just by laying his White Lily hands upon it
But if I tried to sell you
This same big fish story
You'd say "Somethin’ ‘bout dat jus’ don’t fit"

Leviticus said don't drink no Manishevitz
Nor have no strong drink
But if I told you
Obatala can turn water to wine
What would that make you think????

They say that God is a MAN
And somehow single-handedly begot a son
They tell you
Make sure you tithe
It's for that perpetual chu’ch buildin’ fund

You believe li’l ole david
Cracked Go-lieth in da head wit' a fat rock
You even believe
Europeans was the first in "The Garden"
Even though it's somewhere in Iraq

You think you’re goin' to HEAVEN
And all that other stuff you believe in
But if I told you
Sartre said "Hell is YOU!!!!"
You'd just call me an ole heathen

You believe in the "GoodBook"!!!!
You think one day you goin' up yonder
You believe the MASTER
Gave the slaves their salvation????
Now that’s something you really need to ponder

Niggertude (excerpt)

....The entire industry of “Soul Food”, Black "Hair Care" products and the majority of the consumption of jewelry, car accessories and pork products by Black people is a direct inheritance of the culture of slavery. What are we really, or as my homies in the hood would say “What’s really happenin’”?

Are we truly products of our own design or the product of second class citizenship and an inferior self concept forged through adaptation to adverse conditions? Are we simply a people who’ve had to make cultural sacrifices and bargains to survive, or are we just Jigaboos whose real legacy is now and always has been tellin’ jokes, sangin and gettin’ crunk?

The truest advice given by every guidance counselor and self help author to their audience is to do what you love to do or what you’re good at. It is often asserted that the Black man can do anything that all of the other races excel at. For that matter, it is a known fact that we invented the majority of the arts and the sciences. Why is it then that now even the most successful among us from Oprah Winfrey to Robert Johnson have made their marks as entertainers and entertainment promoters, not physicists and mathematicians?

The real question though is rather than try to prove we can be just as good at geophysics and aeronautics, would we be better off by taking total control of areas like sports, entertainment and the arts? We have spent centuries apologizing for our affinities for athletics and entertaining. However, the reality is that if we controlled those industries, it would provide enough resources to employ, house and feed us all....

The Evolution of Shawntae Harris (excerpt)

....By the early 1990s, most female rappers had been pushed to the peripheries of the hip-hop scene. They were dispossessed of their stature by "Rump Shakers" and "Video Vixens". The powers that be decided that a woman’s place in the industry was to move her body, not moving units.

By this time, the last (and arguably the first) legitimate Hip Hop divas, Salt-n-Pepa were transitioning to a Hip Hop version of the female R&B group En Vogue. However, SnP’s star would ultimately fade due to the demands of motherhood and various internal machinations that have plagued most successful groups. After Salt-n-Pepa's release of "Very Necessary" in 1993, they went on a long four long year hiatus. Sitting idle for that long while styles and tastes change is career suicide in the disposable world of hiphoprisy.

It now appeared that female rappers were all but a footnote in history. Then without warning, the most formidable female rapper since M.C. Lyte blew into Atlanta, GA of all places - the newly emerging music capitol of the South. Even more unlikely was the fact that she hailed from Chicago. Before Common gained superstar status much later on, "Chi-Town" had yet to produce any significant male or female rap artist.

Da Brat nee Shawntae Harris emerged on Hip Hop’s landscape in 1994 under the auspices of future “Super Producer” Jermaine Dupri. As with many female performers starting out, he put her in a backup role to a male artist. She would make her first outings packaged as a second fiddle persona to the popular duo Kriss Kross. Even in this supporting role, it was not difficult to see that she was the "Leading Lady".

Because of the youthful and rebellious demeanor of the two krossed out Krisses, young Shawntae was also saddled with a fittingly adolescent moniker. She most artfully adapted to the role of "Da Brat". She was first marketed as if she was Kriss Kross' impish tomboy of a little cousin. In reality, she was already a twenty year old woman at the time of her debut album.

The choice of this youthful moniker was probably borne out of Dupri’s sense of hip-hop history. He was savvy with regards to the business longevity of previous female artist’s careers. It was clear that most hip-hop femme fatales had embodied a disposable novelty-like status.

In the beginning Dupri may have been unaware of the strong desire, tenacity, confidence and acumen young Shawntae possessed. Yet it wouldn't take long for him to realize that her desire was as genuine and fierce as any of her male counterparts. Simply put, she was “the Shit” and she knew it....

Transfixed

One day you’ll finally take notice, but I assure you I’ll be long gone

Please make no mistake about it, this time I’m really moving on

I’m thinking about leaving this city, so I shant have to walk on our streets

Going to wash all of my good linens, so your lies don’t crust on my sheets

Just to make sure you take notice this time, I’m going to go buy myself a gun

If voodoo doesn’t work with these bullets, I’ll just shoot up your picture for fun

The pros are all out on strike now and the cons take up two pages on the ledger

Good enough just ain’t good enough anymore, only lubricated for your pleasure

Breakfast in bed is now just a lonely ritual, just like crying for no obvious reason

If loving you is right I want to be wrong, can’t continue to commit this love treason

I’ll piece together my broken heart and hide it, in a strongbox is where it will keep

Going to schedule my crying for mornings only, because this wet pillow is torturing my sleep

I know I’ll never find another lover like you and for that my emotions are mixed

Yet I’ll never be as blind to put my own needs behind and on another be so much transfixed

Trio Dancers (excerpt)

....After church was over, we stood outside to speak to more people. We finally saw Auntie Rena. “Rena where you been girl???? I been looking all over for you.” Mama asked. “Girl you know how that traffic is coming from my house.” Rena said.

That dreaded Sunday morning traffic huh???? What’s going on here???? Then I figured it out. Hiding in plain sight behind Aunt Rena was a tall, well educated looking, chocolate Brother who had 100 Black Men wannabe written all over his face. Apparently scooping this fool up and bringing him to church with her was the “business” she was taking care of.

Without even speaking to me first, Rena announced his presence like we were at a debutante ball. “Cassandra this is Keith. Keith is from Bowie, Maryland. He goes to Flipper Temple AME. He went to Hampton University. He’s about your age. He told me he saw you on Soul Train one time and he wanted to meet you.”

She made this morning announcement all in one breath. Apparently this clown with the cheesy ass grin works with Rena. I guess she showed him a picture of me or something. So the big plan for today was to bring him here with her to “Club Jesus” to hook up with me.

“Pleased to meet you” I said as polite as I could manage, fighting the urge to turn to Mama and Rena and cuss them out for this tired ass ambush. Keith and I chatted for a few minutes and tried to find some common connection between mutual friends who might have gone to Morehouse, Hampton, Howard or Spelman. He knew a whole lot of girls who went to Spelman. A whole lot. I knew mostly all of them hussies and tramps he mentioned, but I pretended not to. After a few minutes “Mr. Player, Player” gave me both his day job business card and his Noni Juice representative business card. Finally we exchanged “Goodbyes, Nice meeting yous and Hope I see you agains.”

“I’ll make sure she uses that card “My Mama whispered in Keith’s ear as they hugged goodbye in Christian fellowship....

Cigarette Money (excerpt)

....The “Woods” is what everybody calls the Carter G. Woodson Projects. They ain’t the worst in the world, but I really don’t like the idea of my babies living there when they could be living with me in the house my Mama and Daddy left me. Vicki won’t hear none of that though. She’s a good mother and I see my kids whenever I want to, but not letting ‘em live with me is her one way of fuckin' with me.

I finally get there and damn if they ain’t here. I know I’m in the wrong about this shit, but I’m kind of pissed that I walked my ass all the way over here. It’s hot as a sonofabitch out here and I had to climb up three flights of rickety stairs and they ain’t even here. Goddamn!!!!

As I’m leaving the complex, I see Kenya and Malik playing on the swings. They must have just got back from the store. “Hey babies - where’s ya Mama????” I ask as I kiss them on the foreheads. They’re trying to “mean mug” me so they don’t say anything. They just point over to the building where the mailroom is. I go over there and surprisingly, she ain’t quite as pissed as I thought she would be, but she is a little salty.

“Nigga where have you been???? Anyway, if we leave now we can get back down there before they close. All the good stuff’s probably already gone though. I hope you late 'cus you stopped by Curt’s to get my money.” She said without looking up as she fingered through the stack of bills and junk mail.

What the fuck is she talking about???? “Have mercy - I knew that “bad boy” was gone fall….Malik, Kenya, let’s go!!!!” She calls to the children as she continues to rattle on”…..814 my lucky day, my lucky number.” All of a sudden I realized what she was talkin’ about. In my post pussy funk, no sleep gettin’, elbow cutting in my back, early morning stupor, I didn't realize that the slip for the number Vicki told me to play was also gone from under the ashtray too. Just a few dollars for cigarette money my ass. Goddamn!!!!....

Necromancers of Negritude

So hard to create in this state, as the Joy Stealers and Soul Snatchers patrol the High Road

The Necromancers of Negritude have laid a path of sucked skulls and confused souls

The keys to freedom lay buried in the Ancient Books, but the Alchemists have turned gold to lead

The Poli-Tricksters negotiate another unapologetic unconditional surrender to bondage

While young men die along the Euphrates paying the price for old men’s greed

On this side of Babylon, Dope Boys and No Limit Soldiers get caught up like flies in the trap

Tonight there’ll be no burning or looting, maybe some shooting and some illusions will die

Only salon styled Dreadlocks worn for fashion without passion in this I-ration without elevation

An old man with a drawer full of worn out Afro Picks remembers young people shouting “Uhuru Sasa!!!!!”

While closets full of button down shirts and Dashikis hang alongside one another like a double Niggative

Reproduction of the New Breed Leaders (excerpt)

....My generation often find themselves perplexed that their daughters want to date “Dopeboys” and their sons want to be thugs. We say it’s because of the media, the mall and “the man”. Maybe it’s none of these, maybe it’s because they are really good kids and have listened to their parents well.

I would be rich myself if I had a dollar for every time I heard an adult pronounce that it was “all about that dollar bill.” The “hip-hop generation” of today has grown up in an environment where materialism is the only value that has been passed down to them by their forebears. They have also learned by observing their elders that timidity, passivity and servility only gives birth to lack of respect. While they may lack a sense of community and purpose, they possess an awareness that they should be self determined and aren’t afraid to take on the “man” rather than beg for his wages.

It is easy for us to label these young men thugs because they have criminal records, no college degrees and no jobs. To the young ladies though, often raised by a single mother in a hungry household, the brother who goes to his “trap” everyday often has enough money for his babies, his “baby mama” and even her mama. This is something her Daddy was never able to achieve with a job - when he could find one....

Negro Please!!!! (excerpt)

....From head to toe we dress the part of the upright citizen, always checking to see if our hair is too nappy or if our blouse gives someone else the blues. We speak only when spoken to and only about what is already being discussed. We are told that it is impolite to talk about race, religion or politics in the workplace, which essentially means “We don’t want to hear your whining.”

This decorum relegates the usual workplace discussions to topics such as “Who’s the hottest, Jessica Simpson or Britney Spears????” and you had better have an opinion! “Jada who????....Oh Will Smith’s wife. I like that Will Smith” We never notice that knowing nothing about us doesn’t make anybody else less of an American. The banter continues until the work day ends, the melting pot simmers down for the day and everyone goes their separate ways until tomorrow....

Sell In

I used to be a man of means
Now I have motive and opportunity
I’m finished chasin’ the American Dream
Now I’m a full-time Black Revolutionary
I quit my job just to write this poem
I’ve taken a vow of self righteous poverty
I know nobody asked me to
I did it so I could wage war on White Supremacy
I've exchanged all of my corporate shares
Now I only invest in Black Unity

Gave up everything for the cause
Now I can fight the power with impunity
The man no longer has me buttoned down
I’m gonna single-handedly save the Black Community
Whether they want me to or not
Gonna make Black folks hold their heads high like royalty
I promise I’ll save them from themselves
Even the ones that show their people no loyalty
I’m even willing to die for the cause
Yes, I’m willing to be a No Limit casualty
Sometimes I get weary though
Sometimes I even doubt my own ability
Loving Black folks ain’t easy
Sometimes it’s hard to hold in my hostility
I used to feel like a winner
Now I constantly battle feelings of futility
Workin' for Black folks is hard
Victory is most often illusory
I told myself I should stop writing these poems
Erotique-Noire Novels is where you make your real money
Matter of fact, let me put this damn pen down
Snap my dumb ass back to reality
I can’t make a living writing this shit
There’s no market for Black Iconoclastic Avant-Garde poetry
Can’t make no money from this Revolution shit either
Since there's no corporate sponsor it won’t be televised commercially
Most people don't even know it’s going on
Just figuring out who the enemy is can be a real mystery
I don’t even think everybody really wants liberation
I believe most folks are just waiting on their social security
Round trip bus pass and a guv’ment job is enough for them
That’s all it takes to satisfy the majority
Believe me I understand
Yet I still hold on to my beloved moral authority
So I wrote this poem by candlelight
Because “The Man” just turned off my damn electricity

Causeway (excerpt)

....They had already collected the money for her to do whatever this “Special” shit was she does. Everybody got in position to watch the much anticipated show. I felt a big body plunk down on the other cushion of the sofa. I looked to my left and saw one of the biggest of all the big “Rambos” sit next to me. As she made her entrance out of one of the bedrooms, she pointed to the DJ and on cue “Kushin’ for the Pushin’” the new hit song by 5th Ward Burner came blasting out of the JBLs louder than I’d ever heard it before.

“….We be smokin’ that 'dro pushin' up on these ho’s….” Then all in unison thirty three of the biggest, most clean cut, White boys I had ever seen in my life shouted at the top of their lungs.

“….Nigger what my Nigger, I got the Kushin' for the Pushin' for these Stankin’ Ass Ho’s!!!!!!!!!!! Ride on Nigga!!!! Ride on. Ride on Bitch!!!! Ride on….”

I ain’t gone lie to you, at the same time I was amazed these white boys knew my music; I had never in my life thought about hearing and seeing any shit like this. I wrote this shit, I put it out there, but it never occurred to me that a bunch of country ass White boys would ever be screamin’ the word Nigger at the top of their lungs, while a Black sister slithered butt ass naked on a dirty floor trying to earn some money to go to school and feed her babies. Was it like old girl said earlier, when I made this was I just doing “What I had to do????”....

What’s In the Blood….(excerpt)

....As she got out of the car, the seatbelt bunched her skirt up all the way over her sweaty naked brown ass. The sight of her soft young shiny brown booty unexpectedly made my dick stand up straight and hard as a classroom yardstick. I guess she thought it would fall back down by itself, but it didn’t. She finally pulled it down as she walked up the steps to her apartment. Not before anybody that wanted to could get a peak though. Li’l fast tail Tamika Scott.

Sometimes you can’t tell exactly what you’re getting when you pick up one of these girls off the street. If you were to see them the next day in the light, you’d be ashamed of yourself. Although from what I could see from the streetlights, li’l Tamika looked like the streets hadn’t been too rough on her.

Her ass was still soft and bouncy and her titties still stood at attention. Her face wasn’t cut up as far as I could see and I didn’t see too many scratches or sores on her legs either. There didn’t seem to be any needle tracks on her arms and her lips weren’t dark from sucking on the pipe either. She was still only about twenty-two years old though.

So many of these girls have been on drugs or getting their ass whipped for so long, they don’t even notice their good looks left them a long time ago. That is if they ever had any good looks to begin with. They still come out here every night to get that money though. I guess somebody must be fuckin’ ‘em too, or they wouldn’t keep coming out here....

Ascetic

This ochred cloth shrouds me with shreds of holy virtue
Yet safeguards me within solitude from earthly sorrows
Dare I lift this veil and test my faith in the furnace????
Or live yet another day behind pious walls and chastened gates

This sheath of serendipity denies me any feral convergences
Phallus fallacies prove no match for Diana's quest for Venus
I sense powerful forces flowing forth through yonies yearnings
As Orion’s quest continues for a Pleiades flying out of formation

Anaximenes has bid me safe passage towards Philadelphia
Though my coarse coil would prevent any eros there in that realm

Tethered to bells and sandals lotus legged astride a straw mat
I continue my study of lofty tomes and memorizing anachronistic hymns

Pride (excerpt)

....Homosexuality is an issue that I have complex and conflicted views about. I'm still trying to understand. However, I do know that I have never met anybody who would choose to subject themselves to years of pain and suffering, just because they got dumped by a guy or a girl (Well maybe this one broad I used to date....) Nevertheless, the idea that homosexuals are not subject to the same love, sex and relationship frustrations as heterosexuals is pretty ignorant too.


I've also never met anybody who was Gay because their Mother made them wear dresses or their Daddy gave 'em ye ole high hard one. I think all that shit was made up by people who couldn't find any other explanations for why there kids were gay or were scared to learn the real truth about the truly unlimited spectrum of human sexuality.....

Queens (excerpt)

....I started composing an erotic poem to be titled "Carnal Knowledge" the other day, but it got me to thinking more about the "sacred" feminine rather than the "carnal" feminine. The feminine of warm eyes, open hearts and child bearing hips as opposed to the feminine of apple bottom asses, plastic titties and "d s" lips. I’m not sure if over the years I have changed, or if as Amiri Baraka would say "Something in the way of things…." has changed. One thing I'm sure of though, I don’t often get the same feelings I used to get when I look at a woman.

Of course this feeling started with my mother. I remember when I was a kid I would love to watch my Mama get dressed up and made up to go out somewhere or go to church or whatever. From the slipping on of slips, the stretching out of stockings, to the zipping up of dresses, I used to love helping her get dressed. On one level it made me think about how strangely difficult it is for a woman to get dressed, with all the zippers in the back, things that buckle and needed to be clasped. On another level though, helping my Mom get dressed gave me a certain sense of reverence, adoration and sacredness towards women. For lack of a better word, this ritual of femininity was like a coronation to me. It made me feel like women were "Queens".

I think because of this veneration of women that I got from my mom, I was very particular about the women I kept company with. Despite many opportunities to do so, as a young man I tried not to trifle with any woman I wasn’t serious about. I guess more importantly, I was only in pursuit of somebody special. I wasn’t interested in being a player, or a pimp, but only in finding a quality young lady to love, honor and cherish. Those young ladies who were "easy" weren’t for me. Like I said before, I don’t know if I changed or something in the way of things changed, but things certainly did change....

This Girl....

Ain’t got nobody to say I love you to right now

So this is dedicated to this girl I’m fuckin’

When she’s gone, I kind of miss her

But mostly I miss her good dick suckin’

One day I’ll settle down and change my marital status

Until then I’m satisfied with my li'l fuckin’ apparatus

First met her one Friday night at this spot that cost a “dub”

No illusions about finding Miss Right off in this funky club

After my weak intro “Can you buy me a drink” was her opening line

Damn sure wasn’t my rap, so I guess she thought I was fine

Don’t get it twisted; I’m just a hard dick and some nuts to her too
She certainly ain’t complainin’, ‘cus I eat that pussy like y’all other cats won’t do

I like to suck on her clit and watch her jerk and try to pull away

I even love the taste and the smell of it; I could stay down there all day

Before I forget to mention it, this girl loves to give me long slow head

Sometimes she does this squirt thing, that scared me first time she fucked up my bed

I love it most when the coach sends number sixty nine in the game

The slob runnin’ down my thighs and the taste of hot pussy shootin’ flames

But nothing’ beats straight up 1974 Boones Farm and Acapulco Gold style fuckin’

So to set the mood I burn some Black Love incense and put on “Keep on Truckin'”

I grab her by her firm thighs and pull her swiftly to the edge of the bed

As I stroke my hard dick against her pussy lips she throws back her head

Now her hot wet pussy is on fire and her nipples are hard as can be
After she can’t take my pussy teasin’ no more she moans “Ooooohhh - stick that dick in me”

I be strokin’, I ain’t jokin’, tryin’ to keep my balance from this good pussy and that weed I was smokin’

“I’m comin’ I’m comin’!!!!” she screams and I can feel her walls throbbin’ and that wet pussy soakin’

I lift her up on the bed with her ass shootin’ up towards the moon

After I ride the pussy for a little longer we’ll both be screamin’ soon

“Oh Shit!!!!” we both cry out and fall limp and slump down to the mattress

I hold her close and stroke her locks and tresses - I don’t love her, but I still like sweet caresses

I wish I had somebody to love, but so far in love I’ve had no luck in

So until that moment comes, I think I’ll call this girl I’m fuckin

Traps (excerpt)

....As we began to undress each other, I was in a bit of a rush. I started to unzip her jeans so I could finally go to work on that little heart shaped ass, but she held both my hands firmly with a surprising amount of strength and gently guided them down to my sides. As she unbuttoned my shirt, she kissed me softly across the chest from top to bottom. The pace suddenly slowed.

We began to exchange tender sensual embraces and deep penetrating soul melting kisses as we peeled away each other’s clothes. Once there were no more layers to uncover or places to discover, I cradled her in my arms and guided her down gently to the mattress. We twisted and tangled into an indistinguishable heap as we writhed and slithered into a corporeal knot. After exploring each others bodies from all angles with tender touches and unrestricted tongues, we were now face to face once again.

She stared deeply into my eyes as if she’d found something she had lost or at least something she was searching for, but never had. Then she wrapped her legs around my hips and dug her fingernails into my shoulders like a cat stuck in a tree. It felt as if she was holding on to a breaking branch for dear life. I arched my back like I was the King of the jungle and thrust my scepter deep into her enchanted Garden of Eden. Her river flowed endlessly like the Nile. We spent what seemed like an eternity on this sacred nocturnal safari, exploring every emotion and motion that was humanly possible, upon this clean white sheeted oasis....

Black Mecca for the Sold Brother (excerpt)

....A climate of activism, a sense of community and a commitment to social change continues to thrive in some quarters of Black Atlanta. However, Blacks in this city like all others across this nation have fallen prey to an attitude of apathy and find themselves in a state of impotence. As the problems that face our people become more complex and our sense of community diminishes, economic ideals have become the most convenient and easily understood issues to focus our attention. In search of the American dream, many of us have jettisoned the spiritual and social legacies of our forebears as useless cargo for this leg of the Middle Passage.....

For No Particular Reason

Let’s go talk about the revolution out on the veranda
and wait for the White Zin to chill
We’ll speak in spirited tones of outrage about Darfur
while we wait for the corn to grill
We’ll talk intrepidly about capitalistic White demons
and how they stole our native soil
We’ll pass the time in fiery oration about reparations
while we wait for the lobsters to boil
We’ll curse the oppressor in the language of his ancestors
and their murderous thieving ilk

Girl where did you get that pretty duvet cover????
Is that real Chinese silk????
Don’t even get me started on them Chinese folks
now they’re the oppressor too
Investing in Africa and creating jobs
like we were going to do
I know you heard ole such and such is a big sell out now
Brother went out and got a federal gig
Trust me as soon as I get my tenure at the university
I’m gonna blow the lid off the system - You dig????
'Cus I’m a strong Black warrior
I won’t ever lose my edge
Honey have you seen my old step show shoes?
I heard the new Greeks are about to pledge
It’s so hard to be Black in America
Let’s discuss it over brunch at the Four Seasons
We’ll do lunch soon and talk about revolution
for no particular reason

Pretty Girls (excerpt)

....My bus passes by Tabitha’s house every morning, but it does not stop there.Her father drives her to school so the Tall Boys can’t get to her.She’ll be waiting for me as usual, by the big stone lion at the top off the stairs.I hope she brought some cigarettes and some cookies to eat in homeroom.












I know she talks to those Black Barbie Dolls before I get here everyday.Talking about cute boys and their fast bikes and shiny cars.Those are the girls that always ask her why she hangs out with a “Girl like her.”Sometimes I think that “T” may really be one of them.Longing for Pompoms and Proms and Tall Boys....